by Ed McBain
Halfway between Big Burnt and Little Harbor, I heard the whine of a speedboat behind me, and I realized that Owens and his men were following me in the police launch. I nodded thankfully, happy they were behind me, a little surprised that I’d left so impetuously.
But there was very little time, the way I had things figured, and I couldn’t very well stop to discuss it all with Owens. As it was, I might be too late. Too late to stop a fourth murder.
Little Harbor loomed like a dim spectre lying on the water. I kept the throttle wide until I was about fifty feet from the dock. I cut the engine, then, and let the boat glide in. She bumped against the dock, and I jumped off without waiting to tie her up. My feet hit the planking solidly, and I was off at a sprint almost before I’d landed. I ran up the dock and onto the ground.
There was a light burning in my sleeping cabin, just as I figured there’d be.
My heart slid up my ribs, lodged in my throat as I covered the remaining feet to my cabin.
I threw open the screen door.
Jean turned suddenly, her face erupting in surprise. Mark was standing next to her, and he swung around as the door flew open, his face mirroring the surprise on Jean’s.
I was too late.
Sam lay sprawled on my bed, face down, his feet trailing over on the floor. His body was big and lifeless, and the absence of life, the complete immobility, was emphasized by the hugeness of his form. The ice pick was between his shoulder blades, and the trickle of blood ran down the back of his tan sports shirt. I looked at Sam, and I suddenly felt sorry for him, sorry because he’d been as much a dupe as I had, pitying him because he was the kingpin and he hadn’t known it. I’d been a sucker, but Sam had been the prize sucker of all.
My mouth became a razor line across my face. I knew Mark was there, but my eyes slapped Jean’s face.
“Okay,” I said, “it’s all over.”
I saw Mark clench his fists. “What are you …” he started to say, but Jean put a hand on his arm and stared out past the screen door. We all listened as the whine of the engine filled the night. The engine was suddenly cut, and I heard voices, and I knew Owens was there.
I smiled, and the smile stuck to my lips when Jean started to scream.
“Help! Help!” she shouted.
Mark sprang behind me and grabbed my arms, and I caught the pitch at once. I tried to get away, but his fingers were like iron hooks, and before I knew it Owens was pushing open the screen door, a .38 Police Special in his fist and a pile of state troopers behind him.
“I’ve got him, Sheriff,” Mark said, pinning my arms against my side.
“You’ve got beans,” I shouted. I bent my leg, bringing the heel of my shoe up against Mark’s shin.
“You son of a …” he started, but I twisted out of his arms, turned around, and shoved the heels of my palms flat against his chest. He staggered back a few paces and toppled onto the bed, close to Sam’s inert body. His hand touched Sam’s shoulder, and he pulled it away quickly, almost as if he’d stuck it unwittingly into a fire. He leaped up, then, and walked over quickly to where Jean was standing, her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body.
“Take him,” she said to Owens. “Take him. He killed my husband.”
“Who?” Owens asked.
She glanced up, and her eyes met mine for a moment. “Steve,” she said softly. She began sobbing again, then, and a small smile crossed my face.
“You’re going to have a tough time making that one stick,” I told her.
“He was like a wild animal,” Mark said. “He came in here with the ice pick in his hands, started yelling at Sam. He said Sam had humiliated him. I tried to take the ice pick from him, but he made a sudden lunge and … and …”
Jean suddenly pushed forward, her fists raised. She started pounding them against my chest, screaming, “Murderer! Filthy murderer.” I had to hand it to her. She was damned good. Under any other circumstances, she’d have gotten the Academy Award for such a performance. I grabbed her hands and held them tight. She looked up into my face, her blue eyes flashing. There was hate in those eyes; hate and something else, something I couldn’t classify, something I wouldn’t want to classify.
“Maybe you can explain what Sam is doing in my cabin,” I said. “It’s convenient as hell, but …”
“He was feeling groggy,” Mark said quickly. “Your dock was closest, so we pulled up here. I half carried him to the cabin, he was feeling that bad.”
I shoved Jean away from me, releasing her hands suddenly. Then I turned to face Owens. “Are you buying that?” I asked.
“Maybe.” He was keeping an open mind. He still didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he knew it was about to end soon, and he wasn’t passing judgment until he was dead certain.
“Why argue?” Jean asked, spreading her palms wide. “Steve killed my husband. We both saw him do it. Are you just going to stand there?”
Owens seemed undecided for a moment. Very dramatically, I walked toward the screen door and opened it.
“Come out here a minute,” I said. They all followed me out, Jean and Mark staying close together. I lifted my arm and pointed to the woods.
“Your story might be plausible,” I said, “except for what’s in those woods.”
Owens frowned. “Don’t get cryptic, Richmond. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
“Sure,” I answered. “There’s a body buried in the woods, Sheriff, a body I should have told you about long ago. I thought I was protecting myself by not telling you, but that was before I realized what had been planned for me.”
“A body?” Owens asked. “What are you talking about?”
“It belongs to a nice guy named Johnny Aurori. I discovered Johnny dead last week, Sheriff.”
“What?”
“I should have told you, I know.”
“Damn right you should have. You’d better start talking, Richmond.” He paused. “Come on, come on.”
“The body is buried between two large rocks, right past the glade in the woods.”
Owens nodded at two troopers, and they started off toward the woods, guns drawn.
“There’s a broken shovel near the grave, and the body is covered with lye, lye that was meant to eat away everything but the bones. You covered Johnny with that lye, Mark. Several cartons of the stuff, as I remember.”
“That’s a strong accusation,” Mark said. His eyes were calm, one brow lifted onto his forehead.
“Not too strong. I imagine your fingerprints will be all over the cans. You shouldn’t have dumped them into the grave, Mark. But then, there wasn’t much time, and certainly not enough time to go thinking about gloves. Besides, you didn’t think the grave would be found, did you?”
“This is ridiculous,” Jean said. “Can’t you see he’s not telling the …”
“You’d better start from the beginning,” Owens said.
“Sure.”
We were all standing outside my cabin, with the light of the lantern flickering on the ground, filtering out through the screen door. Darkness was all around us, beginning suddenly where the circle of light ended. There was the distant sound of laughter out on the lake, and the muted hum of passing speedboats.
“I couldn’t for the life of me figure why anyone would want to kill Johnny,” I said. “Then, when Sam tried to kill me a little while ago, all the pieces came together, and I knew what it was all about.”
“Really, Sheriff,” Jean started.
“Let him talk,” Owens said. He didn’t openly threaten her, but the Police Special moved ever so slightly in her direction.
I got everything straight in my mind, as straight as I’d ever get it. There was a lot of guesswork, I knew, and a lot more speculation, but there weren’t any holes if I’d figured it right—and I damned sure felt I’d done just that. I turned to face Mark and Jean, because they were the ones I wanted to tell this to. I wanted to watch their faces, and I wanted to see the filthy look of guilt spread
over them.
“You hated your husband,” I said to Jean. “That was no secret.”
“You’re crazy,” Jean answered quickly.
“You also loved Mark. That was a secret, a damned carefully guarded one. You know, it’s funny how I refused to accept the facts. Every time I thought you and Mark were sneaking a quick kiss, I made an excuse to shove the thought aside. I’m accepting now, though, baby.”
“I don’t have to listen to this,” Jean said.
“I’m going to tell it anyway, so maybe you’d better listen. You were in love with Mark, and Sam was a liability in a case like that. You had to get rid of Sam. You could have easily divorced him. You were his partner, but you could have dissolved the partnership and probably come away with half of Fowler and Fowler. Half of Fowler and Fowler ain’t hay, Jean. But all of the business is even more hay. Sam had no relatives, an only child of only children. When a partner dies, the business goes to the remaining spouse if there are no other surviving relatives. That’s elementary law.” I turned to Owens in explanation. “I’m a partner in a business myself,” I said.
He nodded, his eyes flicking back to Mark and Jean.
“If Sam died, you would have both the business and your freedom. That appealed to you, but Sam was as strong as a horse, and it didn’t look as if he were ready for the cemetery. So you decided to speed things along a little. It wouldn’t do to kill him yourself because that would put you in the electric chair, and you couldn’t have enjoyed the money where you were going. So you and Mark sat down and took inventory. You examined your assets and two of them seemed most important. One: Sam was a very jealous guy. Two: Lois was a nymphomaniac.”
“My sister …”
“Your sister was a hell of a nice kid,” I interrupted, “but she was a nympho, pure and simple. That was a good combination. A jealous husband and a nympho sister.”
Owens coughed, and I saw a flush start up the back of his neck. He was a family man with a grown daughter, and I knew this kind of talk was embarrassing him. I went on anyway, anxious to get it over with.
“The idea was magnificent in its simplicity. Mark owns Paradise, Incorporated, and gives out the sites on the islands. He gave Sam, Lois, and you Site One. He held Site Two open for the sucker, the guy who was going to be the patsy.”
“I don’t understand,” Owens confessed.
“All right,” I said, “look at the plan then.” I turned to face Jean again, and her eyes were hard, uncompromising, hateful. “You and Mark decided that Lake George would be an ideal spot for a murder. Your plan took advantage of three human frailties: Sam’s jealousy, Lois’ nymphomania, and the natural desires of any sucker you happened to latch on to. The sucker had to be just right. He had to be alone, he had to be single, and he had to be in the right frame of mind. Mark had the opportunity of examining every potential sucker who applied for a site. When the right one came along, he’d give him Site Two, and things would start rolling.
“The plan went something like this, the way I figure it. Our sucker would move into Site Two, and Lois would make her big play for him. That would be the natural thing for Lois to do, so there was no risk involved there. But you both knew Lois pretty well, and you realized that the sucker would find her to be more than he could handle. And while he’d be tiring of her, you’d be leading him on, showing him enough to keep him interested, but never following through. The sucker would want you, Jean, because you’d represent the prize, the cold sister, the aloof one, the one who couldn’t be had. Human nature, that’s all. The grass is always greener, you know.
“In the meantime, while you were generating all this interest, you’d make sure that Sam saw enough of everything to get damned sore, sore enough to allow his jealousy to take over.”
Owens was interested now. I could practically see the wheels turning inside his head as he digested what I was saying.
“Keep talking,” he said.
I kept looking at Jean, waiting for her to say something. She stood next to Mark, her head high, her breasts rising beneath the thin material of her blouse.
“Sam would get sorer and sorer,” I said, “and he’d finally get sore enough to kill the sucker. Or maybe he wouldn’t. It really didn’t matter. So long as he looked sore enough to kill him, that was enough. Plenty of people would have been ready to testify there’d been bad blood between Sam and the sucker by that time, anyway. That’s why you made sure everybody saw you kiss me that night, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jean said.
“Don’t you? You had it figured so that when Sam reached the killing point, one of three things would happen—and they’d all accomplish what you set out to do. One: Sam would blow his stack and kill the sucker. That would give Sam the hot seat. Two: if Sam couldn’t be driven that far, you’d kill the sucker, and pin it on Sam. Or three: you’d kill Sam and pin it on the sucker. Whichever way it worked, Sam would be out of the way. He’d die by your hand or the law’s hand, and you and Mark would be free to romp in the woods with Fowler and Fowler’s profits.”
“What’s all this got to do with Johnny?” Mark asked.
“Nothing. Johnny was just a nice guy who practically lived out here all summer. Johnny would never have come into your plans if another sucker had showed up. But there wasn’t another sucker, and the summer was getting short, and you had to work fast. You put your plan into action, using Johnny as the patsy. This inconvenienced you because he was way the hell over on Big Burnt, but you were probably desperate by that time.” I paused, and my eyes caught Jean’s. “That was your bra I found in Johnny’s cabin, wasn’t it?”
“No,” she said quickly.
“I thought it was Lois’ until I realized that even sisters can tell their own bras apart.”
“This is all a goddamned pack of lies,” Mark said. “Can’t you see he’s trying to steer us away from …”
“Shut up,” Owens said.
“All right,” I continued, “Johnny was the sucker, for want of a better one. You put your plan into action and you started building the feud between Sam and Johnny, ready to give either one the axe when the time was ripe. That’s when I figure Pete stepped into the picture.”
“Pete Avers?” Owens asked.
“Yes. I can only guess at this, but I imagine he overheard you and Mark plotting, Jean. Mark greased his palm and thought that would be the end of it.”
“That accounts for Pete’s roll,” Owens said.
“Sure.” I looked at Mark and my contempt showed on my face. “It must have been easy to shove a lush into the lake, Mark. You had to do that when he told Johnny all about the plan, didn’t you? Then you saw him talking to me, and you didn’t know what he told me. You just knew that he was shooting off his mouth too often, so you decided to fill it with water.”
I looked at Jean, and she still stared back defiantly, still the royal personage, still Fowler and Fowler.
“When Johnny came here the afternoon he was killed, he was ready to leave the islands. But he wanted to tell you that he knew all about the whole mess, and that he’d go to the police immediately, if and when anything happened to Sam. This wouldn’t do. This might upset the whole apple cart.
“So you grabbed the nearest thing handy, an ice pick, and rammed it between his shoulder blades. You were expecting Mark, who was to take you in to meet Sam on the mainland. You waited for him, and when he arrived, you sent him into the woods to dig a grave for Johnny. You stayed outside the cooktent, making sure no one found the body. Unfortunately, I came along. I had already been pegged by Mark as the sucker you’d been waiting for all summer, so it wasn’t difficult to lead me over to my own site and get me away from the cooktent. I wanted an ice pick. You had one, all right, but it was sticking out of Johnny’s back on your cooktent floor. You got me away from there and stalled, giving Mark enough time to dig the grave and come back for the body. When you figured he’d had enough time to complete the job, you borrowed my outbo
ard and went to keep your appointment with Sam. You wanted to get far, far away from the scene of the crime.”
“That’s foolish,” Mark said. “If we were trying to frame Sam, why would we bury Johnny?”
“Because you couldn’t pin that one on Sam very easily. He’d been on the mainland all afternoon. An autopsy would have established time of death, and you would have been right behind the eightball. No, you had to bury Johnny to get him out of the way.
“You tried to frame Sam later on, Jean, when Lois was killed. You latched onto me for your alibi, and you hoped Sam wouldn’t have one. Unfortunately, he did.”
“Why was Lois killed?” Owens asked.
“Because she’d found Johnny’s body, Sheriff.” I dug into my pocket and pulled out the portion of Lois’ charred note. “You might look at this.” I turned back to Jean and said, “You found her writing the note, didn’t you, and figured it was time to eliminate her. She’d already served her purpose with the new sucker, anyway.”
I paused and smiled. “I was the new sucker, made to order. I should have figured it all out the first time you kissed me. No married woman would kiss a stranger in front of a dozen witnesses. I guess I was too flattered to think clearly. That whole seduction scene tonight, and the brawl with Sam—they were both planned, too. When Sam tried to kill me, it suddenly became clear. Tonight had to be the night.
“Sam didn’t succeed in killing me, and you couldn’t very well get at me since I was surrounded by the police department. So you brought Sam to my cabin and gave him the works here. You figured that when the police found him, they’d sure as hell pin it on me—especially after the fight we’d just had.
“It was smart, all right. Too damned smart. The trouble was that your whole plan hinged on human emotions. It’s not wise to tamper with people like that. There’ll always be one who doesn’t fit in with the predicted pattern.”
They were silent now, both of them. They stood side by side, with the troopers standing near Owens. Owens was nodding his head, looking at the ground.