Эд Макбейн - Learning to Kill - Stories

“You gave them money, huh?”

“I still give Nick money. He’s all I’ve got now.”

“I see,” Davis said, and washed his hand over his face. “Well, I’ll talk to Radner. Did you know he was married now?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes. On the day of the crash.”

“On the day... then what on earth was he doing with Janet?”

“That’s a good question,” Davis said. He paused, and then added, “Can I have that check now?”

It was not until after dinner that evening that Nicholas Carruthers showed up. Davis had eaten lightly, and after a hasty cigarette had begun packing a small bag for the Vegas trip. When the knock sounded on the door to his apartment, he dropped a pair of shorts into the suitcase and called, “Who is it?”

“Me. Carruthers.”

“Second,” Davis said. He went to the door rapidly, wondering what had occasioned this visit from the pilot. He threw back the night latch and then unlocked the door.

Carruthers was in uniform this time. He wore a white shirt and black tie, together with the pale blue trousers and jacket of the airline. A peaked cap was tilted rakishly on his head.

“Surprised to see you,” Davis said. “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” Carruthers said. He glanced around the simply furnished apartment noncommittally, then stepped inside and took off his cap, keeping it in his hands.

“Something to drink?” Davis asked. “Scotch okay?”

“Please,” Carruthers replied.

“What’s on your mind?” Davis asked.

Carruthers looked into the depths of his glass, sipped a bit of the scotch, and then looked lip.

“Janet,” he said.

“What about her?”

“Let it lie. Tell the old man you’re dropping it. Let it lie.”

“Why?”

“How much is the old man paying you?” Carruthers asked, avoiding Davis’s question.

“That’s between the old man and myself.”

“I’ll match it,” Carruthers said. “And then some. Just let’s drop the whole damn thing.”

Davis thought back to the genial Mr. MacGregor. “You remind me of someone else I know,” he said.

Carruthers did not seem interested. “Look, Davis, what does this mean to you, anyway? Nothing. You’re getting paid for a job. All right, I’m willing to pay you what you would have made. So why are you being difficult?”

“Am I being difficult? I didn’t say I wouldn’t drop it, did I?”

“Will you?”

“It depends. I’d like to know why you want it dropped.”

“Let’s just say I’d like it better if the whole thing were forgotten.”

“A lot of people would like it better that way. Including the person who put that bomb on the plane.”

Carruthers opened his eyes wide. “You don’t think I did that, do you?”

“You were aboard the plane. You could have.”

“Why would I do a thing like that?”

“I can think of several reasons,” Davis said.

“Like what?” Carruthers said, and sipped at the scotch again.

“Maybe you found out Janet was playing around with Tony Radner.”

Carruthers laughed a short, brittle laugh. “You think that bothered me? That two-bit punk? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You mean you knew about it?”

Carruthers nodded, sipped some more scotch, and then said, “I was used to Janet’s little excursions. Radner didn’t bother me at all. Janet collected men the way the old man collects porcelain. A hobby, you know.”

“Did the old man know this?”

“I doubt it. He knew his daughter was a bitch, but I think Radner was the first time it came out in the open. He squelched that pretty darn fast, you can bet.”

“But you knew about it? And it didn’t bother you?”

“Not in the least. I’m no angel myself, Davis. If Janet wanted to roam, fine. If she thought of leaving me, that was another thing.”

“That you didn’t like,” Davis said.

“That I didn’t like at all.” Carruthers paused. “Look, Davis, I like money. The old man has a lot of it. Janet was my wife, and the old man saw to it that we lived in style. I could have left the airline any time I wanted to, and he’d have set me up for life. Fact is, I like flying so I stayed on. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my meal ticket walk out.”

“That’s not the way I heard it,” Davis said.

“What do you mean?”

“Janet’s gone, and the old man is still making sure you live in style.”

“Sure, but I didn’t know it would work that way.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I don’t get you,” Carruthers said, and swallowed the rest of his scotch.

“Look at it this way. Janet’s a handy thing to have around. She comes and goes, and you come and go, and the old man sees to it that you come and go in Cadillacs. A smart man may begin wondering why he needs Janet at all. If he can be subsidized even after she’s gone, why not get rid of her? Why not give her a bomb to play with?”

“Why not?” Carruthers asked. “But I didn’t”

“That’s what they all say,” Davis told him. “Right up to the gas chamber.”

“You’re forgetting that I didn’t know what the old man’s reaction would be. Still don’t know. It’s early in the game yet, and he’s still crossing my palm, but that may change. Look, Davis, when a man takes out accident insurance, it’s not because he hopes he’ll get into an accident. The same thing with Janet. I needed her. She was my insurance. As long as she was around, my father-in-law saw to it that I wasn’t needing.” Carruthers shook his head. “No, Davis, I couldn’t take a chance on my insurance lapsing.”

“Perhaps not. Why do you want me to drop the case?”

“Because I like the status quo. The memory of Janet is still fresh in the old man’s mind. I’m coupled with that memory. That means he keeps my Cadillac full of gas. Suppose you crack this damned thing? Suppose you find out who set that bomb? It becomes something that’s resolved. There’s a conclusion, and the old man can file it away like a piece of rare porcelain. He loses interest — and maybe my Cadillac stops running.”

“You know something, Carruthers? I don’t think I like you very much.”

Carruthers smiled. “Why? Because I’m trying to protect an investment? Because I don’t give a damn that Janet is gone? Look, Davis, let’s get this thing straight. We hated each other’s guts. I stayed with her because I like the old man’s money. And she stayed with me because she knew she’d be cut off penniless if she didn’t. A very simple arrangement.” He paused. “What do you say?”

“I say get the hell out of here.”

“Be sensible, Davis. Look at it...”

“Take a walk, Carruthers. Take a long walk and don’t come back.”

Carruthers stared at Davis for a long time. He said nothing, and there was no enmity in his eyes. At last he rose and settled his cap on his head. At the door, he turned and said, “You’re not being smart, Davis.”

Davis didn’t answer him.

Maybe he wasn’t being smart. Maybe Carruthers was right. It would have been so much easier to have said no, right from the start. No, Mr. Ellison, I’m sorry. I won’t take the case. Sorry.

That would have been the easy way. He had not taken the easy way. The money had appealed to him, yes, and so he’d stepped into something that was really far too big for him, something that still made very little sense to him. A bomb seemed an awfully elaborate way of killing someone, assuming the death of Janet Carruthers was, in fact, the reason for the bomb. It would have been so much easier to have used a knife, or a gun, or a rope, or even poison.

Unless the destruction of the plane was an important factor in the killing.

Did the killer have a grudge against the airline as well?