McBain, Ed - Killer's Payoff

Hawes hoped the murderer would react in much the same way that Lucy Mencken had reacted. If his gamble worked, he would have his man. If it didn’t, he had lost nothing and he’d find another way to pinpoint him—he hoped. He made several mistakes in reasoning, however, and those mistakes were what almost cost him his life. One of the mistakes was not letting the rest of the squad in on his plan.

He did not get back to the city until four in the morning. He checked in at the Parker Hotel in midtown Isola, using the false name of David Gorman. From the hotel, and using the phone in the hotel room, he sent three identical wires. One wire went to Ruther, one to Miller, and one to Murphy. The wires read:

I KNOW ABOUT KETTERING. AM READY TO TALK BUSINESS. COME TO PARKER HOTEL, ISOLA, ROOM 1612, AT TWELVE NOON TODAY. I WILL BE THERE. COME ALONE.

DAVID GORMAN

The wires went out at 4:13 A.M. At 4:30 A.M., in all fairness to Hawes, he did call the squad on the off-chance that Carella might be catching. He was not. Meyer Meyer answered the phone.

“Eighty-seventh Squad,” he said. “Detective Meyer.”

“Meyer, this is Cotton. Steve around?”

“No,” Meyer said. “He’s home. What’s up?”

“Will he be coming in this morning?”

“Eight o’clock, I think. Want me to give him a message?”

“Tell him to call me at the Parker Hotel as soon as he gets in, will you?”

“Sure,” Meyer said. “What’s the broad’s name?”

“I’m in Room 1612,” Hawes said.

“I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks,” Hawes said, and he hung up.

There was nothing to do now but wait.

In his mind, Hawes stacked up the attributes of the three suspects. None was an expert shot, but you didn’t have to be an expert shot to hit a man at eight feet with a hunting rifle. Murphy was possibly the least likely suspect for a man with a deadly aim—but Murphy was an excellent driver, and the man who’d shot Kramer had been driving a car. Each of the suspects could possibly have paid Kramer the huge sum of money he’d received before his death. Ruther had inherited money, which he said he’d piddled away. He could just as easily have paid it to Kramer. Miller was a land speculator who said he’d made a thirty-thousand-dollar profit. He could easily have made more. Murphy was a retired broker with a fine home and money to throw away on every club in sight, not to mention the upkeep of a Porsche kept in racing condition. He, too, could afford to pay Kramer.

They all looked fairly good.

They all had been in the woods on the morning Kettering allegedly left Kukabonga Lodge.

Any one of the three could have killed Kettering and Kramer.

There was nothing to do but wait. Eventually a knock would sound on the door, and Hawes would open it on the murderer. It was only a matter of time. He had set twelve noon as the appointed hour. He looked at his watch now. It was 5:27 A.M. There was lots of time. He took his gun out of his shoulder rig and put it on the table alongside an easy chair. Then he curled up in the chair and fell asleep.

The knock came sooner than he expected.

He came up out of sleep, rubbed his fists into his eyes, and then looked at his watch. It was 9:00 A.M. The room was flooded with sunlight. There were still three hours to go.

“Who is it,” he asked.

“Bellhop,” the voice answered.

He went to the door and opened it, leaving his gun on the table.

The door opened on his murderer.

All three of them.

18.

EACH OF THE THREE MEN was holding a gun.

“Inside,” Ruther said.

“Quick!” Murphy said.

“Don’t make a sound,” Miller warned.

The expression on Hawes’s face was one of complete shock. The men moved into the room swiftly and soundlessly. Miller locked the door. Murphy went to the window and pulled down the shade. Ruther’s eyes flicked to Hawes’s empty shoulder holster.

“Where’s your gun?” he asked.

Hawes gestured to the table with his head.

“Get it, John,” Miller said to Murphy. The old man walked to the table and picked up the gun. He tucked it into his waistband.

“We didn’t expect you, Mr. Hawes,” Ruther said. “We thought there really was a man named David Gorman. Does anyone know—?”

The telephone rang. Hawes hesitated.

“Answer it,” Ruther said.

“What shall I say?”

“Does anyone know you’re here?” Miller asked.

“No,” Hawes lied.

“Then it’s probably the desk. Just speak normally. Answer whatever they ask. No nonsense.”

Hawes lifted the receiver. “Hello?” he said.

“Cotton? This is Steve,” Carella said.

“Yes, this is Room 1612,” Hawes answered.

“What?”

“This is Mr. Hawes speaking,” he said.

Carella paused for a moment. Hawes could almost feel a mental shrug on the line. Then Carella said, “Okay, this is Room 1612, and this Mr. Hawes speaking. Now, what’s the gag?”

“Yes, I did order breakfast,” Hawes said. “Not ten minutes ago.”

“What?” Carella asked. “Listen, Cotton—”

“I’ll repeat the order if you like,” Hawes said, “but I don’t see why…All right, all right. I ordered juice, coffee, and toast. Yes, that was all.”

“Is this Cotton Hawes?” Carella asked, completely bewildered.

“Yes.”

“Well, what—?”

Hawes covered the mouthpiece. “They want to send up the breakfast I ordered,” he said. “Is it all right?”

“No,” Ruther said.

“Let them,” Murphy suggested. “We don’t want them to think anything strange is going on up here.”

“He’s right, Frank,” Miller said.

“All right, tell them to send it up. No tricks.”

Hawes uncovered the mouthpiece. “Hello?” he said.

“Cotton,” Carella said patiently, “I just got in to the office. I had a stop to make first, so I just got in. Meyer left a message on my desk. He said to call you at the Parker Hotel and—”

“Come right up,” Hawes said.

“Huh?”

“Bring it right up. The room is 1612.”

“Cotton, have you—?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Hawes said, and he hung up.

“What did he say?” Ruther asked.

“He said they’d send it right up.”

“How soon?”

Quickly Hawes calculated how long it would take a car with its siren blasting to get to the hotel from the squad. “No more than fifteen minutes,” he said, and then immediately wished he had made it a half hour. Suppose Carella had not understood him?

“I only expected one of you,” Hawes said. He had quickly reasoned that he was safe until after the alleged bellhop arrived with his alleged breakfast. But if the bellhop did not arrive, how long would these men wait? The thing to do was to keep them talking. When a man is talking, he is not conscious of the time.

“We should have figured that,” Ruther said. “The ‘come alone’ in your wires was very puzzling. If you knew about Kettering, you should have known there were three of us. Why, then, the ‘come alone’ line? We assumed you meant the three of us alone, no cops. We assumed wrong, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Hawes said.

“Do you know about Kettering?”

“I know his car is at the bottom of the lake at Kukabonga, and I figure he’s buried in the woods someplace. What else is there to know?”

“There’s a lot more to know,” Miller said.

“Why’d you kill him?” Hawes asked.

“It was an—” Miller started, and Ruther turned to him sharply.

“Shut up, Joaquim!” he warned.

“What difference does it make?” Miller asked. “Are you forgetting why we came here?”

“He’s right, Frank,” Murphy said. “What difference does it make?” The old man looked ludicrous with one gun in his hand and another tucked into his waistband. He looked somewhat like the senile marshal of a cleaned-out once-tough Western town.