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Cook County state's attorney's men, sheriff's deputies, state police and FBI agents. As best they could, the investigators reconstructed the murderer's moves. The intruder, it seemed, had entered the 17-room mansion by way of a flagstone patio on the lake side of the house, slashed an opening in a copper-screen door, then used a glass cutter to remove a pane in the French door. The killer reached through the hole to open the door from the inside, then crossed the slate-covered floor, climbed the 18-step staircase, walked stealthily past the open door of Mark Percy's empty room, past sleeping Sharon's closed door and into Valerie's bedroom.
The police found several clear fingerprints that did not belong to the Percys or to people who frequented their home. The investigation, at week's end, had yielded frustratingly little evidence; it had not even been established whether Valerie's murderer was a man or a woman. Police theorized that the killer might have been familiar with the Percy home, and may have come there with the intention of seeking out and killing Valerie. Lawmen had a vast list of people to question. At week's end 150 had been interviewed—though none, apparently, were rated prime suspects.
"I Will Understand." After the first few hours of private grief, boyish-looking Chuck Percy, 47, a devout Christian Scientist, weathered the ordeal with spartan composure. His life had been a classic tale of success—a rise from $12-a-week clerk to president of Bell & Howell Co. at 29, a millionaire at 40. But this was the second untimely death that had stricken his family. In 1947 his first wife, Jeanne (who was not a Christian Scientist), died of a violent reaction to drugs after a seemingly simple and successful operation. Percy married the former Loraine Guyer, now 37, in 1950. Last week, the day before a memorial service for Valerie, Percy stood with his family in a funeral-home receiving line for four hours as grieving friends filed by. Though his eyes occasionally brimmed with tears, he remained sternly in control of himself, automatically wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and speaking individually to each mourner. "We all have problems and we overcome them," he said to one friend. "There has to be a reason for everything." After Valerie's body was cremated and buried in a Winnetka cemetery, the family fled their home for a few days' rest in private.
The Senate race was suspended at least until Percy's return. On hearing of the tragedy, Senator Douglas, who was once his opponent's economics professor at the University of Chicago, wired Percy: "My heart goes out to you over your cruel and terrible loss. I am calling off all campaigning." Before Percy left Chicago last week, he replied: "It is impossible for me to say at this time when I will be able to resume my own candidacy. Whenever you resume your campaign, I will understand completely." It was a savage irony, for the death of Valerie Percy will probably seal a victory for Chuck Percy in November that had already seemed almost within his grasp.