Out of Time

by Michael Z. Lewin

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know what terms you are on with your client – Douglas Belter, the banker, isn’t it? But, to be honest and frank with you, my client has come in with a money-is-no-object attitude, and there would be no problem in doubling up a substantial part of your fee. Especially if we can crack it quickly. I’m going to be straight with you. I think you’re probably a little ahead of me just at the moment. But you know how useful the kind of facilities I have access to through the agency could be. Thing is, I’ve got an industrial case that I am due to start on Monday, a big undercover thing, and if there’s any way I can clear this one by then, well, I’ve got to go for it. So. ...’

  He paused.

  Maybe deciding whether to call me Mr Samson or sir.

  ‘What facilities have you got?’

  ‘Everything to make modern detection easier. Direct computer links to almost every information bank in Indiana and most of the major storage facilities nationwide. Supplemental agents. Contacts in the Police Department, State Police, Sheriff’s Office and Midwest FBI, as well as a number of governmental and private service agencies like IRS and banks. All kinds of live and remote surveillance equipment. And anything we don’t have we can get.’

  ‘That’s impressive,’ I said.

  ‘It’s a hell of an outfit,’ he said. ‘Everything first class.’

  ‘So let me get the situation clear, Roger,’ I said. ‘You are completely stuck and want to get off the hook by buying me out. Do I take the gist of things correctly?’

  He was not struck by my evaluation.

  ‘I like you a lot, Rog, old pal. You got real style. But I’m one of these old-fashioned girls. The kind that might give it away, but doesn’t like being asked to sell it.’

  The agency-trained smile gave way to a purely private glare.

  He said, ‘You’re saying fuck off?’

  ‘Right.’

  He stood and seemed to swell to an awesome size in front of me.

  ‘I ought to know better than to try to deal in a professional manner with an amateur penny-ante creep. You guys are scavengers, jackals who feed on the remains that big-time outfits leave behind. You live off the sick business we wouldn’t touch, or on the muscle game, and the kind of image we do everything possible to put behind us. If I didn’t despise guys like you, working alone or in tiddly shit agencies, I’d feel sorry for you.’

  He backed to the door, and left. He didn’t say goodbye.

  My pal Rog cheered me up a lot because, whatever else he may be, a jackal disinclined to sell his clients out has got to be a jackal of distinction.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Just before three I got two phone calls from Police Headquarters.

  The first was from Leroy Powder.

  When I answered my phone he said, ‘Go away. I want to talk to your machine.’

  ‘Pretend,’ I said.

  ‘The message is that there is no record of a birth in California, August to December 1940, to a woman with any of the combinations of name you gave me.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  He hung up.

  Miller was the second caller.

  ‘I have a message that I should get in touch.’

  ‘I’m looking for a favour. You can hardly refuse the man who introduced you to Wendy Winslow.’

  ‘One day maybe,’ he said. ‘But not today.’

  ‘It ought to be simple enough. I need a taxable income history.’

  ‘IRS?’ he asked. ‘That’s supposed to be easy?’

  ‘All the private eye agencies can get them. I’ve just had a guy in here saying so.’

  ‘I’m not saying it can’t be done.’ He sounded thoughtful.

  ‘The taxpayer is one Tamae Mitsuki.’

  I spelled it for him.

  ‘And I’m looking for 1946 onwards.’

  ‘How soon?’

  ‘Ten minutes?’

  He laughed.

  ‘There is a possible tie-up with the Murchison case.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The housekeeper.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  I heard the furrow on his brow manifest itself. ‘What’s happening, Al?’

  ‘If her income is bigger than it ought to be, then it supports an involvement.’

  ‘She was the last person associated with the family to see Murchison alive,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not saying she did it.’ Then, for a moment, I wondered if I was.

  ‘An involvement,’ Miller said, stressing each syllable of the words I’d used.

  ‘According to one of my scenarios.’

  ‘How does it go?’

  ‘I’m still in rehearsals.’

  ‘I would like to know, Al.’

  ‘And somebody’s just come into the office.’

  ‘Like hell.’

  Suddenly, I heard somebody come into the office.

  ‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Jerry.’

  I went.

  My visitor was Glass Albert Connah, landlord. He looked unseasonably gloomy.

  ‘Cheer up,’ I said. ‘If one of Santa’s reindeer breaks down on the way to your house, he’s bound to have a spare roped to the back of the sleigh.’

  ‘Feel like shooting some hoops?’ he asked.

  The weather was poor, and he didn’t have sneakers on.

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  We went outside to the backboard and basket mounted at the back of the residential section of the property. The light was fading and there was slush in the key. I gave him the ball and cleared a little space with a snow shovel. He bounces the ball each time before he shoots. It’s a technical point, a fault. I’m great on coaching tips.

  We played ‘long and short’, in coats and gloves.

  In the middle of the second game I asked, ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Glass,’ he said.

  ‘Doesn’t the insurance cover it?’

  ‘Oh yes. But it doesn’t seem sensible to restock when the cash might be better used on other things.’

  He shot for a while, but blew the turn on an easy short.

  As he handed the ball to me he said, ‘And I’ve had an offer for the place.’

  During his next turn I tried to remember the terms of the agreement we had drawn up when I moved in. Which was due to cover ten years. And which represented more security of office tenure than I had ever had before.

  ‘You going to take it?’ I said.

  ‘I’m thinking about it,’ he said, and the ball zinged hard off the back of the rim so that by the time he caught up with it, his short was considerably longer than his long.

  ‘I see.’

  He made the shot.

  ‘We’ll come to an agreement.’

  ‘Have you already decided?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  My hands were cold from the wet of the ball penetrating the gloves. He won the game and left.

  I took a shower and luxuriated in the warmth of the water. It made me feel physically good and I cheered up. I remembered that in 1953 two songs were released almost the same day: ‘Santa Got Stuck in the Chimney’ and ‘When Santa Got Stuck in the Chimney’. Only one of them became a hit, which was poor return for the other guy with the same idea.

  It showed there is no justice in life.

  I was being evicted for Christmas.

  But what can you do?

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  I cleaned house for about an hour.

  I stopped to telephone the Belters. Nobody answered.

  I found myself worrying. When one person in a family has been murdered unexpectedly it shakes confidence in your ability to predict happenings.

  I wondered what to do. I did nothing.

  At about five Normal Bates called.

  ‘Can you come here, now?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve just been cleaning and polishing the place so I wouldn’t be ashamed to have visitors.’

  ‘I would prefer you to come here,’ he said. He s
ounded sad.

  The door to the apartment was ajar and when I entered, Bates and Tamae Mitsuki sat facing me, looking a strained and tired pair.

  From somewhere a third chair had been produced, because the one I was now accustomed to using was still in its place in front of the computer equipment.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Bates said.

  I pulled the chair out, placed it to face them and sat. I said, ‘I want nothing but the truth this time. If I scent anything else I’ll be out of here like a shot. And that’s not what you want, is it?’

  ‘No,’ Bates said. ‘It’s not.’

  I addressed Tamae Mitsuki. ‘Where is Vera Edwards?’

  ‘She lives in New York.’

  ‘Where in New York? What’s the address?’

  ‘Mr Samson, she does not want us to tell you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The more general question,’ Normal Bates interjected, ‘is why she doesn’t want to make herself known to her daughter.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘The bottom line is that she does not have the emotional strength to get directly involved with Mrs Belter,’ Bates said.

  ‘She’s not well,’ Tamae Mitsuki added.

  I tensed. ‘You better spell it out.’

  Tamae Mitsuki said, ‘Mrs Edwards remarried. She had three children. Six years ago her husband died of cancer and her mental health was affected. She was not completely stable before that, but since her husband died she has had two periods of hospitalisation. A husband dying is a terrible thing.’

  I sat.

  Bates said, ‘She retains an interest in Mrs Belter. She always felt guilty that she left her behind in Indianapolis. But she is adamant that she doesn’t want direct contact to be made. She says that her medical advisers support that position completely.’

  ‘So you can put me in contact with these medical advisers?’

  They looked at each other. ‘If absolutely necessary,’ Bates said.

  ‘And you two are both on her payroll?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bates said.

  ‘You keep her up to date with family affairs and get back to her for instructions when special situations come up?’

  ‘You are the only special situation that ever came up,’ Tamae Mitsuki said.

  ‘It’s not me. It’s the phony birth certificate that started this. You were responsible for that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bates said. ‘It was needed when Paula got married.’

  ‘In order not to spoil her happiness,’ Tamae Mitsuki said.

  A sarcastic edge came into my voice as I asked, ‘And you’ve both just been following orders?’

  ‘Not . . .’ Tamae Mitsuki began.

  Bates said, ‘We have acted on our own initiative since the “situation” arose. Though Mrs Edwards has subsequently approved our actions.’

  ‘Actions,’ I repeated. ‘Like hiring me to keep an eye on me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bates said.

  ‘And trying to buy me off with your must-start-immediately six-month job?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And shooting my landlord’s glass up, and offering to buy out the property I live in?’

  Tamae Mitsuki turned to Bates and said, ‘Normal, you didn’t say anything about—’

  Bates interrupted her. ‘I know nothing about either of those things.’

  ‘And which one of you killed Ella Murchison?’

  ‘Not that,’ Tamae Mitsuki said forcefully.

  ‘Well, how was it done? Did Mrs Edwards come back specially from New York to do it herself?’

  Tamae Mitsuki burst into tears.

  Normal Bates looked grave. ‘Mrs Edwards was as shocked and surprised as any of us when that happened, Mr Samson. And we are certainly as eager to identify Mrs Murchison’s killer as you are.’

  ‘We loved her!’ Tamae Mitsuki said, and the act of speaking helped to calm her.

  ‘Who gained advantage from her death besides Mrs Edwards?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bates said.

  ‘Mrs Edwards didn’t get any advantage from her dying,’ Tamae Mitsuki said.

  ‘Of course she did,’ I snapped. ‘It guaranteed Mrs Murchison wouldn’t tell anybody the truth.’

  ‘She would never have told the truth.’

  We weren’t getting anywhere. So I tacked. ‘Where did Mrs Edwards go after the trial?’

  ‘To New York,’ Bates said.

  ‘And how—’

  ‘Before she left Indianapolis, she arranged to keep in touch with Koichi Mitsuki because she realised he would be fired by the Edwards family for testifying in her support.’

  ‘And she helped him financially?’

  I looked at Tamae Mitsuki. ‘She offered, but he refused,’ she said. ‘But after he died I agreed to come back to Indianapolis for her.’

  ‘For which she paid you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And set your son up in his restaurant?’

  ‘She . . . helped.’

  ‘So the financial contribution has been considerable.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, unapologetically.

  ‘And how much did you get, Mr Bates?’

  ‘An annual retainer,’ he said.

  ‘I mean to perjure yourself at the trial.’

  The bright eyes burned. ‘Absolutely nothing. What I told you before about that was true.’

  ‘But you did help her with arrangements to leave Indianapolis?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you did conspire with her to arrange circumstances so that she could kill her husband, inherit a fortune, and get away with it.’

  ‘I conspired nothing. Absolutely nothing,’ he said furiously. I began to be glad he was old and that I could surely defend myself. ‘I did what was right. What I thought was right and what I still think was right. I believed then and I believe now that she was innocent of murder.’

  ‘I too am certain she didn’t murder him,’ Tamae Mitsuki added gratuitously. ‘Sometimes things can look bad but still not be.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘why don’t you call up Mrs Edwards now and let me ask her myself.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to be called again today,’ Tamae Mitsuki said. ‘By any of us.’

  ‘In that case I’ll just push off and go to the police,’ I said. I rose and headed for the door.

  ‘We hope you won’t feel you have to go to the police or anybody else,’ Bates said. I stopped and turned back to him. ‘But we are bound by Mrs Edwards’ instructions, so go if you must.’

  I scowled, and returned to my seat. ‘What is she, a female Howard Hughes?’

  ‘She is just unwell,’ Tamae Mitsuki said.

  ‘How about I talk to her tomorrow?’

  ‘We could try to arrange it,’ she said.

  ‘Or maybe I should just go to New York?’

  She said, ‘I can ask her. But Mr Samson, I don’t understand why you insist on making life unpleasant for poor Mrs Edwards. You’ve been hired by Mr and Mrs Belter for a much more limited purpose.’

  ‘My current instruction is to find Mrs Belter’s mother.’

  ‘But if Mrs Belter’s mother doesn’t want to be found, for good reasons?’

  ‘Mrs Belter’s mother is not my client.’

  ‘And are you not capable of looking at the circumstances and making a moral decision?’ Bates asked rhetorically, still angry at the accusations I’d made.

  ‘What would you have me tell my clients, Mrs Mitsuki?’

  ‘If I had my choice?’

  ‘Yeah. Free choice.’

  ‘That Mrs Edwards died long ago.’

  ‘And if they asked about the dispersal of the estate?’

  ‘That Mrs Edwards settled half her resources in trust funds for Mrs Belter’s children. The other half went to her other children.’

  ‘Is that what she’s done?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But the Belters don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Shouldn’t they be told
?’

  ‘Tell them,’ she said.

  I leaned back in my chair and scratched my head. Then I scratched it again.

  ‘How can I possibly trust you people?’

  ‘Because what we say is true,’ Tamae Mitsuki said.

  ‘What’s wrong with my telling the Belters that Mrs Edwards is alive but for reasons of health doesn’t want to make contact?’

  ‘All right,’ Mrs Mitsuki said, ‘tell her that. It leaves things open when Paula needs the situation to be finished, but she can adjust to what you suggest, in time. Especially. . . .’

  I waited.

  ‘Especially if your scruples will allow you not to tell her that I deceived her. She relies on me for emotional support and it would be a great blow to her. Beyond all things, that is what I wish to convince you to avoid.’

  ‘Beyond all things?’ I asked. ‘Beyond saying that I think Mrs Edwards is a murderer?’

  ‘She isn’t a murderer,’ Tamae Mitsuki said.

  ‘But ...?’

  ‘But beyond that, yes,’ she said.

  ‘What are you going to do, Samson?’ Normal Bates asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said honestly. ‘Think. Maybe talk to the Belters and sound them out on some of the alternatives.’ I asked Mrs Mitsuki, ‘Where are they, by the way? They don’t seem to be at home.’

  ‘They’ve gone to meet the boys. Both are flying in today for the funeral. Their planes are due within forty-five minutes of each other so they are all meeting up at the airport.’

  I sat looking from one to the other for a few moments.

  ‘What sours everything is the killing of Ella Murchison,’ I said.

  Neither of them had anything to add on that subject.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  I left Tarkington Tower in a ragged state.

  I had wrought admissions. Admissions I had expected to be proud of and which constituted new information for my clients.

  But I didn’t feel that I had a grip on what was right, what was wrong.

  I didn’t feel, in my gut, that I knew which way I should go.

  It took me the whole drive home to realise that I meant I shouldn’t ‘go’ anywhere. Yet.

  The answering machine showed that there had been a telephone call while I was out, but instead of listening to the message I attended to more important telecommunication.

  I called my woman. I invited her to come out for a meal.