The Madman Theory by Ellery Queen Page B

Genneman—what then?
    First: the murderer must have had detailed knowledge of Genneman’s itinerary … Collins checked himself. No, it was perfectly possible that the murderer had merely followed the Genneman party to Persimmon Lake and in the very early morning had gone ahead to wait in ambush. In which case the murderer need only have known generally that Genneman was planning a pack-trip, with perhaps his time of departure.
    Collins grumbled a curse. No aspect of the case allowed an unqualified yes or no.
    There was another angle to be considered. According to all accounts, Genneman had not acted the part of a man who expected an attack on his life. He had shown no great interest in the news that a man was following the party.
    But here lay another paradox: if the lone camper had planned to murder Genneman, why had he camped openly only two hundred yards away? Had something occurred during the night to drive him to desperation?
    Collins leaned back in his chair. The first point of business was to identify the camper. He was back to that.
    To put the frosting on Collins’ cake, Captain Bigelow appeared in the doorway, frowning down at the report. “I don’t understand this, Omar. It doesn’t add up.”
    â€œHow do you mean?” asked Collins. This was the usual gambit.
    Bigelow merely shook his big, commanding head thoughtfully, as if he were seeing several steps beyond Collins’ limited view of the case.
    Collins waited patiently. Presently Bigelow asked, “Are you taking this loony theory seriously?”
    â€œRight now we’re concentrating on the man who followed the party up the trail.”
    â€œThat’s about the way I’d play it,” said Bigelow, “even though it may turn out to be a false alarm—some guy out for a tramp in the hills.”
    â€œWe’ll know when we find him. What about some help, Captain? There’s going to be lots of legwork on this case.”
    â€œUse Sullivan and Kerner for now. If you need more help, yell. We’ll want to crack this one. A madman scare, real or not—it’s all the same to the newspapers—could keep a lot of tourists away from the mountains this summer.”
    â€œWe’ll give it our best,” said Collins respectfully.
    â€œGood boy.” The captain returned to his office.
    Collins looked at his notes, then at the clock. He went back to the main office and told Easley that Bigelow was putting more men on the case. “Make sure they know what they’re doing. I’ll be out the rest of the afternoon.” He looked down at the list on the sergeant’s desk, already marked with Easley’s private symbols. “Anything turn up yet?”
    â€œNothing much. There’s this LKK-3220—a ’62 Dodge registered to Nathan Wingate, Redondo Beach. According to the list, the car came in through General Grant Gate on Wednesday. Wingate says he’s never visited Kings Canyon in his life. The car hasn’t been stolen, borrowed or bought.”
    â€œThe ranger might have got a number or letter wrong.”
    â€œCould be,” said Easley, and Collins thought he heard something of the tone he himself used with Bigelow.
    â€œIf anyone wants me, I’m in San Jose.”
    From Fresno to San Jose is something more than a hundred miles. Collins arrived about two o’clock. At a service station he telephoned the Genneman residence. Mrs. Genneman was at home and would speak to him.
    Collins asked directions from the attendant, and ten minutes later he turned into the Genneman driveway. It wound a hundred and fifty feet through lawns and trees, past a swimming pool, then made a loop under a porte-cochere. Genneman had liked bigness about him, and his house was no exception: a huge rambling structure of beige stucco and dark timber with a red tile roof, in the style known as Early California or Mission. If house and grounds were a criterion, Genneman had