Dan nudged me, whispered, “Your public,” and nodded toward the front of the car. A couple of suntanned jokers In their correct summer “gray flannel” outfits were in a huddle, pointing toward me. For once I was glad I'd bought the new duds, looked like I belonged on the train, although my inner man scornfully told me that was a snobbish damn fool sentiment. One of the characters left the huddle and then walked down the aisle toward me with his confident-salesman approach, stopped at our seat and said, “Excuse me, sir, but aren't you Mr. Lund, the famous detective in the End Harbor murder cases?”
“You mean the cop in the case,” I said. “Yeah, my name is Lund.”
He gave me a practiced junior-executive smile, a firm handshake, said his name was Benson, or something like that. I introduced Dan and then Benson-shemson said, “Told my friends I recognized you from the news pictures. Wonderful work, Mr. Lund. I hope you don't mind this intrusion, sir, but there's one aspect of the case that puzzles me—how did Anderson ever think up such an ingenious scheme?”
Of course he had to talk in a crisp board-of-directors voice and more people turned around. I had quite an audience as I said, “He didn't think it up, merely fell into it. As stated in his confession, an old friend of Pops came to live with them in the winter of '47. About a month later the man took sick, died in his sleep. The following morning his Social Security check arrived. They were hard up and had planned to borrow some dough from him when he got his check. Anderson claims Pops said they should take a chance and cash it, as he was certain the dead man had no relatives to ask questions. They shoved the body under the ice at the edge of the bay—to make it look like a drowning—and kept cashing his checks all during the winter. In the spring they quietly buried him on the farm. According to Anderson it was Pops who got the idea of killing more men, doing it wholesale.”
“I see,” this character said, as if it mattered whether he saw things or not. “One more point, for my wife: you know women and their sense of the morbid. How did they kill the others—shoot them?”
“Your wife should read the papers, if she's that curious. No, they killed them 'painlessly,'“ I said, wishing he would leave me alone. I'd gone over the story so damn many times. “After the victim had put in a change of address with the Social Security board, and Anderson was certain it was in the mail, they got the man roaring drunk. Soon as he passed out, they poured a shot of carbon tetrachloride down his throat, or had him drink it as straight gin. Carbon tet is a cleaning fluid and easy to buy. This was Larry's brain storm. Carbon tet and alcohol causes uremia, so in case anything went 'wrong,' they could claim the man died of natural causes. There, that's the details, now you can go into business for yourself.”
My new found buddy flung back his head and laughed. “Not me, I know you can't get away with murder.” He gave me a flash of his strong teeth, grinning in appreciation of his own cleverness. “Ironic, though—Anderson had no possible way of foreseeing his partner, this Pops, would call in Doctor Barnes and the doctor would find him dead. I suppose if he hadn't murdered the doctor he never would have been caught. Greed is the basis of most crimes, isn't it, Mr. Lund?”
“That's what I hear,” I said and we shook hands again and he left to rejoin his pals. Danny said, “My, my, makes me proud to be the son of a famous superman.”
“Yeah—I'm a goddamn hero in my old age. Boys at fee precinct house will rib me for months,” I said, thinking how surprised I'd been that Art Roberts hadn't hogged the publicity. In fact when you got to know him he wasn't a bad slob. My luck sure had been riding the rail, lucky as hell on the case, lucky on the glory angle, too.
I shifted Jane's painting on my lap. It was too big to risk putting up on the luggage rack. And my lap had gotten big, too, with Bessie's cooking. Dan said, “Here, rest the picture on my knees.”
“It's okay. I'll hold it. Certainly brightens up the old flat.”
“Going to see her again?”
“Stop it. I took enough of that from Bessie.
Danny shrugged. “You'll still have two weeks' vacation after Signe's kids work you over. Be nice, for you both, if you showed Jane New York. Dad, you might as well be prepared to do it—all this coming week my dear Bessie will be working on Miss Endin. If I know my good wife, you might even find Jane waiting on your doorstep when you return from the mountains.”
“If Bessie tries to... !” I stopped, my voice full of alarm—at myself. Of course I had a whole week to think it out up at Signe's place... but what scared me was I had to admit the idea gave me a kind of happy glow... the kind a guy my age isn't supposed to have—they say.
Hanns Heinz Ewers
