23

After I had taken Mr. Stuart to a cell and asked him if he wanted something from the office to read, and he had said no, he proposed to sleep the sleep of the just, I returned to find Charleston sitting quiet, looking into distance. I gave him time to think, then said, “It looks as if we have been playing catch-up all the time.” I meant to sound him out.

“Catch-up?”

“Yep. Gracie Jones solved one murder for us, Mr. Stuart the other, and there we were, bringing up the rear.”

“Think so, do you?”

“Don’t you?”

Instead of answering, he said, “I’ve been poaching on your territory, Jase. Doc Yak may keep mum about his patients, but druggists aren’t so scrupulous. I know who bought the saltpeter.”

“Who was that?”

“Mike Day. He made the first purchase a couple of weeks or so ago and another just recently.”

“That muddies the water. Mike Day?”

“One explanation is that he took it to counter senile concupiscence. There is such a thing as satyriasis. You are familiar with the terms?”

“You haven’t lost me.”

“I didn’t think so. Now what is—was—your opinion of Mike Day?”

“Same as yours. He was a blowhard and a four-flusher.”

“Capable of murder?”

That was a foolish question, and he knew it. He would have answered that anybody was capable of killing, given enough provocation. But there was more in his asking than that. Now he was sounding me out. I said, “Mike Day couldn’t have killed Virginia Stuart.”

“Why not?”

“As if you didn’t know. Because there were no drag marks from the road to that little ravine where I found her. Some indistinct footprints but no drag marks. Day couldn’t have carried her that far, fleshy as he is and out of condition and getting along in years. No way.”

“Exactly. Where does that leave us?”

I didn’t answer. Presently he said, “Who could be so sure of the girl’s virginity? Exclude her father. He wasn’t in a position to know. Only examination or experience could tell for sure. I think the man spoke from knowledge. It’s in your reports.”

“I remember.”

He looked at his watch. “Eleven-thirty. Let’s go.”

I knew without needing to be told that we were about to call on young Roland Day.

We put on our rain gear, went to the car, and headed for the house that Mike Day had owned. Except for a light upstairs the house was dark. The way was dark, too. I took a flashlight from the glove compartment and led on. No one answered our knocking at the front door. I tried the knob. The door was locked. We splashed around to the rear. The back door opened. It was plain then why our knocks hadn’t been answered. From upstairs came the high whining and bass beat of what too many young people were calling music.

With the help of the flash we climbed upstairs. Light shone around the edges of one door. We rapped, the music stopped, and Day opened it. “What now?” he said.

“Just wrapping up loose ends,” Charleston told him. “Sorry we’re so wet.”

“Come in then. Here.” He led the way to a bathroom. “Let your things drain in the tub.” I kept the flashlight in my hand, seeing no handy place to put it.

The room was ample enough, what with a rocker, two straight chairs, a chest and a bed. A good carpet covered the floor. At least it looked good from what I could see of it. The place was lighted by no more than a 40-watt bulb. Day had taken off his dark glasses. I caught the flicker of his light blue eyes. He sat down in the rocker and motioned us to the straight chairs. With his pale face, in that dim and shadowy light, he might have posed as one of the non-dead.

Seated, Charleston said, “We just thought it possible that in the absence of Mr. Stuart you could tell us something you hesitated to say in his presence. Some detail just for the sake of completion.”

“I’m afraid not. His version was all right.”

“Good.” Charleston took a thin cigar from his pocket, lighted it and took a slow puff. “Everybody will be asking what happens to the bank now.”

Day said, “I haven’t had time to think about that.”

“No. Of course not.” He went on pursuing the subject. “Your uncle wasn’t the sole owner?”

“No. A majority interest. I suppose the directors will meet.”

“Forgive me, it’s a highly personal question, but do you inherit?”

“If he had a will, I haven’t seen it.”

“But you’re next of kin?”

“I guess so. That’s what he told me.”

“He should have known.”

“I don’t understand your questions. You don’t think I killed him, do you?”

“No. No, indeed. A man so good to you. He gave you a good job and these quarters. I’m sure you appreciate his generosity.”

“I’m grateful.”

Charleston re-lit his cigar and puffed slowly like a man who had all the time in the world. Idly he asked, “Did you know your uncle was buying nitrate of potassium?”

“What’s that?”

“Commonly known as saltpeter. It is used to dull and diminish the sexual drive.”

Day said, “Goddamnit,” at the end of a deep quick breath. “Saltpeter.” He took in another lungful of air. “The old devil.”

“What do you mean?”

“He said the powder would improve my complexion.”

“You took it?”

“He wanted me to sprinkle it on my food, but I’m careful about what I put in my body. I said I’d take it in water, so every day in the bathroom I’d flush some down the toilet.”

“You fooled him.”

“I made him think I was taking it.”

“I don’t understand. What was his purpose?”

Day put up a hand to shade his eyes. “It’s plain enough when you come to think of it. He wanted Virginia Stuart all to himself. He was crazy about her.”

“And regarded you as competition? You were stuck on her, too.”

“Where’s the harm in that?”

“Was there any other reason for your uncle’s action? Anything at all?”

“What could there be?”

“That’s what I’m asking myself, but skip it for now. You were in college before you came here?”

“Yes, sir. Minnesota.”

“Majoring in what?”

“Business administration.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes, sir. I was a good student.”

“How far along?”

“I was about to graduate when Uncle Mike offered me the job here.”

I wondered how long Day would put up with Charleston’s questions. I wasn’t sure where they were leading myself. The sure thing was that Charleston would persist.

“So you gave up your degree for a job?”

“Good jobs are scarce.”

“I would think your uncle could have waited.”

“He didn’t want to.”

Charleston thrust out the cigar like a pointing finger. “That’s nonsense. You’re lying. Why did you leave college?”

Day had shrunk back in his chair. His eyes flickered wildly. “I told you.”

“Not the real reason. Speak up.”

“I swear to God …”

It seemed time for me to do something besides finger the flashlight. “It’s a simple matter to call Minnesota and find out. I’ll phone in the morning.”

Day had put both hands to his face. He was whispering, “You bastards. You dirty bastards.”

“Spill it!” Charleston’s command cut through the whispers.

“It was this way.” Day took time for a couple of breaths. “There was a girl there I liked, and one night I tried to make up to her. I guess I tore her clothes. She screamed, and the campus police came, but it didn’t amount to anything. I wasn’t tried or anything like that.”

“Because the girl refused to testify?”

“She knew I wasn’t really serious.”

“Not serious, but they kicked you out of school.”

“Well, yes.”

“All this explains why your uncle wanted you to take saltpeter.”

“He didn’t say so.”

Charleston bent forward, his face grim. “If you had taken it, maybe you wouldn’t have killed Virginia Stuart.”

Day’s voice came out weak. “Who says I killed her?”

“I do.”

Now Day began sobbing. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just wanted her, and she wouldn’t have me. Can’t you understand? Something came over me. I didn’t mean to kill her.”

“So you say. Come on. We’re taking you in.”

Day got up, still weeping, and went to the chest, saying, “A handkerchief.” When he turned back he had an automatic in his hand. He waved it around, from Charleston to me and back. He said, “They can only hang a man once.”

Charleston answered quietly, “You’ll never get away with it.”

“By God, I can shoot myself.” The voice rose in hysteria. “Better yet, I’ll kill you two first.”

The gun swung toward me. I flicked the flash full in his eyes. He jerked up his gun hand against the glare. Charleston dived at him from the side. I charged his front and grabbed the hand. We went down. The automatic fired. I yanked it away. Charleston’s voice came from the tumble. “Any damage, Jase?”

“None. You?”

“None.”

Day had gone limp. He was mewing. We picked him up. We had no handcuffs, but I had the automatic. Charleston retrieved his cigar from the floor, and we all went down to the station and a waiting cell.