Richard Deming - This Game of Murder

He withdrew the envelope from his pocket, showed her the postmark date and took out the single sheet of paper. Handing it to her, he waited quietly until she had read it.

When she handed it back, her gaze was turned inward. She said, almost to herself, “I knew it the moment I saw that wire. He wasn’t just a would-be murderer — he actually was one.”

He paused in the act of replacing the envelope in his pocket. “What do you mean by that?”

“Think about it,” she said with a bitter smile. “How did my dad die?”

The memory of that was still fresh in his mind, for it had happened less than two years before, and he had written the story. “He and Bruce overturned in a boat when they were out fish—” He came to an abrupt halt as the implications of that tragedy hit him in view of his new insight into Bruce Case’s homicidal bent.

“See?” she said. “You think other people aren’t going to reconsider what happened that day once it becomes known he planned to kill me? If Dad’s death hadn’t given mother a heart attack, I’m sure he would have killed her, too. He meant to eliminate us one by one until he got his hands on the Runyon money. How would you like your daughter to marry the son of a monster like that?”

When he made no immediate answer, she said, “Let me put it another way. If Bruce were your son, would you want him burdened with coast-to-coast publicity about the type of father and grandfather he had?”

He said slowly, “If Bruce were my son, I wouldn’t want his innocent mother to go to prison just to save him some discomfort.”

“Discomfort! It would ruin his life.”

“Do you think it will help him to have people believe his mother a murderess?”

She made a dismissing gesture. “It isn’t the same thing. I’m supposed to have committed a crime of passion, which is considerably different from cold-blooded murder for profit. Besides, for some reason people don’t hold a mother’s crimes against children as much as a father’s. They seem to think evil traits are inherited only from the male side of the family. On top of everything else, I haven’t been convicted yet.”

“You will be if you don’t tell the whole truth,” he prophesied.

“Let’s not talk about this any more,” she said. “Or at least table the subject for a time. Pick another subject.”

“I’m not going to forget it,” he said. “It’s going to be settled before I walk out of here. But we’ll table it temporarily, if you like. There are a couple of loose ends I’d like cleared up anyway.”

“What?”

“First, what did you do about finding that wire after Bud left the house? Bruce must have known he’d been found out.”

“I went to my room and used my bedroom extension to phone Virginia Derring. I asked her to step over to see my new parlor drapes. She only lives two doors away, you know.”

Marshall stared at her in wonderment.

“Oh, I wasn’t just being feminine,” Betty assured him. “I was putting into effect a cold-blooded plan. I meant to go downstairs and confront Bruce with my knowledge of his murder attempt. But we were alone in the house, and for all I knew his reaction might be to kill me by throwing me down the cellar steps. Virginia was simply insurance. I waited until I heard the bell and heard Bruce let her in. Then I went downstairs, asked Virginia if she minded waiting for a few moments, as I had something important to show Bruce in the study. I led my dear husband in there and told him what was what.”

“What did you tell him?” Marshall asked, fascinated.

“I said I was aware he had tried to kill me. I said he was welcome to try again right then, if he thought he could get away with it while a witness sat in the front room. I said I wanted a completely drawn-up set of divorce papers in my hands for signature by noon Monday, in which he granted me full custody of Bud and waived all claims to any of my property. If he didn’t comply, I’d have his mistress served a subpoena as corespondent in a divorce action by noon Tuesday. I told him I would accept no plea that this didn’t give him time to set up faked evidence of his own adultery, because he had better get it set up, even if he had to hire witnesses to lie. Meantime, he could pack up and be out of the house in thirty minutes. I added that he could walk as far as the country club and call a taxi from there, as I had no intention of giving him the station wagon. He used to drive it, but it was in my name.”

“What did he say?” Marshall asked, still fascinated.

“Not one word — yes, he did, too. He remarked that he wouldn’t have to pack, as he had sufficient clothing somewhere else and he would send for the rest of his things later. I suppose he meant he had things at that woman’s apartment. But he made no denial of the murder attempt. I suppose he saw it was useless. I went back into the front room and was serving Virginia coffee when he came out, wished both of us polite good-bye and walked out.”

“Then he wasn’t even sleeping in the downstairs study the next night,” Marshall said. “No wonder he was fully dressed. He’d come in from outside.”

She smiled ruefully. “Unfortunately I underestimated him. It never occurred to me he’d try again after being caught once. And I simply didn’t think of the fact that he had a key to the house.”

“So you actually did hear all those noises. Only it was Bruce instead of the cat burglar.”

“Yes. He must have been terribly surprised at the moment he died. He didn’t even know I had bought a gun.”

Marshall suddenly had another thought. “Why did you sit next to him at the country-club bar the next day after kicking him out of the house? I should think you wouldn’t have wanted to be within a mile of him.”

“I’m a woman,” she said. “There were people in the bar. What did you expect me to do? Walk past him without speaking and start everyone gossiping?”

It seemed to Marshall that the moment the divorce action had become public, gossip would have started anyway. But perhaps women liked to avoid any talk until the last possible minute. It was probably one of those feminine bits of reasoning beyond male comprehension.

“I guess that takes care of the loose ends,” he said. “Now to get back to the previous subjects. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take the choice out of your hands.”

“If you hurt Bud I’ll never forgive you,” she said, gazing at him steadily.

“If you go to prison, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Let me try it my way first,” she pleaded. “If I am convicted, we can ask for an appeal on the grounds of new evidence.”

“You don’t make sense,” he said. “Is there something involved here beside your worry over the possible effect on Bud?”

“Of course not.”

“I think there must be. You can’t be so protective that you would risk your life, or at least your freedom, just to save the boy some discomfort.”

“Don’t keep referring to it as merely discomfort,” she said crossly. “You know as well as I do it would ruin his life. Let me stand trial on my present defense.”

“You don’t have any present defense. You admitted as much yourself the other day. I refuse to risk it.”

The matron called, “Visiting time’s up, folks.”

“Please promise me you’ll do nothing until we talk again tomorrow,” Betty said hurriedly.

Rising, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Betty. I’m not going to let you spend another single day here. I’m going to see Barney Meister and Arn Ross this afternoon.”

She had risen also. “You’ll lose me if you do,” she said quietly.

“I’ll lose you if I don’t. And I’d rather lose you this way than to prison.”