Fleming glanced at Dave to see if he agreed. “You went there for what purpose?”
“A purely personal matter, Major.”
Fleming reached into a breast pocket and withdrew two slips of paper. He considered them a moment and then eyed Dunning directly.
“I have here two checks that were found in Sankar’s wallet,” he said. “One, in the amount of two hundred dollars, was signed by you.”
Someone made a throaty sound off to one side but Dave could not identify the person until Crawford spoke. “I suppose the other one’s mine.”
“As a matter of fact it is.” Fleming continued to watch Dunning. “I’ve been in touch with police headquarters in Port of Spain,” he said. “They know about Sankar; they say he’s a solicitor who specializes in private investigations.”
“All right,” Dunning said stiffly. “I will tell you this much. Sankar did some work for me. I paid him. He asked me to meet him last night and I did so.”
“You then went home—and stayed there?”
“I did.”
“Can you verify this, Mrs. Dunning?”
“No.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Alice Dunning’s green eyes were steady and her pretty face looked unconcerned as she replied.
“I was a bit under the weather last night, Major. After dinner I decided a sleeping capsule might be in order. I took one. I may have heard my husband leave but I know nothing at all about when he returned.”
Fleming considered the reply and when he was ready he turned to Crawford. “I take it you also engaged Eric Sankar for a bit of work.”
“That’s right.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“Not now.”
“Did you see him last night?”
That one made Crawford hesitate. His black brows were lumpy above the opaque dark eyes and as he considered his answer he had a hard time keeping them still.
“At the same place Dunning did. Only he must have come first. This was around eleven.”
“You left him there?”
“We sort of left together.”
“And after that?”
“I went home.”
Dave cleared his throat and voiced his second objection. “Not straight home.”
Crawford’s mouth opened slightly and his hooded gaze was both hostile and suspicious. Fleming, glancing from one to the other as he considered the statement, looked more pleased than surprised.
“You are sure about this, Mr. Payne?”
Dave nodded and then he was explaining how he and Joan had tried to follow Sankar and Crawford. He said that Sankar had not been at the Seaside Hotel when he inquired at the desk and that there was no car at Crawford’s place.
“And what do you say to that?” Fleming said.
“I didn’t say I went straight home,” Crawford said. “I stopped at the Beau Brummel for a drink and—”
“Tell him the truth, Alan.” Gloria Ludlow straightened her back and smiled at Fleming. “I guess he’s trying to save me some embarrassment, Major,” she said. “Alan came to see me last night. I’m not sure about the time but I know it was before midnight. We had a couple of drinks and talked. I’m afraid it was almost two before he left.”
“I see,” Fleming said in a tone that did not entirely support the statement. “And before that, Mrs. Ludlow?”
“Before that?”
“I mean, what were you doing before that?”
Gloria glanced at Dave. The gray eyes gave no clue to her thoughts and without actually moving she seemed to shrug slightly.
“I was with Mr. Payne from about five thirty until—I’m not sure—but somewhere around nine or a little after. I fixed some supper for myself at home. I was still there when Alan came.”
Fleming glanced round to see if Inspector Gomes was getting all this down in his notebook and then he continued to Eustis. “What can you tell us, Roger?”
Eustis did not seem unduly concerned by the question, or perhaps he had been expecting it. He looked very neat and proper in his tan, tropical-weight suit and bow tie. He had been brushing sand from his palms but now he gestured idly with one hand.
“If you’re expecting an alibi, I have none. I had dinner at home.”
“Alone?”
“In one sense, yes. Naturally the servants were there—”
“Do they sleep in?”
“No. I’m not sure when they left but I would assume it was somewhere after nine. I had some work to do. I did it. I went to bed around eleven.”
Fleming nodded and said something to the tall, well-built Negro beside him. Gomes closed his notebook and started for the highway and when he returned he had the metal box in his hand. Fleming displayed it so all could see. He repeated the story that Dave and Joan had told him.
“We questioned Mr. Sankar rather thoroughly yesterday afternoon,” he said. “He denied being at the bungalow the night of the murder and in view of Miss Allison’s unsubstantiated identification—she saw him but once and that in the dark—we did not feel warranted in holding him at the time. Perhaps that was a mistake because it seems obvious now that he must have known not only what happened to the money but also who killed Mike Ludlow. Instead of co-operating with us he chose to do business with the killer and you know the result.”
He tugged at the bottom of his jacket to straighten it beneath the heavy belt and said: “Unless someone has something to add we’ll stand adjourned for now. We appreciate your co-operation and you’ll all have some time to think over what you’ve said before you make your formal statements.”
He moved off with Gomes and Dave pushed to his feet and offered Joan his hand. While she was brushing off her skirt he looked over at Gloria but Crawford already had her by the arm and was leading her away. She glanced over her shoulder once to catch his eye and smile at him and then she gave Crawford her attention.
Joan made no comment until they reached the Hillman and then she turned and looked up at him, the dark-blue eyes bright with excitement. “Shall we go to the Club Morgan now?”
Because his mind was busy on other things he could not immediately understand the question or her interest. “Club Morgan?” he said.
“Don’t you want to get your car and that envelope you left in the glove compartment?”
Oh, Lord, he thought. Of course I’ve got to get that envelope. But I have to meet Sam Brennan, too.
A glance at his watch told him it was after twelve and that told him he would have to meet Brennan first. He also knew that there was no time now to give a proper story to Joan. It would take much too long to explain what had happened to him and Gloria the previous evening, and to make believable the two crazy Venezuelan characters and their wild plan. Something about the look in her eyes and the expression on her young face told him that he had never been closer to her and he knew what he had to say would shatter the mood. He smiled and reached for her hand. He spoke reluctantly.
“Yes,” he said, “but I can’t do it now. I’ve got to get out to the airport right away.”
“The airport?”
“I’ve got to meet a fellow. He’s coming in from Trinidad.… Now wait,” he added quickly when he saw her eyes start to cloud. “I’m going to tell you why Gloria and I didn’t have dinner last night. I’m going to tell you what happened at the bungalow and why I have to meet this man from Trinidad. But I can’t do it now.”
She said: “Oh,” and tugged on her hand until he had to release it.
“Just give me the benefit of the doubt this time,” he said, “and when you hear the whole story you’ll understand.” He watched her open the door and slide in under the wheel. He knew then that he had lost her but he kept on trying. “Where will you be later this afternoon?”
“At the Carib Club probably. Where else would I be? … Can I drop you anywhere?” she added distantly.
He said no. He said there were always some taxi drivers hanging around the Seaside Hotel and he could walk
up there and get one. Then he was standing there watching her drive off, head high and eyes fixed straight ahead.
17
SAM BRENNAN’S flight was on time and Dave Payne, standing outside in the visitors’ enclosure, saw that nothing about the man had changed. He still wore the rumpled suit and the battered felt hat, and his craggy, weathered face revealed nothing at all as he caught Dave’s eye. Because his baggage consisted of nothing more than a small canvas duffle bag, he went through customs quickly and then Dave was leading him across the parking lot to the car and driver he had hired.
“Any luck?”
“A little,” Brennan said. “I sort of doubt if it’s worth the money you spent.” He took some folded sheets from an inside pocket and passed them over. “No trouble getting in the office,” he added. “Just wasn’t much there on those names you gave me.”
Dave pulled him to a stop before they reached the car and told him what had happened to Eric Sankar. He spoke of the preliminary investigation and the probable connection with Mike Ludlow’s murder. He said it seemed obvious that Sankar had known too much about what had happened that first night and had tried to trade on that information. Brennan listened thoughtfully but his only reaction was a murmured: “Too bad,” and then he was following Dave to the car.
“Club Morgan,” Dave said as he opened the door and climbed into the back.
“Club Morgan?” the driver said with some surprise. “It’s not open now, sir.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dave said. “I left a car there last night. I want to pick it up.”
As the car got under way Dave saw that the papers Brennan had given him consisted of two sets of reports. The first, and more comprehensive series, had been addressed to Richard Dunning and covered his wife’s visits to Trinidad over a period of several months. They were well detailed and gave dates and times and places when Alice Dunning had had dinner with Mike Ludlow; they covered the evenings they had spent together, the times she had visited the apartment Mike kept there, and the length of her stay. The over-all picture was that of a woman and a man who were having some sort of an affair but it served only to confirm the rumors that Dave had already heard.
The other set was addressed to Mike Ludlow. There were only two reports and they concerned Roger Eustis and a visit he had made to Georgetown in British Guiana. Here, too, they seemed to substantiate what Frank Morgan had said about Eustis and the blond widow who worked there for an airline company. In the hands of Mrs. Eustis, such information would give Roger Eustis a hard time. It was understandable that under the circumstances he might pay, or loan, Mike the ten thousand dollars he had mentioned. Carried a step farther such reports might also be a motive for murder.
In spite of this, the information was, somehow, a disappointment to Dave, but this was not Sam Brennan’s fault. Brennan had done his job and done it well, and when Dave had put the reports into his pocket he produced the two fifty-dollar bills he had shown the man the night before. Brennan had allowed himself a broad grin as he accepted them. They were new bills and he made them snap before he folded them and tucked them carefully into his pocket.
“Thanks,” he said. “This is the most real dollars I’ve had in my hands in some time. Sort of makes the trip up here worth while after all. You got anything else in mind I could do?”
Dave said he didn’t know because they had rolled into the Club Morgan parking lot and were backing alongside the Hillman, which now stood all by itself. Telling Brennan and the driver to wait, he found the car keys, climbed in and immediately unlocked the glove compartment. He took the folder from the envelope and spread the papers on the seat beside him. He went over them one by one, his brown eyes puzzled and impatient as he considered the familiar documents. He put each sheet aside as he scanned it and it was not until he came to the envelope marked, Cruise, that he understood why the folder was important.
The newspaper clippings were there as he remembered them in the bank manager’s office. There were five altogether, some of them no more than a couple of paragraphs clipped from the body of an account; others a half column or more. None of them, however, had anything to do with a cruise as he had interpreted the word, but the one-column cut at the top of one piece gave him an immediate explanation.
For this cut was a picture of the man he knew as Alan Crawford. He wore a hat this time but the features were easily recognizable and the caption under it said: Anthony (Tony) Cruise. The other photograph, apparently taken at some other time but similar to the first, said: Tony (The Accountant) Cruise.
Dave sat up as he began to read and his initial bewilderment was short lived. He absorbed the contents of each clipping as quickly as he could and went back to the first one and read the lead paragraph more carefully.
A two-column head read: SYNDICATE ACCOUNTANT MISSING. Underneath this and adjacent to the one-column cut he read:
Anthony (Tony) Cruise, forty-one, said to be the accountant and comptroller of the syndicate sometimes known as Transportation, Inc. failed to appear in Federal District Court as a key witness in the trial on extortion and income tax evasion charge which had been slapped on two of his superiors, John Nunzio and Carmen Mungar, and his lawyer immediately feared the worst.
“If he were alive he would be here,” said attorney Nicholas Paul. “He had much to gain and nothing to lose by staying around.”
Paul made it plain he thought someone got to the so-called accountant with a gun or other weapon. The lawyer said he had not seen his client in two days. Cruise’s car is also missing.…
The account went on to supply other details about the impending trial; a second story supplied certain information about the background and business activities of the organization Cruise had worked for. Aware of the laws of libel, the wording was not specific, but Dave got a picture of a well-organized group which had a supposedly legitimate front dealing with trucking and the garbage collection business in New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. Other activities less publicized were suggested such as gambling, bookmaking, and, on occasion, the wholesale importation of narcotics.
One other short paragraph, apparently clipped from a gossip-columnist’s piece, said that some who were supposed to know were of the opinion that if Tony Cruise were to testify against his superiors he would wind up on a slab.
Dave gathered the clippings and put them back into the envelope. He collected the rest of the papers and slid them into the folder and when he had put all of this into the outer envelope he locked it once more in the glove compartment and leaned back to light a cigarette.
So this, he thought, was Alan Crawford, the mysterious man from the States who played golf and sailed his ketch and got a monthly check from the Florida bank. This was the man who had been kind to Gloria Ludlow and he wondered now how much she knew about his background.
The thought disturbed him as he remembered the hard time she had had during the past years with Mike Ludlow. She had said she might marry Crawford and he might well turn out to be a satisfactory husband so long as he was not exposed. But even as he considered this his mind went on to examine a more serious conclusion.
Heretofore he had assumed that the basic motive for Mike Ludlow’s death was the fifty thousand dollars he had collected in the metal box. Now he realized that this information about Crawford’s background could be an even stronger motive, especially to a man who already had a certain amount of money or at least an income. He did not know how Mike had managed to get the envelope, but the fact remained that he did get it. According to Roger Eustis, he had brought that envelope to the lawyer’s office a couple of weeks ago and it seemed likely that Crawford knew he had it. There was no other explanation which would account for the effort that had been made to search the bungalow and then to return in the middle of the night to pry open the glove compartment of Joan’s car.
The lawyer in him, the tradition which had helped to shape his conduct, told him that it would be best to go to the police now and let Major Fleming take it from
there. But there was another consideration, a somewhat more emotional one, that he was not yet ready to ignore. At the moment he was not quite ready for a decision and before he committed himself he wanted to know a little bit more about Alan Crawford. That is why he went over to the other car and asked Sam Brennan if he would like to do another small job for him.
Brennan did not hesitate. “I sure would, Mr. Payne. You pay real good.”
“Can you drive a car?”
“Yep.”
“The keys are in it,” Dave said, indicating the Hillman. “Just follow us.”
Once the taxi got under way, Dave asked the driver what his name was.
“Robert, sir.”
“Is this your car, Robert? Or is it one of Starr’s?”
“Oh no, sir. This is my car.”
“Good. I’d like to rent it.”
“Yes, sir,” Robert said with quick enthusiasm. “I’m at your service as long as you like.”
“What I had in mind,” Dave said, “was to rent the car without you.”
“Oh.” The suggestion had an obvious deflationary effect on Robert’s enthusiasm. He thought it over for quite a while and when he spoke there was doubt in his voice. “It would cost you no more with me driving.”
“That’s all right,” Dave said. “How much do you make in an average day?”
“It varies. Some days four dollars, some days fourteen. Like when a cruise ship is in and they have a party to see the island. I guess there isn’t any average, sir, and anyway it’s not my time so much, it’s how far I go. The petrol is expensive here.”
“Suppose I gave you twenty dollars U.S. and paid you ten cents a mile.”
Robert’s enthusiasm was quickly restored. He turned, his white grin broad, as he watched Dave take out a new twenty-dollar bill. Then, as Dave put the bill on his knee, the shadow of some new doubt touched his glance.
“Do you have a license, sir?” Sure.
“Very good. When will you want the car?”
“Right now. Just pick a spot where you want to get out.”
Robert said he would get out at the Continental Hotel and when they arrived Dave moved over on the seat. Robert watched him shift with some apprehension but as the car moved forward smoothly he was reassured, and as Dave glanced into the rear-view mirror he saw that Sam Brennan was behind him.
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