“Funny thing there. I told you Kettering and Kramer had hit it off pretty well, mainly because Kramer knew a little bit about hunting. Well, this was the day before Kettering was supposed to leave. He got pretty p.o.’d at Kramer. Told him he should have had the decency to shut up when he saw the talk was making another man sick. Kramer told
“Sounds like a lovely fellow, Kramer does.”
“Well, I think he knew he was on the wrong end of the argument. Lots of fellows, when they know they’re wrong, they just plunge ahead and try to make it right by making it wronger.”
“What happened when he told Kettering to go to hell?”
“Kettering got up from the table and said, ‘Would you care to repeat that outside, Sy?’ The other fellows-Miller and the old man-finally cooled off Kettering.”
“Was Kramer ready to fight?”
“Sure. He was committed. The only way he could stop making an ass of himself was to make a bigger ass of himself. But I think he was glad Miller and the old man stepped in.”
“What’s the old man’s name?”
“Murphy. John Murphy.”
“He from the city, too?”
“Sure.” Fielding paused. “A suburb, but that’s the city, ain’t it?”
“This thing between Kramer and Kettering? Did Kettering seem very angry?”
“Very. It lasted through the next day. He didn’t even say good-by to Kramer when he went off into the woods.”
“He did say good-by to the other men, though?”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
“He loaded his bags into the trunk of his car, and took off. Drove his car around the lake a ways. Said he’d head for the highway as soon as he’d bagged a few that morning. He’d come down for breakfast very early. The other men went off hunting about an hour later.”
“Kramer go with them?”
“No. He went into the woods, but alone. He was pretty surly that morning. He resented Kettering’s interference, and I guess he felt the other men had sided with Ruther, too. In any case, Miller and Murphy went with Ruther. Kramer went alone.”
“Can we get back to Kettering for a moment?”
“Sure. I’ve got all the time in the world. Sure you won’t stay for dinner?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. Did Kettering threaten Kramer in any way?”
“You mean…threaten his life?”
“Yes.”
“No, he didn’t. Why?”
“Do you think…do you think his anger was large enough to last from September to now?”
“I don’t know. He was pretty damn sore at Kramer. He’d have beat him up sure if Kramer had stepped outside with him.”
“Was he angry enough to
Fielding reflected upon this for a moment “Kettering,” he said slowly, “was a good hunter because he liked to kill. I don’t hold with that kind of thinking, but that didn’t make him any less a good hunter.” Fielding paused. “Has Sy Kramer been killed?”
“Yes,” Hawes said.
“When?”
“June twenty-sixth.”
“And you think possibly Kettering waited all this time to get even for an argument that happened in September?”
“I don’t know. You said Kettering was a hunter. Hunters are patient people, aren’t they?”
“Kettering was patient, yes. How was Kramer killed?”
“He was shot from an automobile.”
“Mmm. Kettering was a damn good shot. I don’t know.”
“I don’t, either.” Hawes rose. “Thank you for the drink, Mr. Fielding. And thank you for the talk. You’ve been very helpful.”
“It’s been a pleasure,” Fielding said. “Where are you off to now?”
“Back to the city,” Hawes said.
“And then?”
“And then we’ll talk to the four men who were here with Kramer. It’d save us a little time if you had their addresses.”
“I’ve got registry cards on all of them,” Fielding said. “It doesn’t take a cop to know which one you’ll look up first.”
“No?” Hawes said, grinning.
“No, sir. If I were Phil Kettering, I’d start getting a damn good alibi ready.”
SAND’S SPIT WAS A suburb of the city.
There was a time when the long finger of land served only two interests: that of the potato farmers and that of the East Shore estate owners. The farms covered most of the peninsula, rushing east and west almost to the water’s edge. The estates crowded the choice waterfront sites. The farmers sowed their crops and the estate owners sowed their oats. The farmers were interested in reaping, and the estate owners were interested in sleeping. Day and night, the estates reverberated with the sound of revelry. The current Stem musical star, the tight-lipped star of silent films, producers, directors, artists, tennis players, all were entertained daily on the estates. The stars enjoyed the good clean fun on the estates. The farmers toiled in the potato fields.
And sometimes, after the sun had dropped its molten fire into the black waters of the ocean, when the potato fields rested black and silent under a pale moon, the farmers would walk down to the beach with blankets. And there they would lie on the sand and look up at the stars.
