As Jacoby was leaving, Hess came bustling in.
'It's the truck all right. We picked up the two I.B.M. signs on a side road,' he said, coming to rest at Terrell's desk. 'The shot boy was Ernie Leadbeater, a student. At least, we now have something on No. 5. We have clear footprints, and the lab boys are working on them. We know he had a car parked at the murder spot. He drove the truck there, transferred the money to the other car, and it's my bet, as he was leaving, Leadbeater surprised him and got shot. We have casts of the car's tyres. They are pretty old, and the off-side one has lost its tread . . . enough to be able to identify it if ever we catch up with the car.'
'How about the truck? Any prints?'
'Yeah, but all belonging to the other men. No. 5 wore gloves. The steering wheel is clean.'
He took from a plastic bag three $500 bills.
'These were picked up near the truck.'
Terrell took them.
'See if you can trace the truck, Fred. Put as many men as you want on to it. It's a top priority.'
Hess went off and Terrell sent the bills down to the lab boys. A couple of hours later, Church, the head of the lab, called Terrell
'I'm sending you a detailed report, Chief, but while it is being typed, I thought I'd fill you in to save time. First of all that hand cream is loaded with an absorbent compound of arsenic. It is one hundred per cent lethal. No fingerprints on the jar except hers.'
'Wait a second,' Terrell said, his eyes narrowing. 'How could any ordinary person make up a compound like that?'
'The answer to that one is they couldn't. It's the work of a technician: either someone in the pharmacy trade or possibly a medical man.'
Terrell made notes.
'I've given you all the dope,' Church went on. 'There was a lot of arsenic used and whoever made the ointment must have had access to a large amount, which again points to a dispenser. The casts of the footprints give us some interesting information. This man is slightly built, weighs around one hundred and twelve pounds, walks a little pigeon toed, and is not young . . . between fifty and sixty . . . that kind of age. He had an awful struggle to get the carton out of the truck so I could describe him as frail. That any help?'
'Fine . . . anything else?'
'Those $500 bills you sent over. They are all marked with an invisible ink that shows up under infra-red. I talked to Harry Lewis and he tells me he had one thousand of those bills marked as an experiment. They're all missing . . . so if your man starts spending, we could catch up with him.'
'This is more like it,' Terrell said. 'Looks, at last, we are getting a break.'
'The boy was shot with a .25 automatic . . . the kind of gun I'd expect No. 5 to carry. He's certainly a careful bird. No fingerprints anywhere. He must have always operated in gloves.'
'Get that report over fast,' Terrell said, 'and thanks.'
* * *
Jack Perry died without gaining consciousness a little after seven o'clock a.m. Mish, who had been watching him uneasily for the past hour, saw his jaw go slack and he grimaced. He got stiffly to his feet, rubbing his hand over his sweating face. He touched Perry's pulse, then, satisfied that he was dead, he walked down the passage to the back bedroom where Chandler lay stretched on the bed, sleeping. He shook him awake.
Muttering, Chandler opened his eyes, then, seeing Mish, he abruptly sat up.
'He's gone,' Mish said. 'Come on . . . we've got to bury him pronto.'
Chandler swung his legs off the bed. He was wearing shirt and trousers and he groaned softly as he wedged his feet into his shoes. 'Where?'
'Right outside. The sand's soft,' Mish said. 'It's still early. With luck, we'll get away with it, but we have to hurry it up.'
Leaving Chandler with his head under the cold-water tap, Mish left the bungalow and entered the garage. There he found a longhandled shovel. Carrying it out of the garage, his feet sinking into the soft sand, he found a spot near a palm tree and began to dig.
When Chandler arrived, the grave was half finished and Mish was panting. Chandler took the shovel and, working fast, completed the job.
'This do?' he asked, looking up at Mish.
'It'll have to. It's getting on,' Mish said. 'Come on . . . let's get him out.'
Twenty minutes later, the two men stood back and surveyed the smooth surface of the sand. Satisfied, Mish broke off several branches of a palm bush and scattered them over the now invisible grave.
Then the two men returned to the bungalow.
'You think she will really come or do you think she was kidding?' Mish asked as he stripped off his sweat- blackened shirt.
'She'll come, but she won't be here until ten,' Chandler said. 'I'm going back to bed . . . I'm bushed.'
'Think she's heard our descriptions on the radio?'
'She could have, but I doubt it,' Chandler said. 'But don't worry. She and me are like this,' and he held up crossed fingers. He went into the bedroom.
