“An hour or so later a man named Norton was hit by a reckless, or a snow-blinded, driver. That was also in Central Park, but it was on the West Side near the 72nd Street entrance. It’s difficult to imagine anybody strolling in the park that night just for the fun of it. A passing motorist phoned for an ambulance. The call—as I understand the procedure—was routed through police headquarters to the proper precinct. The McKinley Hospital got the call. Arthur was on ‘accident’ and made the ambulance run. I believe there is some connection between the man who was injured in the park and Candy Livingston’s ransom money. Your guess is as good as mine. Only Arthur knows the truth.”
Arthur didn’t wait for Gold to question him. He said, in a flat, expressionless voice, “I’ll tell you about it. I haven’t anything more to lose now.”
He swallowed and then moistened his lips.
“That’s the way it started,” he said. “Just a routine call: a man who was dying. I did what I could on the spot and then rode inside the ambulance with him. He was conscious, but he knew he was dying. I picked up his belongings: his hat, one glove, a bulky package. He said there was a half million dollars in that package. He said it belonged to a man named Ferguson. He seemed terribly anxious to be assured that the money would be delivered to this man. Then he said that $100,000 of it belonged to him and that I could keep it, if I’d take the balance to Ferguson and explain what had happened.
“I didn’t know it was ransom money. Of course, I suspected there was something funny about it, but I agreed anyway. The temptation was too great. You see, I’ve been broke all my life. Here was my chance to have some of the things I’ve always wanted.
“Norton died shortly after he got to the hospital. I put the package of money in my room. The next day I did just what he had told me to do. I took out $100,000 and hid it. I delivered the rest to Ferguson. He seemed satisfied.
“Several days later I read about the kidnaping and the ransom money. I should have gone to the police, but I didn’t. That still looked like all the money in the world. I kept it and thought about it, and then—when I figured it was too late to tell the police anyway—I commenced to get scared. I was afraid it would be found in my possession.”
I said, “So you deposited it to my credit?”
“Yes, Kirk. I didn’t mean any harm. You’ve been my friend. I wouldn’t hurt you.”
I said, “I know you wouldn’t, Arthur.”
“I didn’t dare keep the money,” he continued. “I couldn’t throw it away. I put it in your account. I knew you wouldn’t find out about it until your monthly bank statement came in. I knew you’d tell me. That way, I’d always know what was happening—I’d know when and if the police started tracing it. I suppose I figured further than that, too. I had an idea that if nothing had happened in, say, a year—I’d invent some sort of a plausible story. I knew you’d believe me and give it back. You’d have forgotten all about dates and kidnapings and things like that.”
He stopped again and I prodded him. Gently, as Gold had done. “About Ethel Brower?” I said.
“She was the sweetheart of this man Norton who gave me the money. She knew all about it. She went to Ferguson to ask for Norton’s share. Ferguson told her Norton had given it to me. She came to see me and asked for her share. She wanted at least half. I told her what I had done. I explained that no matter how willing I was to give it to her, I couldn’t. It was in the bank, in your name. I told her I couldn’t touch it. She didn’t believe me. Before she left me she said she was going to see you. I knew what she would say. I knew you were out with Dana that night. I went to your apartment and waited—just in case she showed up. When she did, we had a talk. She threatened me. She said I was in this kidnaping up to my neck. She started to call the police. I tried to stop her. I got panicky. I strangled her. She died very quietly. She looked so peaceful that I thought maybe no one would know she had been killed. I closed her eyes, turned out the light, and walked down the fire stairs. Nobody saw me.”
I said, “I had wondered about her eyes being closed. That’s one of the things that occurred to me after I thought it was you, Arthur. It doesn’t follow that a doctor would close the eyes of a dead person, but no layman ever would.”
Arthur went on talking. His voice was low and monotonous, He had been banged around so much that he didn’t care any more. “Ferguson read about Ethel Brower being killed in your apartment, Kirk. He wanted to meet you. He didn’t know how far the police might go in a murder investigation. I suppose he was afraid that if they suspected me, I’d talk. He was afraid of that. He wanted to get in personal touch with you so he’d have a double check on what was happening. I shouldn’t have fooled you, Kirk. I hate that worse than the other things I did.”
I felt like bawling, but I kept a grip on myself. I said, “And Ricardo’s luck piece, Arthur? You put that in the apartment yourself, didn’t you?”
“Yes. It seemed I’d always be in danger if there wasn’t some other suspect. I stole the luck piece out of Ricardo’s dressing room one night when he was dancing.” His eyes brightened a trifle. “And the man who shot at me: I think that was Ferguson. He was a smart man, but not very brave. When he failed to kill me, he was probably afraid to try again.” He spread his hands helplessly. His head had drooped so that I could see the sparse brown hair. He was through. Finished. I would have enjoyed kicking myself around the block.
Cops are supposed to be tough, especially homicide cops. But Max Gold wasn’t. He didn’t like the job he had to do. He put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and said, “Maybe we better get goin’, kid.”
Arthur gave me a piteous smile. He said, “Don’t think I blame you, Kirk. You did the right thing. You couldn’t do anything else.”
They took Arthur Maybank away. Everybody went away except Dana and me. We were alone with the ghost of a tragedy. Dana crept into my arms and started to cry. Then she saw that I felt worse than she did. Se went to work on me trying to cheer me up. It was a pretty futile job. I couldn’t believe that I’d ever feel cheerful again.
I took Dana home and offered to spend the rest of the night in her apartment. She said No, and sent me home. My place looked awful. I hated it. I wanted to get out of there. The room was filled with too many dreadful things that I wanted to forget.
I surprised myself by going to sleep. I slept until eleven o’clock. I was awakened by the telephone. It was Dana.
She said she had phoned the office and they had told her I wasn’t there. She asked how I was, and told me she was feeling better, too. She asked whether I would drop by her apartment on the way to work.
I got there in about half an hour. Dana looked haggard, but there was a light in her eyes that made me think that something good was coming.
She sat beside me on the couch. She took my hand and put my arm around her. Her body was warm and soft. She said, “Is it wrong to be happy when we’ve been through so much misery, darling?”
I said that it certainly wasn’t and asked her why.
She said, “Ricardo just left. I had him come over, because I thought he had a right to know. I told him everything. I never saw anybody so relieved. The police had terrified him. They had made him believe that they could convict him easily.”
She looked up at me.
“He was so relieved that he was pitiful. And when he learned that you had figured it out—that you had saved him—he made the one generous gesture of his life. He said he’d give me a divorce.”
This was sudden, but it was good. That made it harder to digest.
But when it did sink in, I did things. I put the other arm around her. I held her tight. I said, “Dana, sweetheart. We’re engaged.”
She smiled. “We’ve been engaged for a long time, Kirk,” she said. “But now we’re engaged to be married.”
THE END
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Love Has No Alibi Page 18
