Extra Kill - Dell Shannon (24 page)

"What was on the bureau besides?”

"Oh, dear," said Kingman, and thought.
"I'll try to recall-you understand, I wasn't noticing things to
be noticing, as it were—I'll do my best. Let's see, there was a
bottle of Scotch, I think it was—I don't know if it was empty or
full-and his wrist watch, and a folded necktie—and, oh, yes, his
hat, a gray felt hat—and a clean handkerchief—and a couple of
little medicine bottles, I think. Well, to go on, as I say I took
that photostat, and we had a look for the money but it wasn't there,
not unless it was in one of the locked suitcases. He must have had it
on him, though you haven't said—" He looked at them
doubtfully.

Mendoza shook his head. "You find crooks
everywhere, true, but we do pride ourselves on higher standards these
days."

"Oh, I never meant to imply-! But, odd as it
seemed, you know—the place standing empty that way, as if he'd just
dropped everything and walked out—we weren't much interested in
what was behind it. Not then. There wasn't any reason to wait about.
I wrote a note to him, on a page torn out of my address book—I
don't know what happened to that, perhaps that's how you know about
us being there—telling him, you know, not to try any tricks, and so
on—and we came away." He got out his handkerchief again. "I
hope to God you believe all this, all I can do is tell you
everything. I don't know if it means anything, if it'll be a help in
clearing us, but we got a traffic ticket on the way home—maybe that
would confirm the time, but I don't suppose—"

"Where and what for?" asked Mendoza.

"The officer was perfectly right," said
Madame Cara. "I do find it one of the most awkward things in
traffic, changing lanes. But it's like everything else in life—one
must seize the opportunity. And while the road was quite clear (I
never take chances, for one must think of other people, you know, if
not oneself) it seems it wasn't allowed right there. The officer was
really very nice about it, and it was a small fine. I went right down
to the traffic court next morning. It was six dollars, Five for the
ticket and one for education—this new system you know and a
splendid idea, we can't grudge anything for the children."

"My dear, the place—I don't recall—"

"Oh, of course, it was on Avalon Boulevard,
Lieutenant, not very long after we'd left the apartment, I don't know
exactly where."

"We'll find it," said Mendoza. He looked at
them in exasperation, in doubt. "I've got a warrant in my pocket
for your arrest on a charge of murder—"

"Oh, dear God," said Kingman, "I swear
to you—"

"But I'm not going to use it, until we've
checked that ticket anyway. I'll be frank to say that it looks to me
as if you had the best motive to do away with him, and I thought I
had it worked out how you'd done it. But there are just a couple of
little things . . . I'll go along with this awhile, and take you at
your word. But I'd like to know why you didn't leave matters there.
What took you to the bank on Monday morning?"

"Don't think we're not grateful," said
Kingman almost tearfully. "Thanks very much, sir, for listening
with an open mind .... It's a sobering thought that if I hadn't—I
should have left the whole thing go, I know that now. But the more I
thought about it, the odder it seemed—his being gone, like that—and
I thought quite possibly he might not have found my note. Even if he
came back. Well, of course I expected he had come back, for all his
things. But in the event that he didn't see the note—I felt I'd
been a coward in a way, I should have seen him and made sure. I tried
to locate him that Saturday morning, but nobody had seen him, and
there was no answer at his apartment. In one way that relieved my
mind, I thought he'd come back, finished packing and left—but we
didn't know, you see. I was still worrying that he might try to get
something out of the bank—"

"He had absolutely no scruples,” said the
woman. Her large plaintive eyes swerved unblinking to Mendoza. "We
are grateful, Lieutenant, for your kindness .... After so much
trouble and upset and worry, it didn't seem fair. Such an unpleasant
young man. But, you know, it really is very strange, they say there
is some good in everyone, and there was, I daresay, a very little, in
him .... I was so surprised—do you know, he liked flowers. He liked
to grow things. Perhaps he came of a long line of farmers, or
something. He was quite enthusiastic over the landscaping around the
Temple, just that little bit of fern or whatever it is, in built—up
boxes, I expect you noticed it—he even brought a little garden fork
one day and poked around at them because the earth was too dry, he
said. Really very odd. But then people are."

"—And," said Kingman, "more
especially I worried about it, because he'd have discovered by then
that I had been at his place and taken the photostat—he might try
to clear out the bank account in revenge, you see. Well, we worried
around it all that weekend, and on Monday morning when I knew there'd
be someone at the bank—before opening time, that is—I called. All
I meant to do was to ask them not to let him make any withdrawals,
because he had—um—severed connections with us. I was very stupid
about the whole thing, Heaven knows I should have known better, but
what with worrying and not being able to sleep—you see, I got hold
of the assistant manager, and I had to give some reason for calling
to warn them—after all, just because a man resigns or is fired from
his job, it isn't any reason to suspect him of larceny—and before I
knew it, he'd got out of me that Trask had gone off with that cash.
And as soon as he heard that—Mr. Rowell, I mean—he got excited
and said of course I'd be seeing the police to lay an official
charge, and perhaps he'd better go with me because it would save time
if he could give the police the man's official signature and the
recent records and so on—"

"I see," Mendoza said amusedly. "You
couldn't get out of it?"

"It was like a nightmare from start to finish. I
never intended to do such a thing, but of course it would have looked
queer after that if I hadn't. What I was afraid of, you know, was
that Trask would be lp caught up with—or even if he'd seen it in
the papers, that I'd accused him—why, he might have told all he
knew about us just to get even. It was a terrible position. I had to
seem as if I was giving the police all the help I could, and at the
same time I held back what I felt was possible to, because, my God, I
wasn't anxious for them to find him, wherever he'd gone and why. I
said I wasn't sure where he lived because, you know, he might have
mentioned to someone there where he was going—and no one could
prove we did know, I tore that page out of my address-book—and I
was sure no one had seen us there on Friday night. And then, as soon
as we'd—er—got that on record, so to speak, I wondered if the
police would somehow find out anyway, and look for fingerprints
there—and whether we'd left any—"

“
I was wearing gloves. I always do when I drive and
it was cold that night, I didn't take them off at all. And as I told
you at the time, Martin, I don't believe you would have left any
either, because we just looked mostly, didn't we?—not touching
anything. You see, there wasn't any need to open drawers and so on,
Lieutenant, there was this photo-thing right on the bed—we burned
that as soon as we got home—and when it came to looking for the
money, well, all the drawers were wide open and empty, because he'd
been taking things out to pack, you know. We just felt all through
the things in the open suitcase, and they were clothes, they wouldn't
take prints, would they? Martin did try the other cases to see if
they were locked, and they were. So—"

"And then," said Kingman with a strong
shudder, "when you came and told us he'd been murdered—! And
in such a way . . . I did some more worrying about it then, I can
tell you—"

Mendoza got up, looking at them thoughtfully. "Yes,
well, we'll leave it this way for the time being. I needn't caution
you not to leave town and so on—you'll be familiar with
the—mmh—ritual, shall I say?"

"Believe me, Lieutenant, we're grateful—that
you believe, I mean—·"

"Oh, I never said I believed you," said
Mendoza gently, smiling at them. "Just that I'm not quite ready
to use that warrant—yet. We'll see. We like to be sure about these
things—I'll do a little more thinking on it."
 

FOURTEEN

"I have not been brilliant in this thing,"
he said. He lit a cigarette and in the cold clear night air the
little column of smoke was frost-white.

"They're not cleared," said Hackett. They
stood there on the curb in front of the Temple, between the tail of
the Facel-Vega and the bumper of Hackett's humbler black sedan.
Hackett had his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, staring down
at the sidewalk.

"By implication you might say they are,"
said Mendoza. "That traffic ticket. I can't see a third person
unknown mixed up in this with them, and we can't get away from the
fact that that woman who bought the serape and took that cab ride had
something to do with the murder. If she didn't kill him, she disposed
of the car. And if Mrs. Kingman-Sellers-Turner and her husband were
on Avalon Boulevard about eleven o'clock or a bit after, getting a
traffic ticket, then she wasn't that woman. Without using a siren,
would you guarantee to get from 267th to the old Plaza or thereabouts
inside an hour—even at that time of night? Most of the signals
would still be working."

Hackett didn't look up, but rocked meditatively back
and forth a little. "I might. She came down kind of heavy on
playing the scatter-brained woman driver, I thought."

Boyce said, "I can't say I'd like to ride very
far with her, Sergeant—I mean, after just listening to her dither."

"
De veras
,"
said Mendoza. "Nor me. Babes in the woods. No way to prove
they'd known where Trask lived because Kingman tore that page out of
his address book." He laughed. "Ca! No, I haven't been
bright here .... Do I believe them? It's a story, you might say, too
full of double takes and dither not to be true. This gentlemanly old
trouper and his amiable scatterbrained wife . . ."

"Would you think I was crazy, Lieutenant,"
asked Boyce diffidently, "if I said I felt kind of sorry for
them? It must be an awful hard way to earn a living."

"Yes, but look at the living!" said Hackett
sardonically.

Another frosty little cloud rose around Mendoza's
head. "Well, this is probably the first really big money they've
made .... There are points in that story. Oh, yes."

“
What the hell," said Hackett savagely,
"they're slick actors, they pick up cues from each other and
build a scene out of thin air, and you swallow it whole! You swallow
this—this concoction as meek as be damned—like any new ranker on
his first case—"

Mendoza smoked in impassive silence for a full half
minute, looking at him; Hackett moved restlessly, got out his keys to
play with. "
Que paso, chico?
”
asked Mendoza softly.

"Damn it, nothing's the matter except that I'm
fed up with this whole slippery business. We haven't got anywhere at
it, and we ought to have some idea by this time! I—"

"
Tómelo con calma
,
early days—we found him on Saturday, this is only Monday. We'll get
there. Something on your mind?"

"Yes," said Hackett, "yes, there's
something on my mind, but I'll turn it over once or twice and tell
you about it in the morning. Nothing we can do tonight anyway. I'll
see you at eight." He turned away abruptly and got into his car.

"What d'you suppose is eating the sergeant?"
wondered Boyce.

Mendoza dropped his
cigarette, put a foot on it, and pushed it carefully into the gutter.
"That I couldn't say .... I'll drive you back to headquarters.
You might get on to Traffic and locate that ticket."

* * *

He did a little wondering about the usually
even-tempered Hackett on his way home, but more about the case. There
were indeed a few interesting points in that story—which he was
inclined to believe. Irritating, of course; but some new piece of
truth—or what looked very much like it—came up and you had to
change your mind, look at things another way.... Something else in
Trask's safety deposit box. (And didn't it point up one of the
elementary pitfalls for detectives, that! Rudimeutary deduction
according to types of people—the man couldn't have been a gardener.
You couldn't know. People, they just didn't come in standardized
patterns. And not a bad hiding place, either: shades of The Purloined
Letter.) Something else of the same species as the document held over
the Kingmans? Something burned in an ashtray.

He slid the car gently into the garage, let himself
into the apartment, switched on all the lights. All three cats came
to welcome him, and because El Señor was usually standoffish,
Mendoza made a little fuss over him, encouragingly .... A note from
Mrs. Carter, the cats last fed at four o'clock. Another note from
Mrs. Bryson, which announced simply, He's learned to open cupboards.

"Now have you?" he said to El Señor, who
had both paws round his neck and was sampling his necktie. “Basta,
ya!—not good for cats, leave it alone! Sometimes you act like a
very smart boy indeed, too smart for your own good." It was
apparently true: the low cupboard doors of the record cabinet stood
open, and so—uncannily—did one of the cupboards over the kitchen
drainboard.