“To avoid responsibility’s the way I see it.”
“What kind of responsibility?”
“I’d say somebody wants to renege on a lease some way. If there’s no lease, he can’t be accused of it.”
The chief took a plug of chewing tobacco from his shirt pocket, bit off a piece, and offered it to Wilks, who shook his head. “Now that reminds me of a story,” he said, repocketing the tobacco. “There was this hunter who wasn’t a very bright guy and when he was coming home empty-handed one evening, he came upon a sign which said ‘$10 fine for trespassing.’ Well, it was late and he was tired, so he cut through the forbidden property anyway and he didn’t get far before he had the bad luck to run into the owner. The owner grabbed him and said, ‘You’re under arrest for trespassing.’ So you know what the hunter did? He shot and killed the owner.
“Well, what happened, of course, was he got caught and hung for murder, but that not-so-bright hunter, he died with a smile on his lips. You know why? Because he was thinking to himself: ‘I never did get fined that ten dollars.’ ”
Wilks said, “Get to the point, Fred.”
Fellows scratched a cheek. “The point is I don’t think many people are as dumb as that hunter. That’s the intriguing thing about this case. If a guy wants to run out on a lease, why doesn’t he just run? Breaking and entering is a crime.” He chewed thoughtfully. “Seems to me a fellow’d only do that to hide a worse crime, not a lesser one.”
“You take this seriously then?”
“Yes, I guess I do.”
“You want me to fingerprint his office?”
“I don’t know, Sid. I don’t know about that.” He reached under the counter for the phone book and hunted up Restlin’s number. He got the man on the phone and said, “What have you found, Mr. Restlin?”
“I’m making a list,” Restlin told him. “People who’re behind in their rent. I’m not through yet.”
“How many’ve you got?”
“Five so far.”
“Anybody owe much?”
“One family owes two months.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what you do,” Fellows said. “You hold off doing that and, instead, look up everybody who’s on a short-term lease right now. Then you call me back.”
He hung up, and Wilks said, “You got something on your mind, Fred?”
“Like I said. Who’d commit a crime to break a lease?”
CHAPTER II
Thursday, 11:00-12:00
Restlin called back in three quarters of an hour. He was both excited and nervous. “I want to tell you, Chief, I did like you said, and there’s one house. There’s this guy, name of Campbell, who took the house for a month, signed a month’s lease, signed it in January. There’s something funny going on around there, because it’s available the first of March, and yesterday in the afternoon Watly took a prospect out to look at it and the place was all locked up. There wasn’t nobody home.”
“Is that unusual on a working day?”
“There wasn’t even his wife home. What do you think’s the matter? That’s one of my own houses. I want to know what’s the matter.”
The chief said, “I don’t know that anything’s the matter, Mr. Restlin. That’s your only short-term lease?”
“Yes, and he paid in advance. I don’t know why you think anything’s wrong there. He can’t gyp me.”
“All the same, Mr. Restlin, suppose we go out and have a look at that house? We’ll pick you up.” He put down the phone as Wilks came in with two containers of coffee. He said, “Drink up, Sid. We’re going to have a look at a house.”
“Empty, I suppose.”
“It was yesterday afternoon.”
“But you don’t think it’s lease-breaking. You think somebody used it for a hide-out?”
Fellows shrugged. “Hide-out, stolen goods, I don’t know. Maybe for nothing.”
“Suppose it was a hide-out. Why break in and steal the lease? The guy must’ve known Restlin would have his name.”
Fellows removed the lid of his container and blew on the black coffee inside. “I’m just fumbling around, Sid, that’s all. You put sugar in this?”
“No. I remembered.”
“Good.” He sipped and made a face and said, “I hate coffee without milk and sugar. Go get Unger to take over here, will you? He’s in communications.”
Wilks and Fellows picked up Restlin about twenty after eleven and the three drove out to the house in the black police station wagon. The two policemen had little to say, but Frank Restlin was voluble. “The fellow paid cash for it. What would he want to steal the lease for? You ought to look at the people who owe me money. You ought to take fingerprints.”
The house was out of town nearly three miles, the first one on the left off Old Town Road on Highland. It was a white bungalow with five small rooms, a cellar and an attic, set back fifty feet with a dry, bare lawn around it. There was a drive on the right to an unpainted one-car garage in back and the acre of property on which it stood was mostly woods. The nearest house was a hundred yards away across the street.
Fellows swung the car into the drive and they got out by the garage. There were a couple of clothespoles with an old sagging line, a weather-beaten seesaw, and a broken sandbox leaking its contents by the deeper grass at the edge of the yard. The chief, in a leather jacket, fishing cap, blue riding pants, and laced leather boots, crunched across the hard ground to the back porch. He stamped on the planks and looked at the windows as he rang the bell. The two on the left were shaded and the one on the right stared back emptily. The whole atmosphere was desertion and disuse. “I don’t think anybody’s home today either,” he said. “You might
