Murder by the Book Read Online Free PDF

pelican on its post. Under the faint flush of beginning sunburn her face was very white. He spoke her name, but she did not turn. She nodded her head, but did not turn.
    â€œGo tell somebody,” he said. “There’ll be somebody at the desk. I’ll stay here.”
    She nodded her head again. She said, “All right, Jerry,” in a strange voice. Then she moved away. She took two quick steps. Then she began to run.
    There was no hurry. Piersal would wait, would wait patiently for all the time there was. But there are conventions in such matters. Jerry North leaned against the rail and waited with him. Don’t touch. See that the body isn’t moved. Leave things as you find them; see that things are left.
    â€œDon’t tell me you left the body,” Bill Weigand—Captain William Weigand—would say. “You ought to know better by now, Jerry.”
    Bill wasn’t there. It was no business of Bill Weigand’s. It is no business of mine, Jerry thought. No business of ours—just that lousy luck of ours. You find a body in a bathtub, * and your life is changed. Changed for keeps. It’s going to be another hot day. We won’t play tennis today. He had a hell of a good backhand, Piersal had. He loved the game. Probably he loved many things—the feel of a ball hit cleanly, the taste of broiled shrimps in white wine sauce. All sorts of things. Big things and little things. Pam had told him about the pelicans and he had come out to see the pelicans and …
    Jerry shivered slightly. Policemen are not fools. William Weigand of Homicide West was one of the most intelligent men Jerry knew. There is no implication of guilt in the finding of a man murdered. Forty-eight hours ago, neither he nor Pam had laid eyes on Dr. Edmund Piersal. Pam had not invited Edmund Piersal to pier’s end to watch the feeding of pelicans. Of course she hadn’t. Oh, she might have said, “You ought to see them, doctor. Funny birds. They think people were made to fish for pelicans.”
    Jerry looked, with something like anger, at the pelican on its post. Silly-looking damn bird. Teddy or Freddy or whatever.
    There was movement at the shore end of the pier. A bellman in a red jacket ran along a path toward the pier. There wasn’t really any hurry, Jerry thought. An hour or so ago there might have been a time for that. Behind the bellman, trotting, was Paul Grogan, with the morning sun on his white hair. He looked behind Grogan. There was nobody else. That was a good thing. Pam had seen enough for that day.
    The bellman wore hard shoes. His feet thudded on the pier planking. He ran easily, as youth runs. Fifty feet or so away he suddenly stopped running, and came on slowly, with an odd kind of solemnity in his movement. He stopped some feet from the planks which were stained with blood. He said, “Jeeze.” Color went out from under the tan on his face. He said, “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
    â€œYes,” Jerry said. “He’s dead.”
    Paul Grogan came up, his face redder than ever from his running. He looked at the body. He said, “My God. Edmund.” He looked at Jerry North.
    â€œYes,” Jerry said. “He’s dead.”
    Jerry felt a little, and unpleasantly, like a master of ceremonies.
    He said, “You called the police?”
    â€œCounty sheriff,” Grogan said. “Who’d do a thing like this? To a man like Edmund Piersal?”
    Jerry did not have the answers. He said, “You knew him pretty well?”
    â€œPretty well,” Grogan said. “One of my regulars.” Jerry raised his eyebrows slightly. It was as good a thing as any to talk about.
    â€œPeople in my line,” Grogan said. “People who manage resort hotels. Down here this time of year. Some place up north in the summers. This place one year, maybe another place another year. People get used to us. Figure it’s the way a place is