She dipped a square of steak into the mushroom sauce. “After Abner died I did some inquiring and found that Frederick Combs came from one of the best families. Second voyage of the Mayflower. He graduated from Yale with a Gendeman’s ‘C’, and at that point apparently his family ran out of money and Frederick was forced to resort to his wits — such as they are. But I didn’t know about that last part until he came to me three weeks ago with the request that his allowance be increased.”
Hermione cut through her steak. “I take care of all of Frederick’s bills and allow him three hundred dollars spending money a month. He is well-fed, clothed, and occasionally liquored. In private and at home, of course. A man in politics must always be suspected of sobriety even by drinking voters.”
She sipped coffee. “I demanded to know why Frederick wanted his allowance increased and he fumbled about so with feeble excuses that I knew there was more than met the ear. I immediately lowered the boom — so to speak — and after five minutes of questioning he broke down and told me the whole sordid story of his stupidity.” Her face became thoughtful. “Frederick breaks so easily.”
Her eyes cleared. “Frederick has been paying two hundred dollars a month to this Edmund Pelletier for the last eight years.”
From what I knew of blackmailers, that presented an item of interest. Invariably their demands increase. “The sum was consistent? Through all those years?”
“Yes. However now this Pelletier wants three hundred dollars a month.”
“Pelletier waited until now to ask for three hundred? Surely he must have known that Frederick married a wealthy woman.”
Her face became grim. “He probably realized that I would have thrown Frederick out of the house before paying a cent.”
“But now?”
“But now I’ve spent three years grooming Frederick for our future responsibilities. Three years of toil and construction. I would find it insufferable to toss all that out of the window and have to begin all over again with someone else.”
“Surely you can afford to pay Pelletier three hundred a month?”
“Of course I can. But that isn’t the point. Besides the obvious possibility that Pelletier will become increasingly greedy, I must also consider the fact that I simply cannot have Frederick vulnerable to any kind of scandal. I cannot have his past catch up with him just as he is about to step into higher things. The evidence against Frederick must be destroyed and the blackmailer must also go because he knows about Frederick’s indiscretions.”
I tasted my dessert. “Very well, madam. I shall accept your commission. My usual fee is twenty thousand dollars.”
She regarded me with eyes that had seldom conceded right-of-way.
“I do not haggle,” I said stiffly.
Finally she nodded. “Twenty thousand it is.”
That being settled, I relaxed a bit. “Does your husband know that you plan to have Pelletier done away with?”
“Of course not. Frederick would faint at the very thought of violence.” She became thoughtful again. “I do like to mold putty, but now and then I do wish that Frederick would give me just a little bit of resistance.”
I left Hermione a little after six and took a taxi to the cocktail bar in the west sixties where I had another appointment.
Frederick Combs occupied one of the extreme rear booths. He finished his drink and ordered for two when I sat down opposite him.
“I’ve had a great deal of trouble finding you,” he said.
“I’m sorry, but I travel a great deal and I do not find it advisable to advertise for business in the newspapers.”
Frederick Combs was approximately my age and had just the faintest touches of gray at his temples.
“I finally had to go to Mrs. Berling again,” Frederick said. “She had your current address.”
“Dear Mrs. Berling,” I murmured. “I consider her my eastern representative.”
The waitress brought us drinks and departed.
“There are times when I believe that murder doesn’t pay,” Frederick said gloomily.
“You’ve got to look at the bright side of things. It keeps one mentally healthy.”
“I thought that my troubles were over when I had you get rid of Senator Trotter.”
The Senator had been one of my more successful and prestigious assignments. Not a suspicion that his death had been anything but the result of a simple automobile accident.
At the time Frederick had not chosen to reveal his motive for the elimination of the senator and I always respect my client’s reticence about such matters. Now, however, all things were abundantly clear.
He sipped his drink. “The whole thing seemed so simple. I would simply step into the senator’s shoes, lose an election or two, and then Hermione would get discouraged and allow me to enjoy the expensive leisure I’ve been bred to. But Hermione won’t let me lose an election.”
“It really shouldn’t be so difficult. A careless public word here and there and you can manage to antagonize the entire electorate.”
He almost whitened. “You don’t know that woman. Entirely ruthless. It would be worth my life to do anything so obvious.”
He glowered at his glass. “Do you know exactly what she has in store for me? After I win this election I’ve got to try for the Senate. And eventually she wants me to throw out the first baseball of the season at Griffith Park.”
He tapped the table with a forefinger to emphasize his points. “I unequivocally detest politics. I am subjected to an endless parade of chicken and pea dinners; I am forced to endure television inquisition by panels of revoltingly bright college children; I live in perpetual fear of committing myself on any issue of importance. I’ve had to give up polo for golf. Hermione maintains that voters simply will not cotton to a polo player.”
“But still,” I said. “Hermione does have ten million dollars.”
He laughed bitterly. “She limits me to an allowance of three hundred a month. And Edmund got two hundred of that. Now he wants three hundred.”
“Edmund?” I asked innocently. “Who’s he?”
Frederick shrugged. “He’s been blackmailing me for years.”
“Ah,” I said. “And you want to get rid of him? That’s why you called me?”
Frederick appeared genuinely surprised. “Get rid of Edmund? Good heavens, no. It isn’t worth killing him yet. Wait until he asks for a thousand.”
“Then why did you call me?”
Frederick quickly tossed off his drink. “I want you to dispose of Hermione. Make it look like an accident.”
“I invariably do. When do you want this to happen?”
“The sooner the better. Why not tonight? Around eight-thirty. I’ll be on television and will have an impeccable alibi if I need one.”
That was a bit too soon, I thought. I had to get rid of Edmund Pelletier first and collect the twenty thousand from Hermione. “How about next Tuesday?”
Frederick was disappointed. “Are you sure you can’t squeeze it in somehow before that? It shouldn’t require more than an hour or two.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m swamped with work and behind as it is. Next week is the best I can do.”
He reconciled himself with another drink.
“There is the question of payment,” I said. “I don’t suppose you have money?”
“As soon as Hermione’s estate is settled, I’ll see that you get twenty thousand.”
“Are you reasonably certain that you’re in her will?”
“Well, no,” he admitted. “But as her husband I occupy a favorable position.”
I dislike working on speculation, but I agreed to accommodate him.
I left him ordering another drink and went on to the Parkinson Hotel. I pressed the buzzer beside door number 239.