by Ed McBain
Davis nodded. “It is a little confusing.”
“Do you suppose she was going to keep a rendezvous in Washington with Radner?” Ellison shook his head. “Dammit, I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“I don’t think so. At least . . . well, I should think they’d have left together if that were the case.”
“Not if she didn’t want to be seen. She was travelling on a company pass, you know.”
“That seems odd,” Davis said. “I mean—”
“You mean, with all my money, why should she travel on a pass?” Ellison smiled. “I like to help Nick out, Davis. I keep him living well; did it when Janet was alive, and still do it. But he’s a proud boy, and I’ve got to be careful with my methods of seeing to his welfare. Getting Janet her ticket was one of the things that kept his pride going.”
“I see.” Davis washed his hand over his face. “Well, I’ll talk to Radner. Did you know he was married now?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes. On the day of the crash.”
“On the day . . . then what on earth was he doing with Janet?”
“That’s a good question,” Davis said. He paused, and then added, “Can I have that check now?”
It was not until after supper that evening that Nicholas Carruthers showed up. Davis had eaten lightly, and after a hasty cigarette he had begun packing a small bag for the Vegas trip. When the knock sounded on the door to his apartment, he dropped a pair of shorts into the suitcase and called, “Who is it?”
“Me. Carruthers.”
“Second,” Davis said. He went to the door rapidly, wondering what had occasioned this visit from the pilot. He threw back the night latch, and then unlocked the door.
Carruthers was in uniform this time. He wore a white shirt and black tie, together with the pale blue trousers and jacket of the airline, and a peaked cap.
“Surprised to see you, Carruthers,” Davis said. “Come on in.”
“Thanks,” Carruthers said. He glanced around the simply furnished apartment noncomittally, then stepped inside and took off his cap, keeping it in his hands.
“Something to drink?” Davis asked. “Scotch okay?”
“Please,” Carruthers replied.
Davis poured, and when Carruthers had downed the drink, he refilled the glass. “What’s on your mind, Carruthers?”
Carruthers looked into the depths of his glass, sipped a bit of the scotch, and then looked up. “Janet,” he said.
“What about her?”
“Let it lie. Tell the old man you’re dropping it. Let it lie.”
“Why?”
“How much is the old man paying you?” Carruthers asked, avoiding Davis’ question.
“That’s between the old man and myself.”
“I’ll match it,” Carruthers said. “And then some. Just let’s drop the whole damn thing.”
Davis thought back to the genial Mr. MacGregor. “You remind me of someone else I know,” he said.
Carruthers did not seem interested. “Look, Davis, what does this mean to you, anyway? Nothing. You’re getting paid for a job. All right, I’m willing to pay you what you would have made. So why are you being difficult?”
“Am I being difficult? I didn’t say I wouldn’t drop it, did I?”
“Will you?”
“It depends. I’d like to know why you want it dropped.”
“Let’s just say I’d like it better if the whole thing were forgotten.”
“A lot of people would like it better that way. Including the person who put that bomb on the plane.”
Carruthers opened his eyes wide. “You don’t think I did that, do you?”
“You were aboard the plane. You could have.”
“Why would I do a thing like that?”
“I can think of several reasons,” Davis said.
“Like what?” Carruthers sipped at the scotch again.
“Maybe you didn’t like the idea of Janet playing around with Tony Radner.”
Carruthers laughed a short, brittle laugh. “You think that bothered me? That two-bit punk? Don’t be ridiculous.” He drank some more scotch and then said, “I was used to Janet’s excursions. Radner didn’t bother me at all.”
“You mean there were others?”
“Others? Janet collected them the way the old man collects porcelain. A hobby, you know.”
“Did the old man know this?”
“I doubt it. He knew his daughter was a bitch, but I think Radner was the first time it came into the open. He squelched that pretty damn fast, you can bet.”
“But you knew about it? And it didn’t bother you?”
“Not in the least. I’m no angel myself, Davis. If Janet wanted to roam, fine. If she thought of leaving me, that was another thing.”
“That you didn’t like,” Davis said.
“That I didn’t like at all.” Carruthers paused. “Look, Davis, I like money. The old man has a lot of it. Janet was my wife, and the old man saw to it that we lived in style. I could have left the airline any time I wanted to, and he’d have set me up for life. Fact is, I like flying, so I stayed on. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my meal ticket walk out.”
“That’s not the way I heard it,” Davis said.
“What do you mean?”
“Janet’s gone, and the old man is still feeding the kitty.”
“Sure, but I didn’t know it would work that way.”
“Didn’t you?”
Carruthers swallowed the remainder of his scotch. “I don’t get you, Davis.”
“Look at it this way, Carruthers. Janet’s a handy thing to have around. She comes and goes, and you come and go, and the old man sees to it that you come and go in Cadillacs. A smart man may begin wondering why he needs Janet at all. If he can be subsidized even after she’s gone, why not get rid of her? Why not give her a bomb to play with?”
“Why not?” Carruthers asked. “But I didn’t.”
“That’s what they all say,” Davis told him. “Right up to the gas chamber.”
“You’re forgetting that I didn’t know what the old man’s reactions would be. Still don’t know. It’s early in the game yet, and he’s still crossing my palm, but that may change. Look, Davis, when a man takes out accident insurance, it’s not because he hopes he’ll get into an accident. The same thing with Janet. I needed her. She was my insurance. As long as she was around, my father-inlaw saw to it that I wasn’t needing.” Carruthers shook his head. “No, Davis, I couldn’t take a chance on my insurance lapsing.”
“Perhaps not. Why do you want me to drop the case?”
“Because I want a status quo. The memory of Janet is fresh in the old man’s mind. I’m coupled with the memory. That means he keeps my Cadillac full of gas. Suppose you crack this damned thing? Suppose you find out who set that bomb? It becomes something that’s resolved. There’s a conclusion, and the old man can file it away like a piece of rare porcelain. He loses interest—and maybe my Cadillac stops running.”
“You know something, Carruthers? I don’t think I like you very much.”
Carruthers smiled. “Why? Because I’m trying to protect an investment? Because I don’t give a damn that Janet is gone? Look, Davis, let’s get this thing straight. We hated each other’s guts. I stayed with her because I like the old man’s money. And she stayed with me because she knew she’d be cut off penniless if she didn’t. A very simple arrangement.” He paused. “What do you say, Davis?”
“I say get the hell out of here.”
“Be sensible, Davis. Look at it . . .”
“Take a walk, Carruthers. Take a long walk and don’t come back.”
Carruthers stared at Davis for a long time. He said nothing, and there was no emnity in his eyes. At last he rose and settled his cap on his head.
At the door, he turned and said, “You’re not being smart, Davis.”
Davis didn’t answer him.
Maybe he wasn’t being smart. Maybe Carruthers was
right.
It would have been so much easier to have said no, right from the start. No, Mr. Ellison, I’m sorry. I won’t take the case. Sorry.
That would have been the easy way. He had not taken the easy way. The money had appealed to him, yes, and so he’d stepped into something that was really far too big for him, something that still made very little sense to him. A bomb seemed an awfully elaborate way of killing someone, assuming the death of Janet Carruthers was, in fact, the reason for the bomb. It would have been so much easier to have used a knife, or a gun, or a rope, or even poison.
Unless the destruction of the plane was an important factor in the killing.
Did the killer have a grudge against the airline as well?
Carruthers worked for the airline, but he was apparently well satisfied with his job. Liked flying, he’d said. Besides, to hear him tell it, he’d never even considered killing his wife. Sort of killing the goose, you know. She was too valuable to him. She was—what had he alluded to?—insurance, yes, insurance.
Which, in a way, was true. Carruthers had no way of knowing how Ellison would react to his daughter’s death. He could just as easily have washed his hands of Carruthers, and a man couldn’t take a chance on . . .
“I’ll be goddamned!” Davis said aloud.
He glanced at his watch quickly. It was too late now. He would have to wait until morning.
“I’ll be goddamned,” he said again.
It would be a long night.
Mr. Schlemmer was a balding man in his early fifties. A pair of rimless glasses perched on his nose, and his blue eyes were genial behind them.
“I can only speak for Aircraft Insurance Association of America, you understand,” he said. “Other companies may operate on a different basis, though I think it unlikely.”
“I understand,” Davis said.
“First, you wanted to know how much insurance can be obtained from our machines at the San Francisco airport.” Schlemmer paused. “We sell it at fifty cents for twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth. Costs you two quarters in the machine.”
“And what’s the maximum insurance for any one person?”
“Two hundred thousand,” Schlemmer said. “The premium is four dollars.”
“Is there anything in your policy that excludes a woman travelling on a company pass?” Davis asked.
“No,” Schlemmer said. “Our airline trip policy states ‘travelling on ticket or pass.’ No, this woman would not be excluded.”
“Suppose the plane’s accident occurred because of a bomb explosion aboard the plane while it was in flight? Would that invalidate a beneficiary’s claim?”
“I should hardly think so. Just a moment, I’ll read you the exclusions.” He dug into his desk drawer and came out with a policy which he placed on the desk top, leafing through it rapidly. “No,” he said. “The exclusions are disease, suicide, war, and of course, we will not insure the pilot or any active member of the crew.”
“I see,” Davis said. “Can I get down to brass tacks now?”
“By all means, do,” Schlemmer said.
“How long does it take to pay?”
“Well, the claim must be filed within twenty days after the occurrence. Upon receipt of the claim, and within fifteen days, we must supply proof-of-loss forms to the claimant. As soon as these are completed and presented to us, we pay. We’ve paid within hours on some occasions. Sometimes it takes days, and sometimes weeks. It depends on how rapidly the claim is made, the proof of loss submitted—and all that. You understand?”
“Yes,” Davis said. He took a deep breath. “A DC-4 crashed near Seattle on January 6th. Was anyone on that plane insured with your company?”
Schlemmer smiled, and a knowing look crossed his face. “I had a suspicion you were driving at that, Mr. Davis. That was the reason for your ‘bomb’ question, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Was anyone insured?”
“There was only one passenger,” Schlemmer said. “We would not, of course, insure the crew.”
“The passenger was Janet Carruthers,” Davis said. “Was she insured?”
“Yes.”
“For how much?”
Schlemmer paused. “Two hundred thousand dollars, Mr. Davis.” He wiped his lips and said, “You know how it works, of course. You purchase your insurance from a machine at the airport. An envelope is supplied for the policy, and you mail this directly to your beneficiary or beneficiaries as the case may be, before you board the flight.
“Yes, I’ve taken insurance,” Davis said.
“A simple matter,” Schlemmer assured him, “and well worth the investment. In this case, the beneficiaries have already received a check for two hundred thousand dollars.”
“They have?”
“Yes. The claim was made almost instantly, proof of loss filed, the entire works. We paid at once.”
“I see,” Davis said. “I wonder . . . could you tell me . . . you mentioned suicide in your excluding clause. Was there any thought about Mrs. Carruthers’ death being suicide?”
“We considered it,” Schlemmer said. “But quite frankly, it seemed a bit absurd. An accident like this one is hardly conceivable as suicide. I mean, a person would have to be seriously unbalanced to take a plane and its crew with her when she chose to kill herself. Mrs. Carruthers’ medical history showed no signs of mental instability. In fact, she was in amazingly good health all through her life. No, suicide was out. We paid.”
Davis nodded. “Can you tell me who the beneficiaries were?” he asked.
“Certainly,” Schlemmer said. “Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Radner.”
He asked her to meet him in front of DiAngelo’s and they lingered on the wharf awhile, watching the small boats before entering the restaurant. When they were seated, Anne Trimble asked, “Have you ever been here before?”
“I followed a delinquent husband as far as the door once,” he answered.
“Then it’s your first time.”
“Yes.”
“Mine, too.” She rounded her mouth in mock surprise. “Goodness, we’re sharing a first.”
“That calls for a drink,” he said.
She ordered a daiquiri, and he settled for scotch on the rocks, and he sipped his drink slowly, thinking, I wish I didn’t suspect her sister of complicity in murder.
They made small talk while they ate, and Davis felt he’d known her for a long time, and that made his job even harder. When they were on their coffee, she said, “I’m a silly girl, I know. But not silly enough to believe this is strictly social.”
“I’m an honest man,” he said. “It isn’t.”
She laughed. “Well, what is it then?”
“I want to know more about your sister.”
“Alice? For heaven’s sake, why?” Her brow furrowed, and she said, “I really should be offended, you know. You take me out and then want to know more about my sister.”
“You’ve no cause for worry,” he said very softly. He was not even sure she heard him. She lifted her coffee cup, and her eyes were wide over the brim.
“Will you tell me about her?” he asked.
“Do you think she put the bomb on the plane?”
He was not prepared for the question. He blinked his eyes in confusion.
“Do you?” she repeated. “Remember, you’re an honest man.”
“Maybe she did,” he said.
Anne considered this, and then took another sip of coffee. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“I want to . . .”
“Understand, Mr. Davis . . .”
“Milt,” he corrected.
“All right. Understand that I don’t go along with you, not at all. Not knowing my sister. But I’ll answer any of your questions because that’s the only way you’ll see she had nothing to do with it.”
“That’s fair enough,” he said.
“All right, Milt. Fire away.”
“First, what kind of a girl is she?”
“A simpl
e girl. Shy, often awkward. Honest, Milt, very honest. Innocent. I think Tony Radner is the first man she ever kissed.”
“Do you come from a wealthy family, Anne?”
“No.”
“How does your sister feel about—”
“About not having a tremendous amount of money?” Anne shrugged. “All right, I suppose. We weren’t destitute, even after Dad died. We always got along very nicely, and I don’t think she ever yearned for anything. What are you driving at, Milt?”
“Would two hundred thousand dollars seem like a lot of money to Alice?”
“Yes,” Anne answered without hesitation. “Two hundred thousand would seem like a lot of money to anyone.”
“Is she easily persuaded? Can she be talked into doing things?”
“Perhaps. I know damn well she couldn’t be talked into putting a bomb on a plane, though.”
“No. But could she be talked into sharing two hundred thousand that was come by through devious means?”
“Why all this concentration on two hundred thousand dollars? Is that an arbitrary sum, or has a bank been robbed in addition to the plane crash?”
“Could she be talked,” Davis persisted, “into drugging another woman?”
“No,” Anne said firmly.
“Could she be talked into forging another woman’s signature on an insurance policy?”
“Alice wouldn’t do anything like that. Not in a million years.”
“But she married Radner. A man without money, a man without a job. Doesn’t that seem like a shaky foundation upon which to build a marriage?”
“Not if the two people are in love.”
“Or unless the two people were going to come into a lot of money shortly.”
Anne said, “You’re making me angry. And just when I was beginning to like you.”
“Then please don’t be angry. I’m just digging, believe me.”
“Well, dig a little more gently, please.”
“What does your sister look like?”
“Fairly pretty, I suppose. Well, not really. I suppose she isn’t pretty, in fact. I never appraised her looks.”
“Do you have a picture of her?”
“Yes, I do.”
She put her purse on the table and unclasped it. She pulled out a red leather wallet, unsnapped it, and then removed one of the pictures from the gatefold. “It’s not a good shot,” she apologized.