Leopold's Way by Edward D. Hoch Page B

Captain skimmed through the lab reports. Not pregnant. First shot passed through the body, killing her instantly. Slug not recovered, probably skidded overside. Second shot in the chest as she lay on the deck. Bullet identical with the ones that had killed Flown and Proctor.
    He picked up the report on Martin Irving. Apparently the young man had been a hundred miles away at the time of the first and second murders, each of which had been committed on a Saturday night.
    Leopold flicked a button on his desk. “Browning?”
    â€œYes, Captain.”
    â€œFind out if this fellow Irving does any skindiving back home. And assemble everyone for a meeting right after lunch. We’ve got to move fast if we’re going to get the newspapers off our backs.”
    But the noon editions moved faster. The morning’s HARBOR PHANTOM KILLS AGAIN! had been replaced by POLICE HELPLESS AGAINST MADMAN. And when Leopold returned from lunch, the hallway outside his office was crowded with reporters. He slipped through another door before they noticed him, and buzzed Fletcher, Browning, and the others.
    When they were all in the tiny office, Leopold lolled back in his chair in his deceptively sleepy manner. “Killings—three in eleven days. All by the same man, with the same gun, and you wouldn’t bet he’s through yet. Our skindiving killer may be nuts—but even nuttiness can make sense of a sort.
    â€œThe killer may be after just one of the victims. It’s the old A, B, C theory, in which only A or B or C is the real victim, the others serving merely to confuse the issue. Bearing this out is the fact that we’ve found nothing linking the three victims together. A second possibility is that he hates people with boats. Any people, any boats.”
    â€œThat would make him a nut,” Fletcher agreed.
    â€œBut not too much of a nut,” Leopold said dryly. “If this Martin Irving is telling the truth, the skindiver paused over his third victim long enough to fire a second bullet into her, though it must have been obvious to him she was dead. Why risk capture or identification in order to fire an apparently unnecessary bullet? Because the first bullet had passed clean through her and was lost. Looks to me as if the skindiver took the time and risk to fire that second shot just so we’d have a bullet to compare with the ones from the other two victims’ bodies. This man may be mad, but he’s intent on making us believe the killings are connected.
    â€œThat would also explain the use of a pistol rather than a knife. It’s next to impossible to prove three people were stabbed with the same knife, but with the same gun there’s proof positive. It’s important enough for our killer to bother with a waterproof holster, which must certainly slow down his movements.”
    â€œYou’re sure it’s a skindiver?” Browning asked.
    â€œThe evidence all points to it, and this fellow Irving claims he actually saw him. I think we can reasonably assume it’s someone on this master list. We’ve got to redouble our efforts to check out every name. I want some action by tomorrow!”
    And he got it, surprisingly enough. At ten the next morning, which was Thursday, Fletcher caught him returning from the usual pep talk in the Commissioner’s office. “I got someone for you, Captain.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œAppelbaum, one of the skindivers. He’s been talking up a skindivers’ club in the harbor. Sort of a nut on the subject—wanted all boating banned on week-ends. I’ve got him outside.”
    â€œGet him in here!”
    Appelbaum was a youngish, intense man with an athlete’s body and a fanatical look in his eyes.
    â€œAm I to be charged?” he asked in a rasping voice. “If so, I demand a lawyer.”
    â€œCalm down,” Leopold told him. “Tell me about your scheme for the harbor, Mr.