Fellows chewed quietly for a bit. Then he said, “Let’s see, Sid. You owe me two dollars and a quarter from cribbage. I’ll bet you double or nothing John Campbell or whatever his name is, doesn’t live in Stockford, but lives in a town not too far away.”
Wilks grinned. “You throw in that he’s also married and owns a store and I’ll take it.”
“No, thanks. On that I won’t bet.”
“On the other I’m not betting either.” Wilks got up. “You’re going to have to lose your dough at cribbage, Fred.”
CHAPTER IX
Friday, 3:00-5:55 P.M.
Friday afternoon the Erie police, at Fellows’s request, initiated the task of checking out all friends of Vice President John Campbell of the Gary Hardware Company and all men who worked or had worked there. While it was possible that the man they wanted had picked the name Campbell by accident, Fellows thought it more likely the choice had been deliberate. If so, it was made by someone who knew a John Campbell held a position in that company. It was the Erie police’s job to track down those who might.
The New York police also had a job. Theirs was the relatively more simple task of discovering if a “John Campbell” had registered in any hotels on the evening of Friday, February twentieth.
At four o’clock that afternoon, Town Prosecutor Leonard Merrill had a session with Fellows in his office. Judge Cobbitt Reed had called an inquest for ten o’clock the following morning and the prosecutor wanted all the facts in the case. “Get him to postpone it,” Fellows said. “We don’t know anything yet. We won’t have enough evidence tomorrow morning for a flea to stumble over. What kind of an inquest will that be? We don’t even know how the girl died.”
“I can’t postpone it,” Merrill said. “The judge is going on vacation. In fact, he’s having to hold up his departure for the inquest. He’s not happy about things at all.”
“I guess none of us are.” The chief then explained all they had done and tried to do so far. “One thing,” he said. “I don’t want this Jean Sherman girl brought into it. I’m telling you, but don’t you tell anybody else.”
“What do you mean? I’ve got to tell the judge. I’ve got to bring it up. I can’t hold out at the inquest.”
“Then you make sure it’s a private inquest. I don’t want anybody to know about her.”
Merrill shook his head. “Since when are you starting to worry about girls’ reputations, Fred? What are you trying to protect her for?”
“I’m using her for bait.”
“He’s not going to bite. You know that.”
“There’s a chance, Len. There’s always a chance. A guy who’ll dare bring her to the murder house will dare see her while he’s on the run. A guy like him can’t leave women alone. He may not be able to leave this woman alone—unless we tip him off we know about her.”
Merrill admitted the chief had a point. “All right, we’ll play it your way. She’s getting a break she doesn’t deserve, but we won’t give out her name. I’ll talk to the judge.”
Fellows smiled. “If you’re getting moral on me, she got her punishment when she found out what he was. She doesn’t need any more.”
“All right. I said we wouldn’t use her. But I’m going to need more—a lot more. You don’t have anything here.”
“I told you that, Len.”
Merrill made a face. “Reed’s going to think I’m a fool when I go through this tomorrow. Well, I’ll take these reports along and anything else that comes in, you get to my house tonight. I’ve got to work this into something.”
When the town prosecutor went out, Fellows was accosted by Hilders, the Courier reporter and the only one in headquarters that afternoon. He said, “What’s the bellow, Fellows?”
“No reports in since the last statement, Mr. Hilders.”
Hilders leaned on the duty desk, cramping Sergeant Gorman.
“Just call me John, Chief. And cough' up. Don’t give me that nothing-to-report gag. My paper wants news.”
“I thought you were out making your own news, Mr. Hilders?”
“I was looking around. I didn’t find anything.”
“We haven’t found anything either.”
Hilders got conspiratorial. “Now look, Chief, this case has got juice in it. A girl’s living with a man. He murdered her. Come on, there’s meat there. That’s a story, a big story. Sure, you know things you haven’t told the press. You’re following leads, but you know something about those two people. You know dirt about them. That’s what my paper wants, the dirt.”
“The dirt, as you call it, you’re going to have to look up yourself. That’s not our department. We’re looking for information about her death. That’s all we’re looking for and that’s all we’re going to make statements about around here.” The chief went to his office and turned at the door. “Right now, we don’t have any reports.” He closed the door and didn’t come out again.
At five after five that afternoon the first results came in. Patrolman David Lemer, checking hardware stores in plainclothes, armed with a burnt knife and saw, called in to announce that the knife, and presumably the saw too, had been purchased at Cutler’s Hardware Store on Bishop Street.
“The saw could have been bought anywhere,” he told the chief in his office. “It’s stocked by most of the stores, but the knife, that’s a brand only Cutler’s carries. That’s what I was told the fourth place I went, and Cutler’s confirms it. That’s
