Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 34, No. 5, April 1974

“A piece of strong Nylon thread,” said the sheriff, “wound around that lock lever, and run out the top of that screen door, and the other end run out the bottom, would do it. If he drew on both ends of the cord, the thread would hold tight around the lever. He could pull down from outside the door, and lock the lock. Then if he let go one end of the thread, and pulled on the other, the thread would slip free and slide out. The same with those hinge-pins. Once he was outside, all he had to do was to hold one end of the thread, and let go of the other end. The hinge pin would drop down partly into place, the thread would slip free, he could rattle the door a little to work the pin down all the way, and the door would be locked, with him outside.”

The sheriff grinned suddenly, and looked at Verner. “Now that you’ve got it worked out, I can explain it. Now, let’s try it, from outside. Here, you start these pins, after the door’s in place.”

This time, the sheriff stepped outside past the opened hinge side of the door, gripped it by the crosspieces, drew the door into its frame from outside, rapped it lightly and repeatedly to drop the hinge-pins into place — and the, door was locked from inside, while he stood outside.

He came back in, smiling. “Now we know how, but not why. They were cousins, and Grove was backing him. Why would he kill Grove?”

Verner shook his head. “You know the people, and I don’t. But you say Grove had a flash temper, and could be a bitter enemy. I’d guess Grove was mad at him, or he expected Grove was soon going to be mad at him.”

The sheriff nodded.

“There was talk he’d been behind in his mortgage payments, but he straightened that out. If Grove lent him the money and he couldn’t pay it back—” The sheriff shook his head. “There was one man you never wanted to owe money to unless you paid it back on the dot.”

“He was Grove’s closest relative after Ellen Grove?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” said Verner, “at one blow, he could eliminate Grove; very possibly eliminate Ellen Grove as the person who would inherit Grove’s property — since she was likely to discover the body, and be the apparent murderess; clear up his own money troubles; and possibly, if the trial went badly, strengthen himself politically at your expense. But that’s only a guess.”

The sheriff opened the door and called to his deputies, who brought in the squat dejected figure, eyes downcast, shambling. The deputies, however, were alert and wary.

The sheriff nodded toward a chair. His voice was soft. “Let him sit there. As long as he doesn’t do anything, keep your hands off him.”

“Sheriff, I think we need handcuffs.”

“I don’t. Okay, Eb, what happened here?”

The dejected face looked up, eyes squeezed shut. Abruptly the eyes opened, and blazed.

“He called me ‘Corkscrew.’ He said I’d pay him the money, or he’d make me the joke of the county. ‘Corkscrew for Sheriff— Always in the liquor and as crooked as they come! Vote for Corkscrew!’ I don’t know what happened to me. I took a swipe at him and missed. He slipped, and hit his head on that rail at the foot of the bed there. He came up with that knife in his hand, and said, ‘So long, Corkscrew,’ and the next thing I remember, I’d finished him.

“I stood there looking down at him, and I started for the phone, and then it hit me nobody would believe my side of it. That’s when I saw those hinge-pins laying on the bed. I was in a daze. But I thought I saw how I could fix it so no one could get blamed, since no one could have gotten out.”

The sheriff said mildly, “How did the hinge-pins get there? You mean, Grove had put them there?”

“He threw them there. He’s complained that this door here gets rusted with the dampness over the winter, or the pins are too tight, or there’s something wrong, because at the start of the season, it squeaks, and he never gets around to oiling it. When I couldn’t raise the money to pay him, I tried to think of something to take the edge off his temper — you know how he was — so maybe he’d listen and give me a little more time.

“I thought, he’s always complaining about those squeaky hinges, maybe it will get him in a better mood if I fix them. Well, I came in and smiled, and I said, ‘I brought you something to fix those squeaky hinges,’ and he looked at the hinge-pins, and he looked at me, and he tossed the pins aside and said, ‘That will keep. Let’s have the money.’ Well... you know the rest.”

After the deputies and their prisoner had gone out, the sheriff glanced toward Verner.

“What do you think? According to that story, it’s self-defense.”

Verner shook his head. “I’d check to see if those oiled hinge-pins left any mark on the bedspread. What do you think?”

“There was a little oil on that bedspread. What I think is that we’ll have a hung jury between those that want to send him up for life, and those that want to give him a vote of thanks for doing what they felt like doing themselves. Well... Ellen’s out of it, and we’ve got the actual killer. You still say you aren’t a detective?”