“This is why.”
He pulled his head back so sharply it rapped the wall. “You can’t use third-degree methods on me. It isn’t legal.”
“Stop blowing bubbles, Sable. Was Fredericks here last night?”
“Yes. He wanted me to cash a check for him. I gave him all the cash I had in the house. It amounted to over two hundred dollars.”
“What did he want it for?”
“He didn’t tell me. Actually, he wasn’t making too much sense. He talked as if the strain had been too much for him.”
“What did he say?”
“I can’t reproduce it verbatim. I was upset myself. He asked me a lot of questions, which I wasn’t able to answer, about Anthony Galton and what happened to him. The imposture must have gone to his head; he seemed to have himself convinced that he actually was Galton’s son.”
“Was Sheila Howell with him?”
“Yes, she was present, and I see what you mean. He may have been talking for her benefit. If it was an act, she was certainly taken in by it. But as I said, he seemed to be taken in by it himself. He became very excited, and threatened me with force unless I told him who murdered Galton. I didn’t know what to tell him. I finally thought of the name of that woman in Redwood City – the Galtons’ former nurse.”
“Mrs. Matheson?”
“Yes. I had to tell him something, get rid of him somehow.” A patrol car whined up the hill and stopped in front of the house. Conger and another deputy climbed out. Sable was going to have a hard time getting rid of them.
Chapter 31
THEY DROPPED me at the airport, and I got aboard a plane. It was the same two-engine bucket, on the same flight, that had taken me north three weeks ago. Even the stewardess was the same. Somehow she looked younger and more innocent. Time had stood still for her while it had been rushing me along into premature middle age.
She comforted me with Chiclets and coffee in paper cups. And there was the blessed Bay again, and the salt flats.
The Matheson house was closed up tight, with the drapes pulled over the windows, as if there was sickness inside. I asked my cab-driver to wait and knocked on the front door. Marian Matheson answered it herself.
She had been living on my time-schedule, and growing old rapidly. There was more gray in her hair, more bone in her face. But the process of change had softened her. Even her voice was gentler:
“I’ve been sort of expecting you. I had another visitor this morning.”
“John Galton?”
“Yes. John Galton – the little boy I looked after in Luna Bay. It was quite an experience meeting him after all these years. And his girl, too. He brought his girl along.” She hesitated, then opened the door wider. “Come in if you want.”
She took me into the darkened living-room and placed me in a chair.
“What did they come to you for, Mrs. Matheson?”
“The same thing you did. Information.”
“What about?”
“That night. I thought he had a right to know the truth, so I told him all I told you, about Culligan and Shoulders.” Her answer was vague; perhaps she was trying to keep the memory vague in her mind.
“What was his reaction?”
“He was very interested. Naturally. He really pricked up his ears when I told him about the rubies.”
“Did he explain his interest in the rubies?”
“He didn’t explain anything. He got up and left in a hurry, and they rocketed off in that little red car of his. They didn’t even wait to drink the coffee I was brewing.”
“Were they friendly?”
“To me, you mean? Very friendly. The girl was lovely to me. She confided they were going to get married as soon as her young man worked his way out of the darkness.”
“What did she mean by the darkness?”
“I don’t know, that was just the phrase she used.” But she squinted at the sunlight filtering through the drapes, like someone who understood what darkness meant. “He seemed to be very concerned about his father’s death.”
“Did he say what he was going to do next, or where he was going?”
“No. He did ask me how to get to the airport – if there were buses running. It seemed kind of funny, him asking about buses when he had a brand-new sports car standing out front.”
“He’s evading arrest, Mrs. Matheson. He knew his car would be spotted right away if he parked it at the airport.”
“Who wants to arrest him?”
“I do, for one. He isn’t Galton’s son, or Brown’s son. He’s an impostor.”
“How can that be? Why, he’s the spitting image of his father.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, and you’re not the first one to be taken in by his appearance. His real name is Theo Fredericks. He’s a small-time crook from Canada with a record of violence.”
Her hand went to her mouth. “From Canada, did you say?”
“Yes. His parents run a boardinghouse in Pitt, Ontario.”
“But that’s where they’re going, Ontario. I heard him say to her, when I was out in the kitchen, that there were no direct flights to Ontario. That was just before they took off from here.”
“What time were they here?”
“It was early in the morning, just past eight. They were waiting out front when I got back from driving Ron to the station.”
I looked at my watch. It was nearly five. They had had almost nine hours. With the right connections, they could be in Canada by now.
And with the right connections, I could be there in another eight or nine hours.
Mrs. Matheson followed me to the door. “Is this trouble going to go on forever?”
“We’re coming to the end of it,” I said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you out of it after all.”
“It’s all right. I’ve talked it out with Ron. Whatever comes up – if I have to testify in court or anything – we can handle it together. My husband is a very good man.”
“He has a good wife.”
“No.” She shook the compliment off her fingers. “But I love him and the boy, and that’s something. I’m glad it all came out between me and Ron. It’s a big load off my heart.” She smiled gravely. “I hope it works out some way for that young girl. It’s hard to believe that her boy is a criminal. But I know how these things can be in life.”
She looked up at the sun.
On the way to International Airport my taxi passed the Redwood City courthouse. I thought of stopping and getting in touch with Trask. Then I decided not to. It was my case, and I wanted to end it.
Perhaps I had a glimmering of the truth.
Chapter 32
I DROVE my rented car into Pitt at three o’clock, the darkest hour of the night. But there were lights in the red house on the riverbank. Mrs. Fredericks came to the door fully dressed in rusty black. Her heavy face set stubbornly when she saw me.
“You got no call coming here again? What do you think you’re after? I didn’t know those Hamburg fellows were wanted by the police.”
“They’re not the only ones. Has your son been here?”
“Theo?” Her eyes and mouth sought obtusely for an answer.
“He hasn’t come near me for years.”
A husky whisper rose from the shadows behind her. “Don’t believe her, mister.” Her husband came forward, supporting himself with one hand against the wall. He looked and sounded very drunk: “She’d lie her false heart out for him.”
“Hold your tongue, old man.”
Dark anger filled her eyes like a seepage of ink: I’d seen the same thing happen to her son. She turned on Fredericks, and he backed away. His face looked porous and moist like a deliquescent substance. His clothes were covered with dust.