brawl, he goes down. I don’t hardly touch him, but he goes down, and I run.”
“Okay, Sammy. Was there a rug on the floor? Think.”
“I don’t know, Dan. Maybe there was a rug, maybe not.”
“Did you see Baron again that day?”
“I didn’t see him no time that day.”
“All right, Sammy,” I said. “Just sit tight.”
He nodded slowly. “You know, since they locked me in here I been thinking. I mean, I know I didn’t kill no one. Maybe they don’t believe me, and maybe they never find out. Maybe I’m going up for it. But I know I didn’t do nothing. I mean, I don’t want to go away for the long fall, but maybe I can take it if I got to. I mean, I know I’m clean.”
“You’ll get out of here, Sammy,” I said.
“Sure, Dan,” he said, and he grinned. “I’ll be here when you come for me.”
The guard walked behind me as if he thought I still might try to break the archcriminal out to destroy society. He locked the corridor bars after I went through. The sound of steel against steel, like the clang of doom, seemed to give him pleasure. Prison guards are like that. I could never decide if they became guards because they were like that, or if being guards made them like it.
On the street I caught a taxi and went up to my apartment. I put my old pistol into my duffle coat pocket. I went back down to the rental car and started uptown.
George Ames answered the door of the East Sixty-third Street apartment. His theatrical face looked tired.
“You again?” Ames said. “I’ve talked to the police. The District Attorney is completely convinced of Weiss’s guilt.”
“District Attorneys are paid to be convinced.”
“Are you determined to destroy our family?”
“I hope not the whole family.”
I saw something in his eyes. Call it knowledge. Ames knew something, but I could not be sure what that was.
“Come in, then,” he said.
I went in. There had been more changes. In another six months there would be no trace at all of Jonathan Radford.
“You’re alone?” I asked Ames.
“Yes.”
“Where is everyone?”
“North Chester. They plan to announce the engagement this weekend. I… I decided not to go,” Ames said. “Would you care for a drink? I intend to have one.”
“Irish, if you have it.”
“Scotch, I’m afraid.”
“It’ll do.” I sat down and watched him make the drinks. He gave me mine and sat facing me.
“Proceed, my dear Holmes,” he said, and smiled. It was a try; a small attempt to lift the weight that hung on the room. It failed even for him.
“How much do you know about Paul Baron now?” I asked.
“I know the money wasn’t a gambling debt, that this Baron was blackmailing Walter, or, rather, Jonathan.”
“Did it occur to you that sending Weiss here was all wrong? For a debt, maybe. But not for blackmail. Why involve an outsider in a blackmail scheme?”
“I don’t know. For safety, perhaps?”
“No, in blackmail, safety and success lie in how few people know about it. It would have been stupid to send Weiss here just for the money, and unnecessary.” I took a drink. “Why did Paul Baron send Weiss? It’s such an obvious question no one thought of asking it. Baron sent Weiss because he did, period. A self-evident fact. Baron did it. Only it isn’t self-evident when you look at it. Baron had no real reason to send anyone for the money.”
“How can you be sure of that? As you say, Baron did it.”
“Baron made his move on Sunday. On Monday he was waiting for a telephone call. A call, not a messenger. He got the call at about eleven-thirty. It wasn’t what he had expected to hear. He went off at a run. Only after that did he contact Weiss.”
Ames watched his drink. “Where are you leading?”
“Tell me about Monday again. The morning.”
He swirled the ice in his glass. “I had breakfast with Jonathan. I went to my rooms. At about eleven-thirty, a few minutes after, Walter came back. He said that Jonathan had gone out with Deirdre, and suggested we share a taxi as far as Grand Central. He took the train for North Chester. I went to my club.”
“Where are your rooms?”
“In the rear. Of course, I have the whole place now.”
“Your rooms are so separate that you didn’t see or hear Walter or Miss Fallon, and you didn’t see Jonathan go out?”
“The apartment is solidly built.”
“So it comes down to the fact that after breakfast you saw and heard nothing. You didn’t see Jonathan again.”
He looked at me. “I’m tempted to say ‘so what?’ You knew that. Why bring it up?”
“Because no one who really knew Jonathan saw him after breakfast, except Walter and Deirdre Fallon.”
If I expected a reaction, I didn’t get it. His theatrical face was immobile. His eyes seemed to retreat into a distance inside his head. He waited, sipped at his drink.
I drank. “Weiss didn’t know Jonathan. He was nervous, it all happened fast. He saw a man of the right build, in a bathrobe, and with a beard. Later he saw photographs of a body on the floor, and a dead man on an autopsy table.
“The doorman saw a man with a beard in Jonathan’s clothes with Miss Fallon. It was cold. Jonathan would have been wearing an overcoat, a hat, maybe a scarf, the works. I’d bet my life that Jonathan walked past the doorman without speaking. Miss Fallon probably greeted the doorman, and maybe spoke to Jonathan as they passed. Illusion.
“At the restaurant it’s Miss Fallon who’s well-known. She probably introduced Jonathan. It’s odds-on that the people at the Charles XII had never seen Jonathan before. Was he ever in that restaurant, Ames?”
“Not that I know. I’d say not.”
I waited. He said nothing more. He sat and looked at his now empty whisky glass as if he wondered where the whisky had gone; as if he wished that more would somehow appear without the effort of moving, of getting up and pouring more.
“Do I have to say it?” I said. “Jonathan was dead before you left this apartment that morning.”
“And the medical report?”
“A hundred variables could throw the M.E. off by an hour either way with Jonathan not found for so long. Cold, for instance. Weiss said the study was cold.”
Ames stood and went to the whisky. “All the windows were open. I closed them.”
“It didn’t really matter that much, not with the body undiscovered until six o’clock. It was sure to remain hidden at least that long. Only you and Jonathan had keys, and you’re a man of routine.”
“So I am. No, Jonathan couldn’t be found until I came home.”
“Extra insurance,” I said. “What counted was that witnesses, including Weiss, would say that Jonathan was alive as late as one-fifteen or even one-thirty if anyone believed Weiss.” I finished my drink, set the glass away from me. “Weiss served two purposes, and maybe the frame-up wasn’t even the first idea. First there was Weiss as a witness to prove Jonathan was alive at one-fifteen. That way everyone in the family was ruled out. The frame was another, better idea.”
Ames carried his drink to his chair, and lighted a cigarette. “You’re saying Jonathan was killed at eleven-thirty or so. Walter and I left. Paul Baron was called, and came here unseen. He then contacted Weiss, and also supplied an impostor to act as Jonathan. The impostor went to lunch with Deirdre, showed himself to the doorman, and was
