"I thought so. The pharmacist called the doctor to check, and the doctor spoke with Twelvetrees over the phone and gave his O.K. Well, as I say, having my attention called to these little items that hadn't been there-in the apartment, the suitcases, or on Twelvetrees-I began to think of other things we hadn't found. First of all, there's the atomizer bottle, and the spray solution in a bottle about five inches high-ho1ding sixteen fluid ounces, so the pharmacist says-and the little plastic bottle of antihistamine capsules. Both those bottles with his name and the doctor's on them, the name of the pharmacy and the prescription numbers. Those we know were missing. Then, you know, the corpse wasn't wearing a tie. He was all dressed except for that, and all the ties we found had been neatly packed. I think we can say almost for certain he was going to leave for somewhere that night, and he'd have put on a tie before he left. While he was busy packing, he'd have taken it off, or more likely he'd changed his clothes when he came in-hadn't put on jacket or tie while he packed. I can see that, can't you? But he'd leave a tie out, ready to put on. What else? He had on a shirt with button cuffs, so, no cuff links. But he had quite a collection of jewelry, didn't he? I think he'd always wear a tie clasp, or one of those new tie tacks. There'd be that left out ready. And-"
"Wel1, maybe. He might not have intended to wear a tie."
"Sure, I said some of this is maybe, but keep it in mind. He was a snappy dresser, and it's not hot weather, when a lot of men aren't wearing ties. But here's something that must have been there-his watch. You're not going to tell me he didn't have one-how many men you I know don't have some kind of watch, if it's only a five-dollar one from the drugstore? The odds are it was a wrist watch, because only older men or very conservative types carry a pocket watch these days."
"That I'll give you. Funny we missed it before-one of us should have spotted that."
"I see him, you know-thinking of what we've got so far-coming home to pack and clear out. Changing his clothes, maybe, and leaving off a few last-minute things that'll hamper him a bit in the process of packing and so on. The tie. The jacket-"
"He had a jacket on. Have you ever seen anybody put a jacket on first and then his tie?"
"I'm telling you about this little vision," said Mendoza. "Wait for it. He's packing. He leaves a few little things out, ready, for when he's finished. A tie and tie clasp. His watch. His jacket, probably hung over a chair, with a fair supply of handkerchiefs in it-or maybe a couple of clean ones waiting there on the bureau with these other odds and ends. The atomizer and the prescription bottles-maybe he meant to carry those on him, but I think more likely to put them in last, on top of everything else, to be handy. It's possible he had one of those plastic or leather cases for medicine bottles, to put them in. And possibly a hat. Quite a few young men don't wear hats any more, out here, but he hadn't been in California long, maybe he'd kept his Eastern habits. And another thing we can say for sure about-the bankbooks. He'd have carried those on him, but I think because he'd changed his clothes they were lying there on the bureau with the other things. And the twenty-three hundred bucks, in cash-not a little item to be overlooked, no es verdad? And something else that's a maybe-documentary evidence on what he had on the Kingmans. I don't say he'd need a document to show the faithful congregation, because-always assuming that he was blackmailing them-it was probably something fairly concrete, like a prison term, that anyone could verify with a little trouble. But the kind of people who go for Mystic Truths are usually pretty hard to unconvince, and Kingman's a very smooth and plausible fellow. I don't think Twelvetrees could have stayed the pace this long without some tangible threat to hold over them, something that would have convinced even Miss Webster."
"Very much maybe."
"O.K., so it is. Then, did you ever know a male from the age of ten up who didn't carry some kind of pocket knife? Whether it was one of those genteel little flat silver things, or a horn-handled sheath knife? That was there on the bureau. And while he doesn't seem to have been a heavy drinker, I think almost certainly he'd have kept a bottle at home, for the odd occasion when he wanted a drink before going to bed, or if somebody dropped in. I don't know what it'd be, Scotch or gin or vodka, but I think it was sitting there too. He wouldn't care about leaving the odds and ends of stuff in the kitchen, and there wasn't much-a half bottle of milk, a few strips of bacon, a couple of eggs, a little coffee. But he'd take the bottle along. And I also think there was another package or so of cigarettes, maybe a whole carton-because there were only ten or eleven in his case, and a smoker doesn't let himself get down so 1ow."
"I'll give you that one too."
"So there he is, almost finished packing-we still don't know why he was getting out, or whether he was in a hurry or just leisurely. Anyway, there he is, almost finished, except for a few little things and his soiled laundry, for which he has this bag laid out ready-I'm not guessing whether it was a paper bag or an ordinary cotton laundry bag. And at that point he has a visitor. Say two-the Kingmans. Skip the cross-talk, if there was any, and come to the murder. Now, here's my new idea. I see them in a little dither, as we've agreed confidence operators aren't given to violence. They're in a hurry to get away, also to protect themselves, and I see them snatching up this hypothetical documentary evidence, having a last look around to be sure they've left nothing incriminating-wiped off all prints and so on-and starting to leave-only to find that squad car sitting out there. So? They aren't sure they haven't been seen-it doesn't matter then, nobody knows yet there's been a murder, but it will matter, later on. By the time they decide that patrolman, who has apparently seen them there, had better be put out of the way, the car's gone. And they spend a while chasing after it, cruising around looking and getting in more and more of a dither-before they find it. I'm supposing, by the way, that the gun was Twelvetrees', and was lying there on the bureau, all convenient. Well, after they've found the car and had a try at the driver, they've got no way to be sure the man's dead and no danger to them-and so back they come, with another idea, to get rid of the corpse and try to pass his disappearance off as voluntary."
Hackett said, "This is a fine story, I can see Hitchcock making a dandy movie of it. But you're building it without much evidence."
"I know, I know. But go on listening. I think that note to Mrs. Bragg was either already written-by Twelvetrees, just to save time and trouble-and sitting there on the bureau, or he'd mentioned to them that he hadn't yet told her he was leaving, or they'd have had no other way to know that and consequently know the necessity for the note. Anyway, they make the whole plan hastily. Casting around for what to do with the body, they find that trap-and what better place? They can work at leisure, and no need to go trundling the body around in the car. They get the body buried, and they finish his packing for him and dump those suitcases down the trap. By this time they're worked up some more, they've had quite an evening, and there's still his car to dispose of. And then, just as they think they can relax a little, all of a sudden they spot these miscellaneous odds and ends on the bureau. Easy to overlook, you know, the state they were probably in. They'd remembered to put his jacket on him-easier than to cram it into a suitcase already full-but they hadn't bothered to put a tie on-what did it matter?-so they hadn't looked for one. And the idea of going down that trap again to jam all this stuff in a suitcase, or even just dump it-well, can't you see them sticking it all into that bag handy there, and taking it away for disposal later?"
Slowly Hackett nodded. "I can. Yes. But where does this woman down at Olvera Street come in? Why did Mrs. Kingman have to do all that alone? And why was it the woman who drove the Porsche down there instead of him, anyway?"