Lisa Belknap - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 6, No. 12, December 1961

“That still doesn’t explain why Bert should bury him.”

“I figure that the reason was money. Rogers had enough of it with him to make Bert do what I think he did. He found the money and he decided it ought to be his.”

“Then why not just take it? Why go through the trouble of burying Rogers?”

“Because the odds were strong that somebody was bound to know that Rogers was carrying it. His wife. Perhaps his relatives. If Rogers’ body was found without the money, there’d be an investigation and Bert would be in for trouble. The money and Rogers had to disappear. If there was a police investigation, the authorities would eventually come to the conclusion that Rogers decided to disappear — for reasons of his own. Happens every day.”

“But then somebody killed Bert. Why?”

“For the money. Either somebody found out that he had it, or Bert had help in pulling this off and his partner decided he’d rather have all of it, instead of having to divide it up between them.”

“What time was Bert shot?”

“The coroner puts it at about ten this morning.”

“Do you have any idea at all who might have done it?”

“I had a good one. I thought of Frank Liston. He seemed about the most logical person Bert might turn to. Bert didn’t have many friends and Liston might be tempted. His business hasn’t been too good. But if Liston was Bert’s partner, he couldn’t have killed Bert. He never left the hotel at all this morning, from about nine until I got there. There was a pinochle game going on in the lobby — some of the retired folks get together every once in a while for a game — and every one of the players swears that Liston never left his desk all morning.”

Stark got to his feet. “I’ll have to ask you to stay in town a little while longer. And I’d like Mrs. Rogers’ address. I’ll have to tell her about her husband and I’d like to ask her some questions.”

I gave him the information and after I watched the patrol car pull away from the curb, I picked up my car.

When I pulled in at Turk’s Service Station, the kid came out of the office.

This time I showed him my credentials. “Last night I asked you about a man who got the winning number on your punchboard.” I showed him Rogers’ photograph. “Is this him?”

The kid nodded. “That’s the man.”

“His name is Sam Rogers. I want you to tell me everything that happened when he was here. Everything. What he did, what he said.”

The kid thought about it. “Well, he pulled in here at about eight in the evening. He had me check his oil, but the stick showed that he didn’t need any. Then he mentioned that he’d tried a punchboard back in River Falls and he wasn’t lucky. So I told him that we had one too and maybe his luck would change. We went inside the office and Turk got out the card. Rogers got the lucky number after two or three punches.”

“Then he left?”

“No. He asked where Harrison’s drugstore was. I told him, but I said that Harrison closed at seven, except on Saturday nights. Then Rogers asked if there was any place where he could stay for the night. I told him that there was the Liston House just down the street.”

“And that was all?”

“No. He said he had a flat tire. His spare in the trunk. He got it on the road and had to change it himself. Turk said that we were pretty busy right then and it would be a while before he could get around to it. We weren’t too busy, but Turk was still steaming at Rogers picking the lucky number and I guess he just wanted to get back at Rogers some way. So Rogers said he’d leave the tire there and what time did we open in the morning so he could pick it up. Turk said nine. Rogers thought that over and said that he’d hoped to be on the road earlier. So Turk said he’d bring the tire to the hotel when he got through fixing it. Rogers should leave his car in the parking lot behind the hotel. Rogers paid him for the work right then and drove off.”

I looked into the office. Turk was busy filling out what looked like order blanks at the desk. “Turk fixed the tire and then took it over to the hotel?”

The kid nodded. “About an hour later he got around to it. We took the pick-up and drove over.”

“Did Rogers leave the key to his trunk here?”

The kid scratched his head. “Come to think of it, he didn’t.”

“When did Turk get back?”

“He didn’t. Phoned me in about a half an hour and said he wasn’t feeling too good. Told me to shut up the place for the night. It was about a quarter to ten then.”

I looked at my car. “The tires look a little soft to me. How about some air?”

While the kid went at that, I walked into the office. Turk looked up for a second and then went back to his figures.

I put a nickle in the cashew machine and turned the lever. “Nice town,” I said. “But I hear you got your troubles.”

He looked up. “What troubles?”

“Heard you had a murder. Somebody named Bert Dryer.”

He went back to his paperwork. “Yeah. I heard about it.”

I did a little chewing and then, “Well, that doesn’t concern me. Not my case.”

His eyes came up.

“The department has me looking for a Sam Rogers,” I said. “We traced him to this town and then he disappeared.”

He took hold of two words. “The department?”

I nodded and brought out the photograph. “You wouldn’t have seen him around here?”

His face became expressionless. “I don’t have a good memory for faces.”

I sighed. “Been after him for some time. The last information we had was that he was carrying thirty-five thousand of the stuff.”

He seemed to be perspiring faintly. “The stuff?”

I finished the cashews and dusted the salt from my fingers. “Thirty-five thousand. All of it counterfeit.”

I went back out to my car, tipped the kid for checking the tires, and drove away. I took the car three blocks to the top of the hill on Main Street and parked. I turned in my seat and watched Turk’s Service Station.

I thought I could put together a story that fitted now. Turk had fixed the tire and taken it to the Liston House parking lot. He needed the key to open the trunk of Rogers’ car. He had gone up to Rogers’ room and knocked. There had been no answer and Turk had tried the doorknob. He had found Rogers dead.

What would Turk do next? I thought that his first reaction would be to rush downstairs to the desk and tell Bert Dryer. Both of them had returned to the room. After their initial shock, perhaps they had pried around a little. And they had found the money.

It was more than they had ever seen in their lives and they hadn’t been able to turn their backs on it. They had decided that Rogers and everything that belonged to him had to disappear.

But then I had come to Eaton City and begun asking about Sam Rogers. Bert had phoned Turk and told him about me. Had Turk decided that he would be much safer with Bert out of the way? Or just richer? Had he forced Bert to reveal where he had hidden his share of the money and then killed him?

I thought that’s the way things had gone.

Now Turk had thirty-five thousand dollars and he had committed a murder to get it. He was going to hang on to it.

But not if he thought the money was counterfeit. Then it was just paper, but it was paper that could send him to the chair. He would have to get rid of it and the sooner the better.

Where had Turk hidden the thirty-five thousand? In his service station? I thought not. Besides the kid working there, customers would be wandering in and out. There was too much of a chance that someone might accidentally run across it.

In his home? That was a good bet. I thought he’d want to keep it near him.