Mickey Spillane - I, The Jury

The coroner hemmed and hawed, then said, “Roughly, about two hours. This warm weather makes it difficult to place the time exactly. Tell better after an autopsy.”

Two hours was close enough. It had happened while I was out in the bushes with Mary Bellemy.

Pat asked me, “Everyone here?”

“Guess so. Better get a guest list from Esther and check up. I posted guards around the wall and at the gate.”

“Okay, come on downstairs.”

Pat herded the entire group of them into the main room in the other section of the building. He had them packed in like sardines. Esther gave him a guest list and he read off names. As each one heard his name called, he sat on the floor. The detectives watched closely to be sure none of them moved until they were supposed to. Half the group was seated when Pat called out “Harmon Wilder.”

No answer. He tried again, “Harmon Wilder.” Still no answer. My little friend had vanished. Pat nodded to a detective who moved to a phone. The manhunt was on.

Six names later Pat sang out, “Charles Sherman.” He called it three more times and no one answered. That was a name I hadn’t heard before. I walked over to Esther.

“Who is this Sherman?”

“Mr. Wilder’s assistant. He was here during the game. I saw him.”

“Well, he’s not here now.”

I relayed the information to Pat and another name went out to call cars and police stations. Pat read down the list; when he was done there were still twenty standees. Gate crashers. You find them everywhere. The total number crammed into that house was over two hundred and fifty persons.

Pat assigned a certain number to each detective and some to me. Because I had been on the scene he let me take all the servants, the twins, Charlotte, and ten others from the party. Pat took the gate crashers for himself. As soon as he gave out the list, he quieted the assembly and cleared his throat.

“Everyone present here is under suspicion for murder,” he said. “Naturally, I know that you all couldn’t have done it. You are to report to each of my men as your name is called. They will speak to you separately. What we want is your alibi, whom you were with at the game, or wherever you were”—he checked his watch—“two hours and fifty minutes ago. If you can vouch for someone standing near you, do it. By doing so you are only insuring your own alibi. I want the truth. Nothing else. We will catch you if you try falsifying your statements. That is all.”

I collected my group and took them out on the porch. The household help I disposed of first. They had all been together and spoke for one another. The ten new faces assured me that they had been with certain parties and I took their statements. Mary had been with me, so she was out. Esther had been beside the referee’s stand most of the time and this was corroborated by the rest. I shooed them away, Esther leading her still half-out sister. I saved Charlotte until last so we could have the porch together.

“Now you, kitten,” I said. “Where were you?”

“You have a nerve,” she said laughingly. “Right where you left me.”

“Aw, don’t get sore, baby, I was trapped.”

I kissed her and she said, “After that all is forgiven. Now I’ll tell you where I was. Part of the time I was sipping a coke with a nice young gentleman named Fields, and part of the time exchanging witticisms with a rather elderly wolf. I don’t know his name, but he was one of those that weren’t on the list. He has a spade beard.”

I remembered him. I put down “spade beard,” no name. Charlotte stayed close to me as we walked back into the room. Pat was picking up the list as his men finished and cross-checking them to see if the stories held water. A couple had the names confused, but they were soon adjusted. When all were in we compared them.

Not a single one was without an alibi. And it didn’t seem sensible that Wilder and Sherman should have run off —they had been accounted for, too. Pat and I let out a steady stream of curses without stopping. When we got our breaths Pat instructed his men to get names and addresses of everyone present and told them to inform the guests that they had better stay within reaching distance or else.

He was right. It was practically an impossibility to hold that many people there at once. It looked like we were still following a hopeless trail.

Most of the cars left at once. Pat had a cop handing out the coats since he didn’t want anyone messing up the murder room. I went up with Charlotte to get hers. The cop pulled out her blue job with the white wolf collar and I helped her into it.

Mary was still out so I didn’t say good-bye to her. Esther was at the door downstairs, as calm as ever, seeing the guests out, even being nice to the ones that didn’t belong there.

I shook hands with her and told her I’d see her soon and Charlotte and I left. Instead of driving up, she had taken the train, so we both got into my car and started back.

Neither one of us spoke much. As the miles passed under my wheels I got madder and madder. The circle. It started with Jack and had ended with him. The killer finally got around to Myrna. It was crazy. The whole pattern was bugs. Now my motive was completely shot to hell. Myrna fitted in nowhere. I heard a sob beside me and caught Charlotte wiping tears from her eyes. That was easy to see. She had taken a liking to Myrna.

I put my arm around her and squeezed. This must seem like a nightmare to her. I was used to death sitting on my doorstep, she wasn’t. Maybe when the dragnet brought in Wilder and Sherman there would be an answer to something. People just don’t run away for nothing. The outsider. The answer to the question. Could either of them have been the outsider that belonged in the plot? Very possible. It seemed more possible now than ever. Manhunt. The things the cops were best at. Go get them. Don’t miss. If they try to run, kill the bastards. I don’t care if I don’t get them myself, so long as someone does. No glory. Justice.

When I stopped in front of Charlotte’s place I had to stop thinking. I looked at my watch. Well after midnight. I opened the door for her.

“Want to come up?”

“Not tonight, darling,” I said. “I want to go home and think.”

“I understand. Kiss me good night.” She held out her face and I kissed her. How I loved that girl. I’d be glad when this was over with and we could get married.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. If I can find time I’ll call you.”

“Please, Mike,” she begged, “try to make it. Otherwise I can’t see you until Tuesday.”

“What’s the matter with Monday?” I asked her.

“Esther and Mary are coming back to the city and I promised to have supper with them. Esther is more upset than you realize. Mary will get over it fast enough, but her sister isn’t like that. You know how women are when they get in a spot.”

“Okay, baby. If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll give you a call Monday and see you Tuesday. Maybe then we can go get that ring.”

This time I gave her a long kiss and watched her disappear into the building. I had some tall thinking to do. Too many had died. I was afraid to let it go further. It had to be now or not at all. I tooled the jalopy back to the garage, parked it and went upstairs to bed.

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday was a flop. It opened with the rain splattering against the windows and the alarm shattering my eardrums. I brought my fist down on the clock, swearing at myself because I set it automatically when I didn’t have to get up at all.

This was one day when I didn’t have to shower or shave. I burned my breakfast as usual and ate it while I was in my underwear. When I was stacking the dishes, I glanced at myself in the mirror, and a duly, unkempt face glared back at me. On days like this I look my ugliest.