Dell Shannon - Extra Kill

She gave a little half-tearful laugh. "He didn't know much about Toby, you see, or he'd never have started all this."

"That I believe," grinned Mendoza. "So you all took a ride out to 267th Street."

"We did. I went with him in his Porsche, and the detectives trailed us. And the hell of a squalid little hole it was, wasn't it? We didn't waste any time-he got the negs and gave them to me, and I identified them as the ones we were after and the whole dozen of them, and burned them right there-"

"In a big glass ashtray. Mmh. He had them in a brown manila envelope in the bottom of his laundry bag, and he emptied the whole bag out on the bed to get them for you."

"He did," said Pickering. "What's more, there was-"

"Yes, I know, a second envelope. I know all about that one. But not a third?"

"Not that I saw, no."

Mendoza leaned back, looking thoughtful. "Motives. Yes, I wonder. Well, and so now we know why Mr. Twelvetrees was clearing out in a hurry.”

"That was bluff," admitted Pickering. "I'd got no way of checking to see if he really left town. But I would-and he knew it-have come back to see if he'd left that place, and I knew where he worked, this damn fool cult, that Temple-and I'd have gone there to check. Hounded him a little, anyway."

"Sure, sure. That he knew too, and I see how his mind worked on it. He had to cut his losses. What time was this?"

"We got out there about a quarter of one, and it couldn't have been much after one when we left, we didn't linger at it, as I say. No, I didn't give a damn where he went or what he did, once those negs were burned. Matter of fact, I didn't try to do any checking, but he might have thought I would-like all that kind he was a coward when you backed him against a wall. He was so mad at me he'd've liked to kill me, but he didn't have the guts, even with a gun there to his hand. And what the hell he wanted with that-I mean, that wasn't his line, the direct action. Maybe it made him feel big and dangerous… I couldn't tell you the make and model, a pistol of some kind, it was in one of the drawers of the bureau. I saw it when he yanked the drawer open to get a handkerchief-he had a sneezing-spell… Yes, I think I'd know it again." Pickering laughed contemptuously. "Oh, he'd've liked to see me drawn and quartered, and he had about fifteen years on me too, if I had a better reach-but he never lifted a hand. You know what he did? It was the damndest thing. He came out of that apartment with us when we left, and went over to the carport on the other side of the building. And just as we were pulling out of that court, he came out with a trowel or a fork or something and started to dig around that funny-looking shrub planted in a tub there. Going at it in a kind of blind fury-as if he had to dig at something, if it was only a shrub."

Mendoza laughed. "Yes-and so that answers another little question. I've heard it said that gardening's a very relaxing occupation in cases of nervous tension. Maybe his doctor recommended it."

"Answers," he went on to Hackett dreamily, after they had gone.

"We're getting them in, finally. Va aclarando -it's clearing up. And very nice too. So now we know almost all that happened to dear Brooke that Friday. His unlucky day, all right. He was finished here, after that business with Pickering… It looks as if Marian's got herself a man, absolutamente… He'd have no chance at all to get anywhere in show business, and he was also finished taking an easy living out of the Kingmans, because Pickering knew his connection with the Temple: he'd promised to hound him and he would. Everything had turned sour on Brooke Twelvetrees. First of all, he had to get away from 267th Street, in case Pickering did come back to check after the twenty-four hours' grace… There he is, hacking away at the Tree of Heaven in his blind fury at the way everything's turned out. I can see him, when that thought takes shape in his mind, stalking back into the apartment, throwing down that trowel anywhere-he's forgotten he had it-and starting to pack. He-yes. Yes." Mendoza was sitting on the end of his spine, eyes shut, looking peaceful, hands clasped across his lean middle. " Eso es, of course. He got here with just that old brown leather suitcase, he's had no occasion for luggage since, and he's accumulated too much to go into it. So he leaves his packing, he gets out the Porsche and goes off to buy a couple of new suitcases."

"I follow you," said Hackett. "That's nice deducing, but is it very important?"

"It might be. I think on the way he started thinking a little more clear and shrewd, and his first idea would be, What can I salvage out of this? He could try to go on blackmailing the Kingmans from a distance, but that's always a little more difficult. And I think he must have been very tired of the Kingmans and their Temple. Also, I think he needed some cash right then-he was the kind who spent everything as it came in, maybe he hadn't even enough for those suitcases on him. So he thought of the Kingmans' safe-and then he thought of the Temple bank accounts… Cut his losses, sure, and take everything along he could lay hands on. Now we don't know how long he worked at his gardening, how long he spent starting to pack. But we've got a kind of terminus ad quem, because the bank shuts at three. This just came in this morning. If it hadn't been that particular bank, this would be a different story, because a lot of banks now stay open later on Fridays and don't open on Saturday at all. But that one sticks to the old rule. So we deduce that by the time it came to him how he could salvage something out of the wreck, it'd be too late to get into the bank when he got there-it'd be quite a drive, you know. De paso, it's maybe a little confirmation of how our friend Kingman could get into the dither he did, you know, apparently he didn't know that, wasn't familiar with the banking hours. Because if he'd known the bank was open from nine to twelve on Saturdays, he'd have been down there to lay his warning then, and all this would have started two days before it did. Are you with me?"

" Yo seguir, right behind. Twelvetrees figured to take the cash and let the credit go, clear out the bank account and vanish into the wild blue yonder, probably under the name of Eustace J. Humperdink. O.K. He took a little chance clearing out the safe in the Temple-being too greedy. That he should have left alone."

"I think it was more economy than pure greed. He'd gone to a little trouble to get hold of the combination, silly not to use it now. And it wasn't a long chance at all. Not when it was a matter of hours. He knew Kingman probably wouldn't open that safe until Saturday night. And he fully expected to be at the bank when its doors opened Saturday morning, primed with a glib story for the manager of sudden unexpected expenses that had to be paid in cash-I wonder what he'd have said. I wouldn't put it past him to have intended forging some notes of instructions from the other officers. Yes. Clear out of 267th, he'd think, and get settled for the night in some quiet hotel, and maybe he meant to sit up over those forged notes, to have them ready. He wouldn't have closed out the bank accounts, that'd call for more red tape-just stripped them down to a hundred or so. No, it wasn't too much of a chance… Well, he went to the Temple and took the month's receipts. He went and got his prescriptions refilled, and he bought those suitcases somewhere-probably a big cheap department store where the clerks are always in a rush, don't notice individual customers usually. And he had an early dinner, and he drove back to 267th Street-he'd get there about six-thirty, a quarter of seven, if he left that restaurant at five-thirty. It had started to rain, you remember, it was coming down steadily, that would slow him on the drive. And he started to finish his packing."