“I figured as much. Did you get the impression there was anything hippie about Joanna and her boy friend?”
“No. Well, she said they smoke pot now and then, but who doesn’t? Anyhow, I don’t think he rates as much of a boy friend, the way she kept telling me how immature he is. I doubt if she’ll ever get around to marrying him. Who she really wants to marry right now is you. She starts to breathe hard whenever your name comes up in the conversation.”
“Because I’m the new Big Daddy image in her life. But what happened after her argument with Thoren? Did he do anything that seemed out of the ordinary to her during the day?”
“Well, she didn’t say it was out of the ordinary, but in the afternoon he went out in his sailboat and didn’t come back until almost dark. What makes her sick now is that she was there near the dock when he came in, and when he asked her to help put the cover over the boat, she was still so sore at him that she just turned and walked away without saying a word. And never said a word to him the rest of the evening. Next thing she knew, Kermit was waking her up around three in the morning to tell her he was dead. She told me that she was the only one besides her father to use the sailboat, and now she hates to even go near it. It’s been laying there at the dock like that since that day.”
Jake said: “And she didn’t seem to think it was unusual, his going out in the boat alone like that? Or coming in so late?”
“She didn’t say anything about it one way or the other. She might have, too, if it was unusual, because she gave me the idea that he was very strong on routine. He had a schedule for everything, and if there was any break in it they all took notice. Like, from the time she was a kid he used to go every Wednesday to a place uptown, Bayside Spa, for a workout and steam bath. She said when he suddenly quit going there it was hard to realize what day of the week it was when Wednesday came around. She wasn’t used to seeing him home Wednesdays. Anyhow, you can’t set up a schedule for sailboating, can you? Doesn’t it depend on the weather?”
“Not altogether. Did she happen to mention when he quit going to that spa for his workouts? How long ago it was?”
Elinor said: “No. Why? Is that important?”
“It might be. What about that evening, the day he was killed? Did she say anything about what he did that evening?”
“No. And I was afraid to push too hard about it. Dumb as she is, it might have looked kind of obvious by then.”
“What else did she talk about?”
“A lot about you. Some about Hal and Kermit. She warned me about Kermit. Laughing all the while, you know, but not kidding really. That shows you how much brain she has. If I wanted to make a play for somebody’s husband, I’d turn my good-looking brother loose on his wife first thing.”
“Women,” Jake said.
In the house, he stretched out on the living-room couch, eyes closed, hands clasped behind his head. Elinor stood looking down at him until he opened his eyes. “I did all right, didn’t I?” she said.
“Fine.”
“I thought so, too. Now tell me why.”
Jake said: “Because these blackmail suicides run to a pattern. What you got from Joanna tells me Thoren’s followed the pattern.”
Elinor looked disappointed. “Is that all?”
“It’s a lot more than you think. It suggests that in that mail Thoren was reading was a message from the blackmailer telling him when and where to make the next drop. A big percentage of suicides resulting from blackmail pressure follow pretty close after that kind of message. They seem to be triggered by them when the victim is near the breaking point. That’s why Thoren came down on Joanna so hard about who she married. It was a farewell warning he was trying to give her.”
“But that’s just a lot of theory,” Elinor protested. “It’s not the kind of evidence you said you need.”
“The evidence would be the blackmailer’s message. Records show that in one case after another, no matter how carefully somebody rigged up his suicide to look like an accident, he wound up leaving a clue to the truth. Possibly in a lot of cases, he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It could have been an unconscious act of the ego to show what a sacrifice he made. So after all the trouble he went to, there would be those half-burned or torn-up scraps of message somewhere around. And Thoren had more than his share of ego.”
Elinor said: “But he died a month ago. Do you really believe you can find any letter like that after a month, torn-up or otherwise?”
“I better believe it,” Jake said.
13
He came right to the point when Maniscalco called. “Manny, you have somebody looking up that accident where Thoren’s parents were killed, haven’t you? About any possibility of dirty work there?”
“Uh-huh. I had my boy in Twin Cities drive up to St. Olivet first thing this morning. They have a weekly paper, so he’ll check through the files around the time of the accident. And it’s a small place. He ought to find some old-timers who’ll remember the Thorens.”
“Can you get in touch with him tonight?”
“I know what motel he’s at. Why?”
“Because there’s something else I want him to look up. The religion Thoren and his people were listed under. If it isn’t entered on Thoren’s birth certificate, he might find an obit or funeral notice about the parents that’ll clue us in on it. Can you get him on that right away?”
“Yes, sure. But what have you got in mind?”
Jake explained what he had in mind, and Maniscalco grunted approval. “No question it’s blackmail, Jake. The best part is, if it turns out the poor bastard was paying off because of that religious thing, the family’ll think twice before risking exposure in a court case. You know how Guaranty hates to go to court on this kind of non-payment case. No matter how right they are, the publicity always comes out sour.”
Jake said: “I ought to know it after all the times you’ve told it to me. Don’t you find it touching, Manny, that a great big corporation can be so nervous about some things?”
“My friend, we’re all nervous about our image nowadays, especially corporations. And you collect plenty for getting that release from the widow and keeping Guaranty’s image nice and shiny.”
“Anything to make you happy, baby.”
“So far I’m not complaining. But all your chips aren’t on that one card, are they, Jake? Maybe he was paying blackmail because of the religious thing, maybe not. You have to keep an open mind. It could just as easily have been on account of a woman. Maybe some sharpshooting little hustler he knocked up. Remember that sex is a very strong percentage play in blackmail.”
“I’m taking that into account. Even so, I don’t think it would be a female who got the drop on Thoren.”
Maniscalco was silent for a long moment. Then he said: “I hope I’m hearing right. You think he was a queer?”
“Hell, I don’t mean the Fire Island wiggle-ass kind you mean. Not a man like that with a wife and family. But he had some very interesting AC–DC touches. And it doesn’t take more than one little impulse in a public toilet to make a disaster. That’s why I want to check his service record. For that matter, whatever he said his religion was in 1939 would be entered on it, too. What have you done about getting hold of that record?”
“Plenty. Only they’re having trouble locating it. They would, naturally. I’ll let you know as soon as they do.”
“Well, tell them to get the lead out,” Jake said. “And how about the local boy you’re supposed to line up for me as a helper? Did you get a tip on somebody good down here?”
“I did. That’s what this call was for in the first place. Jake, did you ever hear of a guy named Abe Magnes? Is that name familiar to you?”
“I think so. Didn’t he work some headline cases for insurance underwriters a long time ago?”
“That’s right. All over the Miami territory. He’s the one I lined up.”
Jake said unbelievingly: “Abe Magnes? But he retired before I even got into this racke
t. He must be a hundred years old by now. What the hell good is somebody like that to me?”
“Jake, from what my contact told me, Magnes still takes on a job now and then, and he still has more on the ball than most investigators half his age. And he’s got a gilt-edged reputation around Miami for being honest. Pay him his price, and he’s your man and nobody else’s. There’s only one hitch. The price. He’s good and he knows it.”
“No. I need somebody who can move fast on his feet, not in a wheelchair.”
“Jake, before you give me a hard time about it, at least meet him and see what he’s like. I’ve already had him on the wire, and he said he’s willing to talk business with you. And he can offer the one big thing you said you wanted. From what I was told, he knows more about that territory down there than any other living human. And you know that means a lot of time and trouble saved.”
Jake said: “What I know is that you really let me down on this. All right, considering the choice you’re giving me, I have to take a look at him, don’t I? Where do I find him?”
“He said it was on the Beach about ten minutes’ drive from where you are. The Oceana Hotel. He’ll be waiting for you to show up any time tomorrow.”
“If he lives that long,” Jake said.
He went to sleep on the study couch in a bad mood and dreamed accordingly. He was dragged out of a harrowing dream by the sound of his name being called. When he sat up in blackness he saw a thread of light beneath the bedroom door.
He went into the bedroom. Elinor, her discarded blanket and pajamas on the floor, lay stretched out on her back in the middle of the king-sized bed like a small corpse waiting for embalmment. A sheet was tucked under her crotch and pulled over her to just above the nipples, and every inch of flesh it left exposed glowed fiery red. Her face, a blazing scarlet, was badly swollen. Her eyelids were puffy and half-closed.
Jake took this in with fascination. “Jesus, what a mess.”
“I know. And there must be something wrong with me besides sunburn, I feel so rotten. Chills and fever and sick to the stomach. I tried to throw up before, but I couldn’t.”
“It all comes with the sunburn. Do you mean you were out in that sun with Joanna for the whole two hours without any umbrella over you or any covering at all?”
“Well, she was, so I didn’t think about it then.”
“I wish you had, Ellie baby. Tomorrow I wanted you to get her to invite us out in her daddy’s sailboat. You have now blown that, but good.”
“Jake, if I feel a little better—”
He shook his head. “Not a chance. And no use knocking our brains out about it right now. What have you done for that burn?”
“Rubbed that suntan oil with benzocaine on me wherever I could reach. That’s why I called you. I hated to wake you up, but I couldn’t get any on my back, and it’s killing me. And I thought maybe you knew something I could take to stop feeling like this.”
“Sure. The patented Dekker treatment. A couple of sleeping pills to get you over the big jump, and a bottle of ginger ale so you can burp up some of that misery and slow down dehydration. Then we’ll finish polishing you up with the oil.”
She downed the pills and drink in meek silence, then yielded limply to him when it came time to pull off the sheet and roll her over on her belly. After he had smeared the oil on her back from shoulders to ankles and replaced the sheet, she sighed gratefully. “I feel a little better already. You know something, Jake? You’re a very nice guy sometimes.”
“Don’t mistake competence for a kind heart, baby.”
“Oh, stop being so hard-boiled. It doesn’t really scare you to have somebody say you’re nice, does it?”
“Yes, if it sounds like it might work up to one of those distractions I warned you about.”
“Distractions,” she muttered. She was lying spread-eagled on her belly, her face deep in the pillow. Suddenly she raised herself on her elbows and looked at him bleary-eyed. “Look, even if you are a walking computer, there’s something I have to tell you. I don’t know why. I just feel rotten not telling it to you. So I will.”
“I’m braced.”
“It’s about my husband. I never had any. I was never married. There was just this guy from around Tompkins Square who was very big with the guitar and the grass, and when he asked me to move into his pad I did, but when the kid came along he moved out. That’s the whole thing.”
“So?”
“So now that I told you about it, I feel better.”
“Good. Have you ever seen the guy again? Does he make like a father at all?”
“No, that’s why I moved back with my mother. She said if I didn’t have an abortion I could, because she’s a real wild Catholic. And it’s all right now, because she’s crazy about the kid.”
“That’s very touching,” Jake said. “And you’d better stop trying to fight those sleeping pills, because it looks like your head’ll fall off.”
She let her drooping head sink into the pillow. “Miserable computer,” she said thickly.
He waited a minute or two, then turned out the light and went back to the study. He quickly changed from pajama pants to chinos and left the house through its back door. He glanced at his watch while he stood there in the wet grass giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness, and the luminous hands of the watch said it was three-thirty.
As soon as he could discern the outlines of the shrubbery, trees, and houses around him, he made his way down the slope of the lawn to where a narrow strip of sand marked the low bulkhead at the water’s edge. He followed the sand past Milt Webb’s property and to the Thorens’ dock. He could barely see the dock but had a clear picture of it in mind: a narrow, unrailed boardwalk which ran out about twenty feet into the bay. Kermit’s speedboat was moored along one side of it; Thoren’s sailboat, a neat little twelve-footer, lay bow-on to the other side, its stern line tied to a buoy. Its sail had been removed and stored away some place, its cockpit protected by a canvas lashed down over it.
Two boats. But now, surprisingly, there was an addition to the fleet. Alongside the sailboat, stern up against the dock, lay the pale, ghostly length of a big cabin cruiser, all lights extinguished, the soft throbbing of its idling motor barely detectable to the ear. The voices on its afterdeck, sibilant undertones hardly louder than the motor, were impossible to identify.
Jake carefully planted a foot on the dock and tested his weight on it. The board underfoot groaned loudly. He hastily withdrew the foot, moved a few yards away from the dock along the water’s edge, and squatted there, eyes fixed on the boat.
He had gotten clear of the dock barely in time. A minute later a figure awkwardly mounted it from the fantail of the boat, picked its way across creaking boards, then quickly started up the lawn toward the house. As it disappeared into the total darkness beyond the pool, the sound of the boat’s motor grew louder, rose to a crescendo. Red and green lights flicked on at its bow, a white light at its stern. It started to move away from the dock, and Jake stood up, straining to make out the name on the stern.
“Hey, you!” a voice bellowed. Milt Webb’s voice, high-pitched with excitement. “Don’t move. I got you covered. Stay where you are.”
The lights on the boat instantly blinked out, its motor roared deafeningly as Jake whirled toward the sound of the voice. The boom of a gun, the flash from its muzzle, the stinging explosion of sand in his face all seemed to happen together. He sprinted three steps and hit the water of the bay in a long flat dive. When the second barrel was fired he heard the pellets hiss into the water only inches away from him. He went underwater and swam as strongly as he could until his lungs were ready to burst. When he surfaced he was already past Webb’s dock. It was an easy swim from there to his own strip of beach in water almost as warm as the sultry night air.
In the house, he flung the chinos into the washing machine, then went into the study and looked up Webb’s phone number. When he dialed, the woman who answered sounded in a panic. “Ye
s, yes? Who is it?”
“Mrs. Webb?”
“That’s right. Who is this? What do you want?”
“It’s Jake Dekker next door, Mrs. Webb. I heard some noise in back of your place a little while ago, and I wondered if anything was wrong. It sounded like Milt calling somebody. If there’s anything I can do—”
“Yes, it was terrible. My God, I don’t know what the world is coming to. Wait, here’s Milton.”
There was the sound of a muffled colloquy. Then Webb came on the phone. “You heard all the noise, Jake?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to say so to Mrs. Webb, but it sounded to me like gunshots. What happened? If you want me over there—”
“No, that’s nice of you, but you don’t have to bother. I took care of it all by myself. So much for those security stiffs around here, when you have to go out in your yard with a gun and protect your own home. Goddam if I don’t have something to say to McCloy first thing in the morning about the kind of law and order we’re paying for here.”
Jake said: “Do you mean somebody just tried to break into your place?”
“Not mine, the Thorens’. These goons sneak up in boats sometimes and try a little housebreaking, and so far nobody tagged any of them. I finally did it just now. I scared the boat off, and it left one of them ashore, and I knocked him right into the water with a twelve-gauge.” Webb’s voice rose in jubilation. “In the dark, Jake, and at least seventy, eighty feet away. How’s that for shooting?”
“You can’t do better than hit what you aim at, Milt. Do the Thorens know about it? Are they up, too?”
“Yes, I was just talking to Kermit and Joanna over there. Soon as I get some clothes on, I’m going back to wait with them for the cops.”
Jake said: “What about Mrs. Thoren? How is she taking it?”
“She didn’t come down. It looks like she slept through the whole thing, thank God. Jake?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been wondering about something. You told me you did some crime writing, so maybe you know the answer. I mean, about how the cops handle these things. If that body turns up in the bay, do you think they’ll let me have any buckshot they dig out of it as kind of a souvenir?”
The Bind Page 7