James Chase - Safer Dead

‘You managed to get on the wrong side of him fast, didn’t you?’ Bradley asked as he fixed two whiskies. ‘How come?’

I told him what had happened at the Golden Apple. He stood, holding his glass, looking at me, his face hard.

‘What do you know about Cornelia Van Blake, Captain?’ I asked when I had finished my tale.

‘She got me slung off the force,’ Bradley said, sitting down. ‘At least, it was through her, and I’m pretty sure it was on her say-so.’

‘To do with her husband’s murder?’

‘You’ve been getting around since last we met, haven’t you? Who told you about the murder?’

‘A gilded lily. Care to tell me more?’

He stretched out his massive legs and made himself comfortable.

‘Don’t think it has anything to do with your case, because it hasn’t,’ he said. ‘But I’ll tell you: do you want the outline or details?’

‘I want the details. It may not have anything to do with my case, but some of the characters appear in both cases, and there may be a hook up. Tell me about it.’

He screwed up his eyes and stared up at the ceiling while he marshalled his facts.

‘Van Blake was shot on August 6th of last year. He went riding over his estate early in the morning. After a while his horse came back to the house without him. The staff searched for him and found him on the top of a hill in open country. He had been killed by a shot gun.’ He paused to look at me. ‘It was a big shakeup. Van Blake was rich and well known. The press and the political boys raised all hell. I knew I had to make good fast or lose my job.’ He sucked at his pipe reflectively. ‘As it turned out, I lost my job.’

I didn’t say anything, and after a pause he went on, ‘Van Blake’s wife was in Paris at the time of the murder. Van Blake had business in Paris, and a month before he died, he had made arrangements to go over there with her. At the last moment he had to attend two important board meetings which delayed his departure, but his wife went on ahead of him. Van Blake’s secretary cabled the news to her and she flew back.’

‘Who’s the secretary?’ I asked.

‘His name’s Vincent Latimer. He quit after the funeral and he’s working with the Hammerville Engineering works now. If you’re planning to talk to him, save your breath. He’s tighter than a clam.’

‘Did you come across any clues?’

‘It was an odd murder. The shotgun puzzled me. If it was a planned killing, why a shot gun with only a killing range of thirty yards? I’ve always thought it was a planned murder, and the explanation of the shot gun pointed to the killer being known to Van Blake. He was murdered out in the open: he wasn’t ambushed. He must have known the killer or he wouldn’t have got within range. Anyway, that’s how I figured it.’

‘My gilded lily said it was a poacher.’

‘I know. They all said it was, but I wasn’t sold on the idea.’

‘You thought it was the wife?’ I said, looking at him.

He shrugged.

‘I work on motives. She had a hell of a motive. She was twenty-two years younger than he was. They couldn’t have had anything in common. Before she married him she was a model and lived in a two room apartment. She came in for most of his money. Maybe she got impatient. You’ve seen her, haven’t you? She isn’t the type to be bossed around, and Van Blake could be like that. She’d want to handle the money herself, as she’s handling it now. I liked her for the job.’

‘But she was in Paris when he was shot!’

‘Yeah; a sweet alibi, wasn’t it? I’m not saying she shot him, but she could have planned it with someone’s help.’

‘Was there another man in her life?’

‘She saw a lot of Royce. A guy with his background must kill sooner or later. I liked him for the job too. When she got control of the estate, she sold the club to Royce. He had always wanted it, but Van Blake wouldn’t part or else his price was too high. That was a nice motive. She might have bribed Royce with the club to get rid of Van Blake.’

‘Did he have an alibi too?’

Bradley laughed mirthlessly.

‘I’ll s say! It was cast iron. He was in New York playing poker with three of the most respectable men in town: one of them was a judge. They swore he was with them all the time. I don’t say he did it himself, but Juan Ortez or any of his thugs could have done it on his say-so.’

‘You didn’t get anywhere on that angle?’

‘No. As soon as I began to poke around, Doonan pulled me off the case and tossed me off the force. Doonan happens to be a great friend of Mrs. Van Blake. He thinks she is a sweet, lovely girl.’

‘What made the newspapers go for the poacher angle?’

‘Mrs. Van Blake had that all tied up. Her story was that a couple of weeks before the murder, Van Blake caught a poacher in the wood. She named the poacher: a guy who lived a few miles from the estate on the Frisco Road. His name was Ted Dillon. We knew him. He was a tough customer, lived on his own, only worked when he had to and had been in trouble off and on for stealing and fighting. He was the ideal guy to pick on. She said her husband horsewhipped him, and she was positive Dillon had come back to even the score. The papers liked the idea, and they liked it still more when we couldn’t find Dillon. Doonan liked the idea too, but it looked too much of a plant to me. Van Blake couldn’t have handled Dillon alone. Anyway, we hunted for Dillon. We found traces of his flight. He was seen around the time of the killing riding his motorcycle away from the back entrance to Van Blake’s estate: at least, a man on his machine, wearing a crash helmet and goggles was seen, and the witness swore it was Dillon. A crash helmet and goggles make a good disguise, but no one bothered to consider that angle except me.

We finally found his motorcycle. It was in a shed near the harbour, but we never found Dillon.’

‘Did this guy on the motorcycle have a gun with him?’

Bradley shook his head.

‘We found the gun later in the wood, and we traced it. It had been stolen a couple of months ago from Abe Boreman, the local banker. He and four friends had gone out shooting. They left their guns and bag in the cars when they had lunch at a hotel. When they returned to the cars, the gun was missing.’ He looked over at me. ‘Hamilton Royce was one of the party. He left the restaurant during lunch to make a phone call. He could have gone to Boreman’s car, taken the gun and hidden it in the boot of his own car. Work it out for yourself.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I started to check Mrs. Van Blake’s alibi. I asked her for her passport. There’s no doubt she went to France on the day she said she did. The passport proved it. That was as far as I got. She must have called Doonan and told him I had been asking questions. Before I knew it, I was retired and through. They never found Dillon and they’ve never cracked the case.’

‘So you think Mrs. Van Blake persuaded Royce to have her husband knocked off. Is that it?’

‘That’s my theory and I still like it.’

‘But you haven’t any proof?’

‘No. The motive’s there. Royce could have stolen the gun, but that’s all except a hunch, and my hunches are usually right.’

‘Any idea what could have happened to Dillon?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine. I’d say he was at the bottom of the sea now in a cement overcoat, but that’s only my guess.’

‘Well, thanks, Captain, for telling me. I guess you’re right. I’m hanged if I can see how this murder hooks up with my case. If I could only hook Fay Benson with Van Blake. Suppose, while Mrs. Van Blake was in Paris, Van Blake got Fay over for the night? It’s been done before and it’ll be done again. She might have seen the killing, got scared and bolted. That might be the reason why she took another name. The killer - your pal Royce - traced her to Welden and knocked her off. I don’t say it happened like that, but that’s the kind of hook up I’m looking for.’