Drake entered the office less than ten minutes after Phyllis Leeds had departed. “Perry,” he asked suspiciously, “why did you want me to keep on the job last night and this morning and see if there were any unusual activities at Milicant’s apartment?”
Mason met the detective’s stare steadily. “Want me to tell you, Paul?” he asked.
“No,” Drake said hastily. “Lord knows why I asked that question in the first place. It’s just been sticking in my mind, that’s all.”
“Better get it out of your mind,” Mason said. “What else do you know?”
“The police figure robbery was one of the motives for Milicant’s murder. He always carried a wallet, and it was usually well filled. The wallet is gone. Someone certainly went through the apartment looking for something they may or may not have found. The place is a wreck.”
“Anything else?” Mason asked. “How about time of death? Have they fixed that?”
“Tentatively at around ten-thirty, somewhere between ten and ten-forty-five.”
Mason frowned. “Why the exactness?” he asked. “Good Lord, Paul, I could cite you cases by the dozen where the autopsy surgeons have missed the time of death by from twelve to twenty-four hours. Look at the New York case where the man killed the model.”
“I know,” Drake agreed, “but that’s where they figure on body temperature, rigor mortis, and things like that. This case is different. There’s no question on earth as to when he ate his dinner. Serle says they were discussing a business deal, and that he ordered up the dinner but can’t remember what time it was.
“He thinks it was around eight-thirty, and that he didn’t leave until around nine. But our men have clocked him in and clocked him out. What’s more, the waiter over at the restaurant remembers the occasion perfectly. The dinner was delivered at eight-ten. It consisted of broiled lamb chops, green peas, and baked potato. Once the autopsy surgeon knows when a meal was eaten, if death occurs before the food has left the stomach, he can fix the time of death very accurately.”