This Game of Murder

by Deming, Richard

  In that position she managed to get the sandals off without falling off the bed. She gave him a vacant smile and leaned her head back on one of the pillows, her legs still dangling over the sides and her feet on the floor. He lifted them up onto the bed and drew the top sheet and blanket up over her.

  Momentarily her eyes closed, then opened again. “Will you be long?”

  He saw no point in telling her he had no intention of joining her, since he suspected that within a few minutes she wouldn’t know whether anyone was in bed with her or not.

  “I want to wash up,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said sleepily. “I’ll be here.”

  He found the bathroom off the kitchenette and waited for five minutes, smoking a cigarette. When he came out, she was sound asleep.

  He put the last letter Bruce Case had written her into his pocket, rebound the others with the piece of string and put them back in the desk drawer. Then he turned out the lights, set the spring lock and quietly let himself out.

  Checking his watch, he saw it was only nine-thirty. She had managed to knock herself out in an hour and a half.

  Chapter XXIII

  At eleven o’clock the next morning he sat across from Betty in the visitor’s room. “How’s Bud?” she asked as usual.

  “The same,” he said. “He went to camp with the Cub Scouts over the weekend.”

  “Oh, my!” she said. “I forgot all about that. I never even mentioned it to Aunt Audrey.”

  “Max Lischer phoned an hour before the bus left, and she managed to get him there in time. It worked out okay.” He added casually, “Bud told me about the wire across the top of the stairs.”

  Her color gradually faded.

  “I don’t understand you,” he said. “You’ve known all along that Bruce came to your room to kill you that night. Why did you keep silent?”

  “He can’t ever know his father was a would-be murderer,” she whispered. “His grandfather a murderer and his father a murderer. What girl would ever marry a boy with a family background like that? She would lie next to him at night in terror of her life.”

  “You don’t inherit a proclivity for murder, Betty.”

  “I’m not saying you do. All I’m saying is that it would wreck Bud’s chances. I don’t think for a minute that Bud will grow up to become a murderer just because he comes from killer stock. But other people would wonder. If you had a daughter, would you let her marry him?”

  “If he grows up as nice as he is now. I certainly wouldn’t object to the marriage on his father’s and grandfather’s account.”

  “That’s because you know him and are fond of him. Would you let your daughter marry some young man you didn’t know as well, if you found out he came from a family of murderers?”

  The question made him pause. After a moment he said honestly, “I probably wouldn’t. But I’m not going to let you go to prison for life in order to assure a pick of girls for your son ten or fifteen years from now.”

  “Please let me handle it my way, Kirk. I’m willing to take my chances.”

  There was something he didn’t understand. He could grasp her concern over what it might do to Bud if it became widely known that both his father and grandfather were wife killers. It would place the boy at a decided social disadvantage, and undoubtedly parents would steer their daughters clear of him. But her willingness to risk life imprisonment, or even the electric chair, in order to protect him from this disadvantage seemed all out of proportion to the possible gain.

  “You don’t have any chances, your way,” he said. “Look, Betty, we may be able to handle this thing quietly, without releasing the whole story to the press. All we have to do is convince Arn Ross you’re innocent in order to get charges dropped. We don’t have to convince the general public.”

  “You know better than that, Kirk. He’ll have to give some explanation to the papers. If he didn’t, the public would howl for his impeachment.”

  “I suppose,” he admitted. “But at least we might be able to suppress the story about Bud’s grandfather. I’m going to show Arn the evidence I have that Bruce meant to kill you.”

  “You mean make Bud be a witness against his own father?” she asked indignantly.

  “I think Arn will accept my word about the wire without dragging Bud in for questioning, because I have some even more convincing evidence than that. I have a letter Bruce wrote to Gail Thomas before she ever moved to town, indicating he planned to kill you.”

  “You mean she was in on it?”

  He shook his head. “She’s just a dumb blonde who badly wants a man so that she can be ordered around. She wouldn’t have realized the significance of what he said in the letter. Here, see for yourself.”

  He withdrew the envelope from his pocket, showed her the postmark date and took out the single sheet of paper. Handing it to her, he waited quietly until she had read it.

  When she handed it back, her gaze was turned inward. She said, almost to herself, “I knew it the moment I saw that wire. He wasn’t just a would-be murderer — he actually was one.”

  He paused in the act of replacing the envelope in his pocket. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Think about it,” she said with a bitter smile. “How did my dad die?”

  The memory of that was still fresh in his mind, for it had happened less than two years before, and he had written the story. “He and Bruce overturned in a boat when they were out fish — ” He came to an abrupt halt as the implications of that tragedy hit him in view of his new insight into Bruce Case’s homicidal bent.

  “See?” she said. “You think other people aren’t going to reconsider what happened that day once it becomes known he planned to kill me? If Dad’s death hadn’t given mother a heart attack, I’m sure he would have killed her, too. He meant to eliminate us one by one until he got his hands on the Runyon money. How would you like your daughter to marry the son of a monster like that?”

  When he made no immediate answer, she said, “Let me put it another way. If Bruce were your son, would you want him burdened with coast-to-coast publicity about the type of father and grandfather he had?”

  He said slowly, “If Bruce were my son, I wouldn’t want his innocent mother to go to prison just to save him some discomfort.”

  “Discomfort! It would ruin his life.”

  “Do you think it will help him to have people believe his mother a murderess?”

  She made a dismissing gesture. “It isn’t the same thing. I’m supposed to have committed a crime of passion, which is considerably different from cold-blooded murder for profit. Besides, for some reason people don’t hold a mother’s crimes against children as much as a father’s. They seem to think evil traits are inherited only from the male side of the family. On top of everything else, I haven’t been convicted yet.”

  “You will be if you don’t tell the whole truth,” he prophesied.

  “Let’s not talk about this any more,” she said. “Or at least table the subject for a time. Pick another subject.”

  “I’m not going to forget it,” he said. “It’s going to be settled before I walk out of here. But we’ll table it temporarily, if you like. There are a couple of loose ends I’d like cleared up anyway.”

  “What?”

  “First, what did you do about finding that wire after Bud left the house? Bruce must have known he’d been found out.”

  “I went to my room and used my bedroom extension to phone Virginia Derring. I asked her to step over to see my new parlor drapes. She only lives two doors away, you know.”

  Marshall stared at her in wonderment.

  “Oh, I wasn’t just being feminine,” Betty assured him. “I was putting into effect a cold-blooded plan. I meant to go downstairs and confront Bruce with my knowledge of his murder attempt. But we were alone in the house, and for all I knew his reaction might be to kill me by throwing me down the cellar steps. Virginia was simply insurance. I waited until I heard the bell and heard Bruce let
her in. Then I went downstairs, asked Virginia if she minded waiting for a few moments, as I had something important to show Bruce in the study. I led my dear husband in there and told him what was what.”

  “What did you tell him?” Marshall asked, fascinated.

  “I said I was aware he had tried to kill me. I said he was welcome to try again right then, if he thought he could get away with it while a witness sat in the front room. I said I wanted a completely drawn-up set of divorce papers in my hands for signature by noon Monday, in which he granted me full custody of Bud and waived all claims to any of my property. If he didn’t comply, I’d have his mistress served a subpoena as corespondent in a divorce action by noon Tuesday. I told him I would accept no plea that this didn’t give him time to set up faked evidence of his own adultery, because he had better get it set up, even if he had to hire witnesses to lie. Meantime, he could pack up and be out of the house in thirty minutes. I added that he could walk as far as the country club and call a taxi from there, as I had no intention of giving him the station wagon. He used to drive it, but it was in my name.”

  “What did he say?” Marshall asked, still fascinated.

  “Not one word — yes, he did, too. He remarked that he wouldn’t have to pack, as he had sufficient clothing somewhere else and he would send for the rest of his things later. I suppose he meant he had things at that woman’s apartment. But he made no denial of the murder attempt. I suppose he saw it was useless. I went back into the front room and was serving Virginia coffee when he came out, wished both of us polite good-bys and walked out.”

  “Then he wasn’t even sleeping in the downstairs study the next night,” Marshall said. “No wonder he was fully dressed. He’d come in from outside.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Unfortunately I underestimated him. It never occurred to me he’d try again after being caught once. And I simply didn’t think of the fact that he had a key to the house.”

  “So you actually did hear all those noises. Only it was Bruce instead of the cat burglar.”

  “Yes. He must have been terribly surprised at the moment he died. He didn’t even know I had bought a gun.”

  Marshall suddenly had another thought. “Why did you sit next to him at the country-club bar the next day after kicking him out of the house? I should think you wouldn’t have wanted to be within a mile of him.”

  “I’m a woman,” she said. “There were people in the bar. What did you expect me to do? Walk past him without speaking and start everyone gossiping?”

  It seemed to Marshall that the moment the divorce action had become public, gossip would have started anyway. But perhaps women liked to avoid any talk until the last possible minute. It was probably one of those feminine bits of reasoning beyond male comprehension.

  “I guess that takes care of the loose ends,” he said. “Now to get back to the previous subjects. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take the choice out of your hands.”

  “If you hurt Bud I’ll never forgive you,” she said, gazing at him steadily.

  “If you go to prison, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Let me try it my way first,” she pleaded. “If I am convicted, we can ask for an appeal on the grounds of new evidence.”

  “You don’t make sense,” he said. “Is there something involved here beside your worry over the possible effect on Bud?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I think there must be. You can’t be so protective that you would risk your life, or at least your freedom, just to save the boy some discomfort.”

  “Don’t keep referring to it as merely discomfort,” she said crossly. “You know as well as I do it would ruin his life. Let me stand trial on my present defense.”

  “You don’t have any present defense. You admitted as much yourself the other day. I refuse to risk it.”

  The matron called, “Visiting time’s up, folks.”

  “Please promise me you’ll do nothing until we talk again tomorrow,” Betty said hurriedly.

  Rising, he shook hs head. “I’m sorry, Betty. I’m not going to let you spend another single day here. I’m going to see Barney Meister and Arn Ross this afternoon.”

  She had risen also. “You’ll lose me if you do,” she said quietly.

  “I’ll lose you if I don’t. And I’d rather lose you this way than to prison.”

  Abruptly he turned and stalked out.

  Chapter XXIV

  The next day, Wednesday, the Runyon City News published an exclusive story announcing the release from jail and dropping of all charges against Mrs. Elizabeth Case. The story explained that new evidence uncovered by Police Chief Barney Meister proved beyond any doubt that Bruce Case, not his widow, had set the scene to make it appear that the cat burglar had entered the home, and had been hoist by his own petard. There was no mention of the wire-across-the-stairs incident or of the twelve-year-old murder-suicide of Bruce’s parents.

  The story was picked up by the wire services on Thursday and published all over the country. That same day a Detroit doctor and his beautiful nurse-receptionist were arrested for conspiring to murder the doctor’s wife.

  By Friday the doctor and his mistress were in headlines from coast to coast and the Runyon City shooting was a dead issue.

  Marshall wasn’t around when Betty was released from jail. Immediately after filing his story on Wednesday, he left on a Canadian fishing trip and didn’t get back until early Sunday evening. He phoned Betty at eight p.m.

  “Still mad at me?” he inquired.

  “I never was angry, Kirk. I was deeply disappointed when you took things into your own hands against my express wishes. But the publicity hasn’t been as bad as I expected it to be.”

  “There won’t be any more digging,” he said. “You’re yesterday’s news. No one need ever know about Bud’s grandfather. It’s out that his father was a killer, or at least that he wanted to be, but that won’t hurt him any more than people thinking his mother was a murderess.”

  “I suppose not,” she said. “I probably was exaggerating the whole thing. But I kept visualizing what would happen to his life if the whole appalling mess came to light. I just couldn’t stand to do that to him.”

  Marshall said, “At the jail you told me I’d lose you if I went to Meister and Ross. Does that still stand?”

  There was a period of silence before she said, “As it turned out, I guess you did the best thing. I thought I’d hear from you before this.”

  “I wanted to give you time to settle down. I’ve been fishing up in Canada.”

  “Oh?” she said. Then, after a pause, “Are you tired from the trip?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Then why don’t you drop over?” she asked softly.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he told her.

  Young Bud let him in when he rang the doorbell. The boy led him into the front room and said, “Mom’s upstairs getting herself all fixed up. I’m supposed to entertain you until she comes down.”

  Taking a seat, Marshall grinned at him. “How do you propose to go about it?”

  Momentarily Bud didn’t know what to make of this question, then realized he was being teased and smiled. “Just talk, I guess.” He sat on the couch across from Marshall’s chair.

  “Where’s your Aunt Audrey?” the reporter asked.

  “Oh, she went back to Rochester Friday. We didn’t need her any more. There’s just Mom and me now.”

  Glancing about the room, Marshall spotted a wooden screen frame leaning against one side of the empty fireplace. “Why do you keep that there?” he inquired, pointing toward it.

  “It’s gotta have new wire in it. A man from the crime lab just brought it back yesterday. They’d been keeping it for evidence, you know. That’s the screen from upstairs that Dad cut the wire out of.”

  Apparently the youngster knew of his father’s murder attempt, if he was aware that it was his father who had cut the screen. Marshall was a little surprised. He
had assumed that Betty would attempt to shield her son from knowledge that his father had tried to kill her. Of course it was inevitable that some other boy would tell him eventually, but he had thought Betty would want to delay his finding out as long as possible. It could be that Bud had read it in the newspaper. Few ten-year-olds read anything except the funnies, but Bud was an intelligent boy for his age.

  “Did you read about him cutting it in the newspaper?” Marshall asked.

  Bud looked at him without comprehension. “Why would something like that be in the newspaper?”

  “Well, how do you know he cut it?”

  “We saw him.”

  “Come again?” Marshall said.

  “Mom and me — I mean I. That same evening when everything happened. Only a lot earlier.”

  A considerable period passed before Marshall said anything. Finally he said, “Just what happened, Bud?”

  “That’s all. We saw him cut out the screen.”

  From previous experience Marshall had learned the best way to get a story out of the boy. He said, “Remember that game we played on the beach, Bud? Where you told me everything that happened up until you tripped over the wire?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s play it again. You start with when you and your mother left the country club that day and carry it right through.”

  “Okay,” the boy agreed. “That must of been about four. Mom drove us home and made me take a bath, even after I’d been in the lake all afternoon, and we both got all dressed up because we were going out to dinner. About five we drove over to the Rexford Bay Inn and Mom sat at a table for a while having a cocktail while I played the shuffleboard. That’s like bowling, you know, only there’s a flat metal thing instead of a ball, and you have to put a dime in.”

  “I know,” Marshall said, wondering if he shouldn’t have asked the boy to start ten minutes before the screen was cut. With his total recall, he might not get to the point before his mother appeared.

  “Then we had supper — I mean dinner — and came back here about six-thirty,” Bud said. “Mom put the car away and closed the garage door. She wanted to go over to the Derrings’ for a while, so we walked across the Pierce lawn next door, over to the Derrings’ house. I played out back with Jim Derring for about an hour while Mom was inside visiting with Mrs. Derring. Then she called me and we started back home across the Pierce lawn. I guess that was about seven-thirty. It was still real light.”