Jones closed the door and took a chair off to one side, crossing his legs and lighting a cigarette.
“What’s happened to me?” Hugo asked. “You killed Mildred and framed me for it. You used my gun and put it in my desk at the plant. And I could prove it if this moron detective here would do what I tell him.”
“What’s that?” Mark said.
“Go to your apartment and fingerprint it,” Hugo said. “My fingerprints are all over the place. Fresh fingerprints. I was there last night when you swiped my car, went and killed Mildred, put my gun in my desk at the office, parked the car where it had been, then called to tell your wife you had just arrived at the airport, to get me out of there while the police found my wife’s body on your anonymous phone call.”
A cold chill crept up Mark’s spine. Hugo had put his finger on the one clue that would uncover the truth.
“You’re not being yourself, Hugo,” he said, his voice unsteady.
“Don’t be upset, Mr. Spencer,” Jones said. “I see this happen all the time. A guy is caught and knows it, and he goes nuts, lashing out in every direction for an escape.”
“Well, why don’t you fingerprint Spencer’s apartment and find out?” Hugo demanded.
“I wouldn’t waste my time,” Lt. Jones said.
“Why don’t you?” Mark said. “It might set poor Hugo’s mind at rest.”
“And have your wife landing on me for dusting up her walls and woodwork?” Jones said. “Besides, you have no idea of the work involved, the thousands of fingerprints we’ll find — all belonging to you and your wife. No thanks. Especially not since you invited me to.”
“I’ll get you some way if it’s the last thing I ever do, you stupid moron,” Hugo said to Mark. “To think that I lifted you out of the shop and gave you the job of Special Field Engineer. Why do you suppose I did it? Because you had some special talent? Hell no! I did it because at the plant picnic I made a pass at your wife and she responded. I gave you that job so I could get you out of town for three or four days whenever I wanted to see her.”
“Poor Hugo,” Mark said, shaking his head in mock pity. “How you’ve changed.” He turned to Lt. Jones and asked with mock seriousness, “Can he get off with a plea of insanity? I would say he’s insane. Now he is, at least.”
“I’m surprised you don’t hit him,” Jones said.
Mark looked into Hugo’s eyes and smiled slightly.
“He’s sick, Lieutenant,” Mark said.
The veins in Hugo’s temples stood out and pulsed visibly.
“They don’t hang sick people, do they?” Mark added.
“In this state it’s the gas chamber,” Jones said. “He’s going there.”
“I wish I could do something to help him,” Mark said.
“CONFESS, DAMN YOU!” Hugo shouted. “AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR YOU...!”
Mark looked at Lt. Jones and spread his arms in a shrug. Jones went to the door and opened it. The uniformed officer led Hugo away.
“I’m really upset,” Mark said.
“Don’t be,” Jones said. “This is a fairly common thing with people who have been fairly law abiding and then become murderers and get caught. And don’t go suspecting your wife. If what he said was true he would die before he would implicate her. Not only to protect her, but because it’s the most damaging kind of alibi he could dream up. I admit I did check you out, Spencer, and you did come in on that plane and go directly to your apartment in a cab as you said. But I didn’t check you out because I thought you might be guilty. I did it so the D.A. could prevent the defense lawyer from forcing you or your wife to appear in court. No use subjecting either of you to unpleasantness.”
“Thank you,” Mark said. He and the Lieutenant shook hands. Then he was leaving the building, bubbling with happiness inside, a small smile on his lips.
Outside, he hesitated. He had most of the afternoon ahead of him. He didn’t want to go home. Should he check in at the plant? He would have to go home and get his briefcase out of his suitcase so he could turn in his time and expenses on that job in Chicago. He decided against it.
He walked slowly, stopping at store windows and studying the products on display. Some were interesting, some weren’t.
He came to a furniture store. A bedroom display reminded him. He went inside and inspected the twin bed displays. He settled on a bedroom set, a really nice one. Yes, they would be happy to take his old bedroom set in trade and would be fair to him, but he must remember that used mattresses were worth nothing, by the time they were renovated all they could sell for would be the cost of renovation. No, delivery couldn’t possibly be made today. Not for three days. The order would have to go to the warehouse, the crated set have to be brought out to the loading platform, the truck had many other deliveries, it took three days.
Yes, his credit was good, they would take a ten dollar deposit, notify him of the allowance they gave him on the old set, and he could pay the balance in thirty days with no carrying charge, that would be fine.
Mark paid the ten dollars and left the store disappointed. He would be forced to sleep in the same bed with Claire for two more nights. Well, she could keep on her side of the bed. If he wanted her, he would let her know. And pay her. Maybe she would think the twenty bucks was a present to buy a new dress with, but to him it would be for services rendered. Let her go on deluding herself if she wished.
He did more window shopping. He came to a restaurant and decided to have some coffee, maybe a sandwich.
He sat at the counter. The waitress cleared the dishes off and wiped the counter with a damp cloth, leaving wet streaks that slowly dried, off color. Her hair was bleached to straw color with an exaggerated upsweep that was partly unhinged. Her nail polish was flaking off.
She was generous with the coffee. Some of it had splashed into the saucer. There was a nick in the cup so that he had to turn it around and not use the handle, to avoid the nick. He decided against a sandwich.
The waitress’ panty girdle, outlined by her tight white uniform skirt, was bunched at the waist. The coffee tasted bad. Stale.
Suddenly lonely, Mark left a quarter on the counter and walked out.
He stood on the sidewalk, depressed. He glanced at his watch. It was only three o’clock — a couple of minutes after. A taxi was coming down the street. On impulse he stepped out into the street and stopped it. He gave the driver the address of the plant, and settled back.
Maybe they would have something waiting for him so he could get out of town again for a couple of days until the twin beds were delivered. Yeah! Maybe they would! He was glad he had decided to go to the plant.
Gertrude, the receptionist, welcomed him with a bright smile that quickly clouded. “Have you heard the news, Mark?” she said.
“I’ve heard,” Mark said, going past her to his own private cubicle. He looked eagerly at his in-basket. It was empty.
He sat down at the desk, and the phone rang. He scooped up the receiver and said, “Spencer...”
“Mark?” It was Gertrude. “I forgot to tell you. Mr. McHale wanted to see you as soon as you came in. He’s in his office now. He could see you.”
“Oh?” Mark said. “See if it’s okay. I’ll go right in.”
It hadn’t occurred to Mark. With Hugo out of the picture there was a vacancy in the Upper Echelons! It would have to be filled immediately, of course.
He took the small mirror out of the top desk drawer and inspected himself, straightening his tie and picking a fleck off his shoulder.
The phone rang again. It was Gertrude. “He’ll see you immediately,” she said.
McHale was the president. He sat behind an acre of gleaming mahogany desk, yet seemed to dominate it like a mountain top. A freshly lit, expensive cigar was in his mouth, sending blue smoke streamers out over the room. He took the cigar out of his mouth and pointed with it to a chair.