At nine I phoned Lieutenant Curry and learned that David Carr was still at large.
At ten I decided to do at least something to justify my fee, and made a long-distance call to St. Louis. I called the Exeter Investigating Service and got hold of Carl Exeter himself.
“Harry Stander from Miami,” I told him. “Got a chore for you.”
“Fine,” he said. “Shoot.”
“I want a check on a man named David Carr, last known to be playing clarinet with a St. Louis orchestra about two years back.” I gave him the description. “At present he’s holed up somewhere in Miami or near by. See if you can track down some former associate who knows his address here.”
“That all you got on him?” Exeter asked. “You don’t know what orchestra he played with?”
“No,” I said. “I know it’s not much. I’m playing an outside chance.”
“Do the best I can,” Exeter said. “Where can I reach you?”
I gave him the Wolfendon telephone number.
At noon the housekeeper prepared some lunch for Harbor and me. The nurse took Marie’s lunch up to her room. Shortly afterward Lieutenant Sam Curry phoned to tell me the inquest was scheduled for the day after tomorrow and ask my opinion as to whether I thought Marie Wolfendon would be sufficiently recovered from shock to attend by then. I told him he’d have to ask Dr. Hudson.
At one P.M. Carl Exeter phoned me from St. Louis.
“This was an easy one,” he said. “All I had to do was phone police headquarters.”
“Oh? What’d you find out?”
“October sixth last. Just a little over a year ago. He committed suicide.”
“What?” I said. “You mean he’s dead?”
“Suicides usually are.”
“That can’t be,” I said slowly. “He’s been sending letters and making phone calls from Miami.”
“Not this guy. Name fits, description fits, and he played clarinet in a local night-club orchestra. Birthplace was Washington, Missouri.”
“What were the circumstances?” I asked.
“Blew his brains out. Left a note asking that a woman friend be informed of his death.”
“What woman friend?”
“Someone down your way. A Mrs. Marie Wolfendon. The police sent her a routine letter explaining his death.”
I didn’t say anything for a time. Then I said, “Thanks a lot. Send me your bill.”
After I hung up, I sat thinking for a long time. Then I rose, left the house without telling anyone and drove to Miami. I drove to the apartment of Professor Emertis Harlon Manners, who is a retired Miami University Professor, and knows as much about handwriting as anyone in the country.
It took the old man about ten minutes of study with a magnifying glass to come to a conclusion.
“It’s a good forgery,” he said. “But this second letter wasn’t written by the same person who wrote the first. I can show you in detail why, if you’re interested.”
“Never mind,” I told him. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Back at the Wolfendon mansion George Harbor met me at the door. “Where have you been?” he asked angrily. “You’re supposed to be protecting Marie.”
“Against what?” I inquired. “She’s not in any danger. Except possibly from the law. Let’s go talk to her.”
He followed me to the stairs, protesting, “Dr. Hudson said she’s not to be disturbed.”
I didn’t pay any attention to him. He followed me clear to her room door, still protesting. I gave the door a gentle knock.
When no one answered, I opened it and looked in. Marie was asleep on the bed, and the nurse was out of the room. I went in, held the door for Harbor to follow me, and closed it behind us. I touched Marie’s shoulder and her eyes popped open.
I took a chair and waved Harbor to another. He glared at me and remained standing.
“Suit yourself,” I said. “But you’ll take this better sitting down. This was a pretty cleverly executed murder.”
Marie’s eyes suddenly slitted and George Harbor’s face smoothed of all expression. “What are you talking about?” he said.
“The murder you and Marie engineered of her husband. It was a smart idea, getting me in as an impartial witness so that I could testify how the ‘accident’ happened. It wouldn’t have stood up nearly as well with only George to testify. Somebody might have guessed you were lovers and had made up the story.”
Neither said anything.
“I’ll spell it out for you so you can be sure I’m not just guessing,” I said. “Over a year ago Marie got word from the St. Louis police that David Carr had committed suicide. When the two of you decided to dispose of her husband, she got the brilliant idea of making use of that old crank letter he’d sent her three years before. She forged a second letter, or maybe you did, George, and sent it to herself. Then you called me in, ostensibly to protect her from Carr, but really to act as an unsuspecting witness to the ‘accident.’ You, George, were the voice on the phone. Both times.”
“You’re crazy,” he spat at me. “I was here in the house both times.”
“Sure,” I said. “You dialed the service number. Every exchange has a number you can dial which makes your own phone ring. It’s for the convenience of repair men and isn’t listed, but you can find out what it is easily enough. Any telephone repair man could tell you. You dialled the service number from one of the extensions, then disguised your voice.”
Harbor started to open his mouth, but Marie gestured him to silence. “What do you intend to do about it?” she asked coolly. “Inform the police?”
I shook my head. “Cut myself in, baby. How many millions do you inherit from Joshua? Twenty? Thirty? I’ll be easy on you. I’ll settle for one.”
“And if we say no?”
“Lieutenant Curry wants those two letters back for evidence, you know. It’s extremely unlikely he’d have the handwriting compared. Unless I suggested it. Once he did, you’re both finished. A comparison would prove the danger from David Carr was not only a myth, but a deliberate fraud. He wouldn’t stop then until he had you both in jail for murder. He’d find out just what happened to Carr, just as I found out, and discover you’d been informed of his death over a year ago. Then he’d dig for evidence that you two are lovers. I imagine he’d find some. You two didn’t come to the point of murder just looking at each other across the dinner table. There’ll be tourist-court owners who will be able to identify you as the couple who registered as man and wife on certain dates. And Curry will find them. He’ll build a case you couldn’t possibly beat.”
Marie looked at me silently for a long time. Then she said in a totally calm voice, “I don’t see anything we can do except agree to Mr. Stander’s terms, George. One million dollars. As soon as the estate is settled.”
She looked at him and a message of understanding passed between them. It was a message which meant, “We’ll agree now, and take care of him later. Just as we took care of Josh.”
I felt a little tingle along my spine. I hadn’t expected to make a million dollars in absolute safety. It was going to be a contest. Either I’d collect or die. But it was worth the risk. I was willing to keep one eye over my shoulder.
If I could manage to live I’d be a millionaire.
Pro
by Joe Gores
He was a pleasant-looking guy, this Falconer. He even looked pleasant when he murdered...
The stewardess came by checking reservations.
“Your name please, sir.”
“Simmons,” said Falkoner. He was lean and dark, with long-fingered hands shaped like a piano player’s and cool grey eyes that observed almost everything. A thin white scar running across his chin made his otherwise pleasant face sullen. In his shoulder holster was a .357 magnum on a cut-down frame and in his bleak heart was death. Falkoner was a professional murderer.