Эд Макбейн - Beauty and the Beast

“Harper told me he didn’t remember Loomis wiping off that can.”

“Harper was in the cab of the truck already — starting it up, in fact. Loomis yelled for him to hold it a minute. He wiped off the cap, said, ‘Okay, that’s got it,’ or words to that effect, and waved him off.”

“Good,” I said. “That accounts for Loomis’s missing prints. If whoever murdered Michelle was wearing gloves...”

“Well, gloves, yeah,” Karl said dubiously.

“Then only Harper’s prints would be on the can.”

“The hammer, too,” Karl said.

“What?”

“They found Harper’s prints on the hammer, too. His and his alone. It was in the papers this morning.” Karl hesitated. “Matthew,” he said, “this may be out of line, I’m low man on the totem pole here. But it looks to me as if Harper really did do it. Twice .” He hesitated again. “Maybe when they find him, you ought to start considering a plea of guilty.”

I called Bloom the moment Karl left my office.

“I’m here,” I said.

“I figured you would be,” Bloom said. “I appreciate it, Matthew. This is getting to look worse and worse for Harper. I hope you’ll agree to go on—”

“Worse and worse how?”

“Well, there doesn’t seem to be any doubt now that the hammer’s actually his. Guy who lives next door to Harper, bright young guy who knew him well—”

“What’s his name?” I asked, and pulled a pad into position before me.

“Roger Hawkes, 1126 Wingdale Way.”

“White or black?”

“Black. You can talk to him, Matthew, but he’ll only tell you what he told us.”

“And what’s that?”

“He recognized the hammer as the same one he borrowed from Harper a couple of weeks ago. Had some work to do around the house, knew Harper had good tools, went over to borrow the hammer from him. Same hammer, he’s identified it for us. G.N.H. on the handle, burned into the wood.”

“When did he return it to Harper?”

“Same afternoon.”

“Okay,” I said.

“That’s not all of it, I told you it’s getting worse and worse.”

“How much worse can it get?” I said.

“Harper’s garage has a good lock on it, no Mickey Mouse stuff. Front door, too. No way to get into that garage except through the garage door itself or through a door leading from the house into the garage. The place is locked up tight, Matthew, and there are no signs of forcible entry.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning Harper went into his own garage and took his own hammer from—”

“Or anyone else who had a key,” I said.

“Well, who else would have a key, Matthew? Michelle’s dead...”

“Did Harper stop to pick up his personal possessions when he broke jail?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Don’t you normally confiscate a man’s wallet, and his keys, and his—”

“Well, yes.”

“If Harper didn’t have his keys, how could he have unlocked either the garage door or the—”

“People sometimes leave a spare outside. In one of those little magnetic cases you hide under something.”

“An invitation to burglars, am I right?”

“Well, yes, Matthew, but—”

“Even if there was a spare someplace outside the house, anyone could have found it, isn’t that true?”

“Yes, but—”

“So it wasn’t necessarily Harper who—”

“Matthew, this isn’t a court of law. I’m only trying to tell you how this thing looks to us , okay? I admit I hadn’t thought of him not having a key, a man breaks out of jail, he doesn’t have his house keys with him, that’s true, Matthew. But if there was a spare key someplace outside the house, and if Harper did use it to get into his own garage, then that would explain his fingerprints on the hammer we found next to the body of the dead woman. Now that is an incontrovertible fact, Matthew, the fact that Harper’s fingerprints are on the murder weapon — both murder weapons, in fact. The gasoline can and the hammer. What I’m asking you to do is go on television tonight. I’ve already called the local station here in Calusa and the one in Tampa that covers a wider area. They’ve agreed to put you on if you want to go on. It’s up to you. I’ve got to tell you something else that may influence your decision, Matthew.”

“What’s that?”

“We found the sheriff’s car Harper swiped when he broke out. Located it near the Chickasee River Lookout. There used to be a shotgun on the back shelf of that car, Matthew. There isn’t anymore. Harper took it with him when he ditched the car. That means the BOLO now reads ‘armed and dangerous.’ Are you following me, Matthew?”

“I’m following you.”

“We’ve got a list of all the cars reported stolen in the area since Harper broke jail last Thursday. Sizable list; you wouldn’t think there was so much auto theft in a nice place like Calusa, would you? Oh, well. Anyway, we’ve tacked that list to the BOLO, too, just in case Harper decided to swipe himself another car after he ditched the sheriff’s. So what we’ve got now is a fugitive from justice, charged with first-degree murder, possibly driving a stolen vehicle, and armed with a shotgun. Are you beginning to get the picture, Matthew?”

“Yes, Morrie.”

“I’ll spell it out, anyway. Some of the redneck law-enforcement officers in this state aren’t going to ask polite questions if they spot a coal-black ‘nigra’ who maybe committed two murders in a row and is now armed with a loaded shotgun. I’m trying to tell you the knife cuts both ways. I want Harper to come in before he hurts somebody else. You should want him to come in before somebody hurts him .”

“Okay,” I said, “arrange the television stuff.”

“Thank you,” Bloom said.

“Couple of things I’d like,” I said.

“Name them.”

“I’d like to take a look at the scene.”

“Which one?”

“Sally Owen’s house.”

“We’ve still got a man posted at the door there. I’ll pass your name on, and he’ll let you in. My men and the lab techs are finished inside and out, there’s nothing you can foul up for us.”

“And I want to see Harper’s garage.”

“I’ll see if I can get his keys from the county jail.”

“Will you call me back?”

“Soon as I can,” Bloom said. “I’ll check with the television people, they’ll probably want to put you on live here in Calusa for the six o’clock news, and tape you in Tampa for the eleven o’clock segment there. I’ll get somebody to drive you up there, if you like. I know it’s going to be a long day for you.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Bloom said, and hung up.

Susan was her usual sweet charming self when I called.

“What do you mean , she went on to Mexico City with Dale?” she shouted.

“Yes,” I said. “At my suggestion. I had to come back here, but I saw no sense in Joanna cutting her vacation short just because I had to.”

“Without consulting me , right?” Susan said.

“I was not aware that consultation was necessary,” I said.

“You’d better read our separation agreement, Buster,” Susan said.

She had never in all the time I’d known her called me “Buster.”

“I am familiar with the terms of our agreement,” I said calmly. “It does not call for consultation with you while Joanna is enjoying visitation privileges with her own goddamn father !” I said, not so calmly.

“I’m going to call Eliot McLaughlin,” Susan said.

“What for? Do you want him to extradite Joanna from Mexico? For Christ’s sake, Susan, she’ll be home on Saturday, that’s only four days from now. I can assure you Dale—”