Yet directly across the harbour he could see the hillside homes of Landfall Point and the Linneker private beach.
The business manager’s name was Pitzer. He was a barrel-chested bull of a man who looked as if he had come up the hard way. Most of the building was panelled inside with rich mahogany but Pitzer’s upstairs office was the plainest of the lot. His manner was brusque and efficient. After a crunching handshake, he waved Holt to a chair. “District Attorney, huh? What can I do for you?”
“I’m investigating the Linneker case, as you’ve probably guessed. I’d appreciate any help you can give me, Mr. Pitzer.”
“I’ll do anything I can, of course,” said Pitzer warily and Holt reflected that the business manager occupied a delicate position. He was undoubtedly aware of the police suspicions, yet Tara Linneker was now his employer and he could hardly afford to antagonize her. “What’d you have in mind?”
Holt said bluntly, “The truth of the matter is that my office is still feeling its way. We’re not trying to build a case against anyone in particular. It did strike me that the murder — the way it was done and all — has the aspects of a grudge killing. I wondered if you might know of any enemies that Rudy Linneker had.”
Pitzer nodded slowly and seemed to relax somewhat. “Well, Rudy had his enemies, all right. Who doesn’t? But nothing that serious.”
“How about business rivals? Any bad blood there? Maybe somebody he got the best of in a deal or — ”
Pitzer chuckled. “Excuse me, Mr. Holt, but that’s so ridiculous I can’t help laughing. I think you people in government sometimes get queer notions about us businessmen. Believe me, that sort of thing just doesn’t happen.”
“Was Mr. Linneker popular with his employees?”
“Everybody likes Santa Claus, don’t they? Our scale is the highest in the area, paid vacations, Christmas bonus, good retirement plan, pensions for disability. This is a good place to work, Mr. Holt.” Pitzer added, “We’ve got a loyal bunch of men, most of them been here for years.”
“Never any trouble or threats, then?”
“Oh, we occasionally get a misfit but that kind doesn’t last long. We try to run a happy company.” Pitzer stared thoughtfully out the window. “I really don’t understand it at all.”
“These misfits, the people you’ve had to fire,” Holt pursued. “Would you have any recollection of them?”
“You bet.” Pitzer leaned close to the intercom on his desk and held down the switch. “Vera, bring me the carbon on that list of terminated employees. You know, the one you typed up for the police last week.”
Holt smiled disappointedly. “I guess the ground’s already been covered. I was wondering if you’d had to fire anyone around the first of December.”
“Don’t recall offhand.” Pitzer chewed his lip, pondering. “It’s our general policy not to let anyone go close to Christmas if we can help it.” The door opened and a secretary brought in two typewritten sheets of paper, stapled together. “Here we are. This covers the period from the beginning of the fiscal year.”
Holt looked over the list of names and addresses. Each entry was preceded by the date of dismissal. A large group was listed for August. He commented on this presumably mass firing and was told that a logging strike in the Pacific Northwest had forced the yard to suspend operations temporarily. “Most of those men are back to work for us now, though,” Pitzer added.
“What about these two?” asked Holt and read off a pair of names. Ernest Farnum. James O’Hara. The date of firing was the middle of November. They were the only dismissals listed close to the date he sought.
“Oh, yeah,” murmured Pitzer. “Forgot about Farnum and O’Hara. Couple of mill hands. They got into a fight about something, don’t know what, regular Pier Six brawl. Farnum got the tar beat out of him. Had to fire both of them, no choice,
The business manager’s name was Pitzer. He was a barrel-chested bull of a man who looked as if he had come up the hard way. Most of the building was panelled inside with rich mahogany but Pitzer’s upstairs office was the plainest of the lot. His manner was brusque and efficient. After a crunching handshake, he waved Holt to a chair. “District Attorney, huh? What can I do for you?”
“I’m investigating the Linneker case, as you’ve probably guessed. I’d appreciate any help you can give me, Mr. Pitzer.”
“I’ll do anything I can, of course,” said Pitzer warily and Holt reflected that the business manager occupied a delicate position. He was undoubtedly aware of the police suspicions, yet Tara Linneker was now his employer and he could hardly afford to antagonize her. “What’d you have in mind?”
Holt said bluntly, “The truth of the matter is that my office is still feeling its way. We’re not trying to build a case against anyone in particular. It did strike me that the murder — the way it was done and all — has the aspects of a grudge killing. I wondered if you might know of any enemies that Rudy Linneker had.”
Pitzer nodded slowly and seemed to relax somewhat. “Well, Rudy had his enemies, all right. Who doesn’t? But nothing that serious.”
“How about business rivals? Any bad blood there? Maybe somebody he got the best of in a deal or — ”
Pitzer chuckled. “Excuse me, Mr. Holt, but that’s so ridiculous I can’t help laughing. I think you people in government sometimes get queer notions about us businessmen. Believe me, that sort of thing just doesn’t happen.”
“Was Mr. Linneker popular with his employees?”
“Everybody likes Santa Claus, don’t they? Our scale is the highest in the area, paid vacations, Christmas bonus, good retirement plan, pensions for disability. This is a good place to work, Mr. Holt.” Pitzer added, “We’ve got a loyal bunch of men, most of them been here for years.”
“Never any trouble or threats, then?”
“Oh, we occasionally get a misfit but that kind doesn’t last long. We try to run a happy company.” Pitzer stared thoughtfully out the window. “I really don’t understand it at all.”
“These misfits, the people you’ve had to fire,” Holt pursued. “Would you have any recollection of them?”
“You bet.” Pitzer leaned close to the intercom on his desk and held down the switch. “Vera, bring me the carbon on that list of terminated employees. You know, the one you typed up for the police last week.”
Holt smiled disappointedly. “I guess the ground’s already been covered. I was wondering if you’d had to fire anyone around the first of December.”
“Don’t recall offhand.” Pitzer chewed his lip, pondering. “It’s our general policy not to let anyone go close to Christmas if we can help it.” The door opened and a secretary brought in two typewritten sheets of paper, stapled together. “Here we are. This covers the period from the beginning of the fiscal year.”
Holt looked over the list of names and addresses. Each entry was preceded by the date of dismissal. A large group was listed for August. He commented on this presumably mass firing and was told that a logging strike in the Pacific Northwest had forced the yard to suspend operations temporarily. “Most of those men are back to work for us now, though,” Pitzer added.
“What about these two?” asked Holt and read off a pair of names. Ernest Farnum. James O’Hara. The date of firing was the middle of November. They were the only dismissals listed close to the date he sought.
“Oh, yeah,” murmured Pitzer. “Forgot about Farnum and O’Hara. Couple of mill hands. They got into a fight about something, don’t know what, regular Pier Six brawl. Farnum got the tar beat out of him. Had to fire both of them, no choice,
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