The Suspect - L R Wright by L. R. Wright Page A

and
sore, from Tuesday's efforts.
    "What have you done, exactly?" said George,
sitting down again. "Besides take the fingerprints of innocent
bystanders, I mean. Did you photograph the corpse? Query people up
and down the street?"
    Alberg nodded. He told himself that he had lots of
time.
    "You found that fish seller yet?"
    Alberg shook his head.
    "Probably in Vancouver by now,” said George.
"Or on his way to Calgary or someplace. What else? What do you
know? The autopsy, for instance. There must have been an autopsy.
What did that tell you?”
    " He was struck on the head. It killed him.”
    George looked at him for a long moment, then sat back
and folded his arms. "I always said you were a secretive bunch,
you Mounties. In or out of uniform."
    Alberg couldn't help but grin. "There's not much
to tell you. Really. Okay. There are a few things." He counted
them off on his fingers. "One, the perpetrator didn't force his
way in. Two, the victim was struck from behind, while sitting down.
Three, no damage was done—"
    " Except to Carlyle,” said George.
    "— to the house. Four, nothing was stolen, that
we know of. Of course the forensic guys found some fingerprints. The
victim's, a cleaning woman's, yours.” ,
    The coffee was bubbling now, its fragrance drifting
through the kitchen. George got up and took two mugs and a sugar bowl
from the cupboard and a small container of milk from
the
fridge. He smelled this cautiously before putting it on the counter.
    "What do you figure from all that?” he said,
taking the pot off the burner and placing it in the middle of the
stove. "An unknown person went to Mr. Burke's house, armed with
a blunt instrument. Mr. Burke let him in. He sat in his rocking chair
looking out over the water. The unknown person struck him, from
behind. He died almost instantly.”
    George poured the coffee and put the mugs down on the
crossword puzzle on the footstool. He went back for the milk and
sugar and two spoons. "Help yourself,” he said, and shoveled
sugar into his mug, and stirred it vigorously. "Why the hell
would Carlyle let the fellow in," he said, "if he was
carrying a blunt instrument?"
    " That's an interesting question,” said Alberg,
reaching for his coffee. "Maybe he didn't recognize the object
as a weapon,” he said, looking at George. "Or maybe the killer
used something he found in the house.”
    George sipped at his coffee, staring at the floor.
"Have you found it?" he said finally. "The object? The
weapon?"
    " No.”
    George looked up. "It's probably out in the
middle of the ocean by now,” he said comfortably.
    Alberg observed him grimly. "You can be a very
irritating man, Mr. Wilcox. Did anybody ever tell you that? I bet
they did.”
    George grinned. He drank some more coffee, added a
small amount of milk, and stirred it again. He put the spoon down on
the newspaper. "Okay. So you want to know about l Carlyle.”
    " Right." '
    " You been down to the Old Age Pensioners' hall?
He was in a choir there. Played bingo or checkers or something, too,
I think.”
    "Yeah, we've done all that. Didn't help us
much.”
    George looked at him shrewdly over the top of his
mug. "How come I rate the big cheese, by the way?"
    " You found the body."
 
"That was just my bad luck," said George.
"I told you, I didn't know him all that well. How well do we
ever know anybody, when it comes right down to it?"
    Alberg put his coffee down on the TV tray. He took
from an inside pocket an envelope on which he had scribbled a list.
    " We went through the house pretty thoroughly, of
course,” he said, and looked up to see George Wilcox watching him
warily. "He had a lot of stuff, did Mr. Burke. A stereo, very I
good speakers."
    " Huh," said George, contemptuously.
    " A twenty~six-inch remote control color
television set. An aluminum rowboat. An upright grand piano, white."
    George grunted.
    " A whole lot of silverware: flatware, a tea set,
trays and things. A bunch of china—that might be valuable too.”
    "