Part 21 (1/2)
”Or, like I told you before, a bag of gra.s.s fell on his head and killed him, and that's why Freddy told me that Jason saw the Christina come in without Jack Omaha.”
Scorf frowned. ”So... Van Harn would want his money and he'd know where it was and who could give it to him.”
I said, ”There's a chance he would want to leave it right there for the time being. Jack and Carrie had the combination. Jack was dead and he could trust Carrie. It would be there when he needed it.”
”You mean it could still be there?” Scorf asked, frowning in puzzlement.
”Suppose,” Meyer said, ”that Harry Has...o...b..walked in on Carrie when she was taking her share out of the pot that night of the day Jack Omaha died. He would know there was big money there, but no way to get to it. Harry was the outside man. Because Omaha and Carrie handled all the accounts and financial records, they would be the only ones who needed to know the combination of the safe. Insurance people like to ask that the number of people with access be kept to a minimum. Two is ideal. Because Harry saw her take the money, it would account for her being uneasy and leaving the money with Travis McGee in Lauderdale. Just in case.”
Scorf displayed the quickness of the cop mind by saying, ”And after he found out that Omaha was planning to clean him out, and maybe guessed from the Milligan woman's reactions that Omaha was already dead, the simplest way into the safe would be to have the Milligan woman die by accident so he could call the safe company and have them drill it open. It would be the reasonable thing for him to do.”
I said, ”We can a.s.sume Van Harn went there as soon as he heard of Carrie's accident. All Harry would have to do is act totally blank about there being any money in the safe. Van Harn wouldn't dare press it. Besides, Uncle Jake had already taken him out of his financial bind.”
Scorf sighed. ”All theory. Pretty theory.”
”How about some fact?” Meyer asked him. ”In the building supply and construction supply business, Has...o...b..either handled dynamite and caps and wire and batteries or knew how to get what he needed. He was the outside man, not the desk man, and apparently had some mechanical training or ability.”
”And,” I said, ”Joanna Freeler told me she could retire, if she played it right.”
”Are you trying to say she could have known that Has...o...b..killed Carrie, and she would blackm-”
”No! It really shook her when I told her I thought Carrie had been pushed in front of that truck. I think Carrie told Joanna there was a bundle of money in the office safe. They were the only two girls working in that office. And that would give her some leverage to use on Harry Has...o...b.. That could have been her retirement. If she played it right.”
”She didn't play it right,” Scorf said.
Meyer said, ”We decided last night that if Harry had asked Joanna for a date she would have accepted. They'd had an intimate relations.h.i.+p for several years. Then, if he couldn't keep the date, he could have left off a consolation prize, a box of wine and cheese.”
”Loud wine and cheese,” Scorf said. He got up and roamed the lounge. He stopped and looked around. ”This place was one d.a.m.n mess when I checked it out. Sickened me. Dead girls get to me. A bomb is a cruel and ugly thing. Any kind of death is cruel and ugly, I guess. Except as a merciful end to pain. The worst are bombs and fire and knives. Look, I know about girls in offices. Jack Omaha and the Milligan woman were the two supposed to have the combination. Bet you a white hat Joanna Freeler knew it too, or knew where Miz Milligan had it wrote down. Know where every d.a.m.n person in America writes down the combination to a safe? They write it on tape and stick it to the backside or underside of the top middle desk drawer. Half the safe jobs in the country are easy because everybody knows where to look for the combination.”
”We don't want to start the voyage home just yet,” I said.
”Whatever you've given me, I can handle,” he said. ”It's all theory. If Joanna let it be known to Has...o...b..that she accepted the date so they could have a little chat about how the Milligan woman died, she set herself up with wine and cheese.”
”If we worked it out right,” Meyer said, ”it would be... gratifying if we could be present when you interview Mr. Has...o...b..”
Scorf looked bleakly at him. ”Gratifying, eh?”
”So few things in life work out neatly, Captain Scorf, it would be rea.s.suring to be in on one that does.”
”And you think that this whole mess is neat?”
Meyer looked troubled. ”Not in the usual sense of the word.”
Scorf thought it over. ”'It's hardly one d.a.m.n thing to go on. I don't want a committee, for G.o.d's sake. McGee, you can come along with me and watch me mess it up. Meyer, you better stay right here and get this thing ready to move on out into the channel. My orders are clear. I have to get you started on your way. And we'll be back soon.”
I had expected Scorf to sit bolt upright behind the wheel of the dark blue unmarked Cougar and fumble it along at a stilted thirty-five. Instead, after he had belted himself in, he tipped his white hat forward to his eyebrows, lounged back into the corner of the driver's seat, put his fingertips on the wheel, and slid through heavy traffic like an oiled eel. He moved to where the holes were, moving the oncoming traffic over, and was able to avoid accelerations, decelerations, and the use of the brakes. He had looked too underprivileged to be an expert, but he was, indubitably. And I said so.
With mirthless smile he said, ”I wasted a lot of time and money, ramming stocks around the dirt circuits. I felt easy riding with you the other day. Except you're not good on picking lanes at the lights.”
”Is there a secret I don't know?”
”Always haul in behind local plates on older cars with kids driving and crowd them a little so they'll pile on out of your way. Haul in behind local delivery trucks. On three lanes run the middle one, and swing to the curb lane when you're going to miss the light. A man turning is out of your way fast.”
”Where are we going?”
”Pineview Lakes Estates. Twenty-one Loblolly Lane.”
It was low land, five miles out. The developers had used the fill from the dug lakes to lift the ranch-type homes out of the swamp. It was eleven in the morning when we pulled into the river-pebble driveway of number 21, a long low cypress house with a shake roof out of some kind of fireproof imitation of cedar. It was stained pale silver and had faded blue blinds by the windows, the kind that are fixed in place and never cover the windows.
Two tanned skinny boys were working on a stripped VW with wide oversized tires. They gave us a sidelong glance and no further acknowledgment of our existence, even when we stood beside the VW.
”Either of you a Has...o...b..” Scorf asked.
”Me,” the skinnier one said.
”Your daddy around?”
”No.”
”Miz Has...o...b..”
”No.”
”If it wouldn't strain your brain, sonny, maybe you could break down and tell me where I could find your daddy.”
The boy straightened up and stared at him in bleak silence. ”What's this s.h.i.+t about brain strain, gramps?”
”I am Captain Harry Max Scorf, and I am tired of the hard-guy act from young trash. I get cooperation from you, and I get manners from you, and I get respect from you, sonny, or you go downtown for obstructing a police officer in his line of duty.”
The bleak stare did not change. ”Oh, goodness me,” the boy said in a flat voice. ”I did not for one moment realize. Tsk tsk. From what I overheard I believe you will find my dear father down at his place of business, Superior Building Supplies, at Junction Park. Actually it is no longer his place of business because the silly s.h.i.+t has lost it because he didn't know how to run it, and his partner screwed him and ran with the cash. But Cowboy Harry is just as bigmouth as ever. He is down there because some pigeon from Port Fierce wants to buy the junk that didn't get cleared out in the clearance sale. And now if you will give me your gracious permission to get back to work here.”
Scorf smiled sadly and shook his head. ”Thank you kindly, sonny. I am sure we will meet professionally one day.”
”You can count on it,” the boy said.
As we drove out Scorf said, ”What makes so many of them so d.a.m.ned angry at everything lately?”
”It's a new preservative they put in the fried meat sold at drive-ins.”
”As good an answer as any.”
There was one car behind Superior Building Supplies, a recent-model Ford wagon with local plates, dinged and dusty, with a cracked window and a soft tire. One of the big sliding doors that opened onto the loading dock was ajar about three feet. We climbed onto the dock and went into the shadowy echoing areas of the empty warehouse. The air conditioning was off.
”Has...o...b..” Scorf shouted.
”Yo! Who is it?”