Fletcher Flora - The Second Fletcher Flora Mystery MEGAPACK™ - 20 Classic Mystery & Crime Stories!

“Do you suggest that the murderer, for all the danger he is, had just as well go free?”

“With the exceptions I have just allowed. I’m not talking about punishment, you understand. That’s another matter.”

Our glasses were empty. I signaled the bartender, and he brought us a full pair. Pete was still staring out the window toward the giant elm, as if its enduring strength brought him a measure of comfort.

“Are you thinking,” I asked, “of Francis McRae?”

“Not exactly.” He smiled slightly, and there was, I thought, something sad in the smile. “I’ll tell you something, after all these years, that may surprise you. I was never convinced of Francis’ guilt.”

“Oh, come off. You worked like a dog on the case. It was, on your part, a masterful job. You certainly gave no sign of entertaining doubts.”

“As prosecuting attorney, it was my job to present the best case I could. I have no regrets about that. Nevertheless, I was never convinced that Francis McRae was guilty. Oh, Neil Healy was murdered, all right. I never swallowed that fantastic alternative the defense offered. But he was not, I think, murdered by Francis McRae. Francis had no motive, you see.”

“What about the affair between him and Rhoda? God knows, you made a strong circumstantial case for it.”

“It was essential. Without that motive, I had no case at all. But I never believed it.” He lifted his glass and drank, still staring out the window. “She was having an affair, of course. But not with poor Francis, however much he wished for it. She was having an affair that was conducted with such discretion that nobody knew it, and precious few even suspected it.”

“Then you had better be grateful that I was on that first jury. If I hadn’t been, you’d certainly have convicted an innocent man.”

“I’m grateful. Please accept now my delinquent expression of gratitude.” He brought his eyes inside at last, and sat staring into his glass. “Did you ever wonder how you happened to be summoned for that jury?”

“Jurors are selected by lot. Everyone knows that.”

“True. But a lottery, by the right man in the right place, can be fixed.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you planted me on that jury?”

“I needed you. I needed you to keep me from deliberately committing a worse crime, however legal, than the one on trial.”

“That’s absurd. How in the devil could you have possibly anticipated that I’d hang the jury?”

“I just told you. The average murderer is not a repeater, not even when his second murder could be committed in perfect safety within the law by an ostensibly good citizen doing his duty.” He pushed his glass away, still half full, and stood up abruptly. “Well, I have to get on home. Goodbye, Guy. Give my best to Rhoda.”

He went out the same way Francis McRae had gone before him. I emptied my glass, then emptied his. As I told you in the beginning, we always understood each other.