'And you've decided I'm honest?'
'Hardly that. No insult intended, Mr. Scudder, but such a conclusion would be naive on my part, wouldn't it?'
'Probably.'
'What I have decided,' he said, 'is that you are intelligent. So let me spell things out. I will pay you the sum I've mentioned. And if, at any time in the future, you should attempt to extort further funds from me, on whatever pretext, I would make contact with… certain people. And have you killed.'
'Which might put you right on the spot.'
'It might,' he agreed. 'But in a certain position I would have to take just that chance. And I said before that I believe you are intelligent. What I meant was that I feel you would be intelligent enough to avoid
finding out whether or not I'm bluffing. One hundred thousand dollars should be a sufficient reward. I don't think you'd be foolish enough to push your luck.'
I thought it over, gave a slow nod. 'One question.'
'Ask it.'
'Why didn't you think of making this offer to the Spinner?'
'I did think of it.'
'But you didn't make it.'
'No, Mr. Scudder, I did not.'
'Why?'
'Because I didn't think he was sufficiently intelligent.'
'I guess you were right about that.'
'Why do you say that?'
'He wound up in the river,' I said. 'That wasn't very bright of him.'
Chapter 8
That was Thursday. I left Huysendahl's office a little before noon and tried to figure out what to do next.
I'd seen all three of them now. They were all on notice, they all knew who I was and where to find me. I in turn had picked up a handful of facts about Spinner's operation and not very much more. Prager and Ethridge had given no indication of knowing the Spinner was dead. Huysendahl had seemed genuinely shocked and dismayed when I pointed it out to him. So far as I could tell, I'd accomplished nothing beyond making a target out of myself, and I wasn't even certain I'd done that right. It was conceivable I'd made myself all too reasonable a blackmailer. One of them had tried murder once, and it hadn't worked too well, so he might not be inclined to try it again. I could pick up fifty grand from Beverly Ethridge and twice that from Ted Huysendahl and some as yet undetermined sum from Henry Prager, and that would be just perfect except for one thing. I wasn't looking to get rich. I was looking to trap a killer.
The weekend floated on by. I spent a little time in the microfilm room at the library, scanning old issues of the Times and picking up useless information on my three possibles and their various friends and relations. On the same page with an old story about a shopping center with which Henry Prager had been involved I happened to see my own name. There was a story about a particularly good collar I had made about a year before I left the force. A partner and I had tagged a heroin wholesaler with enough pure smack to give the world an overdose. I would have enjoyed the story more if I hadn't known how it turned out. The dealer had a good lawyer, and the whole thing got thrown out on a technicality. The word at the time was that it had taken an even twenty-five thou to put the judge in the proper frame of mind.
You learn to get philosophical about things like that. We didn't manage to put the prick away, but we hurt him pretty good. Twenty-five for the judge, ten or fifteen easy for the lawyer, and on top of that he'd lost the smack, which left him out what he'd paid the importer plus what he could have expected to clear when he turned it over. I'd have been happier to see him in slam, but you take what you can get. Like the judge.
Sometime Sunday I called a number I didn't have to look up. Anita answered, and I told her a money order was on its way to her. 'I came up with a couple of bucks,' I said.
'Well, we can find a use for it,' she said. 'Thanks. Do you want to talk to the boys?'
I did and I didn't. They're getting to an age where it's a little easier for me to talk to them, but it's still awkward over the phone. We talked about basketball.
Right after I hung up, I had an odd thought. It occurred to me that I might not be talking to them again.
Spinner had been a careful man by nature, a man who had made himself inconspicuous reflexively, a man who had felt most comfortable in deep shadows, and he still had not been careful enough. I was accustomed to open spaces, and in fact had to stay enough in the open to invite a murder attempt. If Spinner's killer decided to take a shot at me, he just might make it work.
I wanted to call back and talk to them again. It seemed that there ought to be something important for me to say, just on the off chance that I'd taken on more than I could carry. But I couldn't manage to think what it might be, and a few minutes later the impulse went away.
I had a lot to drink that night. It was just as well no one took a crack at me then. I'd have been easy.
MONDAY morning I called Prager. I'd left him on a very loose leash, and I had to give it a yank. His secretary told me he was busy on another line and asked if I would hold. I held for a minute or two. Then she came back to establish that I was still hanging in there, and then she put me through to him.
I said, 'I've decided how we'll work this so that you're covered. There's something the police tried to hang on
