One Minute Past Eight

by George Harmon Coxe

  Zumeta did not try. He cleared his throat and turned to Webb, asking first for his tourist card.

  She watched him unfold the paper and give it a quick glance.

  "Carl Webb/' he said. "A tourist. From Las Vegas, Nevada." Zumeta returned the paper and asked if Webb had heard about Harry Baker. When Webb nodded, Zumeta said: "Baker went to Barbados. He sent some cables to Las Vegas. We have those cables."

  *1 have some, too," Webb said and produced four sheets.

  Zumeta read them. When he looked up his dark gaze was thoughtful and intent. "You came to collect this money from Baker?"

  "That's right," Webb said. "I might have made it if the

  goddamned plane hadn't been late/*

  "And you came here this afternoon. Why?**

  "I had a date/'

  "You have seen Mr. Grayson previous to this?"

  "Just before noon/*

  "You threatened him?"

  "I didn't have to. He knew the score. He said he'd have the cash for me this afternoon/'

  "Ah-h 5 " said Zumeta, "But you did not get it/' He glanced at Karen. "You did not Ind it here?"

  "No."

  "So.** Zumeta's big shoulders moved in a faint shrug. "That is too bad for you, Mr. Webb/ 5

  "What?"

  "It occurs to me that with Mr. Grayson dead the money is no longer his to give but the property of the widow* When it is located it will be hers/*

  "Yeah?" Webb's mouth compressed and his bright gaze was challenging. "Not if I find it first/*

  There was something in the flat, even tone that told Karen Webb meant just what he said, and when she glanced at Zumeta she saw his eyes open and close while things happened behind them. His mouth twisted at one comer as he pushed his chair back and stood up.

  "In that case/" he said, "I can only caution you to be most careful, Mr. Webb. We have a model prison here at San Juan de los Morros but it is still a prison. . . . We will go now to my office/* he said. tf l wffl send for Mrs. Grayson. Perhaps she can help us/*

  THE CITY'S newest hotel, the Tamanaco, stood perched on a hillside some distance from the center of town. It had a sloping modern look, not in the boxlike tradition of some Jeff had seen, but with a style of its own that might have been influenced by ancient Indian architecture. From a distance it had reminded him of things that had been done by the Incas, but seen close-up the resemblance disappeared and it became a plush, expensive-looking hostelry with all the latest in decor and conveniences.

  The public rooms were spacious and airy and spread over two floors, the lower of which gave on a wide expanse of lawn, cabanas, the usual umbrella-shaded tables, and an impressive, oddly shaped pool complete with diving tower. Jeff walked through die lobby to the veranda overlooking the terrace. When he caught a waiter's eye he asked for a gin and tonic and took a chair near the railing. Not until then did he realize how weary he was; not until then did he feel that, temporarily at least, he was safe.

  It had bothered him greatly as he hurried from Grayson's office. Clad as he was in gabardine slacks and a cord coat, he was acutely conscious of the fact that he looked not only like a tourist but like an American tourist. He did not know how long it would be before someone would connect him with the murder; and—once the word was out that he was wanted for questioning—he would be noticed by every plainclothes detective he passed.

  He could not go back to the Tucan, nor did he dare wait

  for Julio Cordovez in any downtown bar lest he seem conspicuous. He thought once of the American Club, but this also seemed too obvious, so when he telephoned the little detective's office he left word for Cordovez to look for him here. What lie needed was protective coloring, and since most of the Tamanaco guests were from the States, he could move freely here without attracting attention.

  He was still working on his drink when a chair moved beside him and Cordovez slid into it, not looking at him at first but giving his attention to the still-colorful spectacle at the poolside.

  "Beer?" Jeff said.

  Jeff signaled the waiter, ordering the beer and a refill for himself. *Tm in a jam/' he said. "dEntiende?"

  "Si."

  "My stepbrother got himself killed this afternoon."

  Cordovez was still watching the acrobats in the water but he sucked in his breath with a small whistling sound.

  "Is bad," he said. "How does this happen?"

  Jeff waited until the waiter had been taken care of and then he told what he knew and what he had done. Still impassive but nodding from time to time, Cordovez sipped his beer and made no comment until the story had been told. What he said first surprised Jeff even though he agreed with the comment.

  "This girl you speak of has much spirit," he said approvingly ."But for her you would now be at Segurnal"

  "I might be invited to stay, too."

  *This is true. The fight you had, the marks on your hand, the bloodstain I noticed— all this would be difficult to explain." He put his beer glass aside and stood up. "If you will excuse me, I will make a telephone call."

  Jeff frowned as he watched the little man go and then the frown went away and he took a breath. The thought

  of this phone call worried him as he considered it, but not for long. He had akeady committed himself. Either Cor-dovez was on his side and would remain so, or he was taking the first step at resigning his job. He lit a cigarette and waited. Presently Cordovez returned and picked up his glass. As though there had been no interruption he said:

  "You have no idea who has taken the money?"

  "None."

  "But you think Seiior Baker was murdered because of it?"

  "I don't know what else to think."

  "But if the man from Nevada—"

  'Webb."

  "If he tells the truth it would seem that Grayson thought to have this money for him last night. By then the money is gone but perhaps Grayson has an idea who took it."

  He paused and sipped more beer. He wiped his mouth, "Today he demands its return and the thief will not give it up. To make sure Grayson can never tell on him, lie makes this attack."

  Jeff did not argue the premise. He was thinking ahead, knowing there were at least two people he had to talk to but worrying now about where he could stay until he had a chance to make his inquiries. Not until then did he face up to the unpleasant knowledge that he not only was on the run, but he also had to hide. He said as much to Cordovez and the detective nodded.

  "That is true and it will not be easy. Segumal is everywhere. Me, I can often tell those men even when I do not know them, but for you it is more difficult. You can never know which man works for Pedro Vidal. They work when necessary as waiters, as taxi drivers, doormen, behind counters at bars. Segurnal has many ears and long arms."

  "If I could get a room in some small hotel—"

  "A hotel is no good," Cordovez said emphatically.

  "Why not?"

  "The good ones require your tourist card and you must fill out papers. The others"—he shrugged—"are already under observation. This you must believe."

  "Great," Jeff said. He drained his glass and put it aside with a nervous gesture. "What do I do, sleep in the park or hide in the hills?"

  Cordovez chuckled and showed his teeth. "It is all arranged. You will stay at my place."

  Jeff looked at him and the sudden glow he felt inside him came not from alcohol but from gratitude. He looked down at his drink, his lean face relaxing. He considered again the simple statement and when he glanced up his gaze was warm and friendly.

  ^Thanks, Julio," he said and shook his head. "But it's no good/'

  "But of course. That was why I made the telephone call. My wife has a sister on the other side of the city. This sister has a husband more prosperous than Julio Cordovez and the house is large." He glanced at his strapwatch. "Already my wife will have the two children dressed and ready for the trip."

  Jeff regarded him with growing wonderment and respect, knowing what he said must be true. Such open-handed
hospitality made him more deeply appreciative, but in his own mind this was an imposition he could not take lightly and he felt compelled to voice his objection.

  "It's very kind of you, Julio," he said, "but I don't think you should risk it. If Segurml is as good as you say, it's just a question of time before they nail me. When they do you'll be in a jam."

  "I am already in this jam you speak of for not informing on you now. . , . No," Cordovez said flatly, "it is better that you do as Julio says. And who knows, we may have

  our solution before Segurnal can pick you up. It is the only way. You have an idea perhaps?" he asked hopefully.

  "A couple/ 7 Jeff said. "I think Dan Spencer was blackmailing my stepbrother. From what I saw in Arnold's checkbook, he'd been paying Spencer three hundred bolivars a week for quite a while."

  "Ah/* said Cordovez softly. "You think Spencer knew of your stepbrother's secret debt in the state of Nevada?"

  "Baker was a cop in Las Vegas/' Jeff said. "He worked for the same hotel as my stepbrother. He must have known all about Arnold and when he located him here he knew why Arnold was hiding. Furthermore, Arnold trusted him enough to hire him to send those cables from Barbados. Apparently he was supposed to make the payment to Webb."

  "That I understand."

  "But Spencer once worked for a newspaper in Las Vegas. He knew Baker; he also knew my stepbrother. Some time ago he must have run into him here and Arnold must have decided to put him on the payroll to make sure Spencer didn't write the Las Vegas crowd what he knew/'

  "Yes/' Cordovez said. "And you will wish to verify this with Spencer?"

  "Right/" Jeff said. "But Irst I'd like to have a talk with Luis Miranda/'

  "Miranda?" Cordovez's brows climbed as his eyes opened. "Miranda?" he said again in the first display of surprise Jeff had ever witnessed. "But if you think Senor Baker was killed for money—and Grayson too—then Luis Miranda would not do this. He would not need the money, even in that amount."

  "Do you know his wife's name?"

  Cordovez blinked at the digression. "His wife?" He frowned. "No, I do not."

  Jeff took the two airplane tickets from his pocket and

  passed them over. He waited while the detective studied them carefully and when Cordovez returned them his face held a strange expression.

  "I had heard it said that your stepbrother and this woman were friendly/* he said finally. "I have heard that Luis Miranda is a jealous man. Still—"

  He let the sentence dangle, sighed, and pushed back his chair. "Very well/* he said. "We will go. At this hour he may still be at his office. My car is outside. 95

  Julio Cordovez found a parking place across the street from the entrance of this towering office building that, had its walls sloped slightly, would have resembled a multi-windowed obelisk. His smooth face held a worried look as he turned off the motor, and before Jeff could get out he offered a word of caution and a suggestion.

  "Luis Miranda is a proud man," he said. "A dangerous man to insult, with a temper that is quick. I do not know what will happen when you speak of his wife—if that is your intention—but I do not think it wise for you to go to his office,"

  "Why?"

  "To explain your position or to ask for any assistance you will first have to speak of this new murder. Who can say how he will react?**

  T[ don't know/' Jeff said, "but if I don't go, how do I get to talk to him? It's a chance I have to take.*'

  "But if there is a better way?"

  "Is there?"

  ^His office is on what floor?**

  "Fourteen.**

  c< And when you have finished your talk, what is to prevent him from picking up the telephone to report your presence to the police? The radio cars come quick these days. If there should be any delay in waiting for an ele-

  vator you could be picked up at the entrance before you could reach my car. If you do not mind a suggestion I think It best to try another way."

  Jeff had been paying attention and what Cordovez said made sense.

  "I'm listening/* he said.

  "First I will see if he is In his office. If so I will wait downstairs until he comes out. I will then say you wish to see him and if he agrees I will bring him here and you can talk. If I have any doubts we will have to think of something else but no harm will be done for the moment.* 5

  He smiled again as Jeff hesitated, then opened the car door. From the top of the sun visor he removed a newspaper printed in Spanish. "If you pretend to read this/* he said, "your face will be well hidden/'

  It was exactly eighteen minutes later when Jeff saw them start across the street, Miranda immaculately erect in his dark suit and Panama hat, Cordovez bareheaded, his bald spot glistening In the fading sunlight, trotting a little to keep pace. As they neared the car Jeff replaced the newspaper and gave the detective proper credit for a smarS idea, well executed; then he stepped out on the sidewall and waited.

  Miranda nodded coldly, his black eyes speculating. 1 do not understand why you did not come to my office/' he said. "But If you wish to talk here I can spare you five minutes."

  "You will be more comfortable in back/' Cordovez said and opened the rear door. **I will wait near by."

  Miranda slid over on the seat and Jeff followed him; th< confidence he had felt earlier was dissipating rapidly, bu he was determined to find out what he could while In could. He asked first if Miranda knew about Arnold Gray son.

  ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT

  "I was Informed by the police fifteen minutes ago," Miranda said. "You wish, to talk to me because you feel the need of legal counsel?"

  "Not exactly/' Jeff said. "But it's something I may need a lot of before too long and I might as well tell you what I know."

  There was no interruption as he related the facts as he knew them. He pointed out his own position as a suspect but made no mention of Karen Holmes's part in making his present freedom possible.

  "Because you had this fight with Grayson, and because Spencer may have seen you come from the building, you decided to ran," Miranda said, "You are afraid the police are now looking for you. And what do you expect to gain by this?"

  "Time/' Jeff said, "and maybe some information." Then, because he knew of no other way, he plunged ahead, his body poised should he need to move quickly. "Because the way I see it you have a pretty fair motive for murder yourself, Mr. Miranda,"

  He could feel the other stiffen beside him but when there was no immediate reply, he said: "What is your wife's first name?"

  "Muriel"

  "And what would you say if I told you she was planning to run away with Grayson tomorrow night?"

  The brown, aristocratic face grew pale at the cheekbones and the answer came quickly, the words clipped and forceful.

  "I would demand that you prove your accusation or apologize instantly.*'

  Jeff already had the two airline tickets in his hand and he passed them quickly to Miranda without comment. He watched the man's dark gaze narrow as he examined the covers of the two tickets. He sat that way for several sec-

  onds, as though reluctant to open them and see what lay

  inside. Finally he bent one cover back, glanced at the ticket; he examined the other. He looked at Jeff.

  "Where did you get them?"

  Jeff told him. "If there's any doubt in your mind," he said, "you could check with the airline office. The only point that concerns me is—did you know about this or didn't you?"

  The outburst Jeff had expected never came. There was no denial, no outward sign that Miranda had heard what was said. He settled back against the cushions, no longer looking at Jeff or the tickets. His gaze was fixed at some point beyond the windshield, but the things he saw were in his mind. When he spoke, his voice had a remote quality and the thoughts he expressed came from the past.

  "It has never been easy/' he said,

  Jeff hesitated, and then checked the question that came to mind, as some instinctive knowledge warned him not to break the spell Miranda had
cast about himself.

  "She could not get used to the customs of this country/' he added finally. "She had always had much freedom and she could not understand that here a wife does not go out in the evening without her husband. In the afternoon, perhaps with other women to tea, yes; not otherwise.

  "She worked at the Tamanaco," he said. "She was brought here because she was experienced in hotel work —as a secretary and a hostess. There are many cocktail parties given there for business reasons. She would arrange the details. That is how I met her. After that I saw her as often as I could because I knew then I wanted her for my wife. There was much I could give her. I think she knew this just as she knew that I loved her very much even though I was twenty years older.

  "But as Mrs, Luis Miranda she had certain duties and obligations. I tried to explain these, to tell her that a woman

  ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT

  was judged by standards different from those in the States. When I insisted, she accused me of being jealous—which I must admit I was—and of being too strict. She complained that she had no fun. She threatened to leave me, but without money I knew she would not do this since this also was important to her,"

  He fell silent, his gaze still remote and his dark face impassive. When the silence began to build, Jeff risked a question.

  "You knew about Grayson?"

  "Yes, I knew. He was a client. There were parties we both attended. But I did not know how friendly they had become." He paused again, and when he continued, the absent quality was missing from his voice and the accent was grim. "I have a beach cottage at Macuto, which is near the sea beyond La Guaira. I learned that there were afternoons when she had gone there with Grayson."

  "You told her what you knew?"

  "Naturally"

  "You fought about it."

  "There was no fight.*

  "But you were jealous," Jeff pressed, certain now that there would be no more reminiscing.