A. Fair - Owls Don't Blink

She said, “You mean this stuff is highjacked?”

“The Supreme Court of Mexico has given us title to it. We can get you a copy of the decision if you want.”

“But if you have any quantity of silk goods that you received under circumstances such as that, why don’t you bring them up, take them across the border, then sell them to some of the big department stores and—”

I explained patiently, “We can’t do that. Under our license with the government, we have to sell the stockings to individual customers.”

“Your letter didn’t say so.”

“No. It’s a ruling of the F.I.C. We couldn’t bring them into the country otherwise.”

I took a pencil and notebook from my pocket. “Now if you’ll kindly give me the names of any intimate friends to whom you’ll deliver any of these—”

“I want those stockings for my own use. However, I might refer you to a friend who’d take some.”

“That would be fine. Now did you—”

The door from the bedroom opened, and Roberta Fenn came breezing into the room. She’d evidently just finished dressing.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you the stocking man? I was just telling my friend that—”

She stood perfectly still. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell slightly open.

Edna Cutler whirled around quickly, caught the expression on her face, jumped to her feet with alarm, and cried, “Why, Rob, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Roberta Fenn said after taking a deep breath. “He’s a detective, Edna, that’s all.”

Edna Cutler whirled back to me with indignation and perhaps a trace of fear in her manner. It was the instinctive fight which a frightened animal puts up when it’s driven into a corner.

“How dare you come in here in this way? I could have you arrested.”

“And I could have you arrested for sheltering a person who’s accused of murder.”

The two women exchanged glances. Roberta said, “I think he’s really clever, Edna. I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with that approach.”

She sat down.

Edna Cutler hesitated for a long moment; then she, too, sat down.

Roberta said, “It was a clever trick all right. Edna and I wondered how anyone had got that address; then we decided that the post office probably took addresses from letters and sold mailing lists.”

I said, “No need to talk about that. That’s water over the dam.”

“It was a clever trick,” Roberta repeated, glancing significantly at Edna Cutler.

I said, “Any one of half a dozen tricks would have accomplished the same purpose. If I found you, the police can find you. The wonder of it is they haven’t found you sooner.”

Roberta said, “I don’t think the police will find me. I think you underestimate your own abilities.”

I said, “We won’t argue about it. We have other things to discuss. Who was Paul Nostrander?”

They exchanged glances.

I looked at my wrist watch. “We haven’t much time to waste.”

Edna Cutler said, “I don’t know.”

I looked at Roberta, and her eyes avoided mine.

I turned back to Edna Cutler. “Suppose I refresh your recollection a bit. You were married to Marco Cutler. He wanted to file suit for divorce. You didn’t want to let him go without more alimony than he was willing to pay. Unfortunately, however, you’d been indiscreet.”

“That’s a lie.”

I said, “Well, let’s put it this way. He had witnesses who would swear that you had been indiscreet.”

“And they were lying!”

I said, “Forget it. I don’t care about the merits or demerits of that divorce action. I don’t care if Marco Cutler had perjured witnesses, or whether circumstantial evidence looked black against you, or whether he could have named seventy-five corespondents and still missed a couple of dozen. What I’m getting at, and want to establish definitely, is that he wanted to get a divorce, that you didn’t want him to get a divorce, and that you didn’t have any defense.”

She said, “Put it that way then, and go on from there, I’m not admitting anything. I’m not denying anything. I’m listening.”

I said, “The stunt you pulled was a masterpiece.”

“If you’re so smart, tell me the rest of it.”

I said, “You went to New Orleans. You let your husband know you were in New Orleans. You let him believe that you had run out of California because you didn’t want the notoriety of having the things you had done dragged into the limelight. Marco Cutler thought it was all cut and dried. You’d played right into his hands. He’d been very smart. You’d been very dumb. He wasn’t going to pay you a cent of alimony.”

“There’s where you pulled your fast one. You let him know that you were taking an apartment. You gave him the address. Then you looked around for someone who had a superficial resemblance to you; height, size, age, and in a general way, complexion. Anyone seeing you and Roberta Fenn together wouldn’t think there was much similarity, but a written description of one of you could well be taken as a description of the other.”

Edna Cutler said, “If you’re getting ready to say something, go ahead and say it.”

“I’m simply laying the foundation.”

“Well, go ahead with the superstructure. We haven’t all night. You yourself said you were in a hurry.”

I said, “I believe my words were that there wasn’t any time to waste. If you think I’m wasting it, you’re crazy.”

Roberta Fenn smiled.

“Go ahead,” Edna Cutler challenged.

“You found Roberta Fenn. She was very much on the loose. You had a little money. You wanted to give her your apartment rent free. Perhaps you offered to pay her something in addition. The only condition you made was that she was to keep your name, receive your mail, forward it on to you, and tell anyone who asked that she was Edna Cutler. You may have told her you expected papers to be served on you in a divorce suit. Perhaps you didn’t.”

“In any event, your husband walked into the trap. He went to his lawyers. He told them all about the cause of action he had, and the lawyers suggested that they file a complaint which just stated facts sufficient to constitute a cause of action. Then if you started fighting, they’d amend the complaint and drag in all the dirt. They asked your husband where you were, and he gave them the address in New Orleans. The lawyers, steeped in the legal lore of the profession, concentrated all their attention on working the old trick of filing a relatively innocuous complaint, but letting you know that if you tried to protect yourself, they’d come down on you with an avalanche of mud.”

The mere mention of it made Edna’s eyes glitter. “And you think that was fair?”

“No. It’s a lousy trick. It’s one that lawyers work all the time.”

“The effect of it was to deprive me of any opportunity to fight for my rights.”

“You should have gone ahead and fought, anyway — if you had anything to fight for.”

“I was framed.”

“I know,” I said, “but we’re not trying the divorce case on the merits. I’m just sketching a picture of what happened. The lawyers sent the papers to a New Orleans process sender. The process server came lumbering up the steps, pounded on the door, looked Roberta over, said, ‘You’re Edna Cutler,’ and handed her papers. He made a return of service that he’d duly and regularly served Edna Cutler on a certain day and date in New Orleans. You, of course, were far, far away.”

Edna said, “You’re making it sound like a conspiracy. As a matter of fact, I didn’t know anything whatever about the divorce until very recently.”

I turned my eyes to Roberta. “That was because you didn’t know where to notify her?”