Leopold Kidnapped
by Edward D. Hoch

"That man Drexel called again," Molly told Leopold as he came in from his afternoon walk. It was one of those early May days when the air is alive with the promise of summer. "What does he want?"
"Something about his daughter's death last year. I told him I'm retired and he should contact Fletcher but he keeps calling me. Just ignore him."
They were going out that night, to a Tuesday-night pops concert downtown. Molly liked to attend them and, in truth, Leopold had come to enjoy them, too. Their circle of friends was diminishing and except for occasional dinners with Fletcher and his wife or Molly's lawyer friends, they were home much of the time. Age was beginning to tell on Leopold, and he usually let Molly do the driving after dark. That was why, at the end of an enjoyable concert, she told him to wait in front of the theater while she went for the car.
He'd been standing there just a few minutes, in the midst of the departing crowd, when a black sports utility vehicle pulled up to the curb. "Captain Leopold!" a woman's voice called out.
He squinted into the darkened vehicle, trying to make out the woman's face. "Do I know you?"
"It's Marilyn. Can I give you a ride?"
Leopold couldn't remember any Marilyn he knew well. The passenger door opened temptingly and he stepped a bit closer. That was when strong hands suddenly hustled him from the rear, forcing him into the vehicle. "What is this?"
"Don't worry," the woman behind the wheel said. "You won't be hurt."
The man who'd pushed him quickly got into the backseat behind him. Marilyn put the car in gear and started forward. "My wife!" he gasped, thinking of Molly.
"She's been told you were called away suddenly for an important meeting."
Leopold's mind was working overtime, certain that he was being kidnapped by some ex-convict he'd sent to prison decades earlier. He supposed they meant to kill him, but he took comfort in the fact that he was still alive. Apparently they wanted to talk to him first. He tried to say something, but the man in the seat behind him said, "Keep quiet." The SUV drove on through the darkness. He could make out little of the woman driver, except that she was young, with perfectly straight brown hair and an intent expression.
He knew they were driving south, toward Long Island Sound, though before they reached the water itself Marilyn turned off to the left, down a narrow lane lined with tall evergreens. It might have been the entrance to an estate, and he tried to remember some of the city's wealthier families at this end of the county.
Presently the car stopped and the man in the backseat guided him out. "This way," he said. Again he offered the assurance, "You won't be hurt."
Leopold was led in a side door and the car pulled away. They went up a few steps into a hallway with a polished wood floor. "Would you tell me where I am?" he asked the man.
"You are a guest of Mr. Arthur Drexel."
Leopold nodded. "I believe he's phoned me a few times."
"In here."
The man directed him to a book-lined study and seated him in a leather armchair opposite a large cluttered desk. Then he withdrew, leaving Leopold to await his host's arrival. It didn't take long. Arthur Drexel was a tall, white-haired man with a military bearing, probably in his mid fifties. Leopold remembered seeing his picture in the papers the previous year when his daughter had died. He'd started an Internet company in the city about ten years earlier, and done quite well at it before the bloom wore off. It was still profitable, and Leopold knew he was on the board of some local companies.
"Captain Leopold," he said, holding out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last."
Leopold accepted the hand but said at once, "You know kidnapping is a felony."
"Please hear me out before you consider bringing charges. I have tried several times to phone you, as recently as today."
"Your daughter drowned in a boating accident last year. I'm very sorry about that, but there's nothing I can do to help you. If you have evidence of a criminal act, you should contact Captain Fletcher. I've been retired for some years."
"I have contacted him and gotten nowhere. You are my last hope. I only want you to listen to my story."
Leopold saw that he had little choice. "All right," he agreed. "I'll give you one hour, but it's still kidnapping."
The woman who'd been driving the SUV, Marilyn, entered the study. "Do you need anything else right now?"
"No, my dear."
"He'll need you in one hour to drive me back home," Leopold said.
Drexel and the young woman exchanged glances and she left the room. "Marilyn is my other daughter," Drexel explained. "Sarah's sister."
"Who was the hood in the car?"
"Hans, my gardener. I hope he didn't injure you."
Leopold sighed. "I told you the first time you called that I have no connection with the police anymore. I'm retired."
"But in your day you were the best there was. I was new to the city then, but I remember the press reports of your cases."
Leopold glanced at his watch, thinking how worried Molly must be at his strange absence. "You have fifty-five minutes more before I walk out of this house."
"Certainly. Could I pour you a glass of wine?"
"No, thanks."
Arthur Drexel walked over to the piano and lifted a framed photograph off it. "This was my lovely daughter Sarah, age eighteen. She graduated from a private high school last June and was planning to follow Marilyn to Skidmore for the fall semester. During the summer she took a job with an insurance firm here in town."
The girl who stared out of the photograph at Leopold was indeed lovely, with a pert nose and sly, tempting eyes that seemed to embody both innocence and experience. She appeared older than eighteen, with a slender body like her sister. "If I remember correctly, she drowned in a boating accident," he said again.
"That was the newspaper story, Captain. It was toward the end of summer, the week before she was to leave for college. One of the men she worked with at the insurance agency had a yacht, a powerboat he took out on the Sound. He invited Sarah and two men for a cruise. Sarah described it to us as an office outing and, naturally, we assumed there would be other women and possibly even wives present."
"But there weren't."
Drexel shook his head. "Only the three men and Sarah. Shortly after ten they radioed the Coast Guard that she'd gone swimming and couldn't be found. The following morning her body washed up on the beach. She was nude. The medical examiner ruled the cause of death was drowning, but there was a bruise on her head. I believe she was murdered."
"You've spoken to Captain Fletcher about this?"
"Naturally. He just keeps asking for evidence. I told him Sarah was an excellent swimmer, the star of her high school's swim team. She wouldn't have drowned."
"But if it was dark, she may have become disoriented, unable to find her way back to the yacht."
"She wouldn't have been swimming alone to start with, not after dark and without a suit. And there was that bruise on her left temple which no one could explain."
"She hit something in the water," Leopold told him. "Maybe even the side of the boat. And the bathing suit could have come off as she struggled to stay afloat."
"One or more of those men attacked her, I'm sure of it! They threw her body overboard to cover up their crime."
"If that's the case, the medical examiner would have found some evidence of it."
But the white-haired man shook his head. "Her body had been in the water overnight. All he could tell me was that she—that she was sexually active. No father likes to hear that about a daughter who's just out of high school."
"Who are these three men?" Leopold remembered the newspaper account but hadn't paid particular attention to it.
"Wayne Runnymede. He's the agency president. The other two were Foster Hayes and James Gillette. Two are married and Hayes is divorced, all twenty to thirty years older than my daughter."
"It does seem like an odd arrangement for an office outing," Leopold admitted. "What story did they tell the police?"
"That they were playing cards and having a couple of beers. Sarah was wearing a bikini from an earlier swim and she decided to jump in the water to cool off. That was the last they saw her."
"What was the alcohol content of her body?"
"Fairly low, consistent with a beer or two. Sarah wasn't much of a drinker. She wasn't even of legal age yet."
Leopold spread out his hands. "I'm afraid there's nothing here, Mr. Drexel. You've got no case. Whatever happened on board that yacht, you're never going to know about it unless one of them changes his story. You can't expect the police to bring charges against anyone on the basis of your or your wife's suspicions."
"My wife is dead," he announced grimly. "She was already in ill health from cancer surgery and what happened to Sarah was just too much for her to bear. She died last month. Marilyn has been after me since Sarah's death to find out the truth about it and after my wife died I agreed to do just that." He shook his head. "I'll never forget that call from the police in the middle of the night. At first I couldn't believe it. Her car was out front and I thought she was safe in bed."
"I'm very sorry about your wife. And Sarah. But that doesn't change the fact that you have not a shred of evidence to back up your assertions."
From among the papers on his desk Arthur Drexel produced a manilla envelope, which he opened, removing a single sheet of paper. "As you may know, Captain Leopold, I sit on the board of Traders Trust Company. One of the three men from the yacht, James Gillette, has an account there. In January, five months after Sarah's death, he deposited ten thousand dollars in cash to his account. Could that have been hush money?"
Leopold glanced at the statement printout. "You used your position on the bank's board of directors to obtain this information? Isn't that highly irregular?"
"My daughter was murdered, Captain. I'm certain of it, and so is Marilyn. She's been after me since this happened. We want justice done, at any cost. You may bring charges against us for kidnapping you, if you wish, but that doesn't change our determination."
"The hour is almost up and you haven't convinced me."
Drexel sighed. "We won't hold you here against your will. But before you leave please speak with my daughter. Perhaps she can do more to persuade you."
"Very well."
He pressed a button on his desk and the young woman who'd driven the SUV entered the study. "Talk to him, Marilyn," he said. "Maybe you can convince him."
She smiled slightly as she replaced her father behind the desk. Close up, in the lighted room, he now saw that she was older than her sister, possibly in her mid twenties. Her face was attractive without being beautiful, and she spoke with just a touch of Boston in her voice.
"I'm sorry we had to resort to this, Captain Leopold," she began. "We mean you no harm. You can't imagine what these last nine months have been like, with my sister's drowning and then my mother—"
"Do you really believe Sarah was murdered?"
"Yes, I do. Those men on that yacht did something to her. They have to be punished for it. If the police can't do anything, if you can't do anything, I'm afraid my father will do something drastic on his own."
"Marilyn—may I call you Marilyn?—you have to understand that there's not the least bit of evidence of foul play in your sister's death."
"Have you talked to Captain Fletcher about it?" "No, I don't make it a habit to second-guess him on current cases."
"Would you do that, at least? My father is willing to pay for your time."
"Whatever I do, I couldn't accept any money from him."
"But you will look into it?"
"I'll speak to Fletcher," he agreed with a sigh, more to gain his release than anything else. "But I don't expect I'll find anything. Where can I reach you during the day, Marilyn?"
"I'm a paralegal at White and Jenson. You can call me there."

Molly was waiting up when he arrived home at nearly one o'clock. "Where in heaven's name have you been? Why did you have to attend a meeting?"
"I didn't have much choice. I was kidnapped."
"What?"
He told her about it, somewhat embarrassed by the entire episode. "A few years ago I could have knocked that gardener into the next county. Now I'm just a helpless old man."
Molly would hear none of that. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell me about this."
"Both father and daughter are convinced Sarah Drexel was murdered last summer. I promised I'd talk to Fletcher about the case."
"I hope you'll tell him you were kidnapped."
"Once I was at the Drexel house they made no effort to hold me against my will. It probably wasn't a felony kidnapping."
Molly sighed. "You're getting involved in something again, aren't you?"
"I hope not."
"It's late. Come to bed."
True to his promise, Leopold drove downtown on Wednesday morning to police headquarters. Fletcher was upstairs when he arrived, and he spent twenty minutes chatting with Lieutenant Connie Trent about mutual friends until the captain returned. "Good to see you," Fletcher greeted him. "You should come by more often. I'll get us some coffee."
They settled down in Leopold's old office with Fletcher behind the familiar desk. "I'd like to think this is just a friendly call, but knowing you, it's probably more than that."
Leopold agreed that it was. "Arthur Drexel grabbed onto me last night after the concert. I went out to his house." He explained about the pseudo-kidnapping.
"Drexel! That man has been a pain in the butt ever since his daughter drowned. He keeps trying to convince me she was murdered, without any evidence to back up his charges. I can't go around hauling in people for no reason. We have enough cases to investigate as it is."
"Anything interesting?"
Fletcher shrugged. "A man's body turned up in the woods after the snow melted last month. Gunshot wound to the head. The body was too decomposed for immediate identification, but we hope his teeth or DNA will show something. It was probably a killing over drugs. We have them all the time."
Leopold nodded. "I read the papers."
"The papers don't tell half of it. They're selling drugs to school kids, nine, ten years old. We got an elementary school on the South Side, you know the neighborhood. One of the drug dealers had his own kid there and he put out the word to the other dealers to stay away from that school. It was a matter of pride with him, protecting his own kid. Last year Narcotics grabbed him and sent him away for a long time. Now the drugs are in that school, too, a reefer in the fourth-grade bathroom, a vial of crack on a third-grade kid."
"It's a changed city, a changed world," Leopold agreed. Then, "What did the autopsy say about Sarah Drexel?"
Fletcher reached into his desk drawer. "See for yourself. I dug it out when he started calling me. There was a blow to her temple that could have knocked her out, maybe when she dove from the boat. But there's no doubt she drowned."
"What about sexual activity?"
"Inconclusive. She'd been in the water too long to tell anything for sure, but there was no evidence of recent activity."
"Did you recover her belongings from the yacht?"
"Of course. Here's the inventory sheet."
Leopold skimmed down the page, remembering how many times he'd seen sheets like this in the past. Purse with lipstick and handkerchief, wallet, driver's license, thirty-four dollars in cash, beach bag with a bikini bathing suit, towel, and sunscreen, panties, bra, blouse, jeans, socks, and sneakers.
"What time did the yacht start out?" he asked Fletcher.
"I've got it right here." He flipped quickly through the reports. "A little before seven. Josh Mintnor, the marina owner, interrupted a meeting to see them off himself, so he's sure of the time."
"Mintnor? Didn't we have some trouble with him years ago?"
"One of his employees went to prison on a drug charge but we couldn't make a case against him."
"It would have been getting dark by seven o'clock in late August," Leopold mused. "She wouldn't have needed the sunscreen, but maybe she kept it in her beach bag. What time was their call to the Coast Guard?"
"It was recorded at ten-oh-five, made by Wayne Runnymede, the yacht's owner. He said she'd been in the water about thirty minutes at that time."
"They claimed she was wearing her bikini when she dove in, but it was still in her beach bag."
"I thought of that," Fletcher said. "Runnymede said she'd brought along two suits."
"I wonder why."
"Maybe one of them fit her better."
Leopold sat and pondered, as he might have done in the old days. "Isn't it more likely she went swimming nude? And doesn't that imply some sort of sexual activity?"
Fletcher seemed doubtful. "That's a long jump without any other evidence. Young people do a lot of crazy things these days."
Leopold told him about the money James Gillette had deposited to his account. "Arthur Drexel thinks his daughter was murdered and the guilty party paid off the other two to keep them quiet. I'm going to ask Gillette about it."
"Even if it's true, he'd hardly admit it."
"There's something you could do for me, if you would. Check the bank accounts of the other two men. See if either one made a similar cash deposit in the months following Sarah's death."
"Do you really think there's anything to this? I can't go around asking to see bank records for no reason, and I've no grounds for a court order."
"There are ways it can be done," Leopold reminded him. "I'm going to call on Gillette and then I'm going to take a look at that yacht."
"It's been in dry dock for the winter," Fletcher told him. "Runnymede hasn't used it since the drowning."
Leopold gave him a little smile. "You're not as disinterested as you pretend."

Runnymede Associates, one of the city's larger insurance agencies, had its own office building on the fringes of downtown. Leopold asked the receptionist for James Gillette, but he was out of the office. "How about Mr. Runnymede?"
She rang his phone and asked, "Your name, please?"
"Captain Leopold."
She repeated it into the phone and within a minute Wayne Runnymede appeared. He was middle-aged, stout, with thin hair graying at the temples. "Captain Leopold," he said, all smiles, "I believe we met briefly at some civic function a few years back. Come in! What can I do for you?"
Leopold followed him into the spacious office and took a seat. "First I should tell you that I'm retired from the Department."
"Oh, I thought—"
"You thought it was about Sarah Drexel's death last year. It is, but I'm here unofficially."
"It was a terrible tragedy. The girl's father has been haunting me ever since. I even offered him a cash settlement if he felt I was in any way responsible as her employer. But he seems intent on accusing me of deliberately killing her."
"I know," Leopold told him. "He's asked me to find some evidence of foul play."
"There's none to be found. It was a tragic accident."
"But there are some irregularities. Her swimsuit, for instance. Your story was that she was wearing it when she dove off the yacht, but it was found in her beach bag."
The stout man thought about it, weighing his reply carefully. "I told Captain Fletcher I believe she had two suits."
"Why would she bring two?"
"I don't know."
"Could you take me to see the yacht?"
"It's in dry dock for the winter. I'm having it painted."
"This is May," Leopold reminded him. "Winter's over."
Runnymede looked pained. "After what happened, I don't want any part of it. I told the marina owner I may sell it and he's made me a generous offer."
"I'd still like to see it."
"If you're retired from the Department, what's your interest in it?"
"Sarah Drexel's father has been pestering me, too. I promised him I'd look into it."
"There's nothing to look into. It was an accident."
"The bathing suit bothers me," Leopold admitted. "If she was wearing one, then she brought two with her. If she was nude, there's a strong suggestion of impropriety, either on her part or yours."
He nodded. "All right, I'll take you out to see the boat. I hope that will satisfy everyone."
Leopold followed him out to the reception area, where a blond man with a briefcase was collecting his phone messages from the girl. "Oh, Mr. Gillette, this is Captain Leopold. He wanted to see you earlier."
The man turned with a ready smile, perhaps expecting a customer. "What can I do for you?"
"Perhaps we should speak in your office." He turned to Runnymede. "I'll just be a minute."
Once inside the small office, Leopold came quickly to the point. "Arthur Drexel has asked me to investigate the death of his daughter last August."
"It was a terrible accident, but I don't know that I can contribute anything new."
"You must realize that if anyone tried to threaten or bribe you to keep quiet you would have an obligation to report it to the police."
"No one—" He was cut off in mid sentence by Wayne Runnymede's entering the office.
"Ready, Captain?" he asked, glancing at Gillette. "I can't be away for long."
"Let's go. We'll finish this later, Mr. Gillette."
Outside, walking toward their cars, Runnymede asked, "Finish what?"
"I'm trying to speak with all three of you who were aboard the yacht that night."
"It might be difficult in the case of Foster Hayes. He's no longer with the company."
"What happened to him?" Leopold asked.
"He moved on, out of town, I think. Left us unexpectedly, without notice." He paused at a sleek silver Mercedes. "Will you follow me to the marina?"
"Fine."

The Neptune Marina was located on a little inlet of Long Island Sound at the southern edge of the city. It was owned by a man named Josh Mintnor who'd been a fixture on the local boating scene for some twenty years. As Fletcher had reminded Leopold, there'd been a drug case involving an employee many years back.
Runnymede and Leopold parked their cars and walked past lines of boats still covered with blue plastic shrouds against the winter storms. "With this great weather, most of these will be in the water by the weekend," Runnymede predicted. "There's Josh now."
"Thinking about taking her out for a spin on the Sound?" Mintnor asked as they approached.
"Not today, Josh. This is Captain Leopold, retired head of the police Violent Crimes squad."
"We've met," Mintnor replied stoically.
Leopold shook the man's gnarled hand. "Good to see you again, Josh." His face was tan and weathered, hinting at a season in the sun, and there was a short growth of graying beard along his chin. Though probably close to fifty, he had the handsome features of a younger man, accented by the shabby white captain's hat he usually wore. Leopold pictured him enjoying a winter in the tropics. "I hope you're not here on business," Mintnor said without changing his expression.
"My business days are over," Leopold assured him. "Just wanted to have a look at the yacht."
"Let's both take a look," Runnymede said. "I'm interested in seeing the new paint job."
The insurance man's yacht proved to be a good-sized powerboat with a galley and sleeping accommodations for five. Mintnor had painted the hull white with a thin red bootstripe. The name on the transom was Branwen, who Runnymede explained was a Welsh sea goddess.
"Looks good, doesn't it?" Mintnor said. "If you do decide to get rid of it I hope you'll consider my offer."
Leopold followed the insurance man up the ladder to the deck, carefully watching his step. Mintnor headed back to his little office. "Did you take it out much last summer?" Leopold asked Runnymede when they were both on deck.
"Almost every weekend if the weather was good."
"But that last time was on a weeknight, a Thursday, I believe."
"Well, it was an office thing, after Sarah's last day before she started college."
"How many times had she been here before?"
Runnymede shot him a glance. "Never, Captain."
"I was just wondering if that second bathing suit might have been left from a previous visit."
They went down the companionway steps to the galley. "This is the aft cabin with its bunk and head. My wife and I usually sleep here, and there's a forward stateroom with two berths and a head for guests. There's also a settee berth if we need it."
"So the three of you and Sarah Drexel could have spent the night on board."
His expression hardened. "We were planning to be back before eleven. This was no sort of orgy, despite what Sarah's father might think."
Leopold was looking around, opening the icebox and a hanging locker. "You pretty much cleaned everything out," he observed.
"Don't you need a search warrant for that?" Runnymede asked.
Leopold smiled. "Not anymore. I'm retired, remember?" He walked over to the settee in the main cabin and pulled it open to reveal the extra berth. On top of it lay both parts of a pink and blue bikini bathing suit. A tag on the back was lettered "MED," though the suit seemed small to his masculine eyes. "What's this?" he asked.
"I have no idea how that got here," Runnymede insisted.
"Was it the suit Sarah was wearing when she dove off the boat?"
Obviously flustered, he could only answer, "I'm not sure."
"There was one suit in Sarah's beach bag and here's a second suit. Are you telling me she was wearing a third bikini when she dove off the boat?"
"I didn't actually see her jump," Runnymede admitted. "She might have been nude."
"Who did see her?"
"I don't know. Maybe no one."
Leopold sighed. "I have to tell you I'm beginning to think there's some foundation to Arthur Drexel's charges. You haven't been entirely frank, Mr. Runnymede."
"I don't—"
"Which one of them killed her? Was it Hayes or Gillette?"
"Sarah's death was a terrible accident," he insisted.
"Or was it you?"
"I told you the truth, Leopold. We radioed the Coast Guard and helped them search for a while. Then we docked the yacht just after eleven and all went home."
"Was Sarah's car still in the parking lot?"
"I suppose so, I didn't notice. My car was there, along with Foster's and James's. And there was a Jeep that Mintnor drives."
Leopold picked up the bathing suit and started for the steps. "You'll be hearing more from me."
He was almost back to the car when he decided to stop in at Josh Mintnor's office. The marina owner was on the phone, assuring someone that his boat would be ready for launching on Saturday morning. "Finished already?" he asked Leopold as he hung up.
"Just about. We found another bikini on board."
"Really? I thought I went over that craft pretty carefully for Mr. Runnymede. He was in terrible shape after the accident and that was the least I could do. Of course Captain Fletcher and his crew had already been on board."
"I'm more interested in the time they sailed. Do you keep any record of things like that?"
He shook his head. "Summertime, we have yachts in and out all day long. I make a little check in the logbook if I can, but I don't record the times. With Mr. Runnymede it's a bit different, though. He's a special friend, sent me a lot of customers, helped me out when I was in trouble."
Leopold knew what he meant. "The drug charges."
"Yeah. He had his own lawyer handle it and I was grateful."
"So you saw him that evening?" He consulted his notebook. "August twenty-second?"
Mintnor agreed. "I was meeting with a real-estate consultant about purchasing some adjoining property to expand the marina. I excused myself for a few minutes when I saw them drive up."
"How many cars did they have?"
"The girl drove herself, as did the others. They all arrived at about the same time. I walked them down to the dock where the Branwen was moored, and even helped cast off the lines before returning to my meeting."
"All four of them were aboard?"
Mintnor nodded. "Runnymede, Hayes, Gillette, and Sarah Drexel. I knew them all except for the girl."
"When did they return?"
"Shortly after eleven. I'd gone home around nine, but they told me later the Coast Guard vessel could do little in the dark except shine its light on the water. They planned a full search at daybreak, but by that time her body had washed up on the shore."
Leopold nodded. "Are you going to buy the Branwen?"
"I've offered him a good price for it, more than it's worth. I'd like to take it down the Inland Passage to Florida next winter."
"Good luck." Leopold left the office and went back to his car, putting the bathing suit in the glove compartment.
When he reached home Molly had arrived just ahead of him. "The judge adjourned my client's case till Monday. More delays. Did Fletcher reach you?"
"No. Is he looking for me?"
"He called twice on my cell phone. Said it was important."
Leopold went to the phone and punched in the familiar number. "Fletcher? Leopold here."
"I've been trying to reach you all afternoon," Fletcher said. "Remember I mentioned a man's body we'd been unable to identify?"
"I remember."
"We have a dental match with a possible missing person. It's Foster Hayes, one of the men on the yacht with Sarah Drexel that night."

Thirty minutes later Leopold was standing beside Captain Fletcher in the county morgue. "He was killed sometime during the winter," Fletcher said. "We didn't have much snow, but there was enough to cover the body until the spring thaw. The reason it took so long to identify him is that his neighbors and ex-wife thought he might have moved to the West Coast. He quit his job without notice and just dropped out of sight. Recently, his landlord discovered some of his clothes and personal belongings still in the apartment and reported that to us. I was also checking the bank records, as you requested. There'd been no activity in Hayes's account since early March. I decided to look at his dental records and they matched our unidentified corpse."
"You said earlier the man had been killed by a gunshot wound to the head."
"That's right."
"Any idea who did it?"
"Sure. How does this sound? Your friend Arthur Drexel became convinced that Hayes killed his daughter. Maybe he paid Gillette that ten thousand dollars for the information. Neither Hayes nor Runnymede had any large deposits to their accounts. Drexel killed Hayes and kept on pestering us about his daughter's death simply to remove suspicion from himself."
But Leopold didn't buy it. "He might have made a few phone calls to us, but kidnapping me was going a bit far. I'm convinced Drexel and his daughter are desperate to find the killer."
"If there is one. My second idea is that the killing of Hayes may be completely unrelated to Sarah Drexel's death, maybe another drug killing."
"I don't buy that one, either, at least without evidence."
Fletcher was undaunted. "I'm full of ideas. Runnymede killed her and bought off Gillette with the ten grand. He couldn't buy off Hayes so he killed him."
"It's a possibility," Leopold admitted. "I have some unfinished business with Mr. Gillette in the morning." He told Fletcher about finding the second bathing suit in the closed settee berth on Runnymede's yacht. "Any possibility you could have missed that?"
Fletcher looked abashed. "A good chance," he admitted. "I think I searched that area myself, but I didn't know the settee unfolded into an extra bunk."
"Will you be questioning Runnymede?" Leopold asked.
He nodded. "I'm on my way out there right now."
Much to Molly's dismay, Leopold was up with her at seven. They had a rare breakfast together and drove downtown in their separate cars before nine o'clock. "You act as if you're still working," she told him as they left the house. "Can't you do some gardening or something?"
"Now you must be kidding me," he replied. "I can't take that suggestion seriously."
He arrived at Runnymede Associates just as James Gillette was pulling into a parking space himself. "I've already talked to Captain Fletcher," he told Leopold. "Foster's murder is a terrible thing, but I know nothing about it. He'd talked of moving west and when he didn't come in one day Wayne and I just assumed he'd done that."
"Was it Foster Hayes who caused Sarah's death?"
He moistened his lips before replying. "No. No one caused her death. It was an accident."
"How did it happen?"
"She dove overboard in the dark and hit her head on something. That's what we've said all along."
"What about the ten thousand dollars you deposited to your account a few months back?"
"A friend repaid a loan."
"Can you give me his name?"
"It was a personal matter, unconnected with any of this other business."
"Did it occur to you that Arthur Drexel may have killed Hayes because he was on the yacht that night? He might kill you or Runnymede next."
"That's crazy!"
Leopold leaned toward him. "You've got to tell us the truth, Mr. Gillette."
Another car pulled into the parking lot and Runnymede got out. He seemed unhappy to see Leopold. "Now what?"
"It's still about Sarah Drexel's death, even more so now that Hayes has been killed."
"I talked to Captain Fletcher last night. You're retired. I don't need to answer your questions."
"If someone caused Sarah's death last August, it gets down to one of you. Unless you want to pin it on Hayes now that he's dead."
Runnymede pulled Gillette away. "Come on, Jim. You don't need to talk to him."
Leopold had no answer to that, and they went inside. He got in his own car and remembered he'd stowed the second bathing suit in the glove compartment. He should have turned that over to Fletcher, but then another idea struck him. Driving back home, he got on the phone to Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs.
Identifying himself as Captain Leopold and not bothering to mention the retired part, he asked the admissions office for information on Sarah Drexel. "She was registered as a freshman for last fall's semester," he said.
"Here it is, Sarah Marie Drexel. I have a notation that she's deceased. Some sort of boating accident, if I remember correctly. She never started the term."
"I believe her older sister graduated from Skidmore a few years back. Marilyn Drexel?"
"You'll probably have to check the alumni office for that. No, wait a minute, I have it here. Marilyn Edith Drexel, class of 'ninety-nine."
"Thank you," he told her and hung up.
What did it mean? What did it mean? 

The offices of White & Jenson occupied the top two floors of an ornately remodeled downtown office building. The elevators, at least, were modern, and the following morning Leopold was whisked to the top in a matter of seconds. He waited in the skylit reception area while Marilyn Drexel was summoned. She came out wearing a conservative gray pants suit and red blouse, carrying a yellow legal pad for making notes. "I hope this means there've been some developments, Captain."
"I believe so, yes." They sat down together on one of the leather sofas. "As you know, your sister's body was found unclothed, though Mr. Runnymede insisted she was wearing a bikini when she went for her nighttime swim. It's possible, but doubtful, that it came off during the few hours she was in the water, especially since her bathing suit was found in her beach bag on the yacht. Yesterday, while searching the yacht in the company of Mr. Runnymede, I discovered this second bikini, in a folded settee. The suggestion was made that Sarah brought two suits because one fit her better." He opened his briefcase and took out the second suit while she sat impassive. "That suggestion ignores the most likely and logical explanation. There were two bikinis on board because there were two women in the party."
"But that's impossible!"
"I think not, Miss Drexel." He showed her the label with the letters MED printed on it. "I thought the suit was a bit small to be marked medium. Those are your initials, Marilyn Edith Drexel, and this is your suit."
"I wasn't there!" she insisted, but Leopold bore down hard.
"You were there! What sort of outing would it have been with three men and one woman? I know sisters might sometimes borrow each other's suits, but when I showed it to you just now you made no effort to claim it. Sarah invited you along and you went, taking your bikini. You drove there together, which explains how her car got back home that night. There were no keys among her possessions on the boat. You insisted from the start she'd been murdered, and hounded your father to keep after the police, all because you were there."
She took a deep breath. "I was there earlier," she admitted, "but not later, when she was killed."
"Tell me everything that happened."
Marilyn Drexel put down the yellow pad, as if resigned now to her fate. "I knew them because I'd stopped by the office to pick up Sarah after work a couple of times. When Runnymede suggested the farewell party on his yacht he told her to invite me, too. It sounded like fun, so I went along. Sarah and I drove down together."
"But didn't tell your father?"
"No," she admitted. "I live at home but I have a life of my own "
"Go on."
"Everything was fine at first. All three of the men were friendly and there was lots to eat and drink."
"Any drugs?"
"No, nothing like that. But after a few drinks I could see the party was beginning to get a little rough. I went down to the cabin to change into my swimsuit and Foster Hayes followed me down. He pulled open the settee berth and tried to push me down. I slapped him and got away, but forgot my bikini. Up on deck I demanded that Runnymede take us back to the dock. I wasn't going to have me or my kid sister exposed to this sort of thing. Sarah said I was being unreasonable, that they were just out for a good time. We argued about it, but I told Runnymede I'd report it to the police if he didn't take us back."
"He was kidnapping you, just as you kidnapped me."
"It wasn't the same," she assured him. "When we got back to the dock I left the yacht but Sarah refused to come with me. She said it was her party and she was staying. What could I do? She was out of high school, with a mind of her own. I took her keys and drove home alone."
"What time was this?"
"Around quarter to nine."
"Did you tell your father any of this?"
"Of course not," she said, close to tears. "The next morning they found her body. I knew that Hayes or one of the others must have killed her, but I couldn't tell my father I was there without admitting I'd gone off and left my kid sister to be assaulted and murdered. All I did was keep pressing him to hound the poUce and finally to bring you into it. It's been a nightmare for me ever since last August."
"Perhaps the nightmare is almost over," Leopold said.

A bit later he drove down to the marina and parked near Josh Mintnor's office. Mintnor was inside, looking over a navigational chart as he entered. "Leopold! You're getting to be a regular here, twice in three days!"
"I wanted to ask you a few more questions regarding Sarah Drexel's death." Leopold sat down across from his desk.
"I've told you everything I know," he said, rolling up the chart he'd been studying.
"Not quite everything. You admitted to accompanying Runnymede's party to the dock and helping them cast off their boat, but you never told anyone that Sarah's sister Marilyn was also in the party."
"Who? Marilyn? I guess I didn't notice her."
"She came with Sarah. They were together. You couldn't have missed her."
He shrugged. "I'd have no reason to lie about it."
"Just one reason that I can think of. If you'd told the police Marilyn boarded Runnymede's yacht they'd have wanted to know when she left it."
Mintnor seemed to grow exasperated. "Look, Captain, whatever happened on that yacht, I know nothing about it. I was in the midst of a meeting when the Branwen cast off. I only came out for a few minutes to be sociable."
"But when they returned to the dock a little before nine you would have been just closing up. You also didn't tell us that part. After Marilyn fought with her sister and left, they urged you to come aboard, didn't they? And you went."
"That's crazy!"
"Is it? Then why was your car still in the parking lot when the boat returned at eleven? Runnymede happened to mention that."
Mintnor was silent for a moment, considering his options. "All right, I was there. She'd had too much to drink and fell off the boat. It was an accident."
"She'd only had a couple of beers. The autopsy confirmed that. You tried to molest her, possibly rape her, and she fought back. You hit her, knocked her out, and threw her body over the side."
"That's not the way it was," Mintnor insisted. "She was walking around naked. Naturally I took that as an invitation. We were standing by the railing. She scratched my face and I hit her. She went over the side. We spent a half-hour trying to find her before we called the Coast Guard."
"And then you offered to buy off the three witnesses so Runnymede let you hide below deck. Gillette got ten grand and you were buying Runnymede's yacht for more than it was worth. Only Foster Hayes wouldn't take the bribe so you killed him when you feared he might go to the police."
"The guy had a conscience. Can you imagine an insurance agent with a conscience? He tried to grab Sarah's sister earlier himself. That's why she made them take her back to the dock. But I'd been in trouble before over that drug business and I knew Fletcher would throw the book at me even though I didn't mean to kill Sarah. I lost my head and shot Hayes, then dumped his body in the woods."
He reached into a desk drawer and Leopold instantly tensed. "Don't try anything foolish, Mintnor."
But when his hand came out of the drawer it was holding not a gun but a packet of hundred-dollar bills. "Here's the ten thousand I offered Hayes. It's yours if you forget this whole thing."
Leopold smiled and shook his head. "Your time's run out, Mintnor. I'm wearing a wire and Captain Fletcher has been outside listening to our little conversation."
Later that afternoon, when he returned home, Molly asked him how his day had been. He thought about it and said, "I think it's the best day I've had since I retired." Then he went in to phone Marilyn Drexel. ·