With Intent to Kill

by George Harmon Coxe

  He hesitated and said: “He killed a man in Texas a few years back. He hit him with a bottle. In itself that might not have been too bad except that when the fellow went down he hit his head on a metal bracket and never regained consciousness. There was nothing deliberate about it and there may have been some slight provocation but at the inquest the witnesses were persuaded to give the impression that Hubbard swung the bottle in self-defense. There wasn’t even an indictment.”

  The explanation was made in an offhand and matter-of-fact manner and Kirby looked genuinely shocked. “You mean to say that money or pressure—”

  “I’m only stating what happened,” Aldington said. “Interpret it anyway you like.”

  Kirby gave the lawyer a long disturbed look and turned again to Cushman.

  “And you continued to work for Mr. Hubbard all these years?”

  “Not exactly,” Cushman said. “When I got out of school I worked at this and that, always getting by but never really making it the way I thought I should. I had just quit one job and was interviewing people while I looked for another one when I ran into King at a party. We had a few drinks and talked about this and that. When he heard my story he came up with an offer that sounded pretty attractive at the time. The money was good and I knew the fringe benefits would be more than adequate. I was to be his personal and private secretary but actually what it amounted to was nothing more than adult projection of the relationship we had had in college.”

  “And you’ve been with him how long?”

  “Nearly ten years.”

  “You’ve never had any trouble with him?”

  “A little. Now and then. I tried to quit when he married”—he glanced at Blanche Hubbard—“the present Mrs. Hubbard.”

  “Did you know about his wish to kill Mr. Sanford?”

  “If you mean that literally, no.”

  “You knew about the accident, that Mr. Sanford had killed Mr. Hubbard’s brother with his car.”

  “Certainly. I knew that King had kept Laura out of circulation for a while and I knew that George Breck and other detectives were working for him but that was nothing new.”

  “You didn’t know why Mr. Hubbard arranged this trip?”

  “Not until Sanford came aboard yesterday morning. Even then I didn’t actually know anything.”

  “But you must have had some idea what Mr. Hubbard had in mind,” Kirby said. When there was no reply he added: “Let’s go back a minute. You said you tried to quit your job when Mr. Hubbard married his present wife. Is that significant?”

  “It was to me,” Cushman said, a note of bitterness showing in the cadence of his voice. “I thought she was my girl. I was the one who introduced them.”

  “Ahh—” Kirby leaned back in his chair, his glance moving to Blanche Hubbard before he brought it back to Cushman. “You tried to quit but you didn’t. Do you mind telling us why?”

  “Hubbard knew why I was leaving,” Cushman said, “and when he saw he couldn’t talk me into staying he pretended to go along with the idea. On the surface he couldn’t have been nicer. He even arranged a going-away party for me … I got as far as the airport,” he said, his bitterness obvious now. “Two detectives stopped me. I never actually knew who they were or where they came from but they had badges. They found ten thousand dollars in new fifty-dollar bills in my briefcase along with a gold cigarette case that belonged to Hubbard. All I could do was yell frame-up but they wouldn’t buy it”

  He swallowed and said: “They reclaimed my bags and we went out to the car where Hubbard was waiting. We had a little talk and he had another talk with the two detectives. He gave me a choice—come back to work and all would be forgiven or he’d follow through and press charges for theft. By then I knew I couldn’t beat him, not with all his help and all his millions.”

  An odd silence came as he finished and Sanford found himself believing everything that Cushman had said. Even Kirby seemed impressed and ill at ease. He took time to shuffle some of the papers on the table before he was ready to continue. When he was satisfied that all was in order he looked at Blanche Hubbard.

  “You are the third Mrs. Hubbard, I believe,” he said.

  The woman straightened her shoulders and brought her chin up. “I was.”

  “And how long have you lived with him?”

  “Nearly three years. If you can call it living.”

  “You were in love with him when you married him?”

  “That’s what I told myself.”

  “You knew he’d been married twice before?”

  “Certainly,” she said flatly. “But that was no great objection. Most women can talk themselves into a state of mind where they believe that they have what it takes to make a success of any marriage, no matter how many times the man has been married. You simply tell yourself that the other wives didn’t know how to handle him, I know now that I was more in love with the glamour part, the idea of marrying someone with all that money, than I was with anything else. I made a bargain and I got stuck with it. King gave me every material thing I ever wanted and he also made a chronic alcoholic out of me. I’ve been in and out of sanatoriums four times, twice voluntarily and twice at his request. At that I lasted longer than the other two.”

  “Was there any pre-nuptial agreement signed?”

  “There was,” Howard Aldington said as though to demonstrate that he was aware of the financial details. “A man with that much money has to protect himself. The first wife got seventy-five thousand dollars, so did the second. Blanche signed a similar agreement. For that amount of money Hubbard got protection.”

  “Protection?” Kirby asked, brows lifting.

  “Protection from other women. Every woman he ever took out knew he had a wife and they either accepted the status quo or said no.”

  “How about dower rights? Were they covered in that agreement?”

  “No.” Aldington shook his head and looked distressed. “We told him he was crazy not to cover such a contingency but arguing with King Hubbard once he’d made up his mind was a waste of time. His present marriage, like the others, was a temporary thing and he had no intention of dying. For anyone with even a smattering of legal knowledge it was a stupid thing to do.”

  “What happens to the estate?”

  “My law firm and a New York bank are co-executors and trustees.”

  “Mrs. Hubbard is not mentioned?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “And what is the law in the state in which the will was drawn?”

  “She might get a third of the estate—the dower rights you mentioned—if she wants to fight for it” He looked at the woman even as he continued to Kirby, his eyes cold and resentful behind the horn-rimmed spectacles. “If King had lived a few weeks longer she would have been paid off and dismissed.”

  A chair scraped as the lawyer finished and Sanford watched Cushman come off his chair and start for Aldington. To reach him he had to pass Janovic and the ex-football player gave Cushman a not too gentle shoulder-block that stopped him.

  “Take it easy, Freddie.”

  Cushman blinked and the cold mean glint in his eyes went away. He cleared his throat, hesitated. He glanced at Kirby and then resumed his seat.

  “Okay, Howard,” he said to Aldington. “But I know one way to stop that big mouth of yours.” Again he glanced at Kirby. “What is the penalty here for simple assault, Superintendent?”

  Kirby ignored the outburst. He cleared his throat and waited until he was sure order had been restored before he said: “There are just one or two more things I’d like to get straight on if you don’t mind … Do you, personally,” he said to Aldington, “handle the finances or management of any of the Hubbard holdings?”

  Sanford, watching Aldington now, saw the lawyer bristle a little and found himself approving of Kirby’s technique. He was not suggesting that anything could be wrong with Aldington’s accounts; he was not actually inferring that a shortage was possible but he had nevertheless planted
the seed of doubt as well as a possible or potential motive for murder.

  “In some areas,” Aldington said stiffly.

  “Then can you tell me,” Kirby said, glancing from one face to another, “if there have been any recent arguments or differences between Mr. Hubbard and—well, any of you?”

  “King was giving Janovic a little trouble last night after dinner,” Aldington said. “At least that’s the way it sounded to me.”

  “About what?”

  “Money,” Aldington said.

  Kirby took a moment to re-examine Janovic before he said: “What money would that be, Mr. Janovic?”

  “It didn’t amount to anything,” Janovic said, glaring at Aldington. “I guess I did the same thing for Mr. Hubbard that Freddie used to do. Mr. Hubbard had the knack of getting himself in trouble now and then and he wanted muscle around. I provided it. Also he didn’t like to pay for things himself. When we went nightclubbing I picked up the checks. If there were any girls to be taken care of, or anything to fix up, I paid off. I’d always have a thousand or two in my pocket that I’d get in advance either from Mr. Hubbard or from Freddie. It may have sounded last night like he was picking on me but all he was doing was asking me how much I’d spent the last couple of weeks and for what.”

  Kirby accepted the explanation without comment and turned to look at Larkin, who still stood by the door. He said: “All right, Inspector,” and Larkin nodded and left the room. Moments later he returned with a small, slender man, dark-skinned but not black. He wore wrinkled tan slacks and a colorful sport shirt and he had his felt hat in one hand. Sanford recognized him as a taxi driver who sometimes parked his car in the hotel turnaround.

  “What’s your name?” Kirby asked when the man stopped beside the desk.

  “Edward Lacey, sir.”

  “Do you have a car for hire?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Last night somewhere around ten-thirty you had a passenger who asked to be driven down the roadway across from the hotel to the waterfront not far from where Mr. Sanford keeps his boat. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you see your passenger in the room now?”

  “Yes, sir,” the driver said and pointed his index finger at Laura Maynard. “That lady sitting right there.”

  16

  For perhaps five seconds the room was still. The only movement came from heads that were turned to look at Laura Maynard, and from the driver, who realized his pointing finger had served its purpose and let his hand swing down. Sanford, knowing that what he heard must be the truth even though he could not understand it, took a moment to put down the first shock of his astonishment. Then, the admiration growing in him, he was suddenly very proud of the way the girl met the accusation and faced up to it.

  There had been no outward reaction on her part as she watched the driver move up to Kirby’s table. This may have given her time to get her emotions in hand because the only visible change in her expression was a firming of the red lips and a slight whitening of the skin across the cheekbones. The green eyes were steady as they watched the superintendent and there was a small and somehow defiant lift to the smooth chin.

  Kirby gave her that much time before he said, politely and with consideration: “How do I address you? Do you use your married name?”

  “Not for some time. I prefer to be known as Laur a Maynard.”

  “Very well, Miss Maynard. You heard what the taxi driver said. Do you deny it?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “You were that passenger?”

  “I was.”

  Kirby glanced at the driver. “You drove Miss Maynard to the seawall. Then what happened?”

  “She told me to wait while she went to Mr. Sanford’s boat. I left the lights on dim and I could see her go inside. Pretty soon she came back and gave me a dollar. She said she wouldn’t need me any more. I asked her if she wanted me to come back and get her later on and she said no.” He shrugged. “So I leave.”

  Kirby thanked the driver and waited until Larkin had ushered him from the room before he continued.

  “Let’s go back a bit, Miss Maynard. Mr. Sanford told me something about you yesterday afternoon. According to him he never knew who you were or where you lived; from the time of the accident that killed your husband until he went aboard the houseboat yesterday morning, he had never seen you again.”

  “That’s quite right.”

  “You made no attempt to get in touch with him?”

  “I had no chance to,” Laura said and went on to repeat the story she had told Sanford about her forced isolation following the accident. She also took time to give some details of King Hubbard’s campaign of persecution to eliminate any potential boyfriends.

  “Then you were not friendly with Hubbard?”

  “Decidedly not.”

  “Yet you accepted his invitation to come to Belize.”

  Again she repeated her previous explanation and Sanford continued to applaud mentally her composure and the steadiness of her voice.

  “King said he was ready to call off his campaign against me. If I would make this trip there would be no more trouble from him. I decided it was worth a try because, as a usual thing, he was not a liar.”

  “You must have been curious—”

  “Of course I was curious,” she cut in with some impatience. “But that wasn’t as important as getting King out of my life once and for all.”

  “And what did you think when Mr. Sanford came to the houseboat?”

  “I didn’t know what to think. But I knew something about how King’s mind worked and how cruel and vindictive he could be. That’s why I went to Barry’s boat yesterday afternoon. I had to talk to him, to find out what was happening. I’ve always felt guilty about the way I acted in New York after the accident. I wanted to tell him I was sorry and try to make him understand why I ran away.”

  “He told you why Mr. Hubbard had come here.”

  “He told me that King had tried to kill him twice in New York and once in Florida. He told me about the two men who attacked him Sunday night. He said he had talked to you and that you would have a policeman keep an eye on him, and on King too, whenever he was ashore.”

  “I think I understand.” Kirby nodded and folded his hands on top of his papers. “Now let’s get back to yesterday, Miss Maynard. You came ashore in the afternoon with some of the others. They went back to the houseboat before returning to the hotel for dinner but you did not.”

  “I told you I wanted to talk to Barry,” she said. “By the time I got back to the hotel I deeided I might as well stay there and wait until the others came. I did—down by the pool.”

  “Somewhere around a quarter of ten you rode out to the houseboat with Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard and Mr. Cushman.”

  “Yes.”

  “You told the boatman to wait and he did. You returned to the hotel.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to see Barry.”

  “And did you?”

  “No. He wasn’t there. At least I couldn’t find him. I looked around the hotel and then I thought maybe he’d gone back to his ketch. That’s why I got the taxi.”

  “What made it so important for you to see Mr. Sanford then?”

  “I had something I wanted to give him. I went out to the houseboat to get it.”

  “And may I ask what that something was?”

  “Certainly. I have it here.”

  Sanford wasted no time guessing but watched her come to her feet and start forward, very tall and lovely and assured. She was carrying a straw handbag which she now rested on the table. She opened the top of it and took out a small blue-steel automatic that, from where Sanford sat, looked like a .25 calibre. She put it down deliberately. She said: “Knowing what King had in mind I thought Barry might need this,” and marched back to her chair.

  During those few seconds no one said anything intelligible but there were vocal
sounds in the room. Sanford, with no further capacity for astonishment, simply stared at her while the understanding of what she had done for him made itself felt.

  Kirby, as was his right, was the first to speak. He did not touch the gun immediately but he gave it a quick inspection and then he joined in the staring at Laura Maynard.

  “You brought this with you, Miss Maynard? From the States?”

  “I did.”

  “How long have you had it?”

  “About a year.”

  “And you always carry it?”

  “I never carry it. I keep it in my apartment. I brought it on this trip for the same reason I got it in the first place.” She straightened her bag, crossed her knees, and pulled down her skirt. “I’ve had it ever since King came to my apartment one night after he’d been drinking and ended an argument by blacking one eye and cutting my lip. A friend gave it to me. When King tried the same stunt a couple of months later I used it.”

  “You—” Kirby was too shocked to complete the sentence and tried again. “You shot him?”

  “Shot at him. I had no intention of hitting him. I just wanted to let him know what could happen.” She took a breath and let it out audibly. “I had no license and it’s against the law in New York. I knew I was taking a chance but apparently it did the job. At least there was never any physical trouble from King from that time on … I suppose it’s against the law here too,” she added weakly. “You can have it, Superintendent. I won’t need it now.”

  Kirby, wearing the expression of a man who has heard everything, took a moment to put his thoughts in order and get back on the investigative track.