“Nothing to it if you know something about cars. The explosive end of it is very primitive. Tie a few sticks of dynamite together and attach a detonator. Funny thing about dynamite. Blow a stick here on the driveway and it wouldn’t even put a hole in it. Go off like a big firecracker. But confine it properly and it’s a demon. The connection with the ignition is a little more complicated, but nothing I couldn’t teach you in fifteen minutes.”
“So it doesn’t require an expert?”
“Not at all. But don’t misunderstand me. There are experts in this business. Did she lock her car?”
“Not the doors.”
“That makes it easier, because the hood release is usually inside. We’ll go over the cars, Masao, but you’d better get me the keys.”
“I’ll do that. I also want you to look at the car in the garage and then check the basement.”
“What in hell have you got going here?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Well, it ain’t the Beverly Hills I read about. We’ll check out the place, Masao.”
Then Masuto went into the house for the keys.
7
The Women
It was eleven o’clock. The bomb squad had done its work and departed, discovering no other lethal contraptions. The car in Laura Crombie’s garage and the two cars in the driveway were clean. The burned wreckage had been towed away, and a uniformed policeman was stationed in front of the house, with another at the back of the house. Masuto had left orders that the press and the television people, who were on the scene no more than twenty minutes after the incident occurred, should be told nothing, and they were barred from the house by the policeman on guard.
“Still,” Beckman said to Masuto, “sooner or later you got to talk to them.”
“I don’t. Let Wainwright talk to them.”
They were in the kitchen of the Crombie house, seated around the big kitchen table-Beckman, Masuto, Mitzie Fuller, Nancy Legett, and Laura Crombie. Laura Crombie had put up a large pot of coffee and sliced ham for sandwiches. Masuto and Beckman were both hungry. Mitzie Fuller, who said she couldn’t even think of food, had two sandwiches. Only Nancy Legett did not eat. She was still struggling for composure, and every few minutes she would begin to weep silently. Laura was self-contained and practical. She had things to do. It was her house and these were her guests.
“Violence is new to you,” Masuto said to them. “I hate violence as much as you do and I fear it too, but I live with it. My wife is made miserable by it, but she accepts it because it is my life. Tonight you must accept it, because if we are ever to find out who is doing this, we must talk calmly. I must ask you questions, and you must answer them sensibly.”
“It’s crazy,” said Laura. “What kind of a person am I? Instead of weeping for Alice, I keep thinking of all that glass in my driveway.”
“That’s understandable. It’s less frightening, less awful. Your mind avoids the horror. Sy,” he said to Beckman, “get a broom and sweep up that glass.”
“Oh, no. No. I’ll do it tomorrow,” she protested.
“Glad to. Gives me something to do,” Beckman said, relieved to be released from this well of emotion.
“Now all of you listen to me,” Masuto said to the women. “We’re in this together. He tried to kill me too.” He touched the Band-Aid on his chin. “A long shot that missed.”
“Oh, no!” Nancy Legett exclaimed.
“This crazy monster-what does he want?” Mitzie Fuller asked.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, and perhaps we can right here. Let me spell out the sequence of events, so they’ll be clear in your minds. Try to think clearly and objectively. I know how hard that is and I know what a disturbing day you’ve all had, but I want you to put that aside. You are thinking that it is impossible. It is not impossible. Mrs. Greene will not be helped by our indulgence, but she may be avenged by our objectivity.”
“I’ll try,” Nancy said. “I know you mean me. I’ll try.”
“I mean all of you. Now let me trace what happened. A package of poisoned pastry was sent here. The man who sent it-”
“How do you know it was a man?” Mitzie interrupted.
“I know. Leave it at that. The man who sent it was intent upon killing one of you-not all of you-but one of you. Yes, it was to his benefit if more than one of you died, even if all of you died.”
“I don’t understand,” said Laura.
“A very simple conclusion. Since all of you might have eaten the pastry, he was ready to accept all four murders. Or some of the four, since some of you might not have eaten. It was a scattershot thing. Even the death of one of you might have satisfied him.”
“But why?”
Beckman returned to the room. “Quiet?” Masuto asked him. Beckman nodded. “Go through the house,” Masuto said, “doors, windows-”
Beckman nodded and left the room.
“Why?” Masuto said. “Well, for one thing, he’s insane. But perhaps all murderers are. And for another-well, let me reserve that for the time being.”
“You don’t think there’s anyone-anyone hiding here?” Nancy asked.
“No, but it never hurts to be thorough. Let me go on. Ana Fortez ate the pastry and died. The Chicano boy who bought the pastry and who probably delivered it here was murdered on the same day. The chemist who prepared the poisonous toxin was murdered today.” The fear in the eyes of the three women increased. “I don’t like to tell you this,” Masuto said, “but I must. You must know what kind of a man we are dealing with.”
“Why must we know?” Nancy asked tremulously.
“Because I’m sure you know him. We’ll hold that for awhile. I want to ask you who killed Alice Greene.”
They shook their heads in bewilderment.
“Guess,” he urged them. “The most likely candidate. Who hated her enough to kill her?”
“No one.”
“She’s dead. Who hated her enough to kill her?”
“Her husband,” Laura Crombie said softly.
“Is that what you mean by ‘know him?” Nancy Legett asked plaintively. “Do you mean that this monster is someone we know, someone we have spoken to?”
“Didn’t you hear him?” Mitzie Fuller said shrilly, a note of hysteria in her voice. “He thinks Alice’s husband is the killer.”
“Her ex. Not her husband, her ex,” Laura corrected her.
“No, I do not!” Masuto said sharply. “Will you all please pay attention to what I am saying? Including Mrs. Greene, you are four divorced women. You have that in common. You are friends. You are attacked as a group. I must find a reason, a motive. I must know who has the need to destroy you. Mrs. Greene was killed. This does not mean her husband killed her. It also does not mean that he is innocent. We deal with him as a person under suspicion.”
At that moment, the telephone rang, an explosive sound that startled all three women. There was a wall extension in the kitchen, and Laura Crombie picked it up.
“Alan,” she said. Pause. “Yes, it’s true. It’s terrible-too terrible to believe.” Pause. “No, we don’t know why. The whole thing is like a nightmare.” Pause. “I tell you I don’t know any more than that. She turned the ignition key, and the whole car went up in flames. It was awful. She never had a chance.” Pause. “Yes, the police were here. I believe Sergeant Masuto is in charge of the case.” She looked at Masuto.
“I’ll talk to him,” Masuto said.
“He’s here, if you wish to talk with him.” She handed Masuto the telephone.
