I dropped into the doctor’s office, picked up my forms. As I was walking back to the Police Station, which was in the same building with the City Hall and Post Office, I saw Mrs. Tim Williams sneaking into the back of my car. If she moved gracefully, she was clumsy at it.
I got in the front seat. She was ‘hiding’ on the floor of the back seat, the soft curves of her back and hips — rousing lines. I drove out of the Harbor, turned off into a dirt road among the scrub pine trees and stopped. I waited a few minutes and she sat up. For another moment we didn’t talk, then she began to weep. She mumbled, “I just know that Chief Moore is out to kill my Tim!”
“Maybe. I never saw him so anxious before,” I said, lighting my pipe and offering her a cigarette. “Of course, it could be because this is his first murder case. You know where Tim is, don’t you, Mrs. Williams?”
She puffed on the cigarette slowly, sitting slumped against the back seat; didn’t answer. I hadn’t expected her to. Then, almost as if talking to herself, she said, “Mister Inspector, it took us a long time and lots of hard work to come up here... just so we could live with some dignity. Chopping cotton down there, you’re like an animal. Tim, he works hard, not much of a drinking man. Got ambition, always talking about he has to leave farm work, maybe get us a gas station. He’s good with motors, too. Two weeks ago he had the dream. Then, couple days later, we both had it.”
“What dream?”
“Tim, he dream he driving a racing car with a big 801 on it. Then I have this dream where I’m looking at a fine new house. The number on it was 80 First Street. That same night, Tim he dream he’s counting pennies — they come to $8.01. Now... sure, we play some numbers up here, a dime, a quarter, a day. We play 801. The first day nothing like it comes out. But we keep the number in. Then 865 hits. Then 110 comes up. Yesterday we puts ten dollars on 801. It come in — $6000 we wins! This is the real dream for us. $6000 for poor people. You understand?”
I nodded. “You get paid off, this morning?”
“Oh yes, this is a good numbers outfit around here. Early this morning Tim go see the man, gets the $6000. Tim give him $400 as a tip. Think of that — a $400 tip! You see the kind of good man my Tim is, even with all that money he ain’t for losing a day’s work. Also, he afraid to leave the money with me — somebody might try rob us. He drives to Mrs. Buck’s, asks her to please put this envelope in her safe for him, ‘till he ready to quit in the afternoon. She take it but opens the envelope — asks where he got all that money. Tim, he have to tell her he hit the number big. But Mrs. Buck think he stole it. Say she calling the police, the Federal government. Tim, he snatch the money from her and run. Ain’t done no wrong, the money his. He never see her again. God’s truth, mister. I’m going to have a child: I swear it on my baby!”
She began to cry again. Starting the car, I drove her home. Stopping before their cottage, I told her, “Listen to me carefully. You know where Tim is. You tell him...”
“I don’t know!”
“Come on — listen! Tell him to stay hidden for a few more hours. Be sure he doesn’t try to make a break for it — he’ll be killed. Have him home at 5 P.M. Now, remember this, you never talked to me just now. After Tim returns, if the police come, Tim is not to say one word about hitting the numbers. If he does, the Feds will tax the money, take most of it. Understand me?”
“Yes. But what he tell the police?”
“Tim’s story is he was feeling sick, couldn’t work, asked Mrs. Buck for his wages. When she wouldn’t pay him, he went to sleep in the woods, didn’t know a thing about her being killed until you told him when he returned home. Got that straight?”
She nodded.
“Remember, the only time you spoke to me was when I was out with Chief Moore. You say otherwise, I’ll come back and throw Tim under the jail!”
She stared at me, dark face full of suspicion. “You don’t think Tim done it?”
“I’m sure he didn’t. I’m trying to help you.”
“All right, I tell him.”
“Remember what I said, nothing about hitting the numbers.”
“I remember.”
I let her out of the car and drove to Mrs. Buck’s house. Nellie Harris was cleaning the kitchen, as if nothing had happened. I was inside the kitchen before she even heard my steps. She grunted at me, “You again. Probably close the house. Don’t like leaving a dirty place.”
“Nellie, after Tim and Mrs. Buck had their argument and he left, what did Mrs. Buck do?”
“Told you: I heard her phone Chief Moore.”
“What did she tell him?”
“How would I know? I don’t hear too well, especially when a body is talking right into the phone.”
“Then, how do you know she phoned him?”
“When she starts dialing the phone makes a kind of ringing sound. I can hear that real good.”
“After that, did she phone anybody else?”
“No sir.”
“You’re positive there was only one phone call?”
“Positive.”
I drove back to the Harbor police station. A young fellow, a ‘special’ judging by his badge number, was holding down the desk. Specials work part-time, mostly directing traffic on weekends. We sat around and gassed about nothing. Moore came in a half hour later, told the special to take off. Putting his fat behind in the desk chair he told me, “That bastard didn’t show. I hate to start combing these woods. All the summer cottages he could be holed up in.”
Moving my chair so I blocked the door, I took out my gun, asked, “Bob, why did you kill Julia Buck?”
“What? Jed, have you gone crazy? I...” He started to get up.
“Sit there — hands on top of your desk! Tim Williams hit the numbers today for six grand. Don’t bull me, Moore, the numbers couldn’t operate here without you getting a cut.”
“I’ve been an honest cop all my life! Never...”
“Cut the slop! Bob, you’re stupid as hell. Everybody in the Harbor knows your take home pay isn’t sixty a week — the Harbor votes on it every year. Yet you’re sporting a flashy Jag, a cabin cruiser. What was the numbers syndicate paying you — $100 a week for protection?”
“That’s goddamn lie! Got me a good buy on the car. The boat is old and...”
“On sixty a week? I’ll tell you what happened: when Mrs. Buck phoned she told you Tim said he’d won the dough on a hit, that she was calling the Feds. You told her to wait, you’d be right out. Riding there you were worried sick; if there was a Federal stink and the numbers racket ruined here, put an end to your weekly sugar. So you parked your Jag, sneaked into the house, killed Mrs. Buck, then drove up minutes later as if you’d just arrived. Nellie Harris never heard a thing. Now you figure on gunning Tim — maybe even getting his six grand. Killing Mrs. Buck was even more stupid than buying a Jaguar, showing off your money. Bob, you got muscles for brains!”
Moore’s fat face was a chalk pumpkin. “I thought...”
“I know, you thought you were helping the numbers gang, but you did exactly the opposite by panicking! Even if the Feds knew of Tim’s hit, outside of taxing him, what could they have done? The racket would have died down for a few weeks here, that’s all. But a murder is the last thing the syndicate wants.