“So who do you nominate?”
“Either Mr. X or Mr. Y. Mr. X is an associate of Danny’s. I have a choice of motives for Mr. X. Either Danny got a big payoff and hid it at the Bronson house and Mr. X went there and got it — or Mr. X wanted to get hold of Danny’s insurance statement and find out what Danny had on the blackmailee, who we will call Mr. Y. There is only one motive for Mr. Y. To get out from under Danny. To do that he had to find where the statement was hidden and go get it, and he had to also eliminate Danny, either before or after getting the statement. I would vote for the elimination of Danny taking place after he got his hands on the statement. It would be safer that way.”
“Who do you like best?”
“My man is Mr. Y. He didn’t leave any clues, and he was very clever about being unobserved, but the actual killing itself had... an amateur flavor. It was a murder of convenience, and yet it was brutal and uncontrolled enough to look like a murder of passion.”
Matthews knuckled his small round chin. “So you think our Danny may be dead too?”
“If my logic is acceptable, I think there’s a good chance of it.”
“Then you’re really in the bag.”
“If the body had been hidden carefully enough.”
“Your Mr. Y would be a substantial citizen.”
“Important, anyway. And rich enough to make it worth Danny’s efforts. And desperate enough to take a hell of a chance. We don’t know much about him. We know he’s a big man, powerful. We know he’s got something to hide. We can guess that somehow Danny came in contact with him and found out what he’s hiding. We’ve had no luck trying to backtrack on Danny. He’s avoided all usual haunts and acquaintances, at least since the end of June.”
“The big flaw is how he’d get a tough monkey like Danny Bronson to tell him where the statement...”
Matthews stopped as the phone rang and Ben picked it up. Ben pulled a pad toward him and began scribbling on it. “Yes. Sure, I remember you, Captain. Route 90. Turn off three miles this side of Kemp. I see what you mean. Yes. Well, I won’t waste any time. An hour.”
Ben hung up. He grinned broadly at Matthews. “Want to go for a little ride?”
“What’s up?”
“That was Captain Donovan of the CI Bureau of the State Police. He’s found out where Danny has been living.”
Ben Wixler, Al Spence, and Inspector Matthews went out to the Catton camp. As it was outside their jurisdiction, and as they were present on invitation, it would have been impertinent to arrive with lab people or with too many people. Donovan had invited them in because of the connection with the Bronson murder.
With Ben directing the driver, they found the gravel road and turned in. A gray sedan was mired in a deep ditch just beyond where the road curved around the edge of a wood. They were then in sight of the camp.
“Nice layout,” Spence said. “Complete with four trooper cars.”
“The convertible there has Hancock plates,” Matthews noted.
Captain Donovan came to meet them as they got out of the car. He was an enormous brown man with a resolute stride, military bearing, puffy eyes and a parade-ground voice. He knew both Wixler and Matthews and was introduced to Spence, who winced visibly at the Captain’s handshake.
“I’ll give you the history to date,” Donovan roared. “The Kemp Barracks got a routine call last night about midnight, somebody who wouldn’t give their name saying there was a car stuck in the ditch, that one you saw as you drove in. It was a young voice and it’s a good guess some neckers drove in and saw it and couldn’t find anybody around and reported it. Trooper Jensen out of Kemp checked it at about twelve-thirty and got the license number and drove in here to the house and couldn’t raise anybody, even though that convertible was parked right where it is now. The whole thing looked a little funny to him, so instead of waiting until morning, we got a night check on the licenses, something we’ve been fighting for for ten years and didn’t get until this year. The convertible sedan is registered to a Mr. Jack Young in Kemp, but it turns out the address is a phony. At three this morning Jensen was directed to come back here and check the house, and another trooper was assigned with him.
“When they knocked and received no answer, they entered the house and in the bedroom they found the body of a woman approximately thirty years of age, dark hair. She was nude and had been strangled to death. They radioed Kemp Barracks and immediate contact was made with my office and with the Sheriff’s office. I contacted the Sheriff, received his verbal request for assistance, and set out with specialists from my office, arriving here at five thirty-five this morning.
“After a quick inspection of the premises, I telephoned Mr. Burton Catton in your city, but the phone was not answered. By that time a detailed investigation of the premises was under way. After examination by the county coroner, and after fingerprinting and nail-scraping, the body was removed to a funeral home in Kemp pending formal identification and autopsy if deemed necessary by the county coroner. My fingerprint people, in going over this house, have acquired two complete sets of prints. One of them matches the prints of the woman. The other set was broken down into numerical analysis, for transmittal to central records in the area and, if unidentified, to Washington. It was obvious from the distribution of the prints that the man and woman involved had been living in this house for an extended period.”
When Donovan paused for breath, Ben noticed that Al Spence was regarding the big man with a look of awe bordering on consternation. Donovan could have been heard clearly at two hundred feet.
“Having had your advice that one Daniel Bronson, wanted for suspicion of murder, has been hiding out in the general area of Hancock, and seeing how excellent a place this would be, I directed that the numerical analysis be checked by radio against the analysis on record for Bronson’s prints. When I discovered that the second set of prints belong to Daniel Bronson, I telephoned you as a matter of courtesy and co-operation. Subsequent to phoning you, I tried the telephone for Mr. Burton Catton for the fourth time, and the phone was answered by Mr. Catton. When I said that I had phoned him earlier, he explained that due to illness he had had a night switch placed on his phone so as not to be disturbed during the night. I asked him if his wife was at home. He excused himself from the phone, returned in approximately one minute and said that she was not in, nor had her bed been slept in. As I had identified myself, he seemed upset. I asked him to describe his wife. In size, age and coloring, his description matched the body. I asked him if he knew a Mr. Johnson, and described the location of this house. Mr. Catton explained that this was his house, that he hadn’t been here in over a year. He was not aware it was being used. I requested that he come here. After I have questioned him further, he can make formal identification of the body. He has not yet arrived. There are some other details I can easier show than explain. Other than that, are there any questions?”
“How long had the woman been dead?”
“The estimate is twenty hours from the time of examination of the body. That would place it about eight o’clock yesterday morning. Now, if you gentlemen will follow me, I will show you where the body was discovered.”
They followed Donovan through the camp. His voice, inside four walls, seemed much more powerful. His men were still at work in the camp. They went back out onto the terrace. Captain Donovan said, “This would seem to me to be the logical reconstruction. Bronson and the Catton woman quarreled and he strangled her. He left here in a panic, taking no time to pack. In his hurry, he drove carelessly and put his car in the ditch. He did not come back and take her car as it is far too conspicuous an automobile. My belief is that he walked out to Route 90 and hitchhiked.”