Fletch Won

come of age.”

“Wow! This shoemaker’s children have shoes. Or will have.”

“Nothing remarkable about leaving everything directly to the grandchildren.”

“You haven’t seen these grandchildren fight over a noisy toy tank.”

“Brats, uh?”

“Given an inheritance, the violence those kids will be able to raise might astound the Western World, as we know it.”

“Great. Sounds like they’ll each need lawyers.”

“Of one sort or another.”

“And you don’t think their papa, the poet of violence, bumped off their grandpapa?”

“What Tom Farliegh is best at is engineering mud into his babas’ maws.”

“Come again?”

“Violence is not natural to Tom Farliegh. He gets it from his in-laws.”

“I was hoping you’d pin the punk. So none of the family bumped off Habeck?”

“Any one of them could have, including Louise, including Nancy, even including the son, Robert, who is a monk. Each in her or his own way expressed the sentiment, to hell with Donald Habeck. Two elements, one big, one small, bother me. The big one is that I can’t establish that any of them knew before Donald was murdered that he planned to disinherit them all in behalf of a museum and a monastery. Of course, it’s hard to prove what people know and when they know it. But with the wife in an institution, the daughter in squalor, and the son in a monastery, when each says she or he didn’t know the change in Donald’s life and death plans, how can one not believe them?”

“A lawyer never believes anyone, and that’s the truth.”

“The weird thing that bothers me is how these people get around. Would you believe, in this day and age, none has a car? The Farlieghs’ car is just one more broken toy in their front weed-patch. Robert’s use of vehicles is limited. Louise sits in cars until their owner comes back and takes her where she wants to go, ultimately. None would seem to be able to time things, such as murder, too well. I don’t think the murderer drove into the parking lot of the News-Tribune, but how did he or she get there without a car?”

“Pardon me for saying so, Fletch, but there are other lines of investigation to be followed. I hope you’re leaving something for the police to do. Wash out my mouth, but Habeck’s partners, for example.”

“You’re right. But the family came first. Donald Habeck was about to announce he was disinheriting them. That’s a clear motive for murder, isn’t it?”

“…The list of his present and past clients…”

“Yeah. I saw Gabais. Habeck used him for publicity; in Gabais’s words, wrecked not only him, but his crippled sister. Hates Habeck. But I don’t think Gabais could organize himself enough to do murder. I think he pretty well gave up on his life when he saw his dogs’ heads bashed in.”

“…Stuart Childers.”

“Yeah. Tell me about him. How strong was the evidence that he killed his brother?”

“Very strong, but, unfortunately, all self-admitted. I’ve got the file somewhere here on my desk. Thought you’d want it. Here it is. Richard was the elder brother, by about two years. A complete playboy. Never worked, never married, sponged off his parents, hung out with the yachty set, wrecked about one sports car a year. In his last car wreck, the girl who was with him was killed. Variously over the years Richard had also been charged with possession of small amounts of controlled substances, paternity twice, vandalism, one case of arson. He tried to burn down a boat shed. His parents always got him off.”

“Using Habeck, Harrison and Haller?”

“Yes. That’s how I know.”

“Parents are rich?”

“You’ve heard of Childers Insurance. Biggest, oldest, richest insurance brokerage firm in the city.”

“On City Boulevard, right?”

“That’s where their main office is, yes. Stuart, on the other hand, was the good son, dutiful, diligent, all that, never any trouble, graduated college with honors, worked for Childers Insurance every summer since he was sixteen, entered the firm as a qualified broker the November after he graduated.”

“Good son, bad son, bleh,” Fletch said.

In the street in front of him, another police car cruised by slowly.

“After the last car wreck, in which the girl was killed, Mama and Papa Childers turned Richard off. No more family money for him. He had to prove himself, go get a job, stay out of trouble, et cetera, et cetera.”

“There’s always an instead right about here in this story.”

“Instead, Richard proved himself by blackmailing his brother. Or attempting to.”

“What had Stuart done wrong?”

“Gotten his honors degree by cheating. Paid some instructor to write his honors thesis for him. Richard, of course, never graduated from college, but had contacts at the old place, knew the instructor, et cetera.”

“And the thought of being exposed, especially to his parents, proven to be no better than his brother, drove Stuart crazy.”

“So he said.”

“Who said?”

“Stuart said. Richard was found dead on the sidewalk fourteen stories below the terrace of his apartment. There was lots of evidence of a fight having happened in the apartment, turned-over chairs, tables, smashed glass, et cetera. Stuart’s fingerprints were found in the apartment. So were others’. Because of Richard’s wild acquaintance, the inquest’s finding was Death by Person or Persons Unknown.”

“I know Stuart confessed.”

“Loud and clear. He walked into a police station late one afternoon, said he wanted to confess, was read his rights, taken into a room where he confessed into a tape-recorder, waited until the confession was typed up, then signed it.”

“Enter Donald Habeck.”

“Donald Habeck entered immediately, as soon the Childers knew their son was at the cop house confessing to killing his brother. Habeck ordered an immediate blood-alcohol test. Apparently, Stuart had braced himself with almost a quart of gin that day, before going to confess.”

“So the confession was no good?”

“Not only did the cops know he was drunk while making the confession, they even gave him maintenance drinks, of whiskey, to keep him going during the confession, and before he signed.”

“How could they be so stupid?”

“Listen. Cops try to get what they can get before the lawyer shows up. And that’s usually when they make their mistakes.”

“In vino veritas is not a tenet of the law, huh?”

“In Habeck’s own handwriting, I read you from the file: ‘In court, keep Stuart sedated.’ ”

“They drugged him.”

“Right.”

Fletch remembered Felix Gabais saying, “You know what a defendant feels like at a trial? He’s in a daze…. What they’re sayin’ has nothin’ to do with what you’ve always thought about yourself…. You’re struck dumb….” “Maybe they needn’t have bothered.”

“The confession was found inadmissible by the court. And, even though Richard and Stuart were known not to be friends, Habeck pointed out that a person’s fingerprints found in his brother’s apartment is insufficient evidence for the charge of murder, especially when there were many unidentifiable fingerprints there.”

“You said everyone has a right to the best defense.”

“Of course.”

“Even involuntarily?”

“I don’t know. All Habeck had to do here was raise a question of reasonable doubt, and that’s what he did.”

“Stuart Childers confessed!”