Which Way to Die? by Ellery Queen Page A

phone him myself.”
    â€œWell, maybe I was wrong,” Corrigan said. He was always irritated with people who brought personal considerations into an investigation, then with himself for remembering that he was human, too. “Look, I can’t wait right now. Tell your father not to go into that bedroom; he won’t enjoy what’s in there, anyway. Norma, would you come with me?”
    She followed him docilely. Since her brother’s death she seemed to have withdrawn a long, long way. If she felt any grief, it did not show. She was just bracing herself, he thought, for another ordeal.
    In the foyer Corrigan said gently, “Let me down to the eleventh floor, Norma. On second thought, I’ll wait there till they show up.” He closed the switch and stepped onto the car. “Don’t forget to close the switch again when your father and Andy get up here.”
    She nodded.
    Corrigan jabbed the “D” button and the door slid shut.
    The elder Alstrom and Andy Betz were hurrying along the eleventh floor corridor toward the penthouse elevator when Corrigan stepped out of the car. Alstrom had pulled trousers and a suit coat over his pajamas; he was still in bedroom slippers. The chauffeur had put on shoes, slacks, and a shirt; he had even slipped into a leather jacket and taken the time to comb his hair.
    Alstrom was almost as dead-pale as the son lying upstairs. He halted in front of Corrigan, fine lips twitching. “How could you let this happen, Captain? Is this the protection our police provide? And where was Mr. Baer? I don’t see how …”
    Corrigan said in a gentle voice, “I’m damned sorry your son is dead, Mr. Alstrom, but let’s get something straight. You were repeatedly advised that, since you refused to let us have any part in planning security, neither the police nor Chuck Baer could accept responsibility if anything went wrong. We did our best under your rules. Apparently they weren’t good enough.”
    Alstrom made a shuddering effort to control himself. “All right, Captain. I’ll concede that. But that setup upstairs is impregnable. How could this have happened?”
    â€œWe don’t know yet, Mr. Alstrom.”
    â€œIs my young mister all right?” Andy Betz croaked.
    Corrigan nodded and motioned the two men into the elevator. “Before you go up, Mr. Alstrom, I want something clearly understood. You and Andy are to stay in the living room. You’re not to go back and look at your son, and you’re not to step out on the roof. Clear?”
    â€œClear,” Alstrom said stiffly.
    He pushed the “U” button and the door closed.
    A prowl car pulled up just as Corrigan got to the street. A middle-aged officer with a growing front porch and a lean, younger man jumped out of the car.
    Corrigan flashed his I.D. “Corrigan of the Main Office Squad. You men here in answer to the homicide squeal?”
    â€œYes, sir,” the older cop said. “I’m Sergeant Hooker and this is Patrolman Kent.”
    â€œYou come with me, Kent. Sergeant, go up to the penthouse and stand by until Homicide gets here. You’ll find a private detective named Chuck Baer up there keeping an eye on the roof across the street through a pair of opera glasses. Just leave him be. He’s doing it on my instructions.”
    â€œYes, sir,” the sergeant said.
    â€œTake the elevator to the eleventh floor. Then cross the hall to another elevator. You’ll find a phone on the wall next to it. You have to call the roof so someone can send the elevator down. Probably a Miss Alstrom will answer. Tell her who you are and that I sent you. And don’t touch anything .”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œLet’s go, Kent.” Corrigan hurried across the street to the building opposite. It was 1:30 A . M .
    He and the young officer took an elevator to the ninth floor, followed a hall around two turns, and finally came