“That’s exactly what the other six would say, too. And the second try was when the guy shot at me from City Hall. And all seven were in City Hall at the time.”
“My grandfather was killed at eleven-thirty at night,” said Bill.
“Another night-time job,” I said. “Again, everybody’s home in bed. And the fourth one was the bomb in my car. It could have been put in there any time over a twelve-hour period, by anybody in the world. So that takes care of opportunity. What’s next?”
“Method,” said Ron.
I shrugged. “A hired gunman, a grenade, a gun and a homemade bomb. What can you say about method?”
Art said, “Your killer is pretty shy, you can say that much. He doesn’t like to show his face.”
“Staying out of sight when something illegal is going on,” said Ron blandly, “is instinctive with politicians.”
“After the first attempt,” I said, “I gave Harcum a profile of the guy we were after, on the basis of method. He hired a professional killer out of New York. That meant he was pretty well-to-do. He shot the professional with a hunting rifle, which probably meant he had a hunting license and goes out after deer every fall. And the gunman wasn’t worried about being arrested, so the guy who hired him was probably influential locally. There’s your profile, based on method. A rich and influential local citizen who has a hunting rifle.”
“And who’s been to New York recently,” added Cathy.
“That profile fits all seven of us,” said Myron. “Including me, unhappily. We’re all influential locally, God knows, or at least we were up until today. And we all have hunting licenses and hunting rifles. And we’ve all been to New York sometime within the last month and a half or two months. And” — he offered us a crooked grin — “we’ve all made out rather well financially.”
“Method on the second try,” I said. “A gun. Anybody can have a gun.”
“On the third try,” said Ron, “a hand grenade. I shouldn’t think hand grenades would be that easy to come across.” He offered us a sour grin. “Except from the National Guard,” he said.
“All seven of us,” said Myron, “have almost complete run of City Hall. Including the jail and Police Headquarters, down in the basement. I understand they have a variety of weapons in the armory down there, including some souvenir guns and hand grenades and samurai swords taken from our returning veterans after the Second World War.”
“On the fourth try,” I said, “a homemade bomb. I don’t know which one of them has the knowledge to construct a bomb like that. Anybody else?”
“Jordan Reed has his own chemical plant,” said Art.
“That’s a thought. But does it mean he knows how to make a bomb?”
“And does he,” asked Ron, “have the same free access to City Hall that the others have?”
“I suppose he could get any key he wanted, yes,” said Myron.
“So they all had opportunity, and any one of them might have used these methods, though Jordan Reed might be more likely for the bomb in the car.”
“That leaves motive,” said Ron.
“The coming of the CCG,” I said. “Once again, they all fit.”
“Wait a second, Tim,” said Cathy. “You’re not saying that right.”
“I’m not saying what right?”
“You’re saying,” she said earnestly, “that wanting somebody dead is a motive for murder. But that isn’t right. You have to know why the person wanted that other person dead. That’s the motive. You have to ask yourself why the coming of the CCG made somebody want to kill you.”
“I’ve been going round and round with that question for two days,” I told her.
Ron said, “What about this girl that got killed out at Reed’s place? Where does she fit into all this?”
“I don’t think she does,” I said.
“What girl?” asked Myron.
“Girl named Sherri something-or-other,” I told him. “Stacked blonde. You might have seen her hanging around with Harcum lately.”
“She’s dead?”
“Seems she’s an old girl friend of Marvin Reed’s,” I said. “I guess Harcum was around just to give her transportation here, and the first chance she got she lit out to see Marvin. And wound up with a hunting knife in her, out in the woods by Reed’s house.”
Cathy said, “And it looks as though Marvin did it, is that right?”
“Looks that way,” I said thoughtfully. “Funny thing,” I said. “Jordan washed his hands of the whole thing, as soon as he found out Marvin’d been playing around. And Marv said, ‘I’d do anything for you.’ To his father, he said that.”
“So what?” said Ron.
“This is goofy,” I said.
Myron said, “You mean, Jordan killed the girl, and Marvin will take the blame?”
“Something goofier than that,” I told him. “Marvin will do anything for his old man. Including kill me, do you think? If a bunch of reformers are coming into town, and he knows his father is worried—”
“Not Marvin,” said Cathy. “He might kill that girl, because he was all upset. But he wouldn’t coldly plan to kill anybody, and just keep trying time after time.”
“Let’s forget that thing,” said Ron, “and go back to the main issue. We were talking about motive.”
“And not getting anywhere,” I said.
“Why would this guy want to kill you?” Ron asked rhetorically.
“Maybe,” said Cathy thoughtfully, “that’s the wrong question.”
I looked at her. “What other question is there?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I don’t know if this would help or not, but why not ask yourself what would happen if you were dead?”
“What would happen if I were dead?”
She nodded.
“That’s the same question.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Ron suddenly. “Cathy may have something there.” He looked urgently at me. “Tim,” he said, “what would change, what would be different, if you were dead?”
“Nothing right now,” I told him. “Two, three days ago, when this all started — I don’t know, the CCG would probably have had to go somewhere else to get its evidence, that’s all. I can’t think of anything else.”
“Your files would still be around,” said Ron, “where the CCG could probably have gotten hold of them anyway. So that wouldn’t make any difference.”
“There must have been some definite result the killer had in mind,” said Cathy. “Something that would happen if and when you were to die.”
“If we could only—” started Ron, but then it hit me. “Wait a minute!” I shouted, and jumped up from my chair. I pointed at Ron, who blinked at me in total confusion. “You said it!” I shouted at him. “You said it!”
He stared at me open-mouthed. “I said what?”
“Wait,” I said. “Just wait.” I ran to the phone, dialed, waited, and when Charlie came on I said, “Is Sherri London there?”
“She’s dead,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, and hung up, grinning.
Cathy said, “What is it, Tim? Do you know who it is?”
Bill, suddenly alert, said, “You’ve got it, Tim?”
“Call your father,” I told him. “Call him right now. I’ve got it cold.”
Thirty
I was back in the Casale Brothers warehouse, but this time I was face to face with Mike Casale and the family. It was a large bare room, a few crates lined up along one wall, and it was full of Casales. The whole male population of the family was there, plus some of the truckers who worked for Mike, plus Ron and Art and Cathy and Myron Stone-man and me.
I started talking the minute I walked in, giving them everything that had happened in the last couple days, so they’d have enough facts to understand my proof. They listened impatiently, and I got through the history as quickly as I could. Then I said, “I saw it when Cathy there asked me what would change if I were dead. It suddenly occurred to me that my filing cabinet — or its contents, anyway — would immediately be impounded as evidence in the case. The killer had already been approached by the CCG, and asked if he could supply convictable evidence on the rest of the crowd, on the basis that the CCG would leave him alone and pay him off.”