10
Driving home after dropping Doris Lamar at the tavern, John Hayden reviewed what had been said and what he had accomplished. The results, as he saw them, were discouraging.
The admission that Adler had come here to collect a large sum of money and that she might have been willing to leave town with him in the hope of getting some of that money only confirmed what he already knew. He did not think she was telling the whole truth and he had wanted to put more pressure on her, to speak of the woman he had seen in the darkened quadrangle and to accuse her of being that woman. Yet, even as the thought had come to him, he knew that he could not carry out the threat because to do so would be to admit that he had also been there at the time.
The thought continued to disturb him, and when he turned his car into the driveway and saw the three cars parked in front of the house he found a new source of concern. For the plain black sedan with its buggy-whip antenna told him this was probably an unmarked police car. The convertible, he knew, belonged to Roger Denham. The third car, a two-toned sedan, was not familiar and he wondered about it as he walked through the breezeway and kitchen to the living room.
His first impression was that the room was crowded, and his glance moved to his wife, who was sitting in her accustomed chair at one side of the fireplace. He saw at once that the high-cheekboned face was composed but the hazel eyes were veiled and he could not read them as he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. He was aware that the five men in the room had come to their feet, and when he understood that Marion did not seem unduly disturbed, he turned to face them, his resentment mounting. He was about to give voice to it when Roger Denham spoke up to interrupt him.
“John—this is Fred Erickson, the State’s Attorney.” He indicated the stocky, square-faced man in his middle forties who had a crew-cut and dark-rimmed glasses. “And Paul Simpson.” He nodded to a younger man who had been sitting off to one side, a slender, black-haired fellow who was casually clad in flannel slacks and a checked sport jacket that was a little on the loud side. “Mr. Simpson is with the Allied Insurance Company.”
Hayden made no attempt to shake hands nor did the others. He looked at Denham with his conservative but expensive-looking business suit, at the lean, competent figure of Lieutenant Garvey, at the round, impassive, and steady-eyed face of County Detective Ball.
“Well,” he said, with no trace of cordiality, “since you’re here you might as well sit down. I don’t know what you have in mind, but it seems to me that instead of coming here and ganging up on my wife you could have waited—”
Marion cut in before he could finish. “That’s not the way it happened, darling,” she said. “When I talked to you this noon you said you’d be home early. Roger called and said these men would like to talk to us and I told him it would be all right. I thought you’d be here before they came.”
“We thought it would be more convenient for both of you,” Erickson added, “to talk here instead of in my office.”
The simple explanation should have mollified Hayden but his initial annoyance remained and his voice was still curt.
“Okay, so what do you want from us?”
Before Erickson could reply, Simpson spoke up. “I’m here on my own, Mr. Hayden. If you don’t mind my waiting I’d like to talk to you a few minutes when these gentlemen have finished.”
Hayden made no reply. He was still watching the State’s Attorney, who studied him for a silent moment before he said: “We’ve had some information that leads us to believe that Mrs. Hayden’s first husband may still be alive.”
So that’s how it is, Hayden thought bitterly.
He was not yet prepared to grapple with the problem, and the top of his mind suggested an answer and he grabbed it. Aside from Adler only he, Marion, and Denham knew of Adler’s contention that Ted Corbin was still alive. He was positive that Marion would never speak of this knowledge to anyone. That left Denham, and in the momentary silence that followed the State’s Attorney’s remark, his sudden dislike for the lawyer was a corrosive force that influenced his thinking. Little things that had bothered him before, over the past year or so, came quickly to mind and he tabulated them swiftly.
Denham, it seemed, had never liked him. Denham, with his top social background and inherited money and his fine education. The bespectacled eyes that met his seemed calm and unconcerned, and he was reminded again of Denham’s ascetic looks and manner of living, his abstinence, the credo of physical fitness, with strenuous squash in the winter and even more strenuous tennis in the summer.
In fairness, he had to admit that Denham was no pantywaist. He had proved that in Korea when he was a member of a Ranger unit. He had been decorated for bravery because of something he had done while leading a night patrol, and this was something Hayden could not minimize even now. But Denham had been a suitor of sorts, an unsuccessful one where Marion was concerned. He had not liked Ted Corbin; he did not like John Hayden, and this was his way of paying them back and....
He heard the State’s Attorney clear his throat, and as he shifted his gaze and saw what the man had in his hand he could only stare while a feeling of shame came over him and he understood how unfair he had been in his thoughts of Denham. For he saw now that Erickson had a small photograph in his hand. Even from where he sat, and without moving closer, he seemed to understand that this was a copy of the one he now had in his pocket. Denham had not given the show away, but he still could not imagine how Erickson could have got such a picture, and he sat silently until the explanation came.
“Lieutenant Garvey got Adler’s address from a driving license,” he said. “He got in touch with the Mobile police—it was an Alabama license with a Mobile address—last night and they got right on it.”
He held the picture with extended fingers and Hayden understood that he was to take it. He did so; he looked at it. He glanced at Marion, but she was busy drawing an imaginary line on the arm of the chair with her index finger.
“Has my wife seen this?” he said, returning the picture.
“She says it’s a picture of her first husband.” Erickson slipped the photograph back into his pocket. “Adler was a small-time gambler and con man who followed the horses. He moved about a lot, but he kept this apartment in Mobile as his headquarters. The Mobile police had a file on him—nothing impressive—gambling, disorderly conduct, things like that. Naturally they searched his apartment and apparently they searched it well. They found this envelope. It had two negatives and two prints. They didn’t know what they meant but Garvey thought they might be important. The other photograph showed the fingerprints of a man’s right hand.”
He leaned back on the divan and said: “To save time the Mobile people put the two pictures in an envelope and gave it to a steward on a morning flight out of Mobile. They figured this would be quicker than using the mails. We sent a man down to Idlewild and he picked up the envelope. We don’t know about the fingerprints yet—they’re being checked in Washington and we’ll probably know by tomorrow—but it’s a reasonable assumption that those prints will belong to Mrs. Hayden’s first husband.”
“What did my wife say about the picture you just showed me?” Hayden asked evenly.
“She says she doesn’t know when it was taken. She implies that it might have been done several years ago.”
Hayden’s immediate reply was a grunt that was audible, disparaging, and slightly contemptuous.
“Ted Corbin was killed in a plane crash more than two years ago,” he said. “There was no doubt about his death at the time and I don’t think there’s any doubt now. The fact that Mr. Simpson’s company paid off the insurance claim should be proof enough.”
“I’m aware of that,” Erickson said calmly, “but stranger things than that have happened. You understand I’m making no accusation, nor am I asking for a definite statement from you at this time. But I’d like to draw you a hypothetical picture that seems to me to have some merit.”
“Before you do,” Hayden said, “tell me a little about George Freeman. Freeman had a very good motive for murder—you must know about that—and he also had the opportunity. I suppose you questioned him?”
“Until two o’clock last night,” Ball said.
“And for three hours again this morning,” Garvey added.
“Does he have an alibi?”
“No,” Erickson said. “He maintains that he was in the motel office from shortly after seven until he found Adler at around nine-thirty.”
“Did he just happen to find him?”
“He admits he was jealous. He was afraid Doris Lamar might be thinking about running off with Adler. He’d been brooding the night before and all that day, and he finally decided to go down to Adler’s room and have it out with him. He got no answer when he knocked but the lights were on and he could hear the radio playing and Adler’s rented car was there. When he could get no reply to his knock he was too upset to give up, so he used his passkey and unlocked the door. He found Adler on the floor and called the State Police.... Now if you don’t mind, Mr. Hayden,” he added, “let me get back to my hypothesis.”
He paused to be sure there would be no interruption and said: “Adler, who was a known gambler and confidence man, comes to Morrisville the day before yesterday. He makes inquiries at the gas station and Jerry’s Tavern about John Hayden. He wants to know where you live, what you do, and how you’re doing. Why?”
“It’s your hypothesis,” Hayden said coldly.
“On the basis of these two pictures which came from Mobile, it suggests that your wife’s first husband is still alive. Otherwise there would be no point in Adler coming here since he had nothing to sell. We know that he did come to this house and he did talk to your wife. She maintains that he represented himself as a book salesman and yet there was no physical evidence on Adler’s person, the motel room, or his car to support any such contention. Book salesmen simply don’t go around without samples, or at least without some advertising literature describing the books.”
Marion stirred in her chair and Hayden was a little amazed that she could make her rebuttal sound so calm and disinterested. “I saw no books and no literature,” she said. “I only know what he said.”
“Freeman says that Adler made a call to this number,” Erickson continued. “You deny you received such a call.” He turned his attention to Hayden. “You went to Mr. Denham’s house at eight o’clock for a meeting of some kind. Mr. Denham, as your attorney, has refused to discuss the substance of your conversation and he cannot be forced to do so at this time. He says you left around eight-thirty and that he understood you were going to stop at the tavern and get a drink before you went home.”
Hayden gave Denham another good mark for his loyalty and circumspection as he said: “And that’s exactly what I did.”
“You were seen to leave the tavern and walk in the direction of the motel but you say your car was parked there. You got in and drove directly here.”
“That’s right.”
“My hypothesis suggests another possibility. It indicates that Adler came to Morrisville with blackmail on his mind. He came to see Mrs. Hayden, not to sell books but to offer proof that her first husband was still alive. Since we know that there were two negatives and two prints in his Mobile apartment it seems reasonable to assume that he brought an extra set of prints with him to substantiate his claim.”
He hesitated, his gaze moving from Hayden to Marion and back again. “It’s useless to speculate at this point as to how Adler knew that Mr. Corbin escaped that fatal plane crash, but the only logical assumption is that he never boarded that plane. If Adler knew this much, he could also know that the insurance companies paid seventy-five thousand dollars to your wife on the death claim. He wanted some of that money and he was willing to keep silent for a price.
“Following this assumption, I suggest that you went to see Mr. Denham to get his advice. Whatever the outcome of that discussion, you went to the tavern and from there to room twelve in The Shady Maple Motel. You either entered that room and had an argument which resulted in Adler’s death or you went in and found him already dead.”
“You said the door was locked.”
“Either way,” Erickson said, as though he had not heard, “you found the two photographs Adler had brought and destroyed them. Had it not been for the alertness of the Mobile police, there would not be the slightest reason for us to assume that your wife’s first husband was still alive.”
“It’s a good hypothesis,” Hayden said, “but it doesn’t happen to be true.”
“Very well.” Erickson rose and the movement brought Garvey and Ball to their feet. “When we get word from Washington tomorrow about those fingerprints we’ll start looking for Ted Corbin. Because of his connection with that fatal plane crash we may get some help from the FBI.” He glanced at the insurance man who had been listening to all this attentively. “I have an idea Mr. Simpson’s company will utilize their resources as well.”
“They sure will, sir,” Simpson said.
Hayden watched the trio put on their coats and pick up their hats. He knew he was expected to say something but nothing came to mind. This silence seemed to increase the State’s Attorney’s frustration and his mouth was tight and his eyes grim as he delivered his final statement.
“We will need a statement from you as soon as we hear from Washington. A formal statement, Mr. Hayden. One that you will be expected to sign and which may be used against you.”
Hayden nodded. He said that he would do whatever Roger Denham told him to do and started for the front door. When he opened it the three filed out without further comment.
Back in the living room Denham and Simpson were on their feet and Denham said: “You’ve probably had your fill of questions for one afternoon, John, but I think you ought to hear what Mr. Simpson has to say.”
“I haven’t any hypothesis, Mr. Hayden,” Simpson said, “but I have to make an assumption.”
“That Ted Corbin is alive?”
Simpson nodded and gestured with one hand. “Naturally nothing can be done until we have the facts, but if it happens that we do locate Corbin, my company will expect to be reimbursed for the payment made to your wife.”
“In full?”
Simpson’s brows lifted. “How do you mean?”
“That seventy-five thousand was paid to my wife in good faith and she accepted it in good faith. She later turned that money over to me and I put it into my business. Suppose I couldn’t raise that amount all at once?”
“We could probably get a judgment.”
“That would be something for Mr. Denham to handle,” Hayden said. “But let me ask you a question.” He offered a small, humorless smile. “A hypothetical one again. Suppose that someone came to you and offered to prove that Corbin was alive. Suppose they offered to produce him for a price. To get a chance at recovering your seventy-five thousand you would pay pretty well for that information, wouldn’t you?”
“That would depend on a lot of things, but offhand I’d say yes, we would pay for that sort of information.” Simpson tipped his head slightly and one brow lifted. “Oh, I see what you mean. You think the seventy-five thousand dollars should be reduced by whatever amount we might have paid to get the information we need.”
“Something like that,” Hayden said. “Mr. Denham will have to do the negotiating, but if Corbin is located I’ll try to reimburse your company to the best of my ability. I’d simply like to get the best deal I can.”
“I have no authority to make deals,” Simpson said, “but I can give my superiors the picture. I could tell them that you would be willing to repay the amount less, say, ten per cent.”
“Let’s not get into figures yet,” Denham said. “You find Corbin and we’ll work something out.”
Simpson reached for his coat and hat. “Don’t think we won’t try. All I wanted to do today was to get some idea about Mr. Hayden’s attitude.”
“You’ve got it,” Denham said.
“Fair enough.” Simpson nodded to Hayden and to Marion. “Thanks for your co-operation.... Good-by, Mrs. Hayden....”
When Simpson had gone Roger Denham put on his coat. Hayden, feeling the reaction in his muscles, watched his wife stand up, and now, with no need to maintain an outward display of composure, the strain was beginning to show on her face and her mouth was slack.
“What are we going to do, Roger?”
“Nothing for now, I’m afraid.”
“What about those statements the State’s Attorney spoke of?”
“Well”—Denham shrugged—“you’ll have to make them. Naturally, I’ll be there with you, but I think there’s one thing you might as well start getting used to.”
“What’s that?” Hayden said.
“I think Corbin is probably alive, and once the various law-enforcement agencies start looking for him, they’ll find him. It will just be a question of time. That’s what makes it bad. It could happen quickly. It might take years.”
“Meanwhile,” Marion said with undisguised bitterness, “we just go along as usual and pretend everything is all right.”
“You do the best you can,” Denham said as he started for the door, “and hope the police can find out who killed Adler. The sooner the better.”