“To see Professor Collins. Don’t take it so hard, little man. Reconcile yourself to the fact that Pamela killed Stevens. If you didn’t have a closed mind, you’d have realized it long ago.”
“Says you!” Smitty snapped. “If you didn’t have a closed mind, you’d see Collins killed him, and then pretended that he was already dead. It adds up—”
“To zero! Smitty, you’re a darn good accountant. You can always tell me who swiped the stamp when a corporation’s ten-million-dollar balance sheet is three cents out, but murder investigations are different. You don’t understand them. Look what you did back there.”
“What did I do?” demanded Smitty belligerently.
“Nothing very important. They would have found out it was Pamela Bogart, sooner or later. Your handing it to them on a platter just made it easier.”
“Jeff!” Smitty grabbed his boss’ arm. “Wasn’t that call on the level?”
“Of course it wasn’t. If you’d been paying attention, you’d have seen the DA’s man press a button under the edge of the desk. It rang a telephone bell.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Jeff?”
“Because I like you, Smitty. Besides, I need you in my work, other work than this sort of thing, which, incidentally, I am indulging in only because I’d like to see Pamela Bogart get a little of the punishment that’s due her. Here’s the college.”
The car coasted to a stop before the science building. Jeff and Smitty followed an attendant who led them down into the subbasement where the seismograph recording instruments were located. Professor Michael Collins rose from behind a desk and came to meet them, with hand outstretched.
“Sorry I wasn’t introduced by Mr Bogart this morning.” The professor smiled. “He’s funny that way. My first name is Mike.”
“Hello, Mike.” Jeff shook hands. “This is Smitty. Mr Z. Z. Smith, my assistant.”
“Hello, Smitty,” Mike said. “Are you the Z. Z. Smith who worked out the simplified percentage tables?”
“Why, yes. Yes, I am. You know, I haven’t thought of those for years. Where did you learn about them?”
“I’m naturally interested in anything mathematical. A friend of mine tipped me off to them. I’ve found the tables useful in long-distance earthquake computations. Just a minute, I have one here. I—”
“If you’ll forgive me, Mike,” Jeff said, “you and Smitty can carry it on later. I’ve an investigation on my hands that has to be made fast.”
“Sorry. I let my enthusiasm run away with me. We’ll get together later, Smitty. What can I do for you, Jeff?”
“They tell me you were engaged to Corinne Bogart, and were present the night she was murdered. Would you mind giving me your story of that evening?”
Mike Collins told the same story they had heard from Chief Gaines.
When he finished, Jeff asked, “How much time would you say elapsed between the actual shooting and the search for the gun?”
“I don’t know exactly. An hour, or an hour and a half. After Corinne was shot, we were pretty excited. I carried her upstairs to her bedroom.”
“You mean, you actually moved the body?” Smitty asked, aghast. “Even I know better than to do that.”
“Yes, I knew better, too. But Mr Bogart had already lifted her from the floor. I couldn’t see where moving her again would make any difference.”
“Then what happened?”
“Someone called the doctor. He didn’t arrive until fifteen or twenty minutes later. He pronounced her dead, then he came down to the library and had a drink. Finally, he asked what was keeping the police.”
“And what was detaining the police?”
“No one had called them. Everyone thought someone else had done it. They were called then, but I guess it was at least an hour after the shooting before they got there. First a radio car, and eventually the men from homicide.”
“So anyone could have disposed of the gun in the meantime.”
“Yes.” Mike nodded. “Anyone could. The case was badly handled. Of course, losing Corinne had stunned me. I guess, among us all, we messed it up”
“Where was everyone before the search began?”
“I haven’t any idea. I can only answer for myself. I carried Corinne upstairs and stayed with her until the doctor threw a sheet over her face. Then I came down to the library and waited until the police came. Everyone was moving around.”
“I see. Mike, what is your candid opinion of Wendell Bogart?”
Mike grinned sheepishly, and began polishing his glasses. “He’s all right, I guess. Though he is apt to forget he lives in a democracy.”
Jeff watched the seismologist closely. “Was Bogart ever poor?”
“No, I don’t believe he was. His father patented a number of appliances for use in filling stations – self-coiling hoses, automatic dispensers, fire extinguishers and things like that. I don’t mean to imply that Mr Bogart isn’t smart. He is. He has his own personal workshop and laboratory in the basement of his home. He’s made improved working models of all the patented devices upon which the original Bogart fortune was founded.”
“I see. Mike, how are you fixed financially?”
Mike Collins’s eyes widened. “Why, I’m very well off, Jeff. I have about ten thousand dollars set aside and my job. My work is well endowed, thanks to Corinne. I should say I’m very well off indeed.”
“What is your salary?” Jeff asked. “You don’t have to answer that one, Mike. You can tell me where to go.”
“I don’t mind telling you. Three thousand a year. Out of that, I save three or four hundred.”
“Thank you very much, Mike. Come along, Smitty.”
“What do you think of him, Jeff?” Smitty asked, when they were back in the office.
“He’s A-1 in my book. I hope you appreciate your salary now!”
“Yes, Jeff, I do appreciate it. Why else do you think I work for you?” Smitty grinned.
“I’ll be damned! You’re certainly frank! I’d hope you liked me. Do you still think Mike killed Corinne Bogart or John Stevens?”
“Oh, he couldn’t have done it, Jeff. He’s much too honest.”
“Yes, he’s honest. He’s also read your simplified interest table.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” Smitty snapped.
The ringing of the telephone interrupted their conversation. Automatically, Smitty answered, and shoved the extension to Jeff.
“This is Pamela Bogart, Jeff. I must see you, alone. It’s important! Jeff, I’m afraid. I’m in the bar at the Normandy. Please come!”
“You’ve nothing to be afraid of, beautiful,” Jeff taunted. “Gals like you seldom burn for murder. The gallant juries always compromise on life imprisonment. You’ll be out in about twelve years, if you ever go in.”
“Don’t be so hateful, Jeff. Please come. If it’s a fee you want, I’ll buy your time.”
Jeff slammed down the phone.
Smitty smiled. “You’ve got a blind spot about her, Jeff.”
“Who else could have committed the murders?”
“There were about eight people at the dinner. Why pick on her?”
“Listen, Smitty. The police aren’t stupid. They handle hundreds of murder investigations. They know what they’re doing. Occasionally, they louse up a case, but you can bet they didn’t louse up this one. It’s too important. They’ve eliminated all suspects but Pamela.”
“And the possibility of suicide,” Smitty reminded him. “You have to consider that.”
“Nuts! The police don’t seriously consider it. They don’t actually say Pamela’s the murderer, but they don’t offer any other solution. I have no doubt that the police consider this an unproved murder rather than an unsolved one.”
“Jeff, do me a favor. Please!” Smitty looked at his boss with pleading eyes that reminded Jeff of a faithful hound.