Free First Gravedigger by Barbara Paul

with a guard?”
    â€œCheck in with the guard. Even Mr. Speer had to check in—the insurance company insisted on it.”
    D’Elia nodded. “The guard keeps records of everyone coming in and going out?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSave me a little time. When did you check in?”
    â€œI actually checked in twice. The first time was, oh, around ten o’clock. Then I remembered I’d left a file at home that I needed and went back for it. I got back here about an hour later.”
    â€œAnyone else working Saturday?”
    â€œLeonard Wightman. He was already here when I checked in the first time, and we left together. About five o’clock.”
    â€œDid either of you go out for lunch?”
    â€œNo. I brought a sandwich with me.” Might sound funny if I hadn’t.
    â€œYou’re sure Wightman didn’t go out?”
    â€œI’d have heard his door. His office is near mine. But the security guard’s records will tell you whether he stayed in or not.”
    D’Elia paused. Then: “Is there a way of getting out of this building without being spotted by a guard?”
    â€œNone. It’s tight as a drum.” Then his implication hit me. “What are you saying? That Wightman or I sneaked out—”
    â€œRelax, Mr. Sommers. We’re still grasping at straws at this stage. You’re one straw. The last person I talked to is another straw. The person I talk to next will be still another. We have to check everything.”
    The telephone saved me from having to think up a neutral reply. Lieutenant D’Elia picked up the receiver, said “Hello?”, punched a button, said “Hello?” again. Pause. “Of course, have her come in.”
    The door opened and Nedda Speer walked in. This was the first time I’d seen her since last Thursday afternoon, when I’d stolen a few hours from cataloguing old Alice Ballard’s estate for a different kind of pleasure. Sergeant Pollock unfolded himself from the wall and wordlessly placed a chair for her before the desk. Nedda nodded to me impersonally as she sat down.
    â€œI’m sorry to break in on you, Lieutenant,” she said, “but there’s something you should know about. I’ve just discovered something was taken from the house after all. A porcelain figurine is missing, a valuable one.”
    â€œHow valuable?”
    â€œI can’t put a dollar figure on it—Mr. Wightman could probably tell you. But it was in a case with seven other figurines—all of them were valuable. But only one was taken.”
    Lieutenant D’Elia was nodding thoughtfully. “That puts a different cast on it. Your husband could have surprised a burglar who shot him and then panicked and ran—I’m sorry, Mrs. Speer, I know this can’t be easy for you. Can we get you something?”
    Nedda was looking distressed. Immediately I was on my feet, offering to play errand boy, beating out Sergeant Pollock.
    She waved a hand in my direction. “I’m all right. I’d like you to stay, Mr. Sommers. I need to ask you something.”
    I sat back down. I’d wanted to get out of the room because I was having a hell of a time keeping myself from grinning like an ape. I had no idea what Charlie’d thought he was doing when he took one piece of porcelain from the case. But it was the touch that was needed to make interrupted burglary seem a reasonable explanation. I didn’t for one minute credit Charlie with thinking that far ahead—he didn’t have the brains. But whatever his reasons, for once in his life Charlie Bates had managed to do something right.
    â€œBit unusual though,” Lieutenant D’Elia was saying. “Thieves who go after paintings and jewelry and art objects almost never carry weapons. Most of them are afraid of guns. But then that would explain why this guy panicked and ran—maybe he’d never fired a gun