"I imagine we got most of that trade last night."
"I doubt it. There's only an evening paper here so most people read about it yesterday evening and too late to make up their minds to come out."
"Hope you're right. If so, maybe we should have murders oftener."
He chuckled. "We should at that. Well, cheer up, maybe we will."
"Maybe we should put one on as a free act instead of the tank dive. Only – seriously - by God, if there is another killing. I hope the son of a bitch gets caught."
"Why?"
"Cop trouble. Another unsolved one and they might slough us. Damn if I didn't have trouble yesterday talking them out of coming out with a search warrant for the whole lot."
A chill went down The Murderer's spine. He hadn't thought of that possibility, and it would have been a rough break if it had happened. Maybe he should get that suitcase out of the trailer and off the lot.
He asked, "How'd you talk them out of it?"
"Convinced 'em it wouldn't do 'em any good. And it wouldn't have. All that was taken off Irby was cash and they couldn't identify it if they found it. I told 'em about weasel sacks and winter money and that they'd find plenty of dough stashed away in amounts over the two hundred thirty bucks or so they figured Irby had and so what?"
"Yeah. The killer wouldn't be dumb enough to keep it separate; he'd add it to whatever roll he already had. So even knowing the exact amount wouldn't help them."
The Murderer thought, Well, after tonight if everything goes all right they'll find the money in Dolly's stuff and it will be the exact amount because she didn't have any to add it to. And they'd think they had Irby's murder solved. He chuckled a little about how neatly they'd be fooled and Wiggins looked at him so he had to say something to explain his amusement.
He said, "Just thinking about something that happened last night. When I got back to my trailer after we closed I found I'd left the light on and the door unlocked. I don't ever do that but this time when I'd left earlier I thought I was going back right away and something came up and I didn't, and forgot. But you remember that little collection of pornography I showed you once?"
"Sure."
"Well, some magazines I had in a cabinet were out on the table so I knew somebody'd been there - and who it was. That halfwit kid, Sammy. Jesse's punk. He used to come and ask to look at pictures and I'd let him. Well, then after I put the magazines back I saw the pornography books weren't in the same order - he'd been looking at them too."
"End of story?" Wiggins looked at him. "What's funny about that?"
"Guess you'd have to know Sammy to see what's funny about it. You see, Sammy doesn't know what women are for - or didn't until he looked at the pictures in those books. He got News last night. Wonder if he's going to start giving Jesse trouble now."
Wiggins said, "Oh. Well, I hope he does. None of my business, but that's something I don't like. Why doesn't Rau get himself a broad?"
He shrugged. "Some guys are that way, that's all. In Sammy's case I'd say it's a break for him Jesse's like that; who'd watch out for him if Jesse didn't take care of him? He'd have to go to a nuthouse or starve to death."
Wiggins just grunted. Then he said, "I better phone and see what's holding up that other load of shavings." And headed for the office wagon.
The Murderer had watched the freak show top all the while he'd been talking. I'll give her another few minutes, he decided.
In telling Wiggins about last night he'd left out one little thing. The fact that he'd damn near had heart failure when he'd found he'd left his trailer unlocked and that somebody had been there. He'd had trouble breathing until he'd got that suitcase out from under the bed, unlocked it and checked its contents. It was only later, when he realized who'd been there and why and had found the pornography books in a different order, that it had seemed funny to him. And he still didn't understand how he could possibly have been so stupid and careless as to have forgotten even for a moment, let alone most of the evening, that his trailer was unlocked.
He glanced at his watch. Three-fifteen. And just as he was deciding to go in after Dolly Quintana she came out. She was alone and heading toward the chop top. He cut across the midway so he'd intercept her. He said, "Hi, Dolly," and then under his breath as they passed. "Something to tell you. Sit alone. Join you in a minute."
He kept on walking into the penny arcade, which was the direction his course of interception had taken him, and stopped inside to talk to Jay Klein, who was re-stocking the two machines that dispensed postcard pictures of movie stars. Then he went to the chow top. Dolly was sitting alone and at an isolated table; whatever she'd ordered was already on the table in front of her so rather than have to be interrupted to have his order taken and brought to him, he got a cup of coffee at the counter and strolled over with it. He sat down across from Dolly.
He said, "Don't be scared, Dolly. Leon went into town with Joe Linder. He won't be back for a while yet and nobody's going to tell him I sat down across the table from you. Everybody with the carney, Dolly, dislikes Leon and feels sorry for you."
"I - I hope you're right. But if he ever-"
"Don't let's waste time talking about Leon. Let's talk about you. You're afraid to run away from him, aren't you? Now, now, don't get a look like that on your face, honey. We're just talking about the weather if anybody should look this way. Act casual."
"I'll try." She took a deep breath. "Yes, I guess I'm afraid to run away. You don't know how-"
"Let me do the talking. Pretend you're eating while you listen. Dolly, I know somebody who wants to help you. With his help you can get away and Leon'll never find you. This guy is in love with you, Dolly."
She stared at him across the table, her fork motionless halfway from the plate to her lips.
"Joe Linder," he said. "He loves you. He wants to help you get away. But he'd stay here till the end of the season so Leon'd just think you went away alone. Then he'd join you - and protect you."
"Joe Linder wants to do that?" Dolly's voice was wondering. "But why? He hasn't ever even-"
"Why hasn't he ever said anything to you or made passes? Because he didn't know you wanted to leave Leon. And if he even acted nice to you he knew Leon would take it out on you, beat the hell out of you. Will you let Joe?"
She drew in her breath sharply. On the way out it said, "Oh, my God yes," as though it was one word.
He smiled. But he said, "Damn it, Dolly, act as though we're talking about the weather. Now listen carefully, here's his plan. Joe's brother and sister-in-law got a little farm in northern California. He's going to spend the winter with them. You too. You'll take off tomorrow or the next day - some time when he or I can arrange to get Leon off the lot again - and go there ahead of him. He'll give you a letter to them. And Joe'll still be here after you leave, the last ten days or so of the season, so Leon won't guess any connection between you.
"By next season Leon'll have another woman and have forgotten all about you. I'll watch that and let Joe know. If not, you and Joe can stay out there, tie up with a West Coast carney, until Leon has got over it."
He could hear her breathing. Damn it, he'd better talk fast and get away from her. She was damn near crying.
He said, "Take it easy, honey. Here's the pitch. You and Joe will need a chance to talk this over, tonight. I got something for you here that'll make it safe as houses." He took a quick look around to be sure no one was looking their way and then reached over and put a tiny glass bottle under the edge of her coffee saucer. "Stick that in your purse quick, out of sight."
He waited until she'd done it. "That's some sleeping stuff. Safe but powerful. If he drinks all of that it won't kill him, and if he drinks even a little he'll sleep like a log, not a chance in a thousand of his hearing you leave and come back or waking up while you're gone. He always takes at least a drink or two after the last show, doesn't he?"
She nodded, wide-eyed.
"All you got to do is get this in the bottle he dri
nks out of, Dolly. And then wait till he's sound asleep - remember this won't put him to sleep. But once he's sawing timber you can count on at least five or six hours before even a bombing raid would wake him up.
"And then you go to Joe's sleeping top; he'll be there waiting for you, don't worry. Then you and him can talk it over, the details. Okay, I'll tell Joe to look for you." He stood up, knowing that he'd said everything that was necessary and that Dolly wouldn't eat or act natural while he was there. He carried his coffee back to the counter and sat down there, his back to Dolly, drank the rest of it and shoved it across to Hank for a refill.
He was just stirring sugar into it when he happened to glance at the entrance. Quintana was coming in. That had been a narrow one! Not that Quintana would really have started anything, with him sitting well across the table from Dolly. But he'd have been suspicious, and therefore surly and nasty, and he'd have taken his suspicions out on Dolly later, maybe even scaring her out of the courage his pep talk had just given her.
But Quintana was in a good mood, smiling. "Good news, Dolly. Chance for you to make a little extra tonight, doubling. Opal ain't here. She thought this morning it would rain all day and we wouldn't open and her folks live a hunnert miles from here so she took off to visit 'em. So you take over on illusions. Rope tie for the bally and Spider Girl inside."
"All right, Leon." The Murderer was glad that Dolly's voice sounded normal. "How much extra do we get?"
"You let me worry about the money. I take care of that, remember. And listen-"
"What, Leon?"
"Joe Linder'll have to show you the gaff on that rope tie trick for the bally, but it's gonna be with me around watching, see? I'll make sure he don't put his goddam hands on you when he ties you. C'mon, get outside the rest of that grub and let's go get that over with right now."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN MAYBELLE HAD LEFT, Dr. Magus dressed again. Regretfully for now, after that unpremeditated and delightful interlude, he felt now that he could sleep a while and sleep soundly. But fortune beckoned. Maybelle's answers to the questions she hadn't even realized he asked her had been everything he hoped. He felt sure now that his hunch had been right.
So this time instead of putting on the rainy day clothes he'd taken off he dressed himself meticulously in his best suit, added spats and a Panama, took a Malacca stick from the foot locker and made his way across newly spread shavings to the nearest street. Dr. Magus did not leave the carnival lot often and when he did he liked to do it in style. Except for somewhat anachronistic spats, you might have taken him for a specialist in some highly remunerative branch of medicine, perhaps a top-flight psychiatrist, or a college president. But the spats, and to a lesser degree the cane, marked him as none of these; no doctor or professor dares dress anachronistically lest his public assume that his ideas date back to the same eras as his dress. Obviously, then, Dr. Magus was a man of means for only the wealthy dare be eccentric and only the eccentric wear spats.
He enjoyed the deference with which he found himself treated at the office of the Bloomfield Sun. He was shown to a table and there was given and left with a bound volume of issues for July 1st to date.
The accident had been late July, and on a Friday. Maybelle had told him both Charlie and Mack had been gone all day the day before that. If they'd pulled a caper, that would probably have been when.
He decided to see first if the accident itself had made the paper here in Bloomfield, a hundred and twenty miles from Glenrock but in the same state. Besides, it would help him verify the date if he could find mention of it.
Nothing in the paper for Saturday, July 30th. Nor for Sunday the 31st. But on the chance that, although the accident had been a bit too far away to rate a separate story, it might be included in a Monday round-up he tried Monday, August 1st, and found it on the front page:
TWELVE IN STATE DIE IN WEEKEND ACCIDENTS
He ran rapidly down the column until he saw the side head: "Two Killed Near Glenrock" and from there he read carefully.
Two men were killed and one injured in a head-on collision three miles east of Glenrock on Highway 42 a few minutes before midnight Friday. George Slater, 40, of Reedsville, driver and sole occupant of one of the cars, was killed instantly. The driver of the other car, Charles Black, 34, died shortly after admittance to Glenrock Memorial Hospital. His companion, Mark Irby, 29, suffered a broken leg, cuts and bruises, but is reported by the same hospital to be out of danger. Both Black and Irby were employees of Wiggins & Braddock Combined Shows, a carnival which played in Glenrock last week.
Nothing there he hadn't known before except the name of the driver of the other car, if that mattered - and even it might be wrong since they got both Charlie's last name and Irby's first incorrect. But at least he had the date for sure. Friday the 29th.
He could work backward from there.
Except that he started with the Friday paper and didn't have to work back. It was there, right on the first page. Just what he was looking for. Just the show he'd come to see.
MASKED DUO ROBS UNION CITY BANK
Union City, (July 28) ENS - Two armed men held up the First National Bank of Union City this afternoon at 2:25 and escaped with $42,000 in cash.
Both men wore handkerchiefs tied bandit style over their faces just below the eyes and wore hats with brims pulled down. They entered with drawn guns and ordered four employees and two customers to lie flat on the floor. One stood guard while the other rifled the vault and the tellers' cash drawers, taking only cash in the form of bills and stuffing it in a musette bag.
On leaving the bank they were seen to drive east toward the downtown section of Union City in a black or dark blue Chrysler sedan.
Smart work, Dr. Magus thought. They'd headed into and not away from the downtown district, where they'd quickly have lost themselves in traffic. The Chrysler sedan would have been a stolen car, of course. Somewhere downtown they'd have abandoned it and switched to Charlie's old green Chevrolet and from that moment they'd be safe. With forty-two thousand lovely dollars, all in cash. Dr. Magus whistled silently and read on. Carefully.
One of the men was described as medium height, medium build, brown or black hair, wearing a gray suit. The other was slightly taller, perhaps twenty pounds heavier, blond hair, wore a blue suit. Such as they were, the descriptions fitted. Or were close enough.
The money had been mostly in old bills of large denomination. According to the president of the bank, the reason for this was that the First National Bank of Union City acted as a clearing house for other banks in the county which wanted to exchange such bills for new or smaller ones, and periodically they were sent to the Treasury Department for replacement.
That was all.
It was enough.
***
Dr. Magus returned the bound volume to the file clerk with grave thanks and took his departure.
Outside he took a long deep breath. It all fitted too perfectly to be a coincidence. Union City was only about forty miles from Glenrock and they were both on a main highway. It was even closer to Campton, the town they'd played the week before Glenrock. Charlie would have started casing the job from there.
The way Mack Irby had acted Monday evening in the mitt camp. Maybelle's story. This bank robbery committed by two men whose description roughly fitted Charlie and Mack and on the very day when they'd been away from the lot all day.
It had to be. It was.
But Charlie was dead and now Mack was dead too and where was the forty-two thousand dollars?
Was it, could it be, hidden somewhere on the carney lot? Not on the lot itself, of course, because the carney had been in Glenrock when the money was stashed or hidden and the carney was in Bloomfield now. But hidden in something that moved each week with the carney?
When Mack had left the hospital he'd headed back for the carney like a homing pigeon. He had no financial reason for doing so because according to what Barney King had told him Mack hadn't intended to try to make a
connection to work for the final two weeks. Of course there was Maybelle. But if Mack had been able to put his hands on that forty-two thousand bucks without coming back to the carney, would he have come back just for Maybelle? Possible, of course, but there are women just as beautiful and even more beautiful in Florida or California or Mexico City or anywhere a man with forty-two thousand dollars-forty-four counting the two grand from the insurance company - could head.
Of course another reason for his coming back could have been to pick up his trunk - and, by the way, who had his trunk now and had it been searched? Surely the police, investigating his murder, would have found out who was holding his effects - probably Burt, because he'd have had them with the unborn show - and would have looked through them. And what had happened to Charlie Flack's effects after the accident?
Dr. Magus realized where he would have to go, and sighed. He'd never before in his life gone to a police station voluntarily. He went to one now.
***
Lieutenant Showalter was in. He said, "Hi, Doc. What's on your mind?"
"Is there anything new on the Irby matter, Lieutenant?"
"Nope. Why? You found out something?"
"No, I haven't. My question was idle curiosity. But I chanced to be downtown and thought I'd drop in to ask you where Irby's effects are, and, whether any relatives have come forward to claim them."
"Nope, and there won't be. He had no relatives."
"Oh? How can you be certain of that?"
"Traced him back. He carried an Illinois driver's license that gave Shiocton, Pennsylvania, as his birthplace, and the date. So we phoned Shiocton police to check on him. They didn't find a birth certificate but there's a big orphan asylum there and they thought to check with it. He was brought up there, parents unknown, and released when he was sixteen. So anybody'd have a hell of a time claiming relationship."
"Except a wife. He could have married sometime and never have been divorced."
"Yeah, there's that. Why? You know of one or did he ever talk about having been married?"
"No, no, I merely mentioned a possibility. Where are his effects? Do you have them or are they still on the lot?"
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