building
must be told immediately that nothing is to be touched.
Nothing. I cannot be expected to
solve a murder if the evidence is trampled and tampered with before I arrive.'
'Eminently sensible,' replied the
mayor. 'What else?'
'I am to have full authority over the
investigation, including the choice of detective.'
'Done,' said the mayor. 'You can have
the most seasoned man on the force.'
'Exactly what I don't want,' replied
the coroner. 'It would be gratifying for once to have a detective who won't
sell out the case after I have solved it. There's a new fellow - Littlemore.
He's the one I want.'
'Littlemore? Excellent,' said the
mayor, turning his attention to the stack of papers on his large desk. 'Bingham
used to say he's one of the brightest youngsters we have.'
'Brightest? He's a perfect idiot.'
The mayor was startled: 'If you think
so, Hugel, why do you want him?'
'Because he can't be bought - at
least not yet.'
When Coroner Hugel arrived at the Balmoral,
he was told to wait for Mr Banwell. Hugel hated being made to wait. He was
fifty-nine years old, the last thirty of which had been spent in municipal
service, much of it in the unhealthy confines of city morgues, which had lent
his face a grayish cast. He wore thick glasses and an oversized mustache
between his hollow cheeks. He was altogether bald except for a wiry tuft
sprouting from behind each ear. Hugel was an excitable man. Even in repose, a
swelling in his temples gave the impression of incipient apoplexia.
The position of coroner in New York
City was in 1909 a peculiar one, an irregularity in the chain of command. Part
medical examiner, part forensic investigator, part prosecutor, the coroner
reported directly to the mayor. He did not answer to anyone on the police
force, not even the commissioner; but neither did anyone on the force answer to
him, not even the lowliest beat patrolman. Hugel had little but scorn for the
police department, which he viewed, with some justification, as largely inept
and thoroughly crooked. He objected to the mayor's handling of the retirement
of Chief Inspector Byrnes, who had obviously grown rich on bribes. He objected
to the new commissioner, who did not appear to have the slightest appreciation
of the art or importance of a properly held inquest. In fact, he objected to
every departmental decision he ever heard of, unless it had been made by
himself. But he knew his job. Although not technically a doctor, he had
attended a full three years of medical school and could perform a more expert
autopsy than the physicians who served as his assistants.
After fifteen infuriating minutes, Mr
Banwell at last appeared. He wasn't, in fact, much taller than Hugel but seemed
to tower over him. 'And you are?' he asked.
'The coroner of the City of New
York,' said Hugel, trying to express condescension. 'I alone touch the
deceased. Any disturbance of evidence will be prosecuted as obstruction. Am I
understood?'
George Banwell was - and plainly knew
it - taller, handsomer, better dressed, and much, much richer than the coroner.
'Rubbish,' he said. 'Follow me. And keep your voice down while you're in my
building.'
Banwell led the way to the top floor
of the Alabaster Wing. Coroner Hugel, grinding his teeth, followed. Not a word
was spoken in the elevator. Hugel, staring resolutely at the floor, observed Mr
Banwell's perfectly creased pinstriped trousers and gleaming oxfords, which
doubtless cost more than the coroners suit, vest, tie, hat, and shoes put
together. A manservant, standing guard outside Miss Riverford's apartment,
opened the door for them. Silently, Banwell led Hugel, the head manager, and
the servant down a long corridor to the girl's bedroom.
The nearly naked body lay on the
floor, livid, eyes closed, luxurious dark hair strewn across the intricate
design of an Oriental carpet. She