The McBain Brief (25 page)

The butler opened
the door and announced, “Mr. Davis, sir,”

Davis smiled at the butler and entered the room. It was full of plates and pitchers and cups and saucers and mugs and jugs and platters. For a moment Davis thought he'd wandered into the pantry by error, but then he saw Ellison seated behind a large desk.

Ellison did not look old, even though Davis knew he was somewhere in his seventies. He had led an easy life, and the rich are expert at conserving their youth. The only signs of age on Ellison were in his face. It was perhaps a bit too ruddy for good health, and it reminded him of MacGregor's complexion—but Ellison was not a fat man. He had steel-gray hair cropped close to his head. His brows were black, in direct contrast to the hair on his head, and his eyes were a penetrating pale blue. Davis wondered from whom Janet had inherited her red hair, then let the thought drop when Ellison rose and extended his hand.

“Ah, Davis, come in, come in.”

Davis walked to the desk, and Ellison took his hand in a tight grip.

“Hope you don't mind talking in here,” he said. “I've got a new piece of porcelain, and I wanted to mount it.”

“Not at all,” Davis said.

“Know anything about porcelain?” Ellison asked.

“Not a thing, sir.”

“Pity. Volkstedt wouldn't mean anything to you then, would it?”

“No, sir.”

“Or Rudolstadt? It's more generally known as that.”

“I'm afraid not, sir,” Davis said.

“Here now,” Ellison said. “Look at this sauce boat.”

Davis looked.

“This dates back to 1783, Davis. Here, look.” He turned over the sauce boat, but he did not let it out of his hands. “See the crossed hayforks? That's the mark, you know, shows it's genuine stuff. Funny thing about this. The mark so resembles the Meissen crossed swords . . .” He seemed suddenly to remember that he was not talking to a fellow connoisseur. He put the sauce boat down swiftly but gently. “Have you learned anything yet, Davis?”

“A little, Mr. Ellison. I'm here mainly for money.”

Ellison looked up sharply and then began chuckling. “You're a frank man, aren't you?”

“I try to be,” Davis said, “When it concerns money.”

“How much will you need?”

“A thousand will do it. I'll probably be flying to Vegas and back, and I may have to spread a little money for information while I'm there.”

Ellison nodded briefly. “I'll give you a check before you leave. What progress have you made, Davis?”

“Not very much. Do you know a Tony Radner?”

Ellison looked up swiftly. “Why?”

“He put your daughter on the DC-4, sir. Do you know him?”

Ellison's mouth lengthened, and he tightened his fists on the desk top. “Has that son of a bitch got something to do with this?” he asked.

“Do you know him, sir?”

“Of course I do! How do you know he put Janet on that plane?”

“An eyewitness, sir.”

“I'll kill that bastard!” Ellison shouted. “If he had anything to do with . . .”

“How do you know him, Mr. Ellison?”

Ellison's rage subsided for a moment. “Janet was seeing him,” he said.

“What do you mean, seeing him?”

“She fancied herself to be in love with him,” Ellison said. “He's a no-good, Davis, a plain . . .”

“You mean she wanted to marry him, rather than Carruthers?”

“No, that's not what I mean. I mean she was seeing Radner.
After
she and Nick were married. She . . . she had the supreme gall to tell me she wanted a divorce from Nick.” Ellison clenched his hands and then relaxed them again. “You don't know Nick, Davis. He's a fine boy, one of the best. I feel toward him the way I'd feel toward my own son. I never had any boys, Davis, and Janet wasn't much of a daughter.” He paused. “I'm grateful I've still got Nick,” he said.

“Your daughter wanted to divorce Carruthers?”

“Yes,” Ellison said.

“Did she tell Carruthers?”

“Yes, she did. But I told
her
I'd cut her off without a penny if she did any such damn-fool thing. She changed her mind mighty fast after that. Janet was used to money, Davis. The idea of marrying a ticket seller didn't appeal to her when she knew she'd have to do without it.”

“So she broke it off with him?”

“On the spot.”

“When was this?”

“About six months ago,” Ellison said.

“And she hadn't seen him since?”

“Not that I knew of. Now you tell me he put her on that plane. I don't know what to think.”

Davis nodded. “It
is
a little confusing.”

“Do you suppose she was going to keep a rendezvous in Washington with Radner?” Ellison shook his head. “Dammit, I wouldn't put it past her.”

“I don't think so. At least . . . well, I should think they'd have left together if that were the case.”

“Not if she didn't want to be seen. She was travelling on a company pass, you know.”

“That seems odd,” Davis said. “I mean—”

“You mean, with all my money, why should she travel on a pass?” Ellison smiled. “I like to help Nick out, Davis. I keep him living well; did it when Janet was alive, and still do it. But he's a proud boy, and I've got to be careful with my methods of seeing to his welfare. Getting Janet her ticket was one of the things that kept his pride going.”

“I see.” Davis washed his hand over his face. “Well, I'll talk to Radner. Did you know he was married now?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Yes. On the day of the crash.”

“On the day . . . then what on earth was he doing with Janet?”

“That's a good question,” Davis said. He paused, and then added, “Can I have that check now?”

It was not
until after supper that evening that Nicholas Carruthers showed up. Davis had eaten lightly, and after a hasty cigarette he had begun packing a small bag for the Vegas trip. When the knock sounded on the door to his apartment, he dropped a pair of shorts into the suitcase and called, “Who is it?”

“Me. Carruthers.”

“Second,” Davis said. He went to the door rapidly, wondering what had occasioned this visit from the pilot. He threw back the night latch, and then unlocked the door.

Carruthers was in uniform this time. He wore a white shirt and black tie, together with the pale blue trousers and jacket of the airline, and a peaked cap.

“Surprised to see you, Carruthers,” Davis said. “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” Carruthers said. He glanced around the simply furnished apartment noncomittally, then stepped inside and took off his cap, keeping it in his hands.

“Something to drink?” Davis asked. “Scotch okay?”

“Please,” Carruthers replied.

Davis poured, and when Carruthers had downed the drink, he refilled the glass. “What's on your mind, Carruthers?”

Carruthers looked into the depths of his glass, sipped a bit of the scotch, and then looked up. “Janet,” he said.

“What about her?”

“Let it lie. Tell the old man you're dropping it. Let it lie.”

“Why?”

“How much is the old man paying you?” Carruthers asked, avoiding Davis' question.

“That's between the old man and myself.”

“I'll match it,” Carruthers said. “And then some. Just let's drop the whole damn thing.”

Davis thought back to the genial Mr. MacGregor. “You remind me of someone else I know,” he said.

Carruthers did not seem interested. “Look, Davis, what does this mean to you, anyway? Nothing. You're getting paid for a job. All right, I'm willing to pay you what you would have made. So why are you being difficult?”

“Am I being difficult? I didn't say I
wouldn't
drop it, did I?”

“Will you?”

“It depends. I'd like to know why you want it dropped.”

“Let's just say I'd like it better if the whole thing were forgotten.”

“A lot of people would like it better that way. Including the person who put that bomb on the plane.”

Carruthers opened his eyes wide. “You don't think I did that, do you?”

“You were aboard the plane. You could have.”

“Why would I do a thing like that?”

“I can think of several reasons,” Davis said.

“Like what?” Carruthers sipped at the scotch again.

“Maybe you didn't like the idea of Janet playing around with Tony Radner.”

Carruthers laughed a short, brittle laugh. “You think that bothered me? That two-bit punk? Don't be ridiculous.” He drank some more scotch and then said, “I was used to Janet's excursions. Radner didn't bother me at all.”

“You mean there were others?”

“Others? Janet collected them the way the old man collects porcelain. A hobby, you know.”

“Did the old man know this?”

“I doubt it. He knew his daughter was a bitch, but I think Radner was the first time it came into the open. He squelched that pretty damn fast, you can bet.”

“But you knew about it? And it didn't bother you?”

“Not in the least. I'm no angel myself, Davis. If Janet wanted to roam, fine. If she thought of leaving me, that was another thing.”

“That you didn't like,” Davis said.

“That I didn't like at all.” Carruthers paused. “Look, Davis,
I like money. The old man has a lot of it. Janet was my wife, and the old man saw to it that we lived in style. I could have left the airline any time I wanted to, and he'd have set me up for life. Fact is, I like flying, so I stayed on. But I sure as hell wasn't going to let my meal ticket walk out.”

“That's not the way I heard it,” Davis said.

“What do you mean?”

“Janet's gone, and the old man is still feeding the kitty.”

“Sure, but I didn't know it would work that way.”

“Didn't you?”

Carruthers swallowed the remainder of his scotch. “I don't get you, Davis.”

“Look at it this way, Carruthers. Janet's a handy thing to have around. She comes and goes, and you come and go, and the old man sees to it that you come and go in Cadillacs. A smart man may begin wondering why he needs Janet at all. If he can be subsidized even after she's gone, why not get rid of her? Why not give her a bomb to play with?”

“Why not?” Carruthers asked. “But I didn't.”

“That's what they all say,” Davis told him. “Right up to the gas chamber.”

“You're forgetting that I didn't know what the old man's reactions would be. Still don't know. It's early in the game yet, and he's still crossing my palm, but that may change. Look, Davis, when a man takes out accident insurance, it's not because he hopes he'll get into an accident. The same thing with Janet. I needed her. She was my insurance. As long as she was around, my father-inlaw saw to it that I wasn't needing.” Carruthers shook his head. “No, Davis, I couldn't take a chance on my insurance lapsing.”

“Perhaps not. Why do you want me to drop the case?”

“Because I want a status quo. The memory of Janet is fresh in
the old man's mind. I'm coupled with the memory. That means he keeps my Cadillac full of gas. Suppose you crack this damned thing? Suppose you find out who set that bomb? It becomes something that's resolved. There's a conclusion, and the old man can file it away like a piece of rare porcelain. He loses interest—and maybe my Cadillac stops running.”

“You know something, Carruthers? I don't think I like you very much.”

Carruthers smiled. “Why? Because I'm trying to protect an investment? Because I don't give a damn that Janet is gone? Look, Davis, let's get this thing straight. We hated each other's guts. I stayed with her because I like the old man's money. And she stayed with me because she knew she'd be cut off penniless if she didn't. A very simple arrangement.” He paused. “What do you say, Davis?”

“I say get the hell out of here.”

“Be sensible, Davis. Look at it . . .”

“Take a walk, Carruthers. Take a long walk and don't come back.”

Carruthers stared at Davis for a long time. He said nothing, and there was no emnity in his eyes. At last he rose and settled his cap on his head.

At the door, he turned and said, “You're not being smart, Davis.”

Davis didn't answer him.

Maybe he
wasn't
being smart. Maybe Carruthers was right.

It would have been so much easier to have said no, right from the start. No, Mr. Ellison, I'm sorry. I won't take the case. Sorry.

That would have been the easy way. He had not taken the easy way. The money had appealed to him, yes, and so he'd stepped into something that was really far too big for him, something that
still made very little sense to him. A bomb seemed an awfully elaborate way of killing someone, assuming the death of Janet Carruthers was, in fact, the reason for the bomb. It would have been so much easier to have used a knife, or a gun, or a rope, or even poison.

Unless the destruction of the plane was an important factor in the killing.

Did the killer have a grudge against the airline as well?

Carruthers worked for the airline, but he was apparently well satisfied with his job. Liked flying, he'd said. Besides, to hear him tell it, he'd never even considered killing his wife. Sort of killing the goose, you know. She was too valuable to him. She was—what had he alluded to?—insurance, yes, insurance.

Which, in a way, was true. Carruthers had no way of knowing how Ellison would react to his daughter's death. He could just as easily have washed his hands of Carruthers, and a man couldn't take a chance on . . .

“I'll be goddamned!” Davis said aloud.

He glanced at his watch quickly. It was too late now. He would have to wait until morning.