Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 124, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 757 & 758, September/October 2004

“Then don’t try to tell me my job, sir. A murder investigation is a slow process. If we have to keep the park closed for a week, so be it. I’ll not be chivvied along by you.” He closed his notebook. “Have you spoken to Old Bag Dad yet?”

“No. Why should I?”

“Because he may be able to help us.”

“He’s been banned from the park at night.”

“So was Molly Mandrake, but that didn’t stop her, did it?”

“Old Bag Dad was nowhere near the place last night.”

“Nevertheless, we’d like to have a word with him.”

“It would be a waste of time,” said Latimer testily. “After what I said to him, he wouldn’t dare come here after dark. I put the fear of death into him.”

“I doubt that, sir,” said the other with a half-smile. “You obviously don’t know Old Bag Dad as well as we do. Did it never occur to you that Doug Pym let him stay here overnight for a reason?”

“Doug felt sorry for him, that’s all.”

“No, Mr. Latimer. Your predecessor had the sense to see how useful the old man could be. He was a sort of guard dog. There were no break-ins here when Old Bag Dad was on the prowl. And no drug users, either. Not because he’d try to arrest them — how could he? — but because he’d talk to them. He has a very persuasive tongue, you know. Old Bag Dad would do his damnedest to persuade them how stupid it was to rely on drugs for their kicks.”

Latimer was scornful. “We don’t need tramps here.”

“Fortunately, Doug Pym disagreed. That’s why we caught the lads who tried to vandalize the bowling green. Old Bag Dad saw them at it. He also foiled thieves who attempted to raid the botanical gardens. And there were many other occasions when he was a key witness.”

Latimer was stunned. “You’d listen to the word of a man like that?”

“With gratitude.”

“Well, he can’t help you this time, Inspector.”

“You may be surprised on that score.”

Fallowell turned away to supervise his scene-of-crime team and the park keeper was left to ponder. He was seething with frustration. The murder had made nonsense of his claim to have cleaned up the park. It was almost as if someone were deliberately trying to get back at him. He could think of only one person who might do that — Old Bag Dad.

It was two days before the park was reopened. Visitors swarmed in, still buzzing with curiosity about the crime and anxious to see the exact place where it had occurred. Molly Mandrake’s profession added a lurid glow to the whole affair. In their press statement, the police announced that the victim had suffered death by asphyxiation, though they were reticent about any sexual abuse involved. Colorful theories abounded.

When the head park keeper did a circuit of his domain, he was taken aback to see Old Bag Dad on his favorite bench. The tramp was in the process of eating a banana. Ken Latimer bore down on him.

“Don’t you dare throw that banana skin on the ground,” he warned.

“You have enough of those already,” said the tramp with a glint in his eye. “And it seems that you slipped on one of them. What happened to your nightly patrol, Mr. Latimer? You boasted that you’d make the park safe after dark.”

“That’s exactly what I did.”

“Try telling that to Molly Mandrake.”

“She had no business being in here.”

Old Bag Dad stiffened. “I hope you’re not going to tell me that she was asking for it,” he said, sounding a note of challenge. “No woman should suffer that fate. Molly may not’ve been a saint, but she’s entitled to our sympathy. God bless her!”

“Have you spoken to the police yet?” demanded Latimer.

“Why on earth should I do that?”

“Chief Inspector Fallowell thought you might’ve seen something.”

“Yes,” said the tramp with a chuckle. “I noticed that Tom Fallowell was in charge of the case. He’s a friend of mine. Give him my regards when you see him again.”

“You’re the one who should see him.”

“Am I?”

“Tell him what you know.”

“About what?”

“This crime,” said Latimer with irritation. “You know this park, and the people who use it, better than anybody. You must have ideas.”

“Dozens of them,” admitted the other, getting up. “Excuse me while I put this banana skin in the bin. You won’t slip on it then.”

“Were you acquainted with Molly Mandrake?”

“Not in a professional sense.” He dropped the banana skin into the metal bin. “But we often had a chat. Molly was good company. She used to be a bus conductor, you know. In the dear old days when we had such luxuries. Apparently, that’s how it all started.”

“What did?”

“Her change of direction. When they switched over to driver-only buses, Molly was out of work. She’d been so popular with her male colleagues that she decided to start charging for her expertise. I recall her telling me that it was just like being a bus conductor,” he went on with a fond smile. “They bought their ticket and she took them on a very pleasant journey.” He heaved a sigh. “The other night, alas, she reached her terminus.”

Latimer eyed him shrewdly. “You know something, don’t you?”

“I know lots of things, my friend.”

“You have information about this murder.”

“How could I?”