A third voice interrupted. “Neither do I, but I can imagine.”
Tash cried out: “Oh, Bill . . .” And began to shiver from head to foot.
“And that’s all,” said Bill Brewer.
“Are you sure?” Captain Wilkes cocked a quizzical eyebrow.
They were sitting in the office where he had been installed as a special prosecutor by a new governor after the arrest and resignation of Job Jackman.
“What do you want to know?”
“Two things: First, how did you happen to arrive on that beach in the nick of time?”
“Tash had called me that afternoon when she got in from Sotavento. She left a number with my secretary, so I could call her back. It was the number of Fox Run, where she expected to be for the next hour or so. Late as it was when I got the message, I called the number. When I found she wasn’t there, I asked for Mrs. Jackman, because I knew she and Tash were friends. She said Tash had gone to the beach. That seemed peculiar so late in the evening, and I hadn’t much else to do, so I just went along to see what was happening.”
“If you hadn’t—”
“What’s the other question?”
“How did Tash know it was Job Jackman?”
“This is the case of the unnecessary alibi. Job had a perfectly good airtight alibi for August ninth, 1975, when there was no murder, but he had no alibi at all for September eighth 1975, when there was a very terrible murder. Tash wondered if there could be any connection between these two facts.
“Job had gone out of his way to spend August ninth in Washington with the national committee of his party, far from Jeremy and the western tour they were supposed to be making together. It was a day when he didn’t need an alibi for anything, so far as Tash knew, but she had a feeling there was something contrived about it, though she couldn’t see any motive for contrivance.
“Then, in September, when Jeremy was assassinated, Job had no alibi at all.
“Tash thought about that. Could Job somehow have got those two days mixed, August ninth and September eighth? How could anyone mix them? Did they have anything in common?
“While she was in Sotavento she came across an old letter from Madrid which reminded her that Americans and Europeans do not write numerical dates the same way. She remembered then how Carlos de Miranda, using her numerical birth date for the numbers on her alarm combination at Leafy Way had automatically employed the Spanish numerical date sequence—day-month-year. She had had to reset the combination in the more familiar American numerical date sequence—month-day-year—so she wouldn’t forget the combination.
“Not only the Spanish, but all Europeans, even the English, write a numerical date in the day-month-year sequence. Only in America is the month-day-year sequence used.”
“I get it!” cried Wilkes. “If an American wrote September 8, 1975, in numerical form, he would write it in the American style, the month-day-year sequence: 9-875. But a Spaniard would read that date in the Spanish style, the day-month-year sequence, so to him it would be August 9, 1975.
“Job was always telling us he didn’t know a word of Spanish. Halcon was scarcely literate in any language. Between them, a mistake was almost inevitable if they set the date for the assassination by letter as they had to when Job was traveling with the Governor. Telephoning would have been far too risky, and a messenger would have been more dangerous than the mails.
“So Job wasted his carefully contrived alibi on a day when nothing happened, and then, when the assassination did take place, it took him completely by surprise. Tash said that when the shot was fired his face was a mask of shock and terror.”
“Why didn’t Jackman get in touch with Halcon when nothing happened on August ninth?”
“Any kind of contact with the underworld during that campaign trip, when everyone with the Governor was as much exposed to the glare of publicity as the Governor himself, would have been far too dicey. Remember, reporters were traveling with them all the time.”
Wilkes nodded slowly. “And I suppose Halcon wouldn’t try to get in touch with Jackman, because Halcon had no reason to think anything was wrong. He would still think he was organizing an assassination for the date he believed Jackman had given him. Even the change of venue to Desolation Bend didn’t upset his plan, because it was announced on radio and television twenty-four hours ahead of time. Was it Jackman who thought of controlling the alarm system by shutting its power source off and on?”
“Yes, and it was Jackman who thought of exploiting Mrs. Playfair’s habit of smoking in bed to make the fire look like an accident, but he didn’t think of everything. It was Freaky’s own idea to strangle the canary.”
“How is Miss Perkins?”
“Some broken ribs. Some strained ligaments. Nothing that won’t heal in a month or so.”
“I wonder what will become of her now?”
“Oh, she’ll marry and live happily ever after. She’s the marrying kind. But I feel sorry for her husband.”
“Why?”
“He’ll have a rival with whom he’ll never be able to compete, Jeremy Playfair.”
