“I can’t afford to buy it on a reporter’s salary.”
Beside the desk were neatly placed two matching attache cases.
“There is one thing more, Alston.”
“What’s that, old buddy?”
“You haven’t arrested the chief of police yet. It’s only a small matter, I know, a minor detail, but the son of a bitch just followed me in his car.”
“Where are you?”
“He followed me from The Beach to The Hills.”
“Is he still with you?”
“I guess so. It was his car all right. The private car that looks like a police car.”
“Fletch, there are federal narcotics agents waiting for him both at the police station and at his home. They’ve been there for hours.”
“Couldn’t they get up off their tails and go out into the streets and find the bastard?”
“They don’t know the area. You can’t outfox a police chief in his own town. If worse comes to worst, we’ll catch him at the border.”
“Terrific. What about me?”
“Just shout out the window at him. Tell him to go home.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Fletch. They’ll get him. And I’ll see you in the marine commandant’s office at ten in the morning. Be sure to shine your shoes.”
“Pick the son of a bitch up.”
“We will, we will. Good night, Fletch.”
***
Stanwyk was sitting in the red leather chair with the copy of the letter in his hand. On the table beside him were his Colgate ring and the gold cigarette lighter.
He was staring calmly at Fletch.
“I guess you don’t get to do what you want to do,” Fletch said.
“I guess not.”
“The thing that tipped me off was something your wife said the other night when we were in bed together.”
Fletch sat at the desk.
“She said you and I have identical bone structures. We look nothing alike. You’re dark, I’m blond. You weigh ten or twelve pounds more than I do. But our bone structures are alike. That’s why you picked me from all the drifters on the beach.
“Your plan was to murder me somehow—probably, as you’ve boxed, with your hands—knock me unconscious, strangle me. Then fake a car accident. Only as a burned corpse could I pass for you. I would be wearing your clothes, your shoes and your ring and carrying your cigarette lighter, burned to death in your car. No one would question it.”
“Quite right.”
“Are there three million dollars in those attache cases?”
“Yes.”
“You needed a chartered plane to avoid an airlines baggage check. Carrying three million dollars in cash on a commercial airliner would be noticed.”
Stanwyk said, “Remarkable. At no point during this last week have I had the slightest sensation of being investigated.”
“You thoroughly expected to murder me tonight.”
“Yes.”
“After investigating you off and on all week, I must say that puzzles me. Generally speaking, you’re a decent man. How did you intend to justify murder to yourself?”
“You mean, morally justify it?”
“Yes.”
“I have the right to kill anyone who has agreed to murder me, under any circumstances. Don’t you agree?”
“I see.”
“Putting it most simply, Mr. Fletcher, I wanted out.”
“Many people do.”
***
“And now, Mr. Fletcher, what do we do?”
“Do?”
Stanwyk was standing, hands behind his back, facing the french windows. He could not see through the transparent curtain from the lighted room into the dark outdoors. The man was thinking furiously.
He said, “I see I’ve put myself into a rather difficult position.”
“Oh?”
“I can see you are probably going to do precisely as I asked: you are going to murder me.”
Fletch said nothing.
“I have arranged the perfect crime against myself. We are alone. No wife, no servants. There is nothing to connect you and me. And I imagine that in your investigating me this week, you were very careful not to connect you and me.”
“I was.”
“I have guaranteed your escape. Only you take the charter flight rather than the TWA flight.”
“Right.”
“The difference is that there are three million dollars at your feet, rather than fifty thousand. Surely that’s enough to make any man commit murder.”
In the air-conditioned room, Stanwyk’s face was gleaming with perspiration.
“The only thing you don’t know is that the gun in the desk drawer is empty.”
“I do know that. I checked it early this morning. You’re right. The servants always do leave the french windows unlocked.”
“Therefore, I would guess you have brought your own implement of death, your own gun, and you do mean to kill me. Am I right?”
Fletch opened the top right-hand drawer of the desk.
“No. I just brought a full clip for this gun.”
While Stanwyk watched-from the windows, Fletch picked up the gun in one hand; with the other hand he took a full .38 caliber clip from his pocket.
“You pointed out to me the benefit of using your gun.”
He removed the blank clip from the gun and inserted the full clip.
Stanwyk said, “You’re not wearing gloves.”
“Nothing a quick dust with a handkerchief can’t fix.”
“Christ.”
“You’ve not only arranged your own murder perfectly, you’ve even given me a moral justification for it. You say you have the right to kill anyone who has planned to murder you. Isn’t that what you said?”
“Yes.”
“So why shouldn’t I murder you, Stanwyk?”
“I don’t know.”
“For three million dollars rather than fifty grand. Alone with you in your house, as you nicely arranged. Using your gun. Nothing to connect us to each other. With a prearranged, guaranteed escape. And a moral justification, provided by yourself. I’m sure I can make it look exactly like the usual burglary-murder you originally described.”
“You’re playing with me, Fletcher.”
“Yes, I am.”
