Now the first shock was over, Anson turned.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll see Lieutenant Jenson. He’s a good friend of mine… I wouldn’t like him to think I had anything to do with the murder,” and he forced a laugh.
“I just thought I’d mention it,” Hornby said, giving Anson the receipt.
“Sure… I’ll see the Lieutenant.”
As Anson drove away from the garage, he had a feeling he was in a trap. How many more mistakes was he going to make? He had been so eager to get the insurance money, he had rushed into this thing. He had been crazy to have used Barlowe’s gun. He had been even more crazy to have been so damned careless as to get a garage that knew him to change his tyres. Then there was Harmas asking about the coupon inquiry form and worse still, he now had no falibi for the night when Barlowe died!
Could this bright idea of his be slowly but surely collapsing? He mustn’t lose his nerve, he told himself. So long as his alibi stood up, he was in the clear. What was he to do about Jones? His hands turned damp as he gripped the steering-wheel. Would he have to murder both Jones and his wife? Somehow he would have to silence them. He was sure, even if he did manage to find one thousand dollars, Jones would come back for more. This tyre business… he had dumped his old set in a breakdown yard among hundreds of other used tyres. No one had seen him do it. Suppose Jones did betray him? Could the police prove he murdered Barlowe? He didn’t think they could… unless Meg’s nerve broke. If they worked on her, she might involve him.
She would be back the following night and alone in the sordid dirty, little house. He would go out there late and talk to her.
Maddox flicked cigarette ash off his tie.
“I never liked Anson,” he said. “There has always been something queer about him. He looks sexually starved and when a man looks like that, I don’t like him.”
Lieutenant Jenson sat behind his desk. Astride a chair, Harmas kept his eyes on Maddox. They had spent the past hour going over the details that Jenson and Harmas had collected covering Anson’s connection with Barlowe’s murder.
“Let’s take another look at it,” Maddox said, dropping his cigarette butt on the floor and lighting another cigarette. “We know Anson has been in this woman’s bedroom. We know also he has handled Barlowe’s gun-box. You have his fingerprints in the bedroom and on the gun-box. We know this because you got his prints on the glass paperweight.” He looked approvingly at Harmas. “That was smart.” He drew in a lungful of smoke and let it drift down his thick nostrils.
“We know from this woman, Fay Lawley, that Anson has been losing money on horses and has been chasing women.
We know he has been living far beyond his income. We also know on the morning following the Caltex holdup, Anson suddenly pays into his bank a thousand dollars. We know the gun that killed the officer in the hold-up belonged to Barlowe. We also know that the gun killed Barlowe. We can assume the woman gave Anson the gun. He hadn’t the money to pay for the premium so it looks as if he were forced to fake the Caltex hold-up to get the money and to pay off his debts to this bookmaker. We know he changed his car tyres after he was alerted by you…” here Maddox scowled at Harmas, “that a tyre track was found on the murder spot. We also know that he has a cast iron alibi.” Maddox leaned back in his chair “What is a cast iron alibi? Who is this night guard who tells us Anson was working until eleven on the night Barlowe died?”
“He wouldn’t stand Up for three minutes under cross examination,” Jenson said. “He copped a five year stretch for blackmail ten years ago. He’d lie his mother’s life away if he could earn a dollar.”
Maddox ran his fingers through his hair, his red, rubbery face set in a scowl.
“Then it looks like Anson.” He turned on Harmas. “What do you think? Can we nail him?”
“I don’t think so,” Harmas said. “We have nothing against him that a smart attorney couldn’t shoot to bits. I think as you do… I think he is our boy, but proving it is something else besides.”
“Well, this is your job,” Maddox said, glaring at Harmas. “So what do we do?”
Harmas smiled his slow, lazy smile.
“I think we should settle the claim. Give Mrs. Barlowe fifty thousand dollars.”
Maddox’s face turned purple.
“Pay her! You’re trying to be funny! She’ll never get a dime out of me!”
Harmas glanced at his watch. It was twenty minutes to nine and he was hungry.
“I told Anson I’d persuade you to settle the claim. Just to get the right atmosphere, I think we should call her lawyer and tell him the same thing. As soon as they know the money is going to be paid out, things will start happening.”
Maddox suddenly relaxed.
“Go on… keep talking…”
“This woman is an ex-prostitute; there is no greedier animal,” Harmas said. “She won’t part with any of the loot. She and Anson could have a quarrel. She’ll be leaving hospital tomorrow. I thought it would be an idea to tap the telephone and plant microphones, hooked to a tape recorder around the house. It’s my bet Anson will go out there as soon as he knows the money is going to be paid. We could get quite a conversation on tape.”
Maddox rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at Jenson. “The boy’s smart,” he said. “I won’t say I can’t do without him, but he makes my life a little easier than if I didn’t have him.” To Harmas, he said, “Go ahead… call her lawyer and call Anson.”
Anson paced up and down in his sitting-room. Every now and then, he looked impatiently at the clock on the sideboard.
It was five minutes to nine o’clock. Then suddenly the telephone bell rang.
For a moment he hesitated, then picked up the receiver. It was Harmas.
“I’ve fixed it!” Harmas exclaimed. “Phew! I’m pretty near a wreck! Maddox has agreed to settle the claim. You have yourself to thank for it! If you hadn’t been selling so much insurance in the district, Maddox would never have agreed, but even he can see that he would only be spoiling your territory if we fought the claim.”
“You really mean… there’s no trick in this?”
Anson was stiff with suspicion. The idea of Maddox parting with fifty thousand dollars with the evidence he had against Meg seemed impossible.
“Don’t imagine Maddox likes it,” Harmas said and laughed. “He talked first on the telephone with old man Burrows.
He’s sure the woman fixed her husband, but he isn’t sure he can prove it… so, well, he’s letting her get away with it. I’ve called her lawyer. He’ll get the cheque tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m glad,” Anson said. “Thanks for calling me.”
“That’s okay. I thought you’d like to know. See you sometime,” and Harmas hung up.
Anson slowly replaced the receiver.
Meg Barlowe stirred the fire into a blaze.
The big, dusty room gave her a feeling of security. Having Hogan, his heavy body stretched out on the settee, gave her a feeling of relaxation even though Hogan seemed in a vile mood.
The time was a few minutes after eleven p.m. Meg had left the hospital during the afternoon. As soon as she had got back to the house, she had attempted to call Hogan, but it was some hours before he answered her repeated ringing.
She had asked him to come out right away, but Hogan was busy. He said he would be around about nine o’clock, but he hadn’t arrived before a few minutes after ten.
As soon as he had settled himself and had had a drink, he wanted to know when Meg was going to get the money.
“I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “This guy Jameson is supposed to be smart. He’s put in the claim, but I haven’t heard anything.”