“Last night she would have,” Ollie said grimly. “But this morning, I went to my lawyer, made out a new will, same provisions, and left it in his hands. Which is what I should have done with the first one. But she doesn’t know that, and I don’t want her to.”
It was my turn to question that. “Why not?” I wanted to know. “If she knows a new will exists, where she can’t get at it, she’d know killing you wouldn’t accomplish anything for her. Even if she got away with it.”
“Right, Ed. But I’m almost hoping she will try, and fail, Then I’d be the happiest man on earth. I would have grounds for divorce — attempted murder should be grounds if anything is — and I could marry Dorothy, legitimize my son and leave him with my name. I... well, for the chance of doing that, I’m willing to take the chance of Eve’s trying and succeeding. I haven’t got much to lose, and everything to gain. How otherwise could I ever marry Dorothy — unless Eve should predecease me, which is damned unlikely. She’s healthy as a horse, and younger than I am, besides. And if she should succeed in killing me, but got caught, she’d inherit nothing; Dorothy and Jerry would get it all. That’s the law, isn’t it? That no one can inherit from someone he’s killed, I mean. Well, that’s the whole story. Will you take the job, Ed, or do I have to look for someone else? I hope I won’t.”
I looked at Uncle Am — we never decide anything important without consulting one another — and he said, “Okay by me, kid.” So I nodded to Ollie. “All right,” I said.
3.
We worked out details. He’d already checked plane flights and knew that a Pacific Airlines plane was due in from Seattle at ten fifteen that evening; I’d arrive on that and meanwhile he’d pretend to have received a telegram saying I was coming and would be in Chicago for a few days to a week on business, and asking him to meet the plane if convenient. I went him one better on that by telling him we knew a girl who sometimes did part-time work for us as a female operative and I’d have her phone his place, pretend to be a Western Union operator, and read the telegram to whoever answered the phone. He thought that was a good idea, especially if his wife was the one to take it down. We worked out the telegram itself and then he phoned his place on the pretext of wanting to know if his wife would be there to accept a C.O.D. package. She was, so I phoned the girl I had in mind, had her take down the telegram, and gave her Ollie’s number to phone it to. We had the telegram dated from Denver, since the real Ed, if he were to get in that evening, would already be on the plane and would have to send the telegram from a stop en route. I told Ollie I’d work out a plausible explanation as to why I hadn’t decided, until en route, to ask him to meet the plane.
Actually, we arranged to meet downtown, in the lobby of the Morrison Hotel an hour before plane time; Ollie lived north and if he were really driving to the airport, it would take him another hour to get there and an hour back as far as the Loop, so we’d have two hours to kill in further planning and briefing. Besides another half hour or so driving to his place when it was time to head there.
That meant he wouldn’t have to brief me on family history now; there’d be plenty of time this evening. I did ask what kind of work Ed Cartwright did, so if necessary I could spend the rest of the afternoon picking up at least the vocabulary of whatever kind of work it was. But it turned out he ran a printing shop — which was a lucky break since after high school and before getting with my Uncle Am, I’d spent a couple of years as an apprentice printer myself and knew enough about the trade to talk about it casually.
Just as Ollie was getting ready to leave, the phone rang and it was our girl calling back to say she’d read the telegram to a woman who’d answered the phone and identified herself as Mrs. Oliver Bookman, so we were able to tell Ollie the first step had been taken.
After Ollie had left, Uncle Am looked at me and asked, “What do you think, kid?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Except that five hundred bucks is five hundred bucks. Shall I mail the check in for deposit now, since I won’t be here tomorrow?”
“Okay. Go out and mail it if you want and take the rest of the day off, since you’ll start working tonight.”
“All right. With this check in hand, I’m going to pick me up a few things, like a couple shirts and some socks. And how about a good dinner tonight? I’ll meet you at Ireland’s at six.”
He nodded, and I went to my desk in the outer office and was making out a deposit slip and an envelope when he came and sat on the corner of the desk.
“Kid,” he said. “This Ollie just might be right. We got to assume that he could be, anyway. And I just had a thought. What would be the safest way to kill a man with bad heart trouble, like angina pectoris is? I’d say conning him into having an attack by giving him a shock or by getting him to overexert himself somehow. Or else by substituting sugar pills for whatever he takes — nitroglycerin pills, I think it is — when he gets an attack.”
I said, “I’ve been thinking along those lines myself, Uncle Am. I thought maybe one thing I’d do down in the Loop is have a talk with Doc Kruger.” Kruger is our family doctor, sort of. He doesn’t get much business from either of us but we use him for an information booth whenever we want to know something about forensic medicine.
“Wait a second,” Uncle Am said. “I’ll phone him. Maybe he’ll let us buy him dinner with us tonight to pay him for picking his brains.”
He went in the office and used his phone; I heard him talking to Doc. He came out and said, “It’s a deal. Only at seven instead of six. That’ll be better for you, anyway, Ed. Bring your suitcase with you and if we take our time at Ireland’s, you can go right from there to meet Ollie and not have to go home again.”
So I did my errands, went to our room, cleaned up and dressed, and packed a suitcase. I didn’t think anybody would be looking in it to check up on me, but I thought I might as well be as careful as I could. I couldn’t provide clothes with Seattle labels but I could and did avoid things with labels that said Chicago or were from well-known Chicago stores. And I avoided anything that was monogrammed, not that I particularly like monograms or have many things with them. Then I doodled around with my trombone until it was time to head for Ireland’s.
I got there exactly on time and Doc and Uncle Am were there already. But there were three Martinis on the table; Uncle Am had known I wouldn’t be more than a few minutes late, if any, so he’d ordered for me.
Without having to be asked, since Uncle Am had mentioned it over the phone, Doc started telling us about angina pectoris. It was incurable, he said, but a victim of it might live a long time if he took good care of himself. He had to avoid physical exertion like lifting anything heavy or climbing stairs. He had to avoid overtiring himself by doing even light work for a long period. He had to avoid overindulgence in alcohol, although an occasional drink wouldn’t hurt him if he was in good physical shape otherwise. He had to avoid violent emotional upsets as far as was possible, and a fit of anger could be as dangerous as running up a flight of stairs.
Yes, nitroglycerin pills were used. Everyone suffering from angina carried them and popped one or two into his mouth any time he felt an attack coming on. They either prevented the attack or made it much lighter than it would have been otherwise. Doc took a little pillbox out of his pocket and showed us some nitro pills. They were white and very tiny.
There was another drug also used to avert or limit attacks that was even more effective than nitroglycerin. It was amyl nitrite and came in glass ampoules. In emergency, you crushed the ampoule and inhaled the contents. But amyl nitrite, Doc told us, was used less frequently than nitroglycerin, and only in very bad cases or for attacks in which nitro didn’t seem to be helping, because repeated use of amyl nitrite diminished the effect; the victim built up immunity to it if he used it often.