“I daresay,” he answered pointedly, “the private detective has found other interesting things of which I know nothing. I am hoping he’ll tell me.”
Well, why not, Louise? He had me squarely on the nailhead and he could bang down the hammer any time he chose. And he darned near knew as much about the whole business as I did. Probably more. It quickly occurred to me that the State’s Attorney was a good poker player. He hadn’t told me everything yet — he was holding the kicker until I laid down my hand.
I had an aching desire to find out what that kicker would be. So I began at the beginning, from the moment Harry Evans walked into my office looking like the uncle in Utah, and repeated the whole story. The whole and complete story, holding back nothing, and bringing him up to date as of the moment. I seem to be telling that story pretty often these past few days.
As I unfolded it to him I watched his face, hoping to see behind the poker mask. The mask failed to reveal how much of it was new to his ears. He just sat there, unmoving, not revealing anything until I had finished. And then he sighed.
“So you’re the man who cost Uncle Jack his job.” Uncle Jack was the colored porter at the City Hall, the man I used as a contact. “My one trustworthy man in the City Hall.”
“What! I didn’t know Uncle Jack was out.” I tried to sit up but he pushed me back.
Thompson nodded. “This morning. Somebody found liquor in his broom closet. He was fired for drinking on the job.”
“Uncle Jack doesn’t drink,” I said indignantly.
“I know that.” He raised his eyes to stare out the window. “But someone found out that you and I had been using him.”
“Of all the raw deals! I’ll get him another job.”
“I already have. It may have been my fault, not yours.” He lapsed into silence. I saw no reason to break it, and waited for the kicker I knew was coming.
After a while it came.
“What you’ve found out and what I’ve found out pretty well coincide. I merely duplicated your trail. Except of course for this or that little detail the other didn’t think of. I, for instance, didn’t think of the hobby angle. The Chicago kid who prints magazines.”
“You leading up to something?” I challenged him.
“Yes. Such as the water content in the dead girl’s stomach.”
I shot upright. My head spun and little colored specks swam before my eyes. Here was the kicker coming out of his sleeve.
“I had the contents analyzed,” he continued tonelessly. “She didn’t drown in the lake.”
“No. It was chemically treated water such as comes from city taps. From Boone’s purification system.”
More later, Louise.
Boone, Ill.
Sunday, A.M.
Louise, Dearest:
As I told you, Thompson spent a couple of hours with me Friday afternoon, and returned to the hospital again yesterday morning. Friday afternoon he was full of ideas and wanted to test them on someone. I had a few of my own and he promised to look into them.
His ace-in-the-hole had knocked the breath out of me. I fell back in bed, banging my head as I did so. If Leonore hadn’t drowned in the lake... then where?
I asked Thompson, “Say, just who do you trust around here?”
He held up one hand with five fingers spread.
“My wife,” he said. “She’s also my secretary. There is no one else around I can safely leave in charge of the office. Two, there’s Uncle Jack. Three, Mayor Yancey — he’s the opposition but he’s a good scout. Four, Doc Burbee, the coroner. He gets into office the same way I do. And...”
He paused. I fidgeted.
He finally added, “I guess you make the fifth.”
“Thanks.”
Hazel the starched nurse clattered in on her usual swift heels. She held a yellow envelope in her hand and paused to smile shyly at Thompson before giving it to me. I introduced them and demanded the telegram.
It was from Rothman and contained bad news.
It told me that Eleanor had vanished without a trace; but that the Croyden police and Coast Guard detachment were dragging the river for a woman’s body reported sighted by a fisherman. And it gave me hell for getting into trouble.
I gave it to Thompson to read. He did, stood up, took a quick turn about the room, sat down and read it again. And then he swore. Hazel stared at him in surprise. Prudently, she left the room.
“I believe,” Thompson stated flatly, “that in view of what you’ve told me, I had better investigate Dr. Saari.” I agreed with him in a halfhearted manner. He continued, “But I don’t understand why Eleanor wasn’t touched until today! Why not yesterday, after you had talked to her? Why not last night, at the farmhouse? She was still in their good graces.”
“Elizabeth Saari,” I reminded him, “didn’t know I
“That’s right. I wonder if we can find that farmhouse? Your description of the ride ought to help.”
“Find out who rented their telephone.”
