SIXTEEN
"Answers," he went on to Hackett dreamily, after they had gone.
"We're getting them in, finally. Va aclarando -it's clearing up. And very nice too. So now we know almost all that happened to dear Brooke that Friday. His unlucky day, all right. He was finished here, after that business with Pickering… It looks as if Marian's got herself a man, absolutamente… He'd have no chance at all to get anywhere in show business, and he was also finished taking an easy living out of the Kingmans, because Pickering knew his connection with the Temple: he'd promised to hound him and he would. Everything had turned sour on Brooke Twelvetrees. First of all, he had to get away from 267th Street, in case Pickering did come back to check after the twenty-four hours' grace… There he is, hacking away at the Tree of Heaven in his blind fury at the way everything's turned out. I can see him, when that thought takes shape in his mind, stalking back into the apartment, throwing down that trowel anywhere-he's forgotten he had it-and starting to pack. He-yes. Yes." Mendoza was sitting on the end of his spine, eyes shut, looking peaceful, hands clasped across his lean middle. " Eso es, of course. He got here with just that old brown leather suitcase, he's had no occasion for luggage since, and he's accumulated too much to go into it. So he leaves his packing, he gets out the Porsche and goes off to buy a couple of new suitcases."
"I follow you," said Hackett. "That's nice deducing, but is it very important?"
"It might be. I think on the way he started thinking a little more clear and shrewd, and his first idea would be, What can I salvage out of this? He could try to go on blackmailing the Kingmans from a distance, but that's always a little more difficult. And I think he must have been very tired of the Kingmans and their Temple. Also, I think he needed some cash right then-he was the kind who spent everything as it came in, maybe he hadn't even enough for those suitcases on him. So he thought of the Kingmans' safe-and then he thought of the Temple bank accounts… Cut his losses, sure, and take everything along he could lay hands on. Now we don't know how long he worked at his gardening, how long he spent starting to pack. But we've got a kind of terminus ad quem, because the bank shuts at three. This just came in this morning. If it hadn't been that particular bank, this would be a different story, because a lot of banks now stay open later on Fridays and don't open on Saturday at all. But that one sticks to the old rule. So we deduce that by the time it came to him how he could salvage something out of the wreck, it'd be too late to get into the bank when he got there-it'd be quite a drive, you know. De paso, it's maybe a little confirmation of how our friend Kingman could get into the dither he did, you know, apparently he didn't know that, wasn't familiar with the banking hours. Because if he'd known the bank was open from nine to twelve on Saturdays, he'd have been down there to lay his warning then, and all this would have started two days before it did. Are you with me?"
" Yo seguir, right behind. Twelvetrees figured to take the cash and let the credit go, clear out the bank account and vanish into the wild blue yonder, probably under the name of Eustace J. Humperdink. O.K. He took a little chance clearing out the safe in the Temple-being too greedy. That he should have left alone."
"I think it was more economy than pure greed. He'd gone to a little trouble to get hold of the combination, silly not to use it now. And it wasn't a long chance at all. Not when it was a matter of hours. He knew Kingman probably wouldn't open that safe until Saturday night. And he fully expected to be at the bank when its doors opened Saturday morning, primed with a glib story for the manager of sudden unexpected expenses that had to be paid in cash-I wonder what he'd have said. I wouldn't put it past him to have intended forging some notes of instructions from the other officers. Yes. Clear out of 267th, he'd think, and get settled for the night in some quiet hotel, and maybe he meant to sit up over those forged notes, to have them ready. He wouldn't have closed out the bank accounts, that'd call for more red tape-just stripped them down to a hundred or so. No, it wasn't too much of a chance… Well, he went to the Temple and took the month's receipts. He went and got his prescriptions refilled, and he bought those suitcases somewhere-probably a big cheap department store where the clerks are always in a rush, don't notice individual customers usually. And he had an early dinner, and he drove back to 267th Street-he'd get there about six-thirty, a quarter of seven, if he left that restaurant at five-thirty. It had started to rain, you remember, it was coming down steadily, that would slow him on the drive. And he started to finish his packing."
"Yes. And?"
Mendoza's long nose twitched. "I'm doing all the work. Can't you fill in a bit? Come on, think hard."
"Well-I think he wrote that note to Mrs. Bragg, to have it ready. He didn't want any backchat, or delay in getting away either. And it's nice to know he had the gun-it was his… Can we say he had a visitor, then? Before he got away, when he was nearly finished packing
… " Hackett fingered his jaw, looking troubled. "I don't know-"
"There are a lot of little things I don't know, but I know who the visitor was. Thanks to you."
"Now look-she-"
" Eso basta, you stop right there. I'm tired of listening. I think, though there are jobs you could do, you'd better take the rest of the day off. I'm worried about you-you're going to pieces. I could take time and explain, but I think it'll be salutary for you not to be told-force you to do a little thinking of your own."
"Are you ordering me?-" began Hackett stiffly.
" Es mas listo de lo que parece," said Mendoza to himself with a sigh. "Smarter than he 1ooks-I hope. You go and have a nice quiet drink somewhere, Arturo, and maybe take in a movie. And don't worry, trust your uncle Luis, everything will be O.K. with a little luck."
"Oh," said Hackett, staring at him. "You don't think- And what are you going to be doing, if I'm allowed to ask?"
"I have dispatched minions-that's a nice word, no question but English has certain advantages-to discover, if possible, where the coat was purchased, by whom, and when. I think we'll get it, because it was only yesterday, you see, it'll be fresh in the salesclerk's mind. And for other reasons too. De veras, this love of melodrama
… I am presently going to call on a new witness, or at least one we haven't thought very important, and meanwhile I am going to sit here and do some serious thinking, along the same line the famous idiot boy took with the lost horse. Goodbye, Arturo. Shut the door when you leave."
Hackett looked at him, opened his mouth, thought better of that and shut it, and stalked out.
Oddly enough, he did more or less what Mendoza had told him to do, though without conscious plan. He went and had a drink, and then he walked up Main Street for a little way, thinking-not to much purpose-and dropped into a newsreel theater.
He didn't take in much of the news; when he came out he went back for his car and drove up to Fairfax Avenue in Hollywood. He located the doctor's office and the pharmacy, and drove slowly on from there, watching the right side of the street. He stopped and parked twice, to go into large shops where luggage was sold, and drew blank. It was at the third place he got somewhere, a big department store branch; one of the clerks thought he remembered a man who looked like Twelvetrees' picture coming in to buy some luggage: he couldn't say exactly when, a couple of weeks back he thought, and he couldn't remember exactly what the man had bought.
Still, it all helped a little. Though the suitcases didn't matter, weren't important. But at least it gave him an illusion of working at it.