Free Killing the Goose by Frances and Richard Lockridge Page A

Detective Stein came in, looking as if he were in a hurry. He spoke as if he were in a hurry.
    â€œThe commissioner!” he said. “On the telephone, Lieutenant. The commissioner himself! ”
    Weigand also moved quickly. He guessed that the telephone on a table near the door was an extension of the one Stein had answered. He lifted the telephone from its cradle and said, “Lieutenant Weigand, sir.” The commissioner answered and, as he listened, Weigand motioned to Stein. He motioned toward the hall, where another telephone was and then pointed down toward the floor. Stein nodded, hung up the telephone in the hall, came back and opened the door which opened on stairs to the kitchen floor. He went down. He would stop Mrs. Pennock if she grew too curious.
    â€œYes, sir,” Weigand said. “That is, we did have.”
    The police commissioner’s voice was soft, almost tired.
    â€œI don’t get that, Lieutenant,” he said. “You did have a man named John Elliot? And now you haven’t?”
    This wasn’t good. But Weigand told him. “I was careless,” Weigand told the police commissioner. That wasn’t good either.
    â€œWell,” the commissioner said, “you’ll have to get him back, Lieutenant. But probably you’ll have to let him go again when you do. Dan Beck called up just now.”
    â€œYes, sir?” Weigand said. “The commentator?”
    The police commissioner said he was afraid Beck was more than that. His voice sounded very tired. He suggested that the lieutenant had better look Beck up, some time. However—
    â€œJust now,” the commissioner said, “you’d better go and talk to him, Lieutenant. He says Elliot couldn’t have done it. He says he can alibi Elliot completely. He wants to talk to somebody.” The commissioner sighed. “He wanted to talk to me,” he said. “I suggested you.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Weigand said.
    â€œHe’s important,” the commissioner said. “I’m afraid he is quite important. So you’d better go up and listen to him. And then look him up.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Bill Weigand said.
    â€œAnd,” the commissioner said, “come in tomorrow and tell me about it, Lieutenant. He’s quite an interesting man.” The commissioner sighed again. “He’s—” he said. “Good night, Lieutenant.”
    Bill Weigand replaced the telephone and stood staring at it. If he knew the commissioner, he was supposed to read more in that than the words told. He would have to count the sighs and the pauses. He would have to look Dan Beck up very thoroughly. He would have to know why Dan Beck made the commissioner, who was uncommonly alert and had been a policeman all his life, so very tired. He would have to decide for himself how softly he would tread. The commissioner liked detective lieutenants to be perceptive.
    He was abstracted as he turned back to the others and when they waited expectantly he shook his head and his eyes warned Dorian.
    â€œI’ve got to see a man,” he said.
    He let it lie there.
    â€œOh,” Pam said. “Like that?”
    â€œJust like that,” Weigand told her. “So suppose all of you go home.” He smiled. “Or calling,” he added. This last was permissive. Since, he suspected, they would anyway. Or Pam would, and the others with her.
    â€œTake Mullins if you go calling,” he said.
    The Hotel André rose high above Park Avenue and when you went as high as you could in the Hotel André you found Dan Beck. An elevator reserved for those fortunates who deserved suites in The Wing rose reverently with Bill Weigand, who was permitted to call on one of those so elected. The elevator left Weigand standing to his shoetops in carpet and descended with discretion. It was as if the elevator had backed out of the presence. A wide door faced the lieutenant; a single,