“Easy. It will be a completely mythical character named Jackson Bristol. He doesn’t exist. They use that name for a phone in the barn, to lease that part of the lake grounds, and a phone in the cottage. But Bristol doesn’t exist.”
“Just somebody who hangs around there during the day to keep an eye on the place?”
“That’s right. I daresay several thousand dollars’ worth of gambling equipment and liquor is housed in that barn. They need a watchman. It gives me such a feeling of utter futility to know all this, and yet not be able to close up the place. Or to hang something on Swisher that would stick.”
“If we could find Leonore’s fingerprints someplace—”
“I’ve thought of that. Such as in the caretaker’s cottage. Circumstantial evidence would prove she met her death there and was carried to the lake. It could have happened there as easily as any place else. But first, upon what pretext could I gain entrance? And second, are they foolish enough to leave fingerprints lying around?”
I said, “I don’t think so. But I could get in where you couldn’t. I don’t need a warrant.”
Thompson looked at me. “That would be breaking and entering.”
“Yes, wouldn’t it,” I agreed. “If I was caught I’d probably lose my license... the one I’ve already lost.”
“Think again, Horne. You’d lose more than that.”
“You mean my neck?”
He meant just that. To be found there would put me much, much too close to Swisher for comfort. Nevertheless I decided to go out there as soon as I could. I said nothing to Thompson about my decision.
That was late Friday afternoon. That night I tried to make a graceful exit from the hospital and was foiled. Saturday morning Don Thompson came back again.
He began on me by thinking out loud:
“Our trouble is this: you know and I know who’s behind it. We are pretty sure we know how everything was engineered, and why. I can add one more thing I picked up during the night. Harry Evans and Swisher were definitely on the outs. I learned that Evans entertained ideas of taking over the reins from Swisher, who, of course, resented it. It wasn’t what you thought at all: Evans wasn’t trying to get out, he was trying to get more deeply in.”
“Too deep for comfort.”
“Yes. I believe that Evans made the mistake of confiding his plans to the attorney, Ashley, in the belief that Ashley would side with him. Ashley promptly ratted on him. And the wheels began to move towards the elimination of Evans.”
I said, “Keep going.”
“Had those wheels not been revolving so elaborately, in so complicated a manner, they would have probably worked without a hitch. A simple gunshot and that was the end. The police would have nothing but the bullet which killed him. The perfect crimes are those that are exceedingly simple. But no, it had to be complicated. I’d like to study the intelligence which compounded such a scheme.”
“Cheer up. Maybe we can smoke him into the open.”
“Name something — go on — name something.”
I couldn’t.
His gaze went back to the snow on the window sill and his words were bitter, tired.
“Leonore is dead, deliberate murder. Who can it be pinned on? Eleanor said Swisher was their friend. We know better. But can we pin it on Swisher? We can not. Eleanor herself is his alibi. He was with her at the time of Leonore’s death; which means that a hireling did it. But who? And how shall we find him?
“Evans is dead, murdered by Leonore. And who can we pin that on? We don’t have the note — which undoubtedly was a clever forgery. And we probably no longer have Eleanor, whose testimony I would never go into court with. It is the weakest kind of circumstantial evidence. No — this whole plan may be fantastically complicated, but see how beautifully it ends at zero? Despite your meddling and my — meddling, they are getting away with it.”
“Unless they make one more mistake.”
“You’re thinking of Eleanor?”
“Yeah. Supposing city water turns up in
“We would have a clearly premeditated murder. As in Leonore’s case. Who would we arrest? I’m willing to bet that every one of those men you saw with her Thursday night have gone into hiding. Leaving
Which ordinarily might prove embarrassing to me — if it wasn’t for the fact that they had had a perfect opportunity to erase my name from the slate forever, and had passed it by. That unexplainable “once over lightly” order, instead of a curt, rub him out. I must admit I had a glimmering of the truth; something Elizabeth Saari had said kept repeating itself to me. Sooner or later I knew things would make sense.
“You understand our position clearly?” Thompson asked. “We know much, and suspect more, but until we can prove it — beyond a shadow of a doubt — we may as well forget the whole thing. Don’t ever forget that Swisher beat the Feds.” He stood up. “I’ve got to get back to my office.”
As a parting shot, I flung at him, “I have no intentions of forgetting anything. And don’t forget to look into those things I mentioned.”
