“I have a terrible memory.”
Yellow stare. Small shrug. “Continue.”
I told them that investigation would probably prove that Tom Pike landed in Jacksonville Sunday morning in plenty of time to direct-dial Rick Holton and whisper to him about the note, knowing that bullheaded Holton would track it down. And, having done so, because of the contents that Tom had conned out of Nudenbarger, might solve the McGee problem suddenly and dramatically, which would take Holton out of the play too.
When that didn’t work, Pike had put Broon back to work on me. I mentioned that Broon could well own over forty rental houses in Southtown, and it might be interesting to find out how he could live so well and afford to buy real estate too.
“And that brings me up to the point where I burgled the Pike house and picked up this stuff. It’s in detail on Al’s tape, so I suggest you listen to that.”
We all did. I was glad of the break. My throat felt raw.
One of the group was missing. When I had told of the letter and the check for twenty-five thousand forwarded to me by D. Wintin Hardahee, and how he had been cooperative at first and then had brushed me off completely, Gaffner had sent Mr. Lozier, who knew Hardahee, out to bring him in, with instructions not to tell him what it was all about.
Lozier came in alone and sat down quietly and listened to the balance of the tape I had made in the car. Gaffner turned to Lozier and said, “Well?”
“Well, sir, that is just about the weirdest–”
“I was asking about Hardahee.”
“Sir, I didn’t tell him what it was about. He came willingly. And all of a sudden, halfway here, he started crying. I pulled over, and when he could talk, he said that he had promised Dave Broon he would cooperate and Broon had promised not to turn him in.”
“For what?”
The young lawyer looked very uncomfortable. “Apparently, sir, Mr. Hardahee has been having… uh… a homosexual affair with his tennis partner, and Dave Broon bugged the cabin where they’ve been meeting for over a year.”
“How was he asked to cooperate?”
“Broon wanted to know the contents of the letter Mrs. Trescot wrote to Mr. McGee. He convinced Broon he had never had a chance to read it. He told Broon about the check to Mr. McGee. Mr. Broon asked him to give Mr. McGee no advice or cooperation at all. Broon told him that he might hear from Mr. Pike about an investment opportunity, and when he did, it might be a good thing to go into it, substantially.”
“Where is Hardahee?” Gaffner asked softly.
“He’s sitting down in the car, sir.”
“Well, Larry, suppose you go down and drive the poor sad silly son of a bitch home. Tell him we’ll have a little talk someday soon. Tell him that in the absence of a complaint, there’s no charge.”
As Lozier left, Gaffner turned to Stanger. “Would it be asking entirely too much to have you go out and come back here with Broon, Lieutenant?”
“I swear to God, I have been hunting that man here and there and up and down the whole day long, and he is plain gone.”
He shifted his unwinking stare to me. “And it is your thought, Mr. McGee, that Mr. Pike will suddenly crack under the strain and start bleating confessions at us all?”
“No, sir. I don’t think he will ever confess to anything at all. I don’t think he feels any guilt or remorse. But you see, if Maureen disappears, there is no proof of death. He can’t bail out by marrying the younger sister. If he’s in a tight spot, he’ll have to make some kind of move.” It astonished me a little to hear myself call him “sir.” It is not a word I use often or loosely.
“Don’t you think, Mr. McGee, that you are assuming that a very intelligent man like Pike has committed some very violent and foolish acts?”
“Right now they seem violent and foolish because we all have a pretty good idea of the things he’s done and why he’s done them. But when things get more and more complex, Mr. Gaffner, it leaves more room for chance. For luck, good and bad. Where would we be with all this if I hadn’t come into the picture? Not that I’ve been particularly bright about any part of this. I was something new added to the mix and I guess I’ve been a catalytic agent. His luck started to run the other way. The biggest piece of bad luck was when I decided not to park over by the other cars. When she hit the overhead, it was a hell of a sound. I didn’t know what it was. I knew it was something right over my head. One hell of a smack to make the whole prestressed roof ring like a drum. Okay. No workmen around. Building empty except for the party on the top floor. So I had to find out what made that noise. Maybe I knew what it had to be. Maybe my subconscious fitting things together in a single flash of intuition. What if I hadn’t found her?”