Dean returned to his quarters where in less than five minutes Fred joined him, annoyed at the brevity of his inquisition. Effie Quincy was next in the hot seat, according to Fred. It appeared, excepting Dean, the line was forming in descending order of potential culpability. That ought to make Edith Shipton dead last by Dean's calculation.
Dean knew Fred was chomping at the bit to dig into this caper, as he called it, but just to flip his switch a bit, Dean started the conversation with the old man's love life. "Are you giving Miss Worthington another night off?" he asked as Fred sat across from him at the office desk.
"She's off to Hawaii to visit her daughter, but you and me have got more important things to do. Look, son," Fred continued. "This here business is serious. These boys have tunnel vision, you're at the end of the dark and the train's on time."
"I'm beginning to believe you," Dean grumbled. "They don't have a strong case, but if I'm the only one they're looking at, someone's going to get away with murder. I wish I knew Shipton's condition and what, if anything he saw or told them he saw. The police haven't even informed his wife if her husband is dead or alive!"
Fred wet his pencil and frowned like a college professor. "It's not like they're dealing with a couple of novices here. You and me have beaten this bush a few times before, partner. Now, let's put our heads together and do this right. Proper detective work calls for an orderly investigation." Dean smiled, in spite of himself as Fred continued. "Now, when's the last time you saw that jackknife Claudia gave you last summer?"
Dean had pondered that very question during his sheep-counting hours the prior night. "In the parlor," he answered. "The same evening your picture from the museum turned up missing. The night you got screwed out of the gold coins by Claire Quincy. Last Tuesday. Remember? She used the knife to open the comb."
"I'll bet she swiped it, too," Fred said. "I'm sure she took the picture of the Rev. Martin and his missus."
"Don't jump to conclusions. We're supposed to be tackling this business in an orderly fashion, remember?"
Fred made appropriate notes, then asked, "Who was in the room when the knife disappeared?" He answered his own question. "The three of us, you, me and Cynthia, plus the two Quincy gals, Edith and her son, young Donnie. Jerome Shipton didn't show up for a day or two and Ryland hadn't arrived yet either."
"Ryland came later that same evening," Dean added. "He could have picked up the knife from the table. Don't forget Gladys Turnbull was registered, too, even though I think she stayed in her room. And Tuesday night Martha slept over."