by Otto Penzler
"Yes. If he was poisoned, I provided the means. Would that be negligence?"
"Well, it wouldn't win you any medals."
Addington nodded approvingly. "Your delivery is just fine."
Dan Kingston was a nervous little man who looked as if at any moment he might be audited by the IRS. Since he was Addington's tax accountant, that could be quite a blow. The poker game might not involve big bucks, but in his line of work, fortunes could be won or lost by the simple manipulation of a decimal point.
"It's so awful," he said. "So awful."
"Yes. If you could just help us straighten things out."
"Could you hurry it up? I'd like to get back to the table."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm sorry. I don't get to play all that often. Tonight's game will be short as it is."
MacAullif rolled his eyes, shot me a look. I ignored him, said, "So, you're not a regular in the game?"
"No. I fill in when someone can't make it."
"That's what happened today."
"Yes. Adam Addington called me, said Kevin couldn't play."
"Kevin?"
"Horowitz. The congressman. He was supposed to play, but something came up."
"What?" I asked.
MacAullif and Dan both looked at me.
"I have no idea. Adam just said he couldn't make it, and could I fill in?"
"What time was that?" MacAullif asked.
"I don't know. Four-thirty, five."
"So, you had no idea you were going to be here until late this afternoon?"
"That's right. I didn't know till Adam called me."
"He called you at work?"
"Yes."
"You came right here from the office?"
"No. The game didn't start till eight. I went home and changed first."
Dan was wearing a tweed jacket and tie. I had to wonder what he'd changed out of.
He got up to go.
"Could I ask a question?"
Dan looked like I'd just offered to extract his wisdom teeth without novocaine.
"This guy you filled in for today. He's not the only guy you've ever played for?"
Dan couldn't believe I'd stopped him to ask that question. MacAullif seemed to share his sentiment.
"Of course."
"So you've filled in for other players?"
"Sure."
"So the guy you filled in for tonight—this Kevin—you've played with him, too. He's been there when you were. You know him fairly well?"
"I wouldn't go that far."
"But you've played cards with him?"
"Yes."
"And how did he get along with the decedent?"
Dan blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"They have any history? Any particular friction?"
As if explaining to a rather dull child, Dan said, "Kevin wasn't here."
"Yes, because you were. But if he had been. How would they have got along?"
"I don't think they liked each other. But nobody liked Seth much."
"What the hell was that all about?" MacAullif demanded, when Dan was safely gone.
"Just asking the questions you overlooked."
MacAullif made a few choice remarks such as might be heard in a rap song, suggesting I was a person of limited intelligence but impressive sexual abilities.
I explained patiently, "You have an unpleasant man, killed in the presence of a bunch of guys who didn't like him. None of whom have an alibi. Wouldn't you wanna look at the lone guy who has a perfect alibi? Who has arranged to have a perfect alibi?"
MacAullif groaned. "You've been reading murder mysteries again. Where the plot is so damn convoluted only a genius could have thought it up, and only a genius could figure it out. Real life is a little more straightforward. People kill someone because they want him dead, and their brilliant strategy for not getting caught is to say they didn't do it. Which is what we have here. There were six guys who could have committed the crime. Five, if you want to exclude Rosenberg. Which I'm sure you do, since he pays your salary."
"I'm self-employed. He hires my agency."
"Save it for the IRS. Anyway, if you wanna come up with some theory how a guy who wasn't here managed to slip the guy a poisoned pretzel, be my guest."
Judge Granville sat down at the table, folded his hands, and aimed his hawk-nose in our direction. The elderly jurist seemed completely at his ease. "I'm Judge Granville. I didn't do it, and I'd be happy to assist you in putting away whoever did."
"You have your own suspicions?" MacAullif asked.
The judge shrugged. "I have no grounds on which to base them. Unless you'd care to put some evidence before me."
"I really have no evidence."
"Then go ahead and ask me."
"Who do you think killed Seth Beckman?"
The judge grimaced. "I didn't mean ask me that. I haven't a clue."
"Would you care to speculate?"
"Lord, no. I hear enough of that in court. If you want to ask me anything factual, I'd be glad to answer. That I hear too little."
"Did you like him?" I asked.
The judge frowned irritably.
"I'm not asking you for speculation," I told him. "Just a simple statement of fact."
"That's not a fact, it's an opinion."
"Whether or not you liked him may be an opinion, but that opinion is a fact."
Judge Granville squinted his eyes, cocked his head, looked more hawklike than ever. "And you are?"
"Stanley Hastings. I'm a private investigator."
"And you'd like to debate me on semantics?"
"Not really. I was hoping for a direct answer. It's not often we get a witness as evasive as you."
The judge chuckled ironically. Shook his head. Chuckled again. "You're a friend of Richard Rosenberg?"
"An employee, actually."
"Do you think you're helping him here?"
"As much as you are."
He frowned. "Why do you say that?"
"I understand you were instrumental in getting him into the game."
"He told you that?"
"Is it true?"
"I put a word in. Why?"
"So you're a long-standing member of the poker game?"
"Yes, I am."
"You've seen them come and go."
"What's your point?"
"Some of whom you liked, and some of whom you disliked."
"You're back to that?"
"Clearly it matters to you who plays in the game. You'd rather have compatible people, people you get along with."
"So, I murdered Seth Beckman to get a seat for a more compatible member?"
"You don't think much of that theory?"
"I have the disadvantage of knowing it isn't true. So it's hard for me to assess it objectively."
"Uh-huh. And what about the congressman?"
Judge Granville frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
"Kevin what's-his-name. The guy who isn't here tonight. Was supposed to play but canceled. How do you feel about him?"
He looked at me for a moment, then smiled. "Well, I must say I am impressed. Let me be sure I understand this. Are you exploring the possibility the killer was actually Congressman Kevin Horowitz, who gave himself a rock-solid alibi by canceling at the last moment and not coming to the game?"
"What do you think of that theory?"
"I like it immensely."
"You do?"
"Oh, yes." The judge steepled his fingers on the table. "It means the theory that I killed him to open up a spot for another player is no longer the stupidest idea I ever heard."
Benjamin Driscoll came right in on the defensive. "All right. There's no use hiding it. My wife was involved with Seth, as I'm sure everyone told you."
"Well, that's interesting news," MacAullif said. "What makes you think that?"
The banker fell all over himself trying to backtrack. "Nobody mentioned it? Then maybe it isn't true."
"And yet you blurt it out durin
g a murder investigation. It may not be true, but it's certainly on your mind. You might as well tell us."
"Well, maybe they weren't involved. But he was certainly hitting on her. I guess that makes me a suspect. Which is so unfair. Kind of like getting kicked twice, you know what I mean?"
"How did the decedent know your wife?"
"That's just it. He didn't. He made a point of seeking her out."
MacAullif frowned. "What are you saying?"
Driscoll made a face. "Seth and I never got along. One night we had a huge disagreement over a hand. Almost came to blows. Next day he staked out my apartment building. Followed my wife. Arranged a chance encounter."
"Now you're being paranoid."
"Oh, yeah? You know how many 'chance encounters' he arranged that month? Then, at the next game, he started dropping hints. Cryptic little insinuations. Drove me nuts."
"What did your wife say?"
"She stopped mentioning him. When I asked, she said she hadn't seen him. Just what she would say if there was something going on."
"Or if she hadn't seen him," MacAullif pointed out.
"Exactly," Driscoll cried in exasperation. "See what he did? Put the idea in my head, and then toyed with me. Was he pretending he was seeing my wife, or was he actually doing it? I had no way of knowing. But the son of a bitch needled me about it at the card table. Right in front of the others. You sure no one mentioned it?"
"When did this happen?"
"It was months ago. But he wouldn't let it drop. Bugged me all the time. Of course, he bugged everyone."
"I get the impression nobody liked him."
"I don't think anybody did."
"Then why didn't you guys kick him out?"
Driscoll seemed shocked at the thought. "Are you kidding? He was a regular."
The smug pharmacologist also had a bone to pick. "Was it poison?" Harvey Poole demanded.
MacAullif frowned. "Why do you ask?"
"Seth keeled over and died. I thought it was a heart attack. Now I hear it's poison."
"So, that rumor's getting around?"
"It's just a rumor?"
"Nothing's been confirmed."
"Well, I wish people would wait before making accusations."
"Accusations?"
"You know what I mean. People hear poison, and everyone thinks of the pharmacologist."
"Of course," MacAullif said.
I suppressed a smile. Clearly, he hadn't thought of the pharmacologist. The fact I hadn't either did not diminish my glee.
"You don't make cyanide, do you?" MacAullif asked.
"I most certainly do not!"
"Well, you say everyone is looking at you as the killer. What motive did you have?"
"Same as everybody else. I didn't like him. He was a nasty son of a bitch, and the world is better off without him."
"Is that supposed to be refreshingly candid?" I asked.
Harvey frowned. "It's not supposed to be anything, it's the truth. The man was unpleasant. I can't imagine that's why he was killed, but it happens to be the case."
"Did you have any personal dealings with him?" MacAullif asked.
"None. Never saw him socially, never met him outside the poker game."
"How about the other players?"
"I never saw them, either."
"I mean did any of them know him socially?"
Harvey shrugged. "I have no idea. Why don't you ask them?"
"The thought had occurred to me," MacAullif said dryly. "You happen to hand the decedent anything to eat or drink during the game?"
"Ah, we're back to poison. I like the way you did that, leading the conversation in another direction, and then sneaking that question in. The answer is no, I did not."
"You never handed him the pretzel basket?"
"I may have passed the basket. That's a far cry from giving him a pretzel."
"You mean because he chose it himself?" I asked.
As before, Harvey resented the interruption. "If I actually passed the basket. I have no recollection of having done so."
"So you might have?"
"It wasn't important. No one pays attention to stuff like that when it isn't important."
"It's important now."
"Yes. And I don't remember. When you're playing cards, you're not concentrating on the food. You're concentrating on the hand."
"You were in the hand?"
"Damn right, I was. It was a big pot. Seth just bet, and I had him beat. Before I had a chance to raise him back, he's dead."
"How do you know you had him beat?" MacAullif asked.
"How do I know anything? It's seven-card stud. I got a flush. He's got two pair. And he's drawing dead. That means the cards he needs to improve are all gone."
"I know what drawing dead means," MacAullif said.
"Refresh my memory," I said. "How'd you know he was drawing dead?"
"He's got kings showing. And a two and an eight. Kings and eights are dead. That means we've seen them already. They're not in the deck. They were in other people's hands. And there's only one deuce left. If he has it, which he probably does, he's got kings up. But he can't improve. His only chance of winning is if he's got a pair of god-knows-what down, catches another one, and has trips in the hole for a full house. If he's betting on that to happen, he's the type of guy I love to play cards with."
"What about the other people in the hand?"
"They all folded. The judge was out from the beginning. The others stuck around for the sixth card, went out when Seth bet."
"I thought he threw his money in the pot and died."
"Yeah, but not like that. A couple of guys folded first. I was getting ready to reach for my money when he took the header."
"Everyone folded to you?"
"Except Dan. He had garbage showing. He tends to chase too many pots. Probably had a four flush or a four straight, or was looking for trips. I think he went in before me. He wasn't going to be happy when I raised."
"Neither was Seth Beckman," I pointed out.
"No kidding. Believe me, if I was gonna kill him, I'd have waited until after the hand."
"What was that all about?" MacAullif demanded, when the pharmacologist had gone out.
"That was very interesting. Of all the players, he's the first one who wanted to talk about the hand."
"Because he had a flush."
"Granted. And look how he played it. Guy kept track of cards right down to the last deuce. Knew that Beckman couldn't hurt him. He also had the accountant sized up. He doesn't just play the cards, he plays the man."
"The accountant?"
"No. The druggist. He counts cards, reads personalities, probably keeps track of people's tells."
"You mean he's good at multitasking?"
"Like slipping a guy a pretzel in the middle of a poker game?" I shook my head. "I don't know. Is that all of them?"
MacAullif consulted his notes. "Yeah, that's it. Wanna check out the crime scene?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
The poker table was just as they had left it, with the exception of Mr. Beckman, who had been cleared away. In the middle of the green felt was a messy heap of red, white, and blue chips, the thick clay ones in fashion since TV poker caught on. In front of each seat chips were stacked in piles, some large, some small. The ones that had been in front of Seth Beckman were smushed over from the gentleman lying on them. The others were neat and orderly, sorted into colors. Apparently Judge Granville and Harvey Poole were doing well. Banker Benjamin Driscoll and accountant Dan Kingston were down. Attorney Richard Rosenberg, host Adam Addington, and the dear departed Seth Beckman were close to even.
Of course, there was a large pile of chips in the center of the table which were yet to be distributed. If the chips were Harvey Poole's, they would put him way ahead. If the chips were Dan Kingston's, they would put him close to even.
If the chips were Seth Beckman's, they weren't going to help him much.
The cards w
ere exactly as Harvey Poole had described them. Seth Beckman had two kings, an eight, and a deuce, all of different suits. Dan Kingston had queen, ten, six, five showing, with a straight or flush draw possible, as well as three of a kind or two small pair. Harvey Poole had three clubs, including one of Seth Beckman's dead kings.
All other hands were folded in front of the players.
The rest of the deck was in front of Adam Addington's chair. Evidently he'd been dealing.
"Just like he said," MacAullif observed.
"Yeah. Wanna peek?"
"Huh?"
"At the down cards?"
I turned over the hole cards.
Seth Beckman did indeed have a deuce, giving him kings up.
Dan Kingston had a pair of queens, was hoping to catch trips, which would lose to Poole's flush, assuming he had it.
He did. Harvey had two clubs in the hole, including the ace. Even if Dan Kingston had hit a flush, which he couldn't, it would have lost to Harvey's ace-king high flush.
"So," MacAullif said. "The druggist wins."
"Not necessarily. Let's see what they would have caught."
"They can't catch anything. The accountant's got nothing, and the corpse is drawing dead."
"According to Harvey Poole. But he could be mistaken. Or lying. Killers sometimes do that."
"Killers?"
"It doesn't hurt to check."
It didn't help, either. Harvey Poole's hand held up. The chips were his.
I looked around. On a sidebar near the poker table was a telephone and an answering machine. I walked over, looked. There was one message. I pressed the button.
"You can't do that," MacAullif said.
"Sorry."
The machine played. "Adam, this is Kevin. Something came up. I can't make it. I know it's short notice, but try Dan. He always wants to play. Oh, and catch a boat for me. See you next month."
I looked at MacAullif.
He gave me the evil eye. "Are you going to start that again?"
"I didn't say a word."
"You don't have to. You hear the guy's voice on the answering machine, I can see you measuring him for handcuffs."
"Relax, MacAullif. I don't think the congressman did it."
"Do you know who did?"
"I got a pretty good idea."
