Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

“Do your children come to see you often?” When she nodded affirmatively, I asked, “How many children do you have?”

“Seven,” she answered with a broad smile.

“And can you tell me their names?”

“Yes. There’s George, Warren, Gladys, Esther, Judith, Marion, Terrence...” she paused.

“Do you have a son named Gilbert?”

“Oh yes, Gilbert. Such a nice boy.”

“But that’s eight children,” I pointed out.

“Yes, eight,” she nodded pleasantly.

“Can you tell me their names again?” I asked.

“Sure. Gilbert, Nancy, Everett, George, Solomon, Rita, John, Henry, and... and...”

I knew then I had struck out. They told me at the desk that a son answering Gilbert’s description had visited her frequently in recent weeks. They said she also had several other children who came, as well as some adult grandchildren; they weren’t sure how many. So much for Mrs. Carver. Time had evidently dimmed her memory as to who was which, but she apparently did have a large and devoted family. No wonder she smiled so much.

It wasn’t until I got back late that afternoon and passed his closed office door that I thought again about Reggie and his rambling rose.

Oops! I said to myself as I slunk by quickly. Hope he’s made contact with Vanishing Violet by now. But just in case he hadn’t, I quietly dashed in and out of my own office and slipped down the back stairway. I couldn’t see that it would calm his nerves any if I told him I’d spotted her at the police station.

At two A.M. my phone wrenched me out of a good night’s sleep. Reggie’s scrappy voice came on as soon as I answered. “Jane! The police are searching my apartment,” he screamed in terror.

“What for?” I asked.

“I don’t know. They won’t tell me. Could you come over right away? You work with police. Maybe you can handle them. I don’t know what to do.”

What could I say? He lived close by. I got there in minutes. But it was already too late. I recognized the burly figure of Ed Lucero coming down the steps of the building.

“Hi, Jane. We found it,” Ed said to me cheerily, just as though I should know what he was talking about.

“You did?” I asked, just as though I knew what we were both talking about.

“Not all, but I saw enough from recent jewelry store burglaries to cinch the case. Come on back to the station and I’ll tell you about it,” Ed said in his big, friendly way.

My mouth was already opening with a question, but I gaped even wider when I saw them leading poor Reggie out in handcuffs. Hideous green and yellow checked pajamas stuck out below his coat, and leather mules flapped on his reluctant feet. He stopped protesting when he spotted me.

“Help me!” he shrieked in a wail that pierced the night as they loaded him into a police car.

“I think you may have the wrong man,” I said to Ed.

“But he’s got the goods,” Ed said.

“That’s one thing I don’t understand,” I answered. “The other thing is: what made you look in his apartment?”

Ed explained that Reggie’s cleaning lady, who had read about all the jewelry store robberies, called in and announced that she’d found too many little packages of sparkly stuff hidden in odd places in his apartment.

On the way downtown I told Ed what I knew of the panicky shrink they had taken into custody. He agreed that Reggie’s biography didn’t seem to fit with robbing jewelry stores.

“Somebody must have set him up,” Ed concluded. “But who, and why?”

It was then that I remembered seeing Violet at the police station earlier that day. When I mentioned this to Ed he said, “Yeah. After you asked me about her I found out why she was there. She was waiting for that guy Gilbert Carver. I guess she’s his girlfriend because she walked out with him after you questioned him. They were having a big argument.”

“She’s the only possible link between Reggie and this case,” I pointed out. “Maybe you’d better pick her up.”

“Done,” Ed said, reaching for his phone.

I went on home after arranging for Reggie to be released as painlessly as possible. Ed said he’d call me when they brought Violet in.

Late the next morning, I was not surprised when Reggie, looking more haggard than usual, floated into my office. I could see he was still in shock.

“It was awful,” he breathed heavily as he sank into a chair. “They treated me like a criminal.”

“You were caught with the loot,” I reminded him.

“But it wasn’t mine,” he said. Then he calmed down and reverted to his usual style. “It is extremely deflating to one’s ego, you know, especially if one’s response system is unaccustomed to unwarranted stress.”

“How do you suppose the jewelry got hidden in your place?” I asked.

“I can’t imagine. I’m away a lot. Anyone could have sneaked in and put it there, but I don’t know why.”

“What about Violet?” I asked. “Any chance that...”

“Oh, no! How would she have access to stolen... loot?” he demanded. “Why would you suspect her?”

“She wears a lot of jewelry, for one thing. How well do you know her?” I asked. But I was unprepared for the rush of color that rose up from his starchy collar.