“Yes. You know, they’ve been tightening customs inspection all across the border to prevent drugs from being smuggled in. Marihuana in particular.”
Rafe crowed, slapping his knees. “Particularly marihuana. And particularly at Tijuana.” Rafe bounced to his feet, pointing at me. “Nialla, tell Michaels what you told me. About the hay in the station wagon?” He shook his head impatiently when I stared dumbly at him. “Nialla’s father always took his own hay with him to Tijuana. He had a spotless reputation, too. No harried customs officer would have bothered the Marchmount cars or transports. Yet the day Donnelly was killed, he’d come back from Tijuana unexpectedly. Nialla said he was furious when he called her to come home. When she got to the house… Go on, Nialla.”
I wasn’t sure yet what he wanted me to say.
“Sweetheart, about the hay. Sorry, Nialla.” And he’d whirled again to Michaels. “There was hay, hay, Michaels, in the station-wagon bed. And when Nialla got up to the loft…”
“Yes, there was hay, loose and still in blocks, spread all around. And you don’t do that. You use just as many blocks in a bale as you need. I thought that was odd at the time.”
“Odd? Odd!” Rafe was more excited than I’d ever seen him. “As odd as the hay your father accidentally separated in Tijuana. Hay is grass, Michaels.”
I understood now. “You mean, someone was smuggling marihuana into the States in my father’s bales of hay?”
Rafe flopped onto the couch, smirking with satisfaction. “Exactly. And what a helluva clever way to smuggle keys of grass. God, how ingenious!” He leaned forward, striking off points on his fingers. “Donnelly’d undoubtedly bring more bales than he needed, and it would be no trouble at all for Galvano to stuff the keys in the hay blocks. Who’d suspect him? He was always around the Marchmount stables. Goddamn!”
“And you think Mr. Donnelly accidentally discovered the stash?” Michaels asked.
“What else? And came back to San Fernando to investigate. That’s what infuriated your father, Nialla. He’d be livid at being used that way.”
Yes, he would have, I thought. “Then who killed my father?”
“Galvano!”
“Oh, Rafe, he couldn’t…”
“Nonsense, Nialla. Anyone can kill. There was a pitchfork handy. Makes a… Dammit, Nialla. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
His arm was around me, his expression white with remorse. And all I could think of was “Do unto others.” I shuddered.
“It has to be Galvano, Michaels.”
“Why? It could have been the pickup man.”
“True. But why else would Galvano want to play dead?”
Michaels considered that, and shrugged.
“Okay,” Rafe went on grimly, “play the devil’s advocate. Galvano finds out that Russ has discovered the grass. Follows him back to San Fernando. Kills him. So let’s also assume that Russ has destroyed all that shipment. Galvano’s in a real bind now, man. He doesn’t have the grass, and he doesn’t have the bread to pay for it. And he’s got to answer. Sure, he’d rig an accidental death. For Christ’s sake, no one has connected him with Russ Donnelly’s murder yet. He even checked with Nialla to be sure she didn’t see him in the loft. But if she had, she’d’ve told the cops, so she hadn’t. My God, that little prick thought fast and smart. He even conned her into shelling out five hundred dollars.”
“He extorted money from Mrs. Clery in California?”
I held my breath.
“Galvano approached Nialla with some song and dance about helping her clear her father’s name.”
I shot a furtive look at Michaels. Was that enough to tell him?
“Then he comes back again for more money, five thousand, wasn’t it, Nialla?” I could only stare at Rafe, willing him to shut up now. “That’s why I think things were getting so damned hot for Galvano. He had to split.”
“Did you give him the five thousand dollars, Mrs. Clery?”
Numbly I shook my head.
“You realized he was extorting money from you on false pretenses?”
I could only shake my head.
“You didn’t report the attempt to the authorities…”
“Damn it, Michaels,” Rafe cut in, his voice rough with irritation, “the fuzz in San Fernando-I consider you a policeman, so you’ll understand the distinction I made- gave Nialla nothing but grief. They accused her father of everything from doctoring an entry to welching on a bet. Albeit they were trying to find a motive, but they hectored Nialla so much in the process that even a lousy con artist like Caps Galvano looked good. Of course she didn’t report it to the police. She left.”
“Actually, Mrs. Clery ought to have informed the authorities of her leaving.”
Rafe answered with a short expletive. Michaels looked at him for a long moment.
“There was no apparent motive, Mr. Clery, for Russell Donnelly’s death. There were no clues. The handle of the murder weapon had been wiped clean, and all other fingerprints in the loft were accountable. When Mrs. Clery disappeared without a trace, it was logical to assume she’d been murdered too.”
“Oh. That hadn’t occurred to me.”
Michaels smiled at me reassuringly. “If one’s alive, one doesn’t assume the authorities consider you the victim of foul play. But you should have told the police where you were going. They had some questions.”
“Questions?”
Michaels fumbled for a flimsy sheet in his pocket, clearing his throat as he scanned it. “There were deposits of one thousand dollars made to your father’s checking account on the first of September, the first of December, and…”
“My college money!” I stopped feeling contrite and got mad. “You mean they thought Dad was receiving payoff money.”
Michaels had the grace to blush. “They didn’t know what to think, Mrs. Clery. The amounts were suspicious.”
“They came from the legitimate sales of stock.”
“In even thousand-dollar lots?” Michaels asked.
“Yes,” I replied, so sharply that Michaels blinked at me. “Mrs. du Maurier advised Dad to start a mutual fund for my education. You can sell off enough fund shares for exactly the amount you need.”
Rafe nodded. “That’s right.”
“I just needed an answer, Mrs. Clery.” And Michaels was patient with my indignation. “I have one, and you have my apologies. Now, would you also tell me where you were between the time you left California and arrived in Sunbury? That’ll spare you another visit from me.”
“I took off across country, stopped at Manhattan, Kansas, to rest me and my mare. That’s where I bought the station wagon. Then I stayed with the Poiriers in West Chester until I took up circuit showing February in Florida.”
“And you informed no one in California of your whereabouts?”
“There wasn’t anyone left in California that I wanted informed.”
“Understandably. Well, I suppose that’s why Galvano didn’t catch up with you until Sunbury.”
“Galvano hasn’t been after Nialla, Michaels,” Rafe said in a quiet voice. “She’s just a fringe benefit. Sorry, dear heart, but that’s the way I see it. Galvano’s been stalking Louis Marchmount, who was, as I told you, in Sunbury last weekend. Traveling for his health, I believe the euphemism is. And he’s up at the big house right now, incommunicado.”
Michaels gave a sharp nod of his head as he absorbed the impact of this information.
“Look, Michaels, take this in two segments: the murder of Russell Donnelly because he discovered the marihuana is one-right up to the point where Galvano fakes his own death, because that’s the only way to get the grass ring off his neck. He’s in the clear, right? Because no one has connected him with Russell Donnelly’s death. But he’s also without access to his usual source of income-the tracks. The moment he puts his weasel face near a betting window, he’s had it. Second segment: how to make a living now. He’d already started by conning Nialla out of five hundred dollars for ‘expense money.’ When he realized that he’d have to split, he’d sent her to try to wheedle five thousand dollars out of Marchmount, but Marchmount doesn’t give, and Nialla decamps. So I’ll bet he started after Marchmount to get him a disappearing stake. And Galvano must know a bundle about Lou.” “The flaw in your argument, Mr. Clery, is that Marchmount must certainly know that Galvano died in that accident in California.” Michaels consulted another set of telex sheets. “Marchmount admitted to seeing Galvano up until just after the Donnelly death. He insisted vehemently, and had the pull to make it stick, that once he discovered the man’s unsavory reputation, he had had nothing more to do with him. Evidently Galvano left the Tijuana scene without paying off some bets. That’s another reason why the police let his bones lie.”