Leopold's Way by Edward D. Hoch

“Then I went home.”
    â€œFlown was killed around eleven. Ever do any skindiving?”
    â€œMe? You kidding?”
    Someone in the crowd around the fish barrel yelled at Reever to get back to work. Leopold stood in the corner a few minutes, watching. Then he went over to the man. “Did you know Thad Proctor, too?”
    Reever frowned. Finally he answered, “We get to know all the regular fishermen. Sure I knew him.”
    â€œThanks. We’ll be in touch with you.”
    Driving back downtown, Leopold felt he had accomplished something. Frank Reever was a link between the two murdered men—he had known the fisherman, Proctor, and he admitted having threatened Dr. Flown. It was something for the boys to work on…
    But, by Tuesday morning, Leopold’s fire had cooled. The Reever lead seemed remote and the calendar on his desk made the coming Saturday night loom large with another possible killing. Well, all right, if he didn’t get a break by Saturday he could put a dozen police boats out on patrol. He might even persuade the Safety Commissioner to ban all boats from the harbor. Or were two murders the end of it?
    Fletcher poked his head into the office. “The Commissioner was looking for you yesterday on those harbor killings, Captain.”
    â€œI was working on them.”
    â€œI told him that. But he doesn’t think a captain of Homicide should have to pound the pavements himself. Said that’s what you’ve got us for.”
    â€œHell! Does he want this nut or doesn’t he?” Leopold exploded. “I could use another ten men on this case! Oh, Browning, come in.”
    Browning had appeared in the doorway behind Fletcher, holding a stapled sheaf of typewritten sheets. “Here’s the dope, Captain. Every skindiver within fifty miles.”
    â€œHow many are there?” Leopold asked eagerly.
    â€œI counted 252 on the mailing list of that newsletter, and we picked up an additional 28 names at the area stores—I mean, names that weren’t on the newsletter list. I’ve combined them into one master list—280 names and addresses, arranged alphabetically. Of course, not all these people are active skindivers. Some just have a casual interest in it.”
    â€œLeave one copy with me, and you and Fletcher start working down the other one. Get help if you need it. Check every name, report anything suspicious. Oh, one other thing, Browning. Get me a list of expert swimmers in the area—the college swimming team, that sort of thing. Just in case we’re on the wrong track with this skindiver angle.”
    Leopold went carefully through the skindiver list, studying each name in an attempt to jog some dormant memory: Adams, Aldrich, Anderson, Appelbaum, Babcock, Bailey, Bauer, Beckerman, Bentley, Bishop, Bond, Brown, Brozzi, Burns, Callario, Childs…
    His eyes skipped to the P’s, but there was no Proctor. Also no Reever, and no Mrs. Flown. Which proved nothing, really. But the thought of Mrs. Flown reminded him of unfinished business. He left the list on his desk and reached for his hat.
    This time Mrs. Flown was sober. But she was in no better spirits. He found her working in the garden behind the house, and she was on the defensive from the beginning. “You trying to pin Oscar’s murder on me?”
    Leopold said, “Only if you’re guilty, Mrs. Flown.”
    â€œI was with a dozen people when he was shot.”
    â€œThen you have nothing to worry about. Did you know this other man who was killed—Thad Proctor?”
    â€œThe fisherman?” She made it a dirty word. “Of course not.”
    â€œYour husband ever have any dealings with him?”
    â€œHe never mentioned a Thad Proctor to me.”
    â€œCan you give me a list of your husband’s patients, Mrs. Flown?”
    â€œSome. The hospital would have the rest.”
    She took Captain Leopold into the house and he went through