Mrs. Radford said, “I think coffee would be better, George.”
Ames poured a drink without answering her. She sighed, as if she would never understand men who needed the crutch of liquor.
“Two cups then, MacLeod,” she said.
She folded her thin hands in her lap and sat smiling at me politely. She ignored Ames now. He stood in the corner, drinking. It was clear we were not going to discuss anything until the coffee came. We would not have discussed an imminent invasion before the coffee came. She held to her routines, to all the external realities of her life, no matter what. Her rock in an unpredictable sea.
MacLeod returned, and I accepted my cup. The coffee was still good. She sipped twice, and then set her cup down.
“Now, you wanted to see Walter and Deirdre?” she said.
“All of you,” I said.
Her voice was neither warm nor cold, ordinary. “Deirdre has been out for some hours. She went alone, I don’t know where. Walter should be in the house. MacLeod, find Mr. Walter and bring him here, would you, please?”
MacLeod left. Mrs. Radford sipped some more of the coffee, and her pale eyes studied me over the cup.
“You want to talk about Jonathan’s murder again, of course,” she said. “Have you learned something important?”
The tone of her quiet voice was normal, conversational, politely interested. So normal it was abnormal. We were not about to discuss some charity bazaar.
“Two more people have been murdered, Mrs. Radford. One was just a girl, a child who’d done nothing to anyone.”
“That’s awful, Mr. Fortune. Did I know her?”
“She was one of the girls your son worked with.”
“It’s a violent world,” she said. “I am sorry.”
“Sammy Weiss was in jail, Mrs. Radford.”
“As he should be.”
“Weiss couldn’t have killed the girl and the other man.”
“Obviously, of course,” she said, and smiled. It was a gentle, pleasant smile. “What has all this to do with any of us here?”
“They were killed because of Paul Baron. And Baron was killed, at least in part, because he knew who really murdered Jonathan.”
“Are you here to accuse someone?”
Her frail face still smiled politely, and her voice was matter-of-fact. She really wanted to know if I was there to make an accusation.
“I think you know damn well why I’m here,” I said. “Your trip to New York on Monday says you know.”
“Oh, get to the point. You’ve come to say you’ve found out that my son killed his uncle? You’ve come to accuse Walter?”
“I figured you knew,” I said. “Yes, Walter killed Jonathan.”
Ames put his glass down with a bang that echoed in the small library. “Damn it, Fortune, how can you be sure of such a thing? Walter had no motive. You agreed anyone could have been there!”
“What happened after Monday tells me, Ames,” I said.
“After Monday?” Ames looked at me, and then at Mrs. Radford. He picked up his glass, drank.
“Mrs. Radford made a deal, Ames,” I said. “A payoff to protect the killer. She wouldn’t have done that for anyone but Walter. Only Walter makes sense out of the rest of it.”
Ames squeezed his glass, said, “Gertrude?”
“Be quiet, George, for goodness’ sake,” Mrs. Radford said, and said to me, “What do you intend doing, Mr. Fortune?”
“My God, Gertrude!” Ames’s theatrical face was ten years older. “You really knew, and…” He drank. Whisky dribbled down his shirt front. “Do you know what they did? Walter and this Baron? Tell her, Fortune! The whole fantastic story!”
“Please, George,” she said. “I’m not the least interested.”
I watched her smooth and youthful face that had never asked herself a question she could not answer, and I believed her. She didn’t know how Weiss had been framed, and she didn’t care. How Weiss took the fall for Walter didn’t concern her, only that he did take it. Weiss was nothing, a zero, a convenience to be used for Radford-Ames survival. She did not care how Jonathan had died, or even that he was dead once it had happened. Jonathan, dead, did not matter. The family went on: a unit, a whole more than any single member.
She folded her frail hands. “Walter had a tragic accident. He acted foolishly afterward, yes, but he was frightened, and he knew that the authorities would not consider it the simple mistake it was. They would have persecuted him. He made a stupid arrangement, it seems, but I managed to correct that. Now, is this what you came to tell me, Mr. Fortune?”
“Among other things,” I said.
“Then you’ve told me. I see no reason to bother anyone else. Walter has been disturbed quite enough.”
“Is that all you have to tell me, Mrs. Radford?”
“Certainly. My late husband showed me how business functions. If you have some proof against Walter, tell me and we can discuss money and terms. If you have no proof, you can leave before I call our Chief of Police and have you arrested. You have no legal right to be here, I’ve investigated that. Do you have proof?”
“Jonathan’s death may have been an accident, I think it was,” I said. “The other three murders weren’t accidents.”
“Do you have proof, Mr. Fortune?”
Her pale eyes studied me, and what could I say? I had no proof yet. Ames came to my rescue for the moment. He set his third empty glass down, rubbed his pink, barbered face:
“Walter couldn’t have killed Baron, Fortune. That much I know.”
Mrs. Radford said, “Please tell him nothing, George.”
Ames ignored her. “Walter really was with me at the apartment on Wednesday night. He never left.”
“Did he make any telephone calls?” I asked.
“No, none. I remember because Deirdre made quite a few, and Walter was disturbed by that. He became angry at her calls.”
“George!” Mrs. Radford said. “You’re a fool!”
I finished my coffee, sat back in the chair. “Walter didn’t kill Baron or the other two, Mrs. Radford. You did.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! If you try to prove that…”
“Not by pulling a trigger,” I said, “by making the deal you made on Monday night. You killed them as sure as if you had gone out and done it yourself. Your deal made it all happen.”
I heard Ames pouring another drink. I didn’t look at him. I was looking at Mrs. Radford. She didn’t even blink at me. She shook her head:
“When a man buys something, he is not concerned with what others do to deliver it to him,” she said firmly. “My late husband taught me that, too. I entered into an arrangement, I kept my side of the contract. I am in no way responsible for how others arranged to deliver their side. That is not my affair.”
Ames said, croaked, “What arrangement?”
I could tell by his voice that he had at least guessed. Before I could do anything else, the butler, MacLeod, appeared in the doorway. Walter was not with him, but Morgana Radford was. She looked like she had not changed her clothes since I had last seen her, but there was an odd gleam in her eyes.
“Where’s Walter?” I said to MacLeod.
Mrs. Radford waved me away. “Call the police, MacLeod. I have asked Mr. Fortune to leave; he has refused. Tell the Chief that I believe Mr. Fortune is armed.”
MacLeod looked at me, and left. I stood up. Mrs. Radford knew damn well I’d never use the pistol. Morgana Radford looked at her mother, but she spoke to me:
“Walter went out to find Deirdre. I told him.”
“Told him what, dear?” Mrs. Radford said.
