“Don’t get moral, Cotton,” she told him. “You weren’t very goddamn moral in bed.”
“True.” He grinned. “End of sermon. End of shocked Daughter of American Revolution routine. Beginning of important questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like Kramer. Did he ever mention a hunting trip to you?”
“Yes.” She paused. “I told you. Hunting was one of his hobbies.”
“A hunting trip in September?”
“Yes.” Again, she paused. “Before we met. Yes, he mentioned it.”
“Did he really go hunting?”
“I think so. He talked about the stuff he’d shot. A deer, I think. Yes, he really went hunting.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he go hunting again while you were living with him?”
“Yes. I already told you this. He went several times.”
“But you don’t know where he went that time in September?”
“No.”
Hawes thought for a moment. Then he said, “Would you happen to know if Kramer had a gasoline credit card?”
“A what?”
“A credit card. To show at service stations. So that he could charge his gas.”
“Oh. I don’t know. Would he carry that with him?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the police still have his wallet. Why not look through it?”
“We will,” Hawes said. “Did Kramer save bills?”
“You mean grocery bills and things like that?”
“No. I mean telephone bills, electric-light bills, gasoline bills. Things like that.”
“Yes. Why, yes, he did.”
“Where did he keep them?”
“In the desk in the foyer.”
“Would they still be there?”
“I haven’t touched anything,” Nancy said.
“Good. Mind if I look through the desk?”
“Not at all. What are you looking for, Cotton?”
“Something that might be just as good as a road map,” he answered, and he went out to the foyer and the desk.
9.
SY KRAMER had a card with the Meridian Mobilube Company that enabled him to charge his automobile expenses at any of their gasoline stations. Most of the bills in his desk for gasoline charges had been signed at a place called George’s Service Center in Isola. George’s, the police discovered after a check of the phone book, was a station three blocks from Kramer’s apartment. He had undoubtedly been a regular customer there and most of his gas purchases had originated there. The bills he had signed looked like this:
On September first, Kramer had started a trip. The first bill for that date came from George’s, in Isola. Kramer had put thirteen gallons of gasoline and a quart of oil into the car. A check with the manufacturer of Kramer’s 1952-model automobile revealed that the tank capacity of the car was seventeen gallons, and that the car could be expected to travel between fifteen and sixteen miles on a gallon of gasoline. The bills Sy Kramer signed that day seemed to back up the manufacturer’s word. Kramer had apparently kept a careful eye on his tank gauge. Approximately every hundred miles, when the gauge registered half-empty, he had stopped and brought it up to full again, signing a credit slip for the gas. Each bill was stamped with the name of the gas station and the town.
Sy Kramer had unmistakably gone to the Adirondack Mountains in New York State.
Using a road map, Hawes traced Kramer’s progression across that state, marking each town for which he had a bill. The last place in which Kramer had stopped for gas on September first was called Gloversville. From that town, the mountain territory spread north. From that town, he could have gone anywhere in the Adirondacks; he had not signed another bill for gasoline that day. Hawes marked Gloversville with a big circle, and then he consulted the bills once more.
On September eighth, a week later, Kramer had put five gallons of gasoline and a quart of oil into the car. He had made the purchase in a town called Griffins. The rest of the bills for September eighth recorded a southbound trip that eventually led back to the city. The stop in Griffins had apparently been the first stop for gas on the leg home. The town north of Griffins was Bakers Mills. It seemed possible to Hawes that Kramer had gone into the mountains somewhere between Griffins and Bakers Mills. He circled both towns. It seemed likely, too, that Griffins had been the first town he’d hit after coming out of the mountains, gassing up there for the first lap of the trip home.
His calculations could, he admitted, be wrong. But the distance from Gloversville to Griffins was an approximate thirty-five miles. Kramer had filled his tank in Gloversville. Figuring fifteen miles to the gallon, Kramer would have used a little more than two gallons to make the trip from Gloversville to Griffins. Could Hawes safely assume Kramer had then traveled another approximate fifteen miles into the mountains, and an additional fifteen miles for the return trip to Griffins, where he had added five gallons of gas to the tank?
It was possible that Griffins had been his springboard into the mountains. It was a long shot, but it was possible.
One thing was certain. Kramer was either a liar or a habitual lawbreaker. He had told Nancy O’Hara he’d shot a deer.
A check with one of the state’s game protectors revealed that the Adirondack deer season did not start until October twenty-fifth.
“HELLO, JEAN?”
“Yes?”
“This is Lucy Mencken.”
“Oh, hello, Lucy, how are you? I was just thinking about you.”
“Really?”
“I was going to call you for that stuffed-pepper recipe. The one you used for the last buffet.”
“Oh, that. Did you really like them that much?”
“Lucy, they were magnificent!”
“I’m glad. I’ll bring you the recipe…or perhaps…well, the reason I’m calling, Jean, I thought you and the children might like to come over for a swim this afternoon. The water’s just grand, and it looks as if it’s going to be a terribly hot day.”
“Yes, it does. I don’t know, Lucy. Frank said he might be home early…”
“Well, bring him along. Charles is here.”
“He is?”
“Yes. Jean, you know you have a standing invitation to swim here whenever you like. I feel awfully silly having to call to invite you each time.”
“Well…”
“Say you’ll come.”
“What time, Lucy?”
“Whenever you like. Come for lunch, if you can.”
“All right, I’ll be there.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting for you.”
The recorder in the mock telephone-company shack across the highway wound its tapes relentlessly. Arthur Brown, monitoring the calls, was bored to tears. He had brought along a dozen back issues of National Geographic, and he read those now while Lucy and her various contacts talked and talked and talked. Thus far, there had been no threatening calls.