“I haven't seen him,” said Hatchel Horn.
“And I believe I have not,” said Carlos Rey. “I would recognize anyone who has ever been in my store. I believe that he has not. I see few people other places. I work long hours.”
“Have you ever seen him, Judge?”
“Possibly. My memory, like that of Mr. Rey, is a specialized one. I generally remember the men who have appeared before me in court. I have a definite impression that this man has. Still, a man does not look the same dead; and many of the things by which we recognize — voice, manner — are gone.”
“But you think he may have appeared before you?”
“He may have. He has, I would say, a criminal-type face. His suit is of the kind issued to a man leaving prison.”
“Yes, I know that. If he has not had it off, and he probably hasn't, then he may have worn it for about five days. And the knife could very well be a prison kitchen knife, but they are not standard. It could be from anywhere. It is quite a cheap instrument. Have any of you ladies ever seen this man before?”
“Good heavens, no!” said Annalee Frost.
“He looks like the President of Paraguay,” said Rose Rey. “You think that possible?”
“No,” said Captain Keil. “And you, Tootsy — pardon me, Mrs. Horn — have you ever seen this man?”
“It is very unlikely,” said Mrs. Horn.
So that was all of it for a while. A few more officers came out. And the neighbors were all cautioned not to move out of the neighborhood suddenly. Then the officials took the dead man away and adjourned downtown.
“It's clear enough, almost too clear,” said Captain Gold. “Whoever killed didn't bother to remove his identity.” They were going through the dead man's effects. His billfold was from a prison workshop; they are sold in several states and are recognizable. His prison papers were in order. He had three dollars. Had he been killed by another hobo, he would hardly have been left with the three dollars unless the killing was for a deeper reason.
And his name was Charles Coke. He had been released from prison exactly a week before. They were waiting now for his dossier.
“A confidence man,” said Captain Gold, “a forger and blackmailer. And he did five years. We are having it checked further.”
“Five full years?” asked Captain Keil. “No time off?”
“No. He had a record of altercations inside. He was capable of violence. Of his previous blackmail victims none of them live nearby, and besides they pretty well revealed themselves in obtaining his conviction. There could have been a victim held in abeyance while he was in prison; or there could be a new victim that he had marked out from information obtained in prison. It almost has to be the blackmail side of his talents. Neither confidence dodges nor forgeries commonly lead to murder.”
“Was he killed in situ?” asked Keil.
“I don't know,” said Gold. “There's no reason to doubt it, outside of my own doubtishness. He may not have been killed in situ, or even in suit — that is, not in the clothes he was wearing.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The fit of them was far from perfect.”
“Well, it was not a bad enough fit to be grotesque. And prison fittings are not usually perfect.”
“There was one other thing. The absent-minded machinist-inventor, Frost, has come in with a little more information. He is sure now that he did see the man the day before, but that he saw him dressed differently, and that it was somewhere in the street, not in the ravine.”
“But is the memory of an admittedly absent-minded man worth anything?”
“Yes. Something. Yet a confidence man will usually acquire several appearances as quickly as he can. Coke may quite well have gotten hold of some decent clothes, and yet also kept the prison issue. He may also have set himself up in two different sets of rooms, though so far we have not been able to find a trace of any residence.”
“If he had been out only a week, he may not have had any more money than we found on him, and may not have been able to obtain rooms at all.”
“Not Coke. From his history he would never have been without operating money. He would not have come out of prison empty-handed.”
“Did you tell Frost to be quiet about what he had seen, or thought that he had seen?”
“No. I did not,” said Gold foxily. “If even that little news is out, it may worry someone. We haven't much to go on, but the more people we can worry, the more chance we have of smoking something out. And now that we have given it a chance to smoulder, I have sent for the five neighbourhood families to appear again — this time, singly.”
But they didn't get much out of them this time either. There is a trick of taking a picture of a site, then a later picture of the same site; then a little business of infra-red will reveal any change. Captain Gold had this trick of analyzing evidence. But the variations of the stories told by the neighbours the first and second times were small, and appeared insignificant, and could have been accidental. Fred Frost could bring no more out of his tricky memory than he had already fished out. Tyburn Thompson had found new words of invective against officialdom, but no new information on the case at hand. Carlos Rey now thought that he might have sold a cigar to that man some years before. But he would not swear to this, nor could he recall for certain the brand of the cigar; besides, it might have been a different man.
Hatchel Horn hadn't known anything about it before, didn't know anything about it now, and didn't expect to know anything about it in the future. And when the sergeant said that Judge Schermerhorn was outside, the Captains were still without a lead.
“Good afternoon, Judge. We were wondering if there was anything more you could tell us about the unfortunate affair that happened in your neighbourhood.”
“Should I have something more to tell you? Has any of the other neighbours been of help?”
“Yes. Fred Frost has been of immeasurable help. He stated that he had seen the dead man on the day before in other and better clothes, in other circumstances, and in a slightly different location.”
“I see. I was afraid that he might remember. I should not have been so cowardly from the first. But you would have found out soon in any case. Of course you have minutely gone over the transcript of his sentencing of five years ago?”
“What? Oh, of course, of course, minutely.”
“And naturally the first thing that struck your eye was that I was the sentencing judge.”
“What? Oh, naturally, naturally. And then, ah, then we did recall that you had said that just possibly this man had appeared before you but that you could not be certain; a man does not, as you pointed out, look the same in death. And as a judge has thousands of men appear before him, you could very well not have been sure.”
“Quite so. But since you have gone over the transcript, since you read with what violence that man spoke out — for even the typed copy must have carried some echo of the violence in that man — when you had read that he had sworn in court to get me when his time was over, then you realized that I must have remembered him.”
“What? Oh, yes, then we realized it all, didn't we, Keil?”
“Ah, well, why, yes, that was when we realized it.”
“So, gentlemen, to save you the time, I have typed a complete summary of my actions in this unhappy affair. Here it is. Please forgive whatever misspellings you find in it. I am a broken man and have been in a highly nervous state for the last several days. You have already guessed the tenor of the contents.”
“Ah, yes, we have. Haven't we, Keil? But tell us briefly.”
“I had lately retired. I had moved to this town as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, one thousand miles from where he had seen me last. I learned the day he would get out and I knew that he intended to kill me. But I had some hope that he would not be able to follow me here. I was wrong.
“I was not yet settled in my house, I was not entirely moved in, you understand, when he came up the front steps,
nattily dressed. I thought it was one of my new neighbours calling to welcome me. I barely recognized him in time. Then I quickly locked the door. But for the fact that Mr. Frost passed by at that time, I believe that Coke would have broken in the door and had me then. They exchanged some common-places, Coke and Frost, and I realized to my dismay that Frost, who is absent-minded, believed Coke to be me, the man who was just moving in.
“Coke left then. But he called to me that he would be back after dark, and that there was nothing I could do to prevent his evening up our score. I spent the next few hours in an agony of worry. I had no gun in the house, and was afraid to venture out. Totally unacquainted in town, and with my telephone not yet connected, I had no idea what to do. And the banshee wails that rose from the workshop of Mr. Frost after dark added to my unease. Coke could shoot me a dozen times and not a soul would hear.”
“And then?”
“Coke came to the front door around midnight and called to me. There was a hypnotic quality in his voice. I had heard of it, had felt it before. He said that his was the stronger will, and that he would force me to open the door to my own destruction.
“However, as quietly as possible, I slipped through the house, out the back door, and down to that dark ravine. I thought I could hide there while he broke into my house, or that I could get to one of the neighbours for help. I was looking for someone, anyone, to save me. And I was relieved when I came on a shabby looking man there.
“ ‘My life is in danger,’ I said. ‘Help me. Help me to get to the police or to some safe shelter.’ I came quite close to him and then—”
“Yes?”
“Nightmare of nightmares! I thought I had lost my mind. That shabby man was also Coke! He had tricked me, read my mind. He must have left the front door even before I slipped through the back. I had imagined him nattily dressed as he had appeared that afternoon. But he had come dressed as a hobo, and he paralyzed me with fright.”
“Go on.”
“He took out a knife and we grappled. It was as though he intended to play with me. But he slipped there in the dampness of the ravine. We fell together. And I do not know what fortune it was, good or bad, that ruled; but it was he and not I who died of the knife when we fell.”
“Go on.”
“There is no more to go on to. I was a coward. I was unsettled in my mind. I went back to my house and did nothing from that time to this. But I swear to God I did not mean to kill. No, in all truth I do not believe that I would have killed a man even to save my own life. I am incapable of it. It was sheer accident.”
“Naturally. But I would not worry. It is in the five year old transcript, as you say, that he swore to kill you. And he came a thousand miles after you immediately on his release; you didn't go after him. I believe that there was never a more clear cut case of self-defense.”
“Well, that rather wraps it up,” said Captain Gold. “We should get a commendation for this.” “Tell me, John,” asked Captain Keil, “had you read the transcript of the sentencing?”
“Of course not, no more than you did.”
“Then you didn't know that Schermerhorn was the presiding judge on the case, or that Coke had threatened his life?”
“Naturally not. Let that be our little secret. It is fortunate that Judge Schermerhorn gave us credit for more diligence and more intelligence than we possess.”
“Will he get off?”
“Of course he'll get off. Clear cut a case as I ever saw.”
It was early morning. The birds were singing, except that one black one who just pecked and grumbled and hadn't a trace of song in his soul. Mossback McCarty was resting on the bench in front of The Bengal Tigers Unaffiliated.
“Mr. McCarty,” said Carnadine Thompson. “I have a question to ask.”
“This is where I came in. I do not know how to get blood off a knife, nor gore off a bludgeon. I do not even know how to remove tell-tale marks from a revolver.”
“What on earth are you talking about? I wanted to ask you if you were satisfied with the disposition of our famous criminal case?”
“Why, I suppose so. Shouldn't I be?”
“The Bengal Tigers are not satisfied with it. Or perhaps I should say that I, as First Stripe, am not satisfied with it. Let me ask you: did you ever see a distinguished and dignified looking judge?”
“Yes, of course. You have only to think of Mr. Schermerhorn.”
“All right. Think of some more.”
“Why, all of them. All judges are distinguished-looking gentlemen.”
“No. Think real hard. Was there ever one?”
“Well, since you insist, no, I never did see a distinguished looking judge. All of them have something a little furtive about them — fox faced, sly, rather disreputable.”
“Something like the image of a low confidence man?”
“Why, yes, Carnadine, something like that.”
“And now tell me: did you ever see a confidence man who looked furtive, fox-faced, sly, disreputable?”
“Why, all of them, Carnadine. We have only to think of Coke when we saw him dead.”
“Think of some more. It is possible that you have known more confidence men than I have.”
“That's possible. Why, all of them are fox-faced and disreputable looking.”
“Think real hard. Was there ever one?”
“Come to think of it, no. As a matter of fact, all of them have an inspiring presence. They are the most imposing, distinguished, dignified men on the face of the earth. In fact they look rather like—”
“Like judges? Like judges are supposed to look? Mr. McCarty, you go right downtown and tell them that they might have their men mixed up. Warn them of the dangers of taking things for granted. And tell them that if they take the most elementary fingertip test, which they should have done anyhow, then they can tell for sure. And tell them downtown that you are too good a man to be pounding a beat out here. For the reputation of the Bengal Tigers we have to get rid of you. And this is the only way I know how to do it.”
McCarty went about it rather lamely. “I have new information from one of the neighbours,” he said, “that leads me to believe that we are not sure of the identity of the two men.”
“From one of the neighbours we questioned?” asked Captain Gold.
“No. From one of the neighbours you neglected to question.”
Coke had spoken the truth in one thing. Coke had said that Coke was a man of violence. And so he was for a few moments, until subdued by three burly policemen. Then his violence proved to be short, and he talked easily. “Oh, well, I guess I've come to the end of my rope in several ways. Details? Oh, the judge was easy enough to find. I'd kept track of him all the way. I even collected a commission when he bought his new house, and that was before I was released. And it didn't take me a week to come the thousand miles; it took me only three hours. I was in town before he was.
“I knew how much money he had transferred here. I knew that I could write his name as well as he could. And I made sure that he had transmitted everything by mail, and was not likely to be known by sight to a single person in this town.
“I observed his moving in and the fact that he tried to avoid being seen, as he was deadly afraid of me. I figured that his clothing, but not his face, might be familiar to his neighbours from their brief glimpses. And we are nearly the same size. It is true that bumbler, Frost, exchanged civilities with him, and I would have to find a place for that in my story.
“My idea, of course, was to kill the judge, with access to eighty thousand dollars under the name that I could write as well as he. And that's just what I did.
“I came to his door at night, introduced myself as an insurance salesman with an insurance salesmen's voice, and I had one foot in the door before he recognized me. I forced him at gunpoint to strip, and we changed clothes from the skin out. Then I marched him to the ravine and killed him there.
“I had two choices: to do nothing and see if there was any cha
nce of being suspected; or to give up with a maudlin confession in my identity as the judge. If it fell out the one way, I was set up for life here. If it fell out the other way, then I would go through the formality of a short trial, be cleared, and still be settled and respected for life — or at least have a rich base to start from should I become bored and want to return to my regular business again.
“But who is the smart aleck who wanted more positive identification after the case was already wrapped up to everyone's satisfaction? What fresh mind saw the sure-to-be-missed obvious which I was sure would never be seen? Tell me, who outsmarted me?”
“Ah, one of our promising new talents,” said Captain Keil. “Our Number Nine, in fact.”
“Going on Ten,” said Mossback McCarty.
McGonigal's Worm
When it happened, it happened unnoticed. Though it affected all chordata on Earth (with a possible exception to be noted in a moment) nobody knew of it, not even the Prince of all chordata, Man himself. How could he have known of it so soon? Though his lifeline had suddenly been cut, it was a long lifeline and death would still be far off. So it was not suspected for nearly twenty-four hours, not accepted even as a working theory for nearly three days, and not realized in its full implications for a week.
Now, what had occurred was a sudden and worldwide adynatogenesis of all chordata, not however, adynatotokos; this distinction for many years offered students of the phenomenon some hope.
And another hope was in the fact that one small but genuine member of chordate was not affected: an enteropneustron, a balanoglossida of the oddest sort, a creature known as McGonigal's Worm. Yet what hope this creature could offer was necessarily a small one.
The catastrophe was first sensed by a hobbyist about a day after it occurred. It was just that certain experiments did not act right and the proper results were not forthcoming. And on the second day (Monday) there were probably a hundred notations of quite unusual and unstatistical behavior, but as yet the pattern was not at all suspected.
The Man Who Talled Tales: Collected Short Stories of R.A. Lafferty Page 23
