They couldn’t see from that side of the building, so they rode down in the elevator to the street. As quickly as it had come, the fog seemed to have vanished, leaving a clear and sparkling sky with a brilliant sun seeking out the last remnants of the previous day’s snow. The four of them stood in the street, in the midst of digging equipment abandoned for the lunch hour, and stared up at the great glass side of the Jupiter Steel building.
There was nothing to see. No body dangling in space, no window-washing scaffold. Nothing.
“Maybe he took it back up to the roof,” Knox suggested.
“No footprints, remember?” McLove tried to cover his disappointment. “It was a long shot, anyway. The police checked the tenants for several floors beneath the broken window, and none of them saw anything. If Calm had landed on a scaffold, someone would have noticed it.”
For a while longer they continued staring up at the building, each of them drawn to the tiny speck on the twenty-first floor where cardboard temporarily covered the shattered glass. “Why,” Jason Greene asked suddenly, “didn’t the cop down here see the falling glass when it hit? Was the window broken from the outside?”
McLove smiled. “No, the glass all went out, and down. It was the drilling again; the sound covered the glass hitting. And that section of sidewalk was blocked off. The policeman didn’t hear it hit, but we were able to find pieces of it. You can see where they were swept up.”
W. T. Knox sighed deeply. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll go to lunch. Maybe we can all think better on a full stomach.”
They separated a few moments after that, and McLove went back up to twenty-one for Margaret Mason. He found her in Billy Calm’s office with Shirley Taggert. They were on their knees, running their hands over the oak-paneled wall.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
“Just playing detective,” Margaret said. “It was Shirley’s idea. She mentioned about how Mr. Calm always wanted the office left exactly as it was, and with the directors’ room right next door, even though both rooms were really too small. She thought of a secret panel of some sort.”
“Margaret!” Shirley got reluctantly to her feet. “You make it sound like something out of a dime novel. Really, though, it was a possibility. It would explain how he left the room without jumping from the window.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” McLove said. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing. And we’ve been over both sides of the wall.”
“They don’t build them like they used to in merry old England. Let’s forget it and have lunch.”
Shirley Taggert smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. “You two go ahead. You don’t want me along.”
She was gone before they could protest, and McLove wasn’t about to protest too loudly anyway. He didn’t mind Shirley as a coworker, but like everyone else, he was acutely conscious of her position in the office scheme of things. Even now, with Billy Calm vanished into the blue, she was still a dangerous force not to be shared at social hours.
He went downstairs with Margaret, and they found an empty booth at the basement restaurant across the street. It was a place they often went after work for a drink, though lately he’d seen less of her outside of office hours. Thinking back to the first time he’d become aware of Margaret, he had only fuzzy memories of the tricks Sam Hamilton used to play. He loved to walk up behind the secretaries and tickle them—or occasionally even unzip their dresses—and he had quickly discovered that Margaret Mason was a likely candidate for his attentions. She always rewarded his efforts with a lively scream, without ever really getting upset.
It had been a rainy autumn evening some months back that McLove’s path crossed hers most violently, linking them with a secret that made them drinking companions if nothing more. He’d been at loose ends that evening, and wandered into a little restaurant over by the East River. Surprisingly enough, Margaret Mason had been there, defending her honor in a back booth against a very drunk escort. McLove had moved in, flattened him with one punch, and they left him collapsed against a booth.
After that, on different drinking occasions, she had poured out the sort of lonely story he might have expected. And he’d listened and lingered, and sometimes fruitlessly imagined that he might become one of the men in her life. He knew there was no one for a long time after the bar incident, just as he knew now, by her infrequent free evenings, that there was someone again. Their drinking dates were more often being confined to lunch hours, when even two martinis were risky, and she never talked about being lonely or bored.
This day, over the first drink, she said, “It was terrible, really terrible.”
“I know. It’s going to get worse, I’m afraid. He’s got to turn up somewhere.”
“Dead or alive?”
“I wish I knew.”
She lit a cigarette. “Will you be blamed for it?”
“I couldn’t be expected to guard him from himself. Besides, I wasn’t hired as a personal bodyguard. I’m chief of security, and that’s all. I’m not a bodyguard or a detective. I don’t know the first thing about fingerprints or clues. All I know about is people.”
“What do you know about the Jupiter people?”
McLove finished his drink before answering. “Very little, really. Except for you, Hamilton and Knox and Greene and the rest of them are nothing more than names and faces. I’ve never even had a drink with any of them. I sit around at those meetings, and, frankly, I’m bored stiff. If anybody tries to blame me for this thing, they’ll be looking for a new security chief.”
Margaret’s glass was empty, too, and he signaled the waiter for two more. It was that sort of a day. When they came, he noticed that her usually relaxed face was a bit tense, and the familiar sparkle of her blue eyes was no longer in evidence. She’d been through a lot that morning, and even the drinks were failing to relax her.
“Maybe I’ll quit with you,” she said.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve talked. How have things been?”
“All right.” She said it with a little shrug.
“The new boyfriend?”
“Don’t call him that, please.”
“I hope he’s an improvement over the last one.”
“So do I. At my age you get involved with some strange ones.”
“Do you love him?”
She thought a moment and then answered, “I guess I do.”
He lit another cigarette. “When Billy Calm passed your desk this morning, did he seem …?” The sentence stopped in the middle, cut short by a sudden scream from the street. McLove stood up and looked toward the door, where a waiter was already running outside to see what had happened.
“What is it?” Margaret asked.
“I don’t know, but there seems to be a crowd gathering. Come on!”
Outside, they crossed the busy street and joined the crowd on the sidewalk of the Jupiter Steel building. “What happened?” Margaret asked somebody.
“Guy jumped, I guess.”
They fought their way through now, and McLove’s heart was pounding with the anticipation of what they would see. It was Billy Calm, all right, crushed and dead and looking very small. But there was no doubt it was him.
A policeman arrived from somewhere with a blanket and threw it over the thing on the sidewalk. McLove saw Sam Hamilton fighting his way through the crowd to their side. “Who is it?” Hamilton asked, but he too must have known.
“Billy,” McLove told him. “It’s Billy Calm.”
Hamilton stared at the blanket for a moment and then looked at his watch. “Three hours and forty-five minutes since he jumped. I guess he must have taken the long way down.”
W. T. KNOX was pacing the floor like a caged animal, and Shirley Taggert was sobbing silently in a corner chair. It was over. Billy Calm had been found. The reaction was only beginning to set in. The worst, they all realized, was still ahead.
Jason Greene glared at Hamilton as he came into the office. “Well, the
market’s closed. Maybe you can stay off that phone for a while now.”
Sam Hamilton didn’t lose his grim smile. “Right now the price of Jupiter stock happens to be something that’s important to all of us. You may be interested to know that it fell fourteen more points before they had to suspend trading in it for the rest of the session. They still don’t have a closing price on it.”
Knox held up both hands. “All right, all right! Let’s everybody calm down and try to think. What do the police say, McLove?”
Feeling as if he were only a messenger boy between the two camps, McLove replied, “Billy was killed by the fall, and he’d been dead only a few minutes when they examined him. Body injuries’ would indicate that he fell from this height.”
“But where was he for nearly four hours?” Greene wanted to know. “Hanging there, invisible, outside the window?”
Shirley Taggert collected herself enough to join in the conversation. “He got out of that room somehow, and then came and jumped later,” she said. “That’s how it must have been.”
But McLove shook his head. “I hate to throw cold water on logical explanations, but that’s how it couldn’t have been. Remember, the windows in this building can’t be opened. No other window has been broken, and the one on this floor is still covered by cardboard.”
“The roof!” Knox suggested.
“No. There still aren’t any footprints on the roof. We checked.”
“Didn’t anybody see him falling?”
“Apparently not till just before he hit.”
“The thing’s impossible,” Knox said.
“No.”
They were all looking at McLove. “Then what happened?” Greene asked.
“I don’t know what happened, except for one thing. Billy Calm didn’t hang in space for four hours. He didn’t fall off the roof, or out of any other window, which means he could only have fallen from the window in the directors’ room.”
“But the cardboard …”
“Somebody replaced it afterwards. And that means …”
“It means Billy was murdered,” Knox breathed. “It means he didn’t commit suicide.”
McLove nodded. “He was murdered, and by somebody on this floor. Probably by somebody in this room.” He glanced around.
NIGHT SETTLED cautiously over the city, with a scarlet sunset to the west that clung inordinately long to its reign over the skies. The police had returned, and the questioning went on, concurrently with long distance calls to Pittsburgh and five other cities where Jupiter had mills. There was confusion, somehow more so with the coming of darkness to the outer world. Secretaries and workers from the other floors gradually drifted home, but on twenty-one life went on.
“All right,” Knox breathed finally, as it was nearing eight o’clock. “We’ll call a director’s meeting for Monday morning, to elect a new president. That should give the market time to settle down and let us know just how bad things really are. At the same time we’ll issue a statement about the proposed merger. I gather we’re in agreement that it’s a dead issue for the time being.”
Sam Hamilton nodded, and Jason Greene reluctantly shrugged his assent. Shirley Taggert looked up from her pad. “What about old Israel Black? With Mr. Calm dead, he’ll be back in the picture.”
Jason Greene shrugged. “Let him come. We can keep him in line. I never thought the old guy was so bad anyway, not really.”
It went on like this, the talk, the bickering, the occasional flare of temper, until nearly midnight. Finally, McLove felt he could excuse himself and head for home. In the outer office, Margaret was straightening her desk, and he was surprised to realize that she was still around. He hadn’t seen her in the past few hours.
“I thought you went home,” he said.
“They might have needed me.”
“They’ll be going all night at this rate. How about a drink?”
“I should get home.”
“All right. Let me take you, then. The subways aren’t safe at this hour.”
She turned her face up to smile at him. “Thanks, McLove. I can use someone like you tonight.”
They went down together in the elevator and out into a night turned decidedly coolish. He skipped the subway and hailed a cab. Settled on the red leather seat, he asked, “Do you want to tell me about it, Margaret?”
He couldn’t see her face in the dark, but after a moment she asked, “Tell you what?”
“What really happened. I’ve got part of it doped out already, so you might as well tell me the whole thing.”
“I don’t know what you mean, McLove. Really,” she protested.
“All right,” he said, and was silent for twenty blocks. Then, as they stopped for a traffic light, he added, “This is murder, you know. This isn’t a kid’s game or a simple love affair.”
“There are some things you can’t talk over with anyone. I’m sorry. Here’s my place. You can drop me at the corner.”
He got out with her and paid the cab driver. “I think I’d like to come up,” he said quietly.
“I’m sorry, McLove. I’m awfully tired.”
“Want me to wait for him down here?”
She sighed and led the way inside, keeping silent until they were in the little three-room apartment he’d visited only once before. Then she shrugged off her raincoat and asked, “How much do you know?”
“I know he’ll come here tonight, of all nights.”
“What was it? What told you?”
“A lot of things. The elevator, for one.”
She sat down. “What about the elevator?”
“Right after Billy Calm’s supposed arrival, and suicide, I ran to his private elevator. It wasn’t on twenty-one. It had to come up from below. He never rode any other elevator. When I finally remembered it, I realized he hadn’t come up on that one, or it would still have been there.”
Margaret sat frozen in the chair, her head cocked a little to one side as if listening. “What does it matter to you? You told me just this noon that none of them meant anything to you.”
“They didn’t, they don’t. But I guess you do, Margaret. I can see what he’s doing to you, and I’ve got to stop it before you get in too deep.”
“I’m in about as deep as I can ever be, right now.”
“Maybe not.”
“You said you believed me. You told them all that I couldn’t have been acting when I screamed out his name.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking that he’d heard something in the hallway. Then he said, “I did believe you. But then after the elevator bit, I realized that you never called Calm by his first name. It was always Mr. Calm, not Billy, and it would have been the same even in a moment of panic. Because he was still the president of the company. The elevator and the name—I put them together, and I knew it wasn’t Billy Calm who had walked into that directors’ room.”
There was a noise at the door, the sound of a familiar key turning in the lock. “No,” she whispered, almost to herself. “No, no, no …”
“And that should be our murderer now,” McLove said, leaping to his feet.
“Billy!” she screamed. “Billy run! It’s a trap!”
But McLove was already to the door, yanking it open, staring into the startled, frightened face of W. T. Knox.
SOMETIMES IT ENDS with a flourish, and sometimes only with the dull thud of a collapsing dream. For Knox, the whole thing had been only an extension of some sixteen hours in his life span. The fantastic plot, which had been set in motion by his attempt at suicide that morning at the Jupiter Steel building, came to an end when he succeeded in leaping to his death from the bathroom window of Margaret’s apartment, while they sat waiting for the police to come.
The following morning, with only two hours’ sleep behind him, McLove found himself facing Greene and Hamilton and Shirley Taggert once more, telling them the story of how it had been. There was an empty chair in the office, too, and he wondered vaguely whether it had been m
eant for Knox or Margaret.
“He was just a poor guy at the end of his rope,” McLove told them. “He was deeply involved in an affair with Margaret Mason, and he’d sunk all his money into a desperate gamble that the merger wouldn’t go through. He sold a lot of Jupiter stock short, figuring that when the merger talks collapsed, the price would fall sharply. Only Billy Calm called from his plane yesterday morning and said the merger was on. Knox thought about it for an hour or so and did some figuring. When he realized he’d be wiped out, he went into the directors’ room to commit suicide.”
“Why?” Shirley Taggert interrupted. “Why couldn’t he jump out his own window?”
“Because there’s a setback two stories down on his side. He couldn’t have cleared it. He wanted a smooth drop to the sidewalk. Billy Calm could hardly have taken a running jump through the window. It was far off the floor even for a tall man, and Billy was short. And remember the slivers of glass at the bottom of the pane? When I remembered them, and remembered the height of the bottom sill from the floor, I knew that no one—especially a short man—could have gone through that window without knocking them out. No, Knox passed Margaret’s desk, muttered some sort of farewell, and entered the room just as I came out of Calm’s office. He smashed the window with a chair so he wouldn’t have to try a dive through the thick glass, head first. And then he got ready to jump.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Because he heard Margaret shout his name from the outer office. And with the shouted word Billy, a sudden plan came to him in that split second. He recrossed the small office quickly, and stood behind the door as we entered, knowing that I would think it was Billy Calm who had jumped. As soon as we were in the room, he simply stepped out and stood there. I thought he had arrived with the rest of you, and you, of course, thought he had entered the room with Margaret and me. I never gave it a second thought, because I was looking for Calm. But Margaret fainted when she saw he was still alive.”
“But she said it was Billy Calm who entered the office,” Greene protested.
“Not until later. She was starting to deny it, in fact, when she saw Knox and fainted. Remember, he carried her into the next room, and he was alone with her when she came to. He told her his money would be safe if only people thought Calm dead for a few hours. So she went along with her lover; I needn’t remind you he was a handsome fellow, even though he was married. She went along with what we all thought happened, not realizing it would lead to murder.”
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