by Isaac Asimov
“That may be Max Weber now. I left word with the highway police to bring him here if they picked him up within an hour of the time I left Burbank. Miss Shiel, if you try to warn him in any way, I’ll have you charged as an accessory after the fact. You must not speak to him at all — not a single word. Understand?”
“Yes.” She moved like a sleepwalker to the piano bench and sat down. Basil offered her a cigarette. She took it with trembling fingers. It was Dawes who opened the door when the knock came.
The first man to enter was slender, frail, shy. Basil had an impression of intelligence and sensitivity but without strength — always a dangerous constellation. He was followed by a uniformed highway policeman, who spoke to Dawes.
“We picked him up on the grass verge beside the freeway, Lieutenant. He was just outside Burbank, headed south. He said he was on his way home to Santa Cristina.”
Basil knew what the Lieutenant was thinking: Max could have driven to Santa Cristina instead of Santa Barbara when he left the Burbank studio, shot his wife, and then returned to Burbank, so he would re-enter Santa Cristina from the north, as if he had driven south from Santa Barbara. He’d find some witness on the road between Burbank and Santa Cristina to confirm his driving south at that hour — possibly a filling station man, whom he’d talk to when he stopped for gas.
“Moira!” Max ignored the others. “Have you heard the radio? Katie is dead — murdered—”
He started toward Moira, but Dawes put a hand on his arm.
“You are Max Weber?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’m Lieutenant Dawes, Los Angeles Police, and I must talk to you before anyone else does. Where have you been?”
Moira crushed her cigarette in an ashtray on top of the piano. Her restless fingers strayed across the keyboard.
“Miss Shiel, I know you’re nervous, but this is no time for playing the piano. Mr. Weber, where have you been?”
“Santa Barbara. I had intended to dine with my father but—”
“But you didn’t? Why not?”
“My poor father.” Max dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. “Dad died all alone. He must have died just before I got there at eight thirty. He was still warm.”
“You called his doctor?”
“No. I should have, shouldn’t I? But I didn’t. It was such a shock, I went kind of crazy. I drove around for a while, trying to realize what it would be like to live in a world without Dad. At last, I headed for home.”
“Still without notifying a doctor?”
“I was going to do that as soon as I got home. It didn’t seem to matter, really. Dad was gone. The... the thing lying there had nothing to do with him now... I was on the freeway, just south of Burbank, when I heard about Katie on the radio. It was just too much, coming on top of Dad’s death. I couldn’t drive. I pulled off onto the grass and a few minutes later the cops picked me up and brought me here.”
“I guess that lets you out.” Dawes couldn’t hide his disappointment. “I must apologize for—”
“Apologize?” Basil’s voice was sharp. “Lieutenant, are you assuming Max Weber was in Santa Barbara tonight solely because he knows his father is dead?”
“Yes. No one knew about Mr. Weber’s death except the neighbor who called the police and the police themselves and Miss Shiel and you. It wasn’t on the air, because Miss Shiel made the police promise they wouldn’t release the news until Max was found. She couldn’t have telephoned Max about his father’s death, because her line went down right after the Santa Barbara police called her and told her the news. I know, because it was then I tried to reach her myself. Obviously, she had no opportunity to tell Max that his father was dead before I arrived.”
“True, but Miss Shiel did have an opportunity to tell Max Weber that his father was dead after you arrived.”
“What do you mean? She didn’t say a single word to him!”
“Words are not the only means of communication.”
“You’re thinking of some sort of code?”
“I suppose it could be called a code.” Basil stepped over to the piano. Slowly he played seven notes. “Do you recognize those notes?”
Dawes looked blank, but the young highway policeman gazed at Basil with awe. “Well, I’ll be damned! Key of C natural. It would have to be. You must have perfect pitch, too.”
“No, I was watching her hands, as you were watching mine just now.”
“What are you two talking about?” demanded Dawes.
“These are the seven notes Miss Shiel struck on the piano: A B E D E A D. Abe dead.”
“I hate you!” Moira screamed at Basil. “What business is it of yours? Why didn’t you leave it alone?”
“It’s all right, Moira,” said Max gently. “I might as well give myself up — I haven’t a chance without Dad to alibi me. The police will dig and dig until they trace the gun back to me.”
“Then... you did do it?” Moira’s voice was now a whisper.
“Yes, I killed Katie. For you as much as for the money. Moira, I love you so much...”
“Why the key of C natural?” Dawes asked Basil, later that evening.
“The enharmonic factor. On the keyboard, B sharp is also C natural, C flat is also B natural, E sharp is also F natural and F flat is also E natural. You can’t tell which note of these pairs is indicated unless the notes are written and the key indicated. C natural is the one exception — the one key that has no sharps or flats.
“Max Weber was quick to realize that if Moira’s playing was a message in code, it would have to be in the key of C natural — otherwise, he would have no way of identifying the notes — that is, the letters. Because he had perfect pitch, not just relative pitch, he was able to do what few people can do — identify a single note, or a small group of notes, played alone.
“Moira took advantage of Max’s gift on the spur of the moment. She was quick, but he was even quicker. They were quite a team, justly famous for picking up each other’s cues at an instant’s notice... I hope you’re not going to charge her as accessory?”
“I should,” said Dawes slowly. “But I won’t. Max’s punishment will be punishment enough for her... But I’m glad you were here. Dr. Willing — she fooled me completely.”
An Exercise in Insurance
by James Holding
When three masked men walked into the bank with sawed-off shotguns that afternoon and calmly began to clean out the tellers’ cash drawers, I wasn’t even nervous. I was sure they weren’t going to get away with it. I was perfectly certain that five straight-shooting policemen, strategically placed, would be waiting for the robbers outside the bank door when they emerged.
That’s the way it would have happened, too, if it hadn’t been for Miss Coe, Robbsville’s leading milliner.
As proprietress and sole employee of a hat shop, just around the corner from the bank and felicitously called Miss Coe’s Chapeux, Miss Coe fabricated fetching hats for many of the town’s discriminating ladies. She was an excellent designer, whose products exhibited a fashionable flare, faintly French, that more than justified her use of the French word in her shop name.
Miss Coe was middle-aged, sweet, pretty, methodical, and utterly reliable. Indeed, her dependability was often the subject of admiring comment from local ladies who had become somewhat disillusioned by the unreliability of other tradesmen. “You can always count on Miss Coe,” they frequently told each other. “If she says she’ll have the hat ready on Tuesday at eleven, she’ll have it ready. She’ll be putting in the last stitch as you come in the door.” I had even heard remarks of this kind at my own dinner table, since my wife was one of Miss Coe’s steady customers.
But perhaps you are wondering what Miss Coe, a milliner — reliable and methodical as she undoubtedly was — could possibly have to do with the robbery of our bank?
Well, you may remember that some years ago, several of the companies that insured banks against robbery agreed to reduce the
premium rates on such insurance if the insured bank was willing to conform to a certain security arrangement.
This meant, simply, that to win the lower insurance rate, a bank must maintain a robbery alarm system somewhere outside the bank itself; that in the event of a robbery, a warning bell or buzzer must sound elsewhere so that police could be instantly alerted without interference, and arrive on the scene in time to prevent the robbery and even, hopefully, to capture the bandits in the act.
In those days of rather primitive electrical wiring, the insurance companies did not insist that, to meet this security requirement, the outside alarm be necessarily installed in the police station itself. Any other location where the ringing of the alarm would unfailingly initiate instant action would serve as well.
The potential savings on insurance premiums made possible in this way were quite substantial. Our bank accordingly decided to take advantage of them. As Cashier, I was entrusted with the job of selecting a suitable outside alarm site, preferably somewhere near the bank, since the installation charges would thus be minimal.
After some thought, and with the memory of my wife’s recent words to a bridge partner, “You’ll find Miss Coe utterly dependable,” fresh in mind, I went around to see the milliner on my lunch hour one day.
After introducing myself, I explained to her that the bank intended to install an alarm buzzer somewhere in the neighborhood. I explained the alarm’s purpose. Then I went on diplomatically, “Miss Coe, I have never heard you referred to among the ladies of my acquaintance without some warm testimonial to your complete reliability, to your calm, methodical turn of mind.”
“How nice,” she murmured, pleased. “I do try to be precise and methodical about things, it’s true. I find life less complicated that way.”
“Yes. And that’s exactly why I am going to ask you to permit us to install our alarm buzzer in your shop.”
“Here?”
“Right here. You are always in your shop during banking hours, are you not?”
“Of course. I carry my lunch, so I’m not even away at lunch time.”
“Good. With your penchant for doing exactly what is needed at exactly the right time, I am certain that our alarm buzzer, although placing a new responsibility on your shoulders in the unlikely event of a bank robbery, will in no way discommode or harm you. And I might add that the bank will naturally expect to pay you a small stipend for your cooperation,”
She flushed with pleasure. “What would I have to do?” she asked.
“If the alarm buzzer should ever ring, you merely go at once to your telephone there. Miss Coe...,” I indicated her telephone on a counter at the back of the shop, “... and place an emergency call to the police, giving them a prearranged signal. That is all. Your responsibility then ceases. You see, it’s very simple.”
“I’m sure I could do that, if that’s all there is to it,” Miss Coe said, glancing at her wall clock a little guiltily, as though she feared she were three stitches late on a hat promised a customer one minute from then. “And I won’t say that a bit of extra income won’t be more than welcome.”
By the end of the week the buzzer was installed in her shop. The system was thoroughly tested, and it worked perfectly. On our first “dry run”, the squad of police arrived at the bank just four minutes from the time they received their telephone call from Miss Coe. The insurance people, satisfied with their inspection of the system and my recommendation of Miss Coe, granted us the lower insurance rate forthwith.
Since a daily test of the wiring circuit, to assure its constant readiness, was specified in our insurance agreement, I arranged with Miss Coe that at exactly three o’clock each day, I would press the button under my desk at the bank and ring the buzzer in her shop. That was as far as the daily test needed to go; it was expected that Miss Coe’s telephone would always be operative but if, in the event it were out of order or in use when the buzzer should ring, Miss Coe could merely nip into the shop next door and telephone the police from there.
For two years it seemed that Miss Coe would never be called upon to display her reliability in behalf of the bank’s depositors. We had no bank robbery, nor even an attempted one. I tested the alarm buzzer each day at three; Miss Coe continued to make fetching hats for Robbsville’s ladies undisturbed; and each month I mailed her a small check for her participation in the bank’s alarm system.
You can readily see now, I am sure, why I had no qualms whatever when our bank robbery finally did occur. This was the event for which the police, Miss Coe, and I had so carefully prepared. This was the actual happening that our rehearsals had merely simulated. I knew that our outside robbery alarm was in perfect working order. I knew that Miss Coe was in her shop, ready to act, as dependable and unfailing as the stars in the heavens.
So, far from being startled or apprehensive, I really felt a certain pleasurable excitement when I looked up from my desk, just before closing time that afternoon, and saw the three masked bandits presenting their weapons to our staff and terrified patrons. In common with the other occupants of the banking room, I slowly raised my hands over my head at the robbers’ command. Simultaneously and unnoticed, however, I also pressed my knee against the alarm button under my desk.
I could picture clearly the exact sequence of events that would be set in train by that movement of my knee. Miss Coe’s buzzer would sound. She would perhaps sit immobile for a shocked second at her work table. She would drop the hat she was working on and cross speedily to her telephone. She would place her emergency call to the police with splendid calm. And then she would wait confidently for the news from me that our bank robbers had been circumvented or captured.
Unfortunately, as I found out later, Miss Coe did none of these things.
What she did do, when the alarm buzzer sounded in her shop, was merely to glance at the clock on her wall, rise impatiently from her sewing stool and cross the room, and there (bless her methodical heart!) push the minute hand of the wall clock ahead ten minutes so that it pointed to exactly three o’clock.
The Old Heap
by Alvin S. Fick
August 8,1975
Acme Parking Plaza
2135 Congress St.
Akron, O.
To whom it may concern:
This afternoon when I picked up my car at your parking garage I discovered that all four hubcaps were missing. Obviously they were stolen during the day, because I’m sure all of them were on the car when I left it on C level, the one you reach from the Orville Avenue ramp.
I spoke to one of the attendants about this, but all he did was shrug his shoulders and say probably the hubcaps fell off on the way in this morning and I didn’t notice. Impossible — not all four, anyway. He said the office was closed and wouldn’t even give me his name, so I am writing this letter expecting a reply which will enable me to get an adjustment on this.
Yours truly,
Dennis Daggett
14 Pepper Lane
Chatham, O.
August 12, 1975
Mr. Dennis Daggett
14 Pepper Lane
Chatham, O.
Dear Mr. Daggett:
Your letter of August 8 has been brought to my attention. On behalf of Acme Parking Plaza, I express sincere regret for the loss of hubcaps from your car which occurred, you say, while your vehicle was parked at our facility. In view of the activity in the garage section of our Plaza, I find it difficult to believe this could have happened on C level, or anywhere else on our premises, to be quite candid. We employ an ample staff of trained, dependable and reputable attendants who constantly monitor all areas.
We trust you will have no problem in obtaining reimbursement from your insurance carrier under the terms of your comprehensive coverage.
Again, sorry you incurred a loss.
Cordially,
Elroy R. Kent
Customer Relations
Acme Parking Plaza
August 15,1975
Mr. Elroy R. Kent<
br />
Customer Relations
Acme Parking Plaza
2135 Congress St.
Akron, O.
Dear Mr. Kent:
I have your letter, and I don’t like your Doubting Thomas attitude. I have been parking at Acme Plaza for three years, and I don’t like the way you imply I am lying about this matter.
I only use my car going back and forth to work. It never sits on the street. It is parked in my garage — locked, by the way — when I am home. I have always used your indoor parking area instead of the big outdoor lot on the Congress St. side. I do this because I take great pride in the way I take care of my car. I have never left it outdoors in the weather. Don’t talk to me about comprehensive insurance. The money that would cost I have been putting into the cash register of Acme Parking Plaza, just so I wouldn’t need comprehensive. Why do you think I paid your outrageous indoor fee if not to protect my property?
I am checking on the cost of replacement hubcaps. I will be sending you the bill.
Yours truly,
Dennis Daggett
14 Pepper Lane
Chatham, O.
August 19,1975
Mr. Dennis Daggett
14 Pepper Lane
Chatham, O.
Dear Mr. Daggett:
In view of the low cost of comprehensive insurance, it seems a little foolish of you not to have it. But that is your business, shortsighted though it may be. It would be pointless for you to send us a bill for your replacement hubcaps, which I doubt you will be able to obtain anyway in view of the age of your car. I spoke to the C level attendant to whom you complained on August 8. He tells me you drive a 1949 Kaiser.
Really, Mr. Daggett, you can’t hope to find hubcaps for that!
Cordially,
Elroy R. Kent
for Acme Parking Plaza
August 20, 1975
Mr. Kent:
You are damned right that it is my business whether or not I carry comprehensive insurance, and it certainly is none of your business to call me foolish because I don’t. And just what the hell do you mean, “It would be pointless for you to send us a bill”?
