"I never said that. Of course there was nothing improper. I am
not implying you had any conscious thoughts whatsoever that you
can't safely remember. Or if you did now and then--and as for your
subconscious wishes--were they really so evil? She was the only girl of
your generation whom you'd see for weeks and months at a time. So you
loved her. Is love ever a sin?"
Kintyre slumped. Yamamura laid a hand on his shoulder. "There's a story
about two Zen Buddhist monks who were walking somewhere," he said.
"They came to a river. A woman stood by the bank, afraid to cross. One
of them carried her over. Then the two monks continued on their way.
The gallant one was singing cheerfully, the other got gloomier and
gloomier. Finally the second one exclaimed: 'How could you, a monk,
take up a woman in your arms?' The first one answered: 'Oh, are you
still carrying her? I set her down back at the ford.'"
Kintyre didn't move. "Forgive my amateur psychoanalysis," said
Yamamura. "It's none of my business." He paused. "I would only suggest
that it's no service to anyone we've cared for, not to let them rest."
He sat down beside Kintyre and took out his pipe. They smoked together
for a wordless while.
"Well," said Kintyre at last. "Have you figured out who's behind the
murders?"
"No. Think you can tell us? Feel free to wait."
"Oh, I can. M-m-m-m-_margery_--"
Yamamura worked powerful fingers along Kintyre's shoulders and the base
of his neck. "Go on," he said.
"Margery's death--brought back Morna's, I suppose--I failed them both.
I didn't need O'Hearn's story to determine who instigated all this. I
could have told you yesterday afternoon, if I'd used my head--_Ouch!_"
"That," said Yamamura, "was to halt an incipient tailspin. I felt it
coming. You are not to blame for one damn item except being human and
therefore limited, fallible, and unable to do everything simultaneously
on roller skates. If you forget that again, I shall punch you in a more
sensitive spot. Now why don't you go swallow one of those chemical
consolations?"
"I told you they don't help much."
"I've no high opinion of 'em myself, but do so anyway."
When Kintyre had returned and sat down again, Yamamura said: "Okay,
carry on. Who is our man?"
18
"Clayton," said Kintyre.
"Huh?" The pipe almost dropped from Yamamura's hand. "What the hell!
Why, for God's sake?"
"Bruce got too much information about Clayton's rackets."
"What rackets? Clayton's straight! I never heard a hint--"
"Oh, yes. He's straight enough on this side of the Atlantic."
Yamamura muttered something profane. "How do you know?" he added.
"It fits the facts. Bruce was corresponding with his uncle Luigi, the
secret service man. Some discussion of highly organized postwar crime
syndicates in the Mediterranean countries came up. Now Clayton was a
go-getter type who'd lost everything he had three times in a row: the
Depression, his first wife's death, divorce from his second wife. It
must have embittered him, so that he determined he would never again
be poor and defenseless. He came to Italy as a Quartermaster officer
in the war. Perfect chance for black marketing, if a man didn't mind
taking a few risks. The miracle is not that a few QM people went bad
but that most stayed honest. Clayton probably started in a very small
way with cigarettes and K rations. But by the end of the war he was in
touch with some pretty big figures in the Italian underworld, and saw
the opportunities. He came right back after his discharge and went to
work at it full time.
"Obviously, he's a hell of a good organizer. He got in on the postwar
reconstruction of crime, along lines borrowed from gangland and
Communism. He probably set out as a currency black marketeer, working
through Switzerland. He soon expanded into other things, smuggling,
dope, prostitution, gambling, the works. He became rich."
"Have you any proof of all this?" interrupted Yamamura.
"Chiefly, that it and only it will fit the facts. Let me go on, I'll
fill in evidence as I proceed. The trouble with Clayton's riches was,
they were mostly in lire, French francs, and other soft valuta. Also,
governments all get nosy about resident aliens; he couldn't hope to
avoid suspicion forever, without a good cover. He solved both his
problems by becoming an importer. He bought European goods with his
European money, shipped them over here, and sold them for dollars. On
this side he's lily white, and familiar with prominent Americans of
unquestionable integrity. Knowing this, Europeans don't think he might
be something else on their continent. You can imagine the details."
"Yes," said Yamamura. "I can."
"Now for some facts as well as theories. Let's go back to Uncle Luigi.
He's trying to break these syndicates, one of which is headed by the
eminent Signor Clayton. Of course, because of its cell organization,
Luigi and his colleagues don't know that. If they did, they could crack
a lot of rackets open. All they have against Clayton is that a few of
his business associates have bad associates of their own, notably some
of the deported Italian-American gangsters. But what of it? Everybody
outside a monastery must know some dubious characters.
"Well, because Clayton came here to work at opening a San Francisco
branch, and because he brought the _Liber Veneficarum_ along, he got to
know Bruce. In fact, they came to be on very friendly terms. Clayton is
genial enough, if you don't get in his way. Uncle Luigi, being somewhat
anti-American, insisted that Signor Clayton had an unfair advantage,
having started as a wealthy man with lots of dollars. That didn't fit
with Clayton's own rags-to-riches story. Bruce got indignant, checked
up, and established that Clayton had indeed been almost penniless
when he came to Italy. And Luigi, as I mentioned before, had also
happened to give Bruce some facts regarding crime, corruption, and the
syndicates.
"I don't know just when Clayton learned about all this discussion.
Perhaps a week ago last Sunday, when he saw Bruce over in the City and
refused to give Guido a job. Clayton admits Bruce got mad; perhaps he
said things then. Clayton smoothed his feathers and agreed to interview
Guido next day. Maybe Clayton was already spinning a plan.
"Or it may have been amicable. Bruce had no reason to suspect Clayton
of anything. We'd have known it otherwise; Bruce was constitutionally
incapable of keeping a secret. Maybe in the love feast following his
explosion, he blurted out how he had triumphantly refuted Uncle Luigi's
sneers at the Horatio Alger rise of Gerald Clayton, and planned to send
Uncle Luigi all the facts and demand an apology. At the same time,
Bruce could have spoken about the syndicates. He was just naïve enough
to have warned Clayton, who spent half his time overseas, to look out
for the mobs! Well, one way or another, Clayton drew him out, doubtless
in that conference they had after Guido was dismissed. Clayton was
alerted."
It was peculiar, thought Kintyre, that he could talk so coolly while
the horror was on him. But he had the horror locked away for this short
time, he heard it speaking but did not really feel it.
"He could have pumped both brothers on Monday," nodded Yamamura. "Bruce
in particular, but he would have seen how Guido might be made into a
decoy--uh-huh. So he called a Chicago mob. But--"
"But why? Isn't it obvious, Trig? Bruce and Luigi were corresponding
on two subjects which would explode if they were ever fitted together:
Clayton and the Old World rackets. When Bruce revealed that Clayton
had not, after all, started by depositing American dollars in Swiss
banks, Luigi would begin to wonder. Bruce had even casually agreed
that Clayton might have picked up a little loose change originally
on the black bourse, which did not strike him as very heinous. Luigi
might see deeper possibilities along those lines. Or things Luigi
wrote could even make Bruce wonder, who knows? It wouldn't necessarily
happen either way, but it was too big a risk to take. The American
government itself, if it gets interested, has ways to check on its
citizens abroad. So Bruce had to be eliminated. And he had to be
questioned first, in detail, to learn precisely what he did know and
who _else_ knew. For instance, was Luigi already so well informed as to
be dangerous? This was a job for professionals."
"And there's where your theory creaks," said Yamamura. "If Clayton is
so law-abiding on American soil, where could he dig up his butcher boys
on such short notice?"
"That hint was in Bruce's files," said Kintyre. "Your information
about Clayton's telephoning adds detail. He must have called one of
his not-very-respectable Italian associates. I seem to remember the
name Dolce, you can try that on the switchboard girl for recognitionor.
Does the phone office keep records of such things? I don't know. Let's
assume he called Dolce, to give the man a name. He ordered him: 'Get
hold of a recent deportee from America'--you can guess who better
than I, Trig--'and ask him how I can get in touch with a professional
killer in this country.' He may have phrased it more euphemistically,
but that was the sense of it. Next day Dolce or whoever called back.
(Why else should a busy man like Clayton hang around home? Why not take
the call in his office? Because his office deals directly with Italy,
the switchboard girl there probably speaks the language and might
eavesdrop.) Thus Clayton got the number of Silenio, and any passwords
or the like that were needed. He went out to a pay booth and called
him. O'Hearn has told us the rest."
Yamamura nodded. "Could be," he said.
"Tell me what else will explain the facts. And let me continue. Clayton
came over here last Thursday on business, and threw a party in his
suite for historians and literary scholars, including Bruce and me.
I rather imagine he was looking for another red herring. Owens must
have been promising. Not that Owens seems to have been jockeyed into
anything, as Guido was, but Clayton dropped hints detrimental to him
later on.
"Clayton made sure of being alibied the whole weekend. Of course, it
was simple enough to make the call which lured Bruce to his death. He
could have phoned from a pay booth right in sight of the world. I don't
know what he told Bruce, probably that he might have something for
Guido after all but it was confidential. Make your own lie.
"Monday he returned to the City. Silenio reported to him, got paid
off, and was told to wait. Clayton had a problem: Bruce's files were
still in Margery's apartment. Silenio would have learned that. Clayton
had to choke off this last source of information. He came back here
Tuesday and invited me to lunch with him. I gave him some idea of how
well his tracks really were covered--and when I told him Margery's
place had already been raided, it was a shock. He questioned me, found
that the papers he was after were still unread, and deftly turned
suspicion back on Owens: where for once it actually belonged. However,
he must have felt the need to act fast. So he stayed in Berkeley,
though he'd told me at lunch he planned to go back to San Francisco.
(Will any hypothesis of yours explain why he changed his mind and spent
more than twenty-four unproductive hours on this side? He, the animated
cash register?) I met him again on Wednesday, when we had our run-in
with Owens."
Kintyre sighed. "That's the damnable part of it. I sat there drinking
coffee with the true, ultimate murderer. He urged me to take Margery
out. I told him I had another engagement. If I had gone out with her,
she'd be alive. God, if she'd dated him she might be! He was going to
ask her. She told me, when I mentioned it, that she would refuse his
invitation. He wanted to get her out of the way. But when she stayed--
"I helped her read those letters!"
"Slow down there," said Yamamura.
* * * * *
It was still later when the detective went back outdoors. An officer
was watching Guido, who was laying out a solitaire hand on the stoop.
The policeman said: "Inspector Harries would like to get a formal
statement from you at headquarters, sir."
Yamamura nodded. Guido raised his brows and slanted his head at the
cottage. "Could be worse," said Yamamura. "Suppose you leave him alone
for an hour or so and then go in and make him some lunch."
"Sure," said Guido.
The policeman followed Yamamura out the drive. At the station, he was
shown directly into Harries' office. The inspector was just laying down
the phone. "San Francisco," he said. "They raided that address. Traces
of occupancy, but nobody home."
"Any other news?" Yamamura sat down and folded his long legs.
"They let the Michaelises go. Gene broke down when they did--reaction,
I guess--and admitted where he'd been Saturday night and Sunday.
Shacked up."
"I wouldn't think he'd try to hide that. He'd have bragged."
"This time he had two metal legs and he paid. Not much, he hasn't got
much, but he paid, for the first time in his life."
"Poor bastard. I can imagine how he feels."
"Well," said Harries, "what does Kintyre think?"
Yamamura told him.
Harries whistled. "That wouldn't even get past a grand jury," he said.
"It's a line worth further investigation, though," said Yamamura
mildly. "I wonder where Clayton is right now?"
Harries snatched up the phone. Yamamura waited.
The inspector hung up with a bang. "Not at the Fairhill. I'll try his
place in the City, and the office. Know the numbers?"
Presently: "Not there, either. Well, it's no crime. But I'll put a man
on it."
"About releasing information to the press," said Yamamura. "Could you
withhold any mention of Kintyre? He's in no shape to see reporters, or
even tell them to go away."
"Glad to," said Harries. "We're going to sit on the facts as much as
possible. We'll get the papers to cooperate. Why let the killers know
what we know? They can guess we hold O'Hearn, but not that O'Hearn
squealed."
"Good. Now let me make that statement so I can get back to my own
office. Maybe a client has shown up, for a change."
None had. Yamamura polished his new sword. A thought nagged the back of
his being. If Clayton was guilty, why should Clayton disappear? Harries
was right, Kintyre's reasoning was skeletal. Without further evidence,
it wouldn't be enough to arrest a dog for flea scratching. Clayton
would do best to sit tight and be wronged righteousness.
But did he know that? O'Hearn had been sent after Guido merely because
Larkin had gotten in a fight at the Alley Cat. If Larkin had not
remembered the name "Kintyre" and reported it through Silenio, Clayton
could still have made a shrewd guess at it. Yamamura picked up his own
phone and dialed.
"Hi, Bob. How goes it?"
"I'm breathing," said Kintyre listlessly.
"Nobody at the murder house. Clayton has dropped from sight, too. You
and Guido could be the next targets. Want a police guard?"
"No. He wouldn't be stupid enough to try for us just now," said
Kintyre, without great interest. "Especially when he doesn't know how
much I know. He would establish that first--yes, that would need his
personal attention. Let's reconstruct it."
He voiced his thoughts as they ran, in flat metallic words. "Larkin and
Silenio got back from their--their mission--and didn't find O'Hearn at
the house. They waited till they got alarmed, then bolted and called
Clayton in Berkeley. That would have been in the small hours, before
sunrise. Clayton could have called the old Lombardis, pretending to be
an anxious friend, and found Guido had not come home. The same pretense
might have worked with the San Francisco police--nope, they had no word
of any Guido Lombardi--no O'Hearn. He would also have drawn a blank in
Berkeley. So. Somebody picked them both up. In view of the Alley Cat
episode, he would suspect me. I remember now my phone rang, early in
the morning. I didn't answer. Was that him, trying to check if I was at
home? If he drove by, he'd have seen my shades pulled. He had no way
of knowing O'Hearn was right here. He would have concluded: either I
had nothing to do with it, or I had taken O'Hearn somewhere for private
investigation.
"If he rubbed me out and I was innocent of meddling, well, too bad. He
dared not assume anything except that Guido and I had O'Hearn--where?
If he could track us down and dispose of us--of anyone who might finger
him--yes, then later on he could bribe someone, a call girl perhaps, to
give him a perjured alibi for the time involved, if any alibi was ever
needed. Then nothing could ever be proved about his misdeeds on this
side of the water. Of course, the Italian police and American foreign
agents might be clued to his overseas work--but at worst he could stay
home, or retire to some South American country that won't extradite
him. But all this, avoiding arrest long enough to regain his balance,
it all hinges on finding me--"
Kintyre's voice trailed off. Yamamura heard the receiver crash down.
Somewhat later his phone rang again. Kintyre said like a machine:
"Trig, you can get the official ear quicker than I. Last night Corinna
said she'd wait home till I called. I just did. There's no answer."
19
The Phone buzzed. Kintyre snatched it up. "Well?" he cried.
"Trig. Headquarters has just gotten word from San Francisco. Miss
Lombardi isn't home. They checked inside with the superintendent's
passkey. No trace of a ruckus. Couldn't she simply have gone out?"
"Look," said Kintyre. His vocal chords felt stiff. "This concerned her
own family, herself--and O'Hearn, whom she had been forced to slug.
I'd promised to call with the latest news. Would you have stepped out,
even for a minute?"
"No. Of course, they queried her neighbors, parents, employer, and so
forth. At last reports they were still getting nulls."
"Another thing," said Kintyre. "Clayton knew she saw me last night. I
mentioned it to him yesterday afternoon!"
It whistled in his receiver. Then: "So you think he picked her up in
the hope of finding out exactly where you are and what you know. Isn't
that taking quite a risk?"
"For him, it's a greater risk to remain passive," said Kintyre. "Didn't
we agree that if necessary he can probably buy a witness to account
for a day or so absence? Though if Bruce, Guido, C-c-corinna, and
I--Margery--if we've simply been found murdered, he might not even need
that. There'll be no evidence to convict him."
"But why should he gamble his own precious hide? Let Silenio and Larkin
do this job too."
"No. For one thing, Corinna might have been under protection
already--God, if we'd had the brains to request it!"
"Mm, yes, I see. A gangster could ring her doorbell and pull a gun when
she opened, and be nabbed the next minute if the police did have a
stakeout. Clayton is a friend of her family; she'd invite him in and he
could extract the gun in privacy after conversation had established it
was safe to do so."
"That's it. Clayton doesn't know what we know. All he's sure of is that
somebody has O'Hearn. He's got to find out who."
"Does it matter so much? O'Hearn doesn't know Clayton."
"But he knows Silenio, who does. Now suppose the police do have
O'Hearn. They won't get the facts from him in a hurry, so there'll be
time to dispose of those of us who Corinna tells Clayton know more
than he likes. However, eventually the police will learn a few things,
and in Chicago they'll be prepared to arrest Silenio and Larkin for
questioning. So he'll have to give Silenio and Larkin a prolonged
vacation somewhere, till the whole affair has blown over.
"On the other hand, if I am keeping O'Hearn, I can be expected to get
rough. Therefore Clayton and his friends will have to act in an awful
hurry. But if they succeed, all will be well for them: because I and
any associates of mine will have been eliminated, in the course of
rescuing O'Hearn, and no clues at all will be left for the police."
"Games theory," murmured the telephone. "You plan your strategy on the
basis of the strategy your opponent would plan on the basis of the
information you believe him to have. But this game is for keeps. What
do you think we ought to do?"
"Throw out a dragnet, of course," said Kintyre. "As for the news angle,
the knowledge we admit having--"
"That's an obvious one. The police can handle it. Though frankly,
events will probably move so fast that our news releases won't
influence them one way or another. Sorry, Bob, it had to be said.
"One more item. Now that their house is unsafe, have you any idea where
they'll go?"