by Ira Levin
‘You mean I didn’t like you? That isn’t so. Not at all. I realized your motives were of the best; you had taken a liking to Ellen; you showed a – a youthful enthusiasm. But it was misdirected, misdirected in a way that was extremely painful to me. Barging into my hotel room so soon after Ellen’s death – bringing up the past at such a moment.’ He looked at Gant appealingly. ‘Do you think I wouldn’t have liked to believe that Dorothy didn’t take her own life?’
‘She didn’t.’
‘The note,’ he said wearily, ‘the note—’
‘A couple of ambiguously worded sentences that could have referred to a dozen things beside suicide. Or that she could have been tricked into writing.’ Gant leaned forward. ‘Dorothy went to the Municipal Building to get married. Ellen’s theory was right; the fact that she was killed proves it.’
‘It does no such thing,’ Kingship snapped. ‘There was no connection. You heard the police—’
‘A housebreaker!’
‘Why not? Why not a housebreaker?’
‘Because I don’t believe in coincidences. Not that kind.’
‘A sign of immaturity, Mr Gant.’
After a moment Gant said flatly, ‘It was the same person both times.’
Kingship braced his hands tiredly on the desk, looking down at the papers there. ‘Why do you have to revive all this?’ he sighed. ‘Intruding in other people’s business. How do you think I feel—?’ He pushed his glasses down into place and fingered the pages of a ledger. ‘Would you please go now.’
Gant made no move to rise. ‘I’m home on vacation,’ he said.
‘Home is White Plains. I didn’t spend an hour on the New York Central just to rehash what was already said last March.’
‘What then?’ Kingship looked warily at the long-jawed face.
‘There was an article in this morning’s Times – the society page.’
‘My daughter?’
Gant nodded. He took a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. ‘What do you know about Bud Corliss?’ he asked.
Kingship eyed him in silence. ‘Know about him?’ he said slowly. ‘He’s going to be my son-in-law. What do you mean, know about him?’
‘Do you know that he and Ellen were going together?’
‘Of course,’ Kingship straightened up. ‘What are you driving at?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Gant said. The blue eyes were sharp and steady under the thick blond brows. He gestured towards Kingship’s chair. ‘And my delivery is bound to suffer if you stand towering over me.’
Kingship sat down. He kept his hands on the edge of the desk before him, as though ready to rise again in an instant.
Gant lit his cigarette. He sat silently for a moment, regarding it thoughtfully and working his lower lip with his teeth, as though awaiting a time signal. Then he began to speak in the easy, fluid, announcer’s voice.
‘When she left Caldwell,’ he said, ‘Ellen wrote a letter to Bud Corliss. I happened to read that letter soon after Ellen arrived in Blue River. It made quite an impression on me, since it described a murder suspect whom I resembled much too closely for comfort.’ He smiled. ‘I read the letter twice, and carefully, as you can imagine.
‘On the night Ellen was killed, Eldon Chesser, that lover of prima facie evidence, asked me if Ellen were my girlfriend. It was probably the only constructive thing he ever did during his entire detectival career, because it set me thinking of friend Corliss. Partly to take my mind off Ellen, who was God-knows-where with an armed killer, and partly because I liked her and wondered what kind of a man she liked. I thought about that letter which was still fresh in my mind and which was my only source of information about my “rival”, Bud Corliss.’
Gant paused for a second, and then continued. ‘At first it seemed to contain nothing; a name – Dear Bud – and an address on the envelope – Burton Corliss, something-or-other Roosevelt Street, Caldwell, Wisconsin. No other clues. But on further reflection I found several bits of information in Ellen’s letter, and I was able to fit them together into an even bigger piece of information about Bud Corliss; it seemed insignificant at the time; a purely external fact about him rather than an indication of his personality, which was what I was really looking for. But that fact stayed with me, and today it seems significant indeed.’
‘Go ahead,’ Kingship said as Gant drew on his cigarette.
Gant leaned back comfortably. ‘First of all: Ellen wrote Bud that she wouldn’t fall behind in her work while away from Caldwell because she would be able to get all the notes from him. Now, Ellen was a senior, which meant that she was taking advanced courses. In every college senior courses are closed to freshmen and often to sophomores. If Bud shared all Ellen’s classes – they probably made out their programmes together – it meant that he was conceivably a sophomore, but in all probability a junior or a senior.
‘Secondly: at one point in the letter Ellen described her behaviour during her first three years at Caldwell, which apparently differed from her behaviour after Dorothy’s death. She described how she had been “the rah-rah girl”, and then she said, and I think I remember the exact words, “You wouldn’t recognize me.” Which meant, as clearly as could possibly be, that Bud had not seen her during those first three years. This would be highly conceivable at a good-sized university like Stoddard, but we come to thirdly.
‘Thirdly: Caldwell is a very small college; one-tenth the size of Stoddard, Ellen wrote, and she was giving it the benefit of the doubt. I checked in the almanac this morning: Stoddard has over twelve thousand students; Caldwell, barely eight hundred. Furthermore, Ellen mentioned in the letter that she hadn’t wanted Dorothy to come to Caldwell precisely because it was the kind of place where everybody knew everybody else and knew what they were doing.
‘So, we add one, two, and three: Bud Corliss, who is at least in his third year of college, was a stranger to Ellen at the beginning of her fourth year, despite the fact that they both attended a very small school where, I understand, the social side of life plays hob with the scholastic. All of which can be explained in only one way and can be condensed to a simple statement of fact; the fact which seemed insignificant last March, but today seems like the most important fact in Ellen’s letter: Bud Corliss was a transfer student, and he transferred to Caldwell in September of 1950, at the beginning of Ellen’s fourth year and after Dorothy’s death.’
Kingship frowned. ‘I don’t see what—’
‘We come now to today, 24 December 1951,’ Gant said, crushing his cigarette in an ashtray, ‘when my mother, bless her, brings the prodigal son breakfast in bed, along with the New York Times. And there, on the society page, is the name of Kingship. Miss Marion Kingship to wed Mr Burton Corliss. Imagine my surprise. Now, my mind, in addition to being insatiably curious and highly analytical, is also very dirty. It looks to me, says I, as though the new member of the domestic sales division was determined not to be disqualified from the Kingship Copper sweepstakes.’
‘Now look here, Mr Gant—’
‘I considered,’ Gant went on, ‘how when one sister was killed he proceeded directly to the next one. Beloved of two of the Kingship daughters. Two out of three. Not a bad score.
‘And then the analytical side and the dirty side of my brain blended, and I thought: three out of three would have been an even better score for Mr Burton Corliss who transferred to Caldwell College in September of 1950.’
Kingship stood up, staring at Gant.
‘A random thought,’ Gant said. ‘Wildly improbable. But easily removed from the realm of doubt. A simple matter of sliding out from under the breakfast tray, going to the bookcase, and taking therefrom The Stoddard Flame, yearbook for 1950.’ He displayed the large blue leatherette book with its white-lettered cover. ‘In the sophomore section,’ he said, ‘there are several interesting photographs. One of Dorothy Kingship and one of Dwight Powell, both of whom are now dead. None of Gordon Gant; didn’t have five spare bucks to have my face recorded fo
r posterity. But many sophomores did, among them—’ He opened the book to a page marked by a strip of newsprint, turned the volume around and put it down on the desk, his finger stabbing one of the checkerboard photographs. He recited the inscription beside it from memory: ‘Corliss, Burton quote Bud unquote, Menasset, Mass., Liberal Arts.’
Kingship sat down again. He looked at the photograph, hardly larger than a postage stamp. Then he looked at Gant. Gant reached forward, turned a few pages, and pointed to another picture. It was Dorothy. Kingship looked at that, too. Then looked up again.
Gant said, ‘It struck me as awfully odd. I thought you should know.’
‘Why?’ Kingship asked stolidly. ‘What is this supposed to be leading up to?’
‘May I ask you one question, Mr Kingship, before I answer that?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘He never told you he went to Stoddard, did he?’
‘No. But we’ve never discussed things like that,’ he explained quickly. ‘He must have told Marion. Marion must know.’
‘I don’t think she does.’
‘Why not?’ Kingship demanded.
‘The Times. Marion gave them the information for that article, didn’t she? The bride-to-be usually does.’
‘Well?’
‘Well there’s no mention of Stoddard. And in the other wedding and engagement articles, it’s mentioned when some-one’s attended more than one school.’
‘Maybe she just didn’t bother to tell them.’
‘Maybe. Or maybe she doesn’t know. Maybe Ellen didn’t know either.’
‘All right, now what are you saying, mister?’
‘Don’t be sore at me, Mr Kingship. The facts speak for themselves; I didn’t invent them.’ Gant closed the year-book and put it in his lap. ‘There are two possibilities,’ he said. ‘Either Corliss told Marion that he attended Stoddard, in which case it might conceivably be a coincidence; he went to Stoddard and he transferred to Caldwell; he might not have known Dorothy any more than he knew me.’ He paused. ‘Or else, he didn’t tell Marion he went there.’
‘Which means?’ Kingship challenged.
‘Which means that he must have been involved with Dorothy in some way. Why else would he conceal it?’ Gant looked down at the book in his lap. ‘There was a man who wanted Dorothy out of the way because he had got her pregnant—’
Kingship stared at him. ‘You’re back to the same thing! Someone killed Dorothy, then killed Ellen. You’ve got this – this cockeyed moving picture theory and you don’t want to admit—’ Gant was silent. ‘Bud?’ Kingship asked incredulously. He sat back. He shook his head, smiling pityingly. ‘Come on, now,’ he said. ‘That’s crazy. Just crazy.’ He kept shaking his head. ‘What do you think that boy is, a maniac?’ and smiling, ‘You’ve got this crazy idea—’
‘All right,’ Gant said, ‘it’s crazy. For the time being. But if he didn’t tell Marion he went to Stoddard, then in some way he must have been involved with Dorothy. And if he was involved with Dorothy, and then Ellen, and now with Marion – then he was goddamned good and determined to marry one of your daughters! Any one!’
The smile left Kingship’s face slowly, draining it of expression. His hands were motionless on the edge of the desk.
‘That isn’t so crazy, I take it.’
Kingship removed his glasses. He blinked a couple of times and then straightened up. ‘I have to speak to Marion,’ he said.
Gant looked at the telephone.
‘No,’ Kingship said emptily. ‘She’s had her phone disconnected. She’s giving up her apartment, staying with me until the wedding.’ His voice faltered. ‘After the honeymoon they’re moving into an apartment I’m furnishing for them – Sutton Terrace. Marion didn’t want to accept it at first, but he convinced her. He’s been so good with her – made the two of us get along so much better.’ They looked at each other for a moment; Gant’s eyes steady and challenging, Kingship’s apprehensive.
Kingship stood up.
‘Do you know where she is?’ Gant asked.
‘At her place – packing things.’ He put on his jacket. ‘He must have told her about Stoddard.’
When they came out of the office Miss Richardson looked up from a magazine.
‘That’s all for today, Miss Richardson. If you’ll just clear my desk.’
She frowned with frustrated curiosity. ‘Yes, Mr Kingship. Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas, Miss Richardson.’
They walked down a long corridor, on the walls of which were black and white photographs, matted and mounted between plates of glass held together by copper brackets at top and bottom. There were photographs of underground and open-pit mines, smelters, refineries, furnaces, rolling mills, and artistic close-ups of tubing and copper wire.
Waiting for the elevator Kingship said, ‘I’m sure he told her.’
EIGHT
‘Gordon Gant?’ Marion said, exploring the name, when they had shaken hands. ‘Don’t I know that name?’ She backed into the room, smiling, one hand finding Kingship’s and drawing him with her, the other rising to the collar of her blouse and fingering the golden pearl-starred brooch.
‘Blue River,’ Kingship’s voice was wooden as when he had performed the introduction, and his eyes were not quite on Marion’s. ‘I think I told you about him.’
‘Oh yes. You knew Ellen, wasn’t that it?’
‘That’s right,’ Gant said. He shifted his hand farther down the spine of the book at his side, to a spot where the leatherette wasn’t damp, wishing he hadn’t been so damned eager when Kingship had asked him to come up; the Times photo of Marion had offered no hint in its dotted greys of the lucency of her eyes, the radiance of her cheeks, the halo of I’m-getting-married-Saturday that glowed all over her.
She gestured at the room despairingly. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t even a place to sit down.’ She moved towards a chair on which some shoe boxes were piled.
‘Don’t bother,’ Kingship said. ‘We just stopped by. Only for a minute. A lot of work waiting for me at the office.’
‘You haven’t forgotten tonight, have you?’ Marion asked. ‘You can expect us at seven or so. She’s arriving at five, and I guess she’ll want to stop at her hotel first.’ She turned to Gant. ‘My prospective mother-in-law,’ she said significantly.
Oh Lord, Gant thought, I’m supposed to say, ‘You’re getting married?’ ‘Yes, Saturday.’ ‘Congratulations, good luck, best wishes!’ He smiled wanly and didn’t say anything. Nobody said anything.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’ Marion inquired, a curtsey in her voice.
Gant looked at Kingship, waiting for him to speak.
Marion looked at both of them. ‘Anything special?’
After a moment, Gant said, ‘I knew Dorothy, too. Very slightly.’
‘Oh,’ Marion said. She looked down at her hands.
‘She was in one of my classes. I go to Stoddard.’ He paused. ‘I don’t think Bud was ever in any of my classes though.’
She looked up. ‘Bud?’
‘Bud Corliss. Your—’
She shook her head, smiling. ‘Bud was never at Stoddard,’ she corrected him.
‘He was, Miss Kingship.’
‘No,’ she insisted amusedly, ‘he went to Caldwell.’
‘He went to Stoddard, then to Caldwell.’
Marion smiled quizzically at Kingship, as though expecting him to offer some explanation for the obstinacy of the caller he had brought.
‘He was at Stoddard, Marion,’ Kingship said heavily. ‘Show her the book.’
Gant opened the year-book and handed it to Marion, pointing to the picture.
‘Well for goodness’ sake,’ she said. ‘I have to apologize. I never knew …’ She glanced at the cover of the book. ‘Nineteen-fifty.’
‘He’s in the forty-nine year-book too,’ Gant said. ‘He went to Stoddard for two years and then transferred to Caldwell.’
‘For goodness’
sake,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that funny? Maybe he knew Dorothy.’ She sounded pleased, as though this were yet another bond between her and her fiancé. Her eyes slipped back to his picture.
‘He never mentioned it to you at all?’ Gant asked, despite Kingship’s prohibitive headshakings.
‘Why, no, he never said a—’
Slowly she looked up from the book, becoming aware for the first time of the strain and discomfort of the two men. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked curiously.
‘Nothing,’ Kingship said. He glanced at Gant, seeking corroboration.
‘Then why are the two of you standing there as if—’ She looked at the book again, and then at her father. There was a tightening moment in her throat. ‘Is this why you came up here, to tell me this?’ she asked.
‘We – we only wondered if you knew, that’s all.’
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘We just wondered, that’s all.’
Her eyes cut to Gant. ‘Why?’
‘Why should Bud conceal it,’ Gant asked, ‘unless—’
Kingship said, ‘Gant!’
‘Conceal it?’ Marion said. ‘What kind of a word is that? He didn’t conceal it; we never talk about school much, because of Ellen; it just didn’t come up.’
‘Why should the girl he’s marrying not know he spent two years at Stoddard,’ Gant rephrased implacably, ‘unless he was involved with Dorothy?’
‘Involved? With Dorothy?’ Her eyes, wide with incredulity, probed into Gant’s, and then swung slowly, narrowing, to Kingship. ‘What is this?’
Kingship’s face flickered with small uneasy movements, as though dust were blowing at it.
‘How much are you paying him?’ Marion asked coldly.
‘Paying him?’
‘For snooping!’ she flared. ‘For digging up dirt! For inventing dirt!’
‘He came to me of his own accord, Marion!’
‘Oh, yes, he just happened to pop up!’
Gant said, ‘I saw the article in the Times.’
Marion glared at her father. ‘You swore you wouldn’t do this,’ she said bitterly. ‘Swore! It would never enter your mind to ask questions, to investigate, treat him like a criminal. Oh, no, not much!’