Robert Shafton said to Landers and Galeano, 'This neighborhood's run down in the last twenty years. It was convenient to my business. But nearly anywhere in the city these days you get all sorts of crime-the violence. We bought the house on Scott Avenue twenty-five years ago, it was handy to the store, but we'd like to get out of the area now. Only who can afford the interest rates? Any other place we'd get, we'd have to get a loan on. And nearly anywhere these days-' He spread his hands. They were talking to him at his store on Glendale Avenue. It was a stationer's and office-supply store, a fairly big place. He had this little office at the rear of the store, and there was a woman clerk in front.
'We talked to the patrolman,' said Landers, 'but we'd like to hear what you can tell us, Mr. Shafton.'
'Certainly,' said Shafton. He was a short spare man with gray hair and glasses. 'I'd been home for lunch. I like to get a little exercise, and it's only six blocks to the store- I usually walk. I was on Scott Avenue-about halfway up the block from Glendale, and this woman was ahead of me- almost at the corner. There wasn't anybody else on the street. She seemed to be having trouble getting along- walking very slowly and bent over, and I was just wondering if she was ill or perhaps drunk when it happened. These two-well, I don't know whether to call them men or boys- I'd say they were around seventeen or eighteen, but both pretty husky. They came around the corner from Glendale Avenue and saw the woman,. and just-well-tackled her.
One of them knocked her down and the other one grabbed her handbag and they ran back up Glendale Avenue. It happened so fast I couldn't have done a thing, I wasn't close enough. Not that I could have done much- they were both bigger than me.'
'You might have got clobbered too,' said Galeano.
'I went up and looked at her. I saw she was quite elderly and looked as if she was badly hurt. She'd hit her head on the sidewalk. So I went up to the corner where there's a public phone and called the police and an ambulance.'
'Would you recognize either of those two? Can you give us a description?' asked Landers.
'They were just the typical young louts you see around. Long hair, jeans, sweatshirts- I think they both had dark hair, but that's really all I can say. Was that ambulance attendant right-that she was dead? The patrolman thought so.'
'Yes, I'm afraid she was,' said Galeano.
They had talked to the uniformed man, who had one piece of information for them. The woman's handbag had been gone, of course, but she'd been wearing an identification bracelet with a name and address stamped on it and he had noted it down. Phillips, an address on Morton Avenue. They went to look there, to notify any relatives. It was a small apartment building, not new, but well maintained with a strip of lawn in front. There wasn't a manager, and they tried the first right front apartment downstairs. A woman about thirty said they'd just moved there, didn't know any of the other tenants. Nobody else was home downstairs. They climbed stairs, tried the first right-hand door there. The woman who opened it said, 'Phillips?' She was stout and henna-haired. 'She lives right across the hall.' She was shocked to hear what had happened. 'Well, I don't know about any relatives. There was some woman came to see her nearly every day, I'd meet her in the hall sometimes, I don't know who she is. Of course you want to find out. I wonder if the door's locked. She hardly ever went out, I don't think.' She stepped across the hall and tried the door, and it was unlocked. 'There. I expect there'll be something inside to tell you about any family,' she said brightly.
Landers shut the door on her with thanks and they looked around. It was a typical place for its age and for the area. The neutral upholstered furniture, everything orderly, the kitchen clean. The phone was on one of the end tables by the couch and taped just above the dial was a neat card with firm printing on it: GREGSON and a phone number-NURSE and another number. Landers sat down on the couch and tried the first number. On the sound ring a masculine voice answered. 'Mr. Gregson? This is the police. I believe you know a Mrs. Phillips on Morton Avenue. I'm sorry to have to tell you she's met with an accident-Yes, sir, I'm afraid she's dead. We're at the apartment, sir, yes. If you could tell us about any relatives-'
He said, 'Yes, I can tell you. I'll come as soon as I can get there.'
He came half an hour later. He was a tall elderly man, once very handsome and still good-looking, with a thick crop of gray hair and steady blue eyes. He was wearing neat sports clothes. He sat down on the couch and listened to Landers' account and said heavily, 'Oh, my God. What a terrible way for her to die. I hope it was quick for her-that she hadn't time to be frightened. I'm so very sorry.'
'You're a relative, sir?' asked Galeano. 'There has to be an autopsy. You'll be notified when you can claim the body.'
'Yes, there'll have to be a funeral. I'll see to it. No, not a relative.' He lit a cigarette and sat back with a little sigh.
'No, but I've known her for a long time. She was eighty-five. It had been nearly fifty years. I was-responsible for her, you could say. It's queer the way things happen. You don't know who she was. Neither of you is old enough to recognize the name. Isabel Page. She was a big star in the twenties, the thirties, up to the war. She was a beautiful woman. She made a lot of big money and she spent it. Those days the income tax wasn't so high. The house in Beverly Hills, the cars, the parties. I was her butler.' He laughed ruefully. 'Life's a queer proposition. I'd started out to try to make it in show business too, but we found it was a hell of a lot steadier work to take the servants' jobs. I was her butler and my wife was her housekeeper. She was a good woman-a silly woman some ways-sentimental, but very generous and warmhearted. Too much so. She was married four times and all four of them took her for a bundle, but it was the last one, Phillips, who cleaned her out. That was twenty-five years ago. We'd been with her for seventeen years.' He was smoking quietly, his eyes vacant on the past. 'Such a childlike person she was. How often she'd get in some muddle and then it'd be, But you'll fix it for me, Gregson-and I usually could-until the very last.'
'What happened?' asked Galeano.
'You see, we could never forget her kindness to Enid. My wife. She contracted polio, and you know back then they didn't know much about it, couldn't do much. And nobody had medical insurance then. Isabel Page paid for everything. Enid was in the hospital for weeks, and there were specialists, the private nurses. You might say that it was nothing to her, she had the money. But it wasn't just a gesture-she was a very warmhearted woman-genuinely concerned. We both feel it was all the expensive attention and care that pulled Enid through-though it left her with a slight limp. And then, Miss Page let us keep our little girl at the house. A good many people wealthy enough to have live-in servants won't be bothered with children, but she didn't mind. She was always so kind to Doreen too, Christmas and birthday presents. We were with her up to the end. Phillips cleaned her out, he'd tried to manage the money she had left and lost all of it. She never had any judgement about people, of course. All there was left after he took off with some floozy was the house in Beverly Hills. I sold that for her- got a hundred and fifty thousand. God, it'd go for a million now. And I put it into some solid stock, she could live on the income in a modest way. I had another job with one of the big producers up to when I retired five years ago. But the last ten years, all this damned inflation-' He put out his cigarette. 'Well, I'd saved and made some sound investments, rental property, and Enid and I are O.K. I couldn't afford to keep her in luxury, but I could pay the I rent here. Only just lately it's been worrying, the way she was going. She'd been failing the last couple of years-up to then she could look after herself fairly well. One of these visiting nurses came in every day, saw she had a bath and a hot meal. But I was afraid she'd have to go into a nursing home, just lately she'd taken to getting out and wandering all over-the reason I got that I.D. bracelet for her. She wanted to go home, you see-to the house in Beverly Hills. She was trying to get home. Well, it's finished. A terrible way for her to go. I hope she hadn't time to be frightened.'
'You'll be notified about the body,' said Landers. 'It was very good of you to look after her like that, Mr. Gregson.'
He had stood up. He looked at Landers with a little surprise. 'I don't see it quite like that,' he said. 'We have to pay our debts, you know.'
Mendoza got home on Wednesday afternoon. When the cab let him off at the door of the big Spanish house, he handed over the exorbitant fare and a tip and carried his bag into the house, into the blessed air-conditioning. It
