Jean wasn’t trying to deceive him any longer. If she returned home after he did, she obviously didn’t care if he knew it.
His anger increased as he thought about this new factor, and when her car finally passed the spot where he was hidden and swung to the curb at the corner, Leo was in a state of high rage.
He heard her laugh. It seemed merry and bright and the man said something to her that made her laugh again. Leo crouched down and waited until she made the turn at the corner and headed back to pass his hiding place once more.
He left the lights off, waited until she was gone a few moments and then pulled out into the street and looked for the man. He spotted him walking slowly down Third Street, which was one of those streets which are paved, have sidewalks, but few houses and many vacant lots. The spot was absolutely ideal and the time was most favorable.
He drove on by the man who didn’t seem worried or in a hurry. Leo stopped two blocks away, turned the corner, parked, waited and brooded and grew angrier and angrier.
The man was approaching and he was whistling softly as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Suddenly Leo stepped out to confront him and, as he did so, his rage grew overpowering. He would tantalize the man, he’d tell him why he was doing this, but not until he had him firmly held and the man was slowly dying.
The man came to an abrupt stop as Leo charged toward him. But then he did a strange thing. He seemed to brace himself and suddenly he reached under his coat. Leo was moving too fast to stop, to even think.
It suddenly flashed across his mind that the man had drawn a gun. A gun! What business did a man like him have in carrying a weapon?
Leo kept on going. The gun levelled.
Leo screamed his rage. He saw the gun flash, he felt the shock of the bullet as it hit, but the pain was almost non-existent because he died practically on the instant as the heavy slug ripped through his chest and then his heart.
To an excited and somewhat frightened householder who dared to approach the scene, the man with the gun still in his hand, also produced a gold badge.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Ted Barnes,” he said. “I live a block away. Call police headquarters and tell them I was just compelled to shoot a man. I’ll wait here.”
“Is he — in need of an ambulance, Sergeant?”
“Not this one,” Sergeant Barnes said. “He must have been crazy, coming at me that way.”
Sergeant Barnes told the simple story to his captain a little while later.
“I’d been working on that Jean Damion blackmail thing. Mrs. Damion and I went out again on word she got from the blackmailer, but just like the other times, he didn’t show.”
The captain looked down at the dead man, now decently covered with a blanket. “Maybe this is the blackmailer. Somehow, he found out you were a cop—”
“Could be. Nothing on him in the way of identification and, believe me, Captain, there was murder in his eyes.”
“Well, we’ll have an explanation as soon as we find out who he is. No progress at all with the Damion blackmailer?”
“None. I’m beginning to think it’s all a hoax. Not by Mrs. Dam-ion. She’s just about one of the finest women I’ve ever met.”
“Beautiful too,” the Captain said. “Some of the other boys in the office think you’re mighty lucky.”
Sergeant Barnes walked toward the police car.
“I’ll stop at my home and tell my wife everything’s okay,” he said. “Then I’ll go down and make a report. I wish I could put into it the reason why this confounded idiot attacked me.”
“It all washes out eventually,” the captain said. “You run along. Oh yes, you might phone Mrs. Damion and tell her we’re going to put a new man on her case. You’ll be too busy working up this one, I’m afraid.”
“I’d appreciate the change, Captain. Sitting around cheap motels and drive-ins gets monotonous after awhile. Even with a beautiful and interesting woman.”
“I hope Mrs. Damion won’t be disappointed at the news.” The captain kidded him a bit.
Mrs. Damion wasn’t disappointed. There might be some questions later on when they found out it was her husband Ted had killed, but she was sure she could cope with any investigation. For tonight, she was content.
She went to bed and slept very well indeed.
Ten Long Years
by Richard Hill Wilkinson
“You will tell me where the money is. Now. Or—” He saw the cane in the big man’s hand...
Sidney Schliff’s hobby was studying the stock market. It fascinated him. Over a period of two years, by making careful investments, buying and selling at the right time, he made a little more than two million dollars. On paper, that is.
It was fun, and exciting.
At the end of this two-year period Sidney felt that he was ready to begin a bit of jumping in and out for real, He first jumped into Allied Plastics, and lost two thousand dollars within three weeks because he didn’t jump out at the proper time. Sidney shrugged off the loss. So he’d made a miscalculation. So what? It wasn’t his money he’d lost. It was the bank’s.
Sidney worked in the bookkeeping department of the Bomont First National Bank and Trust Company. It was easy for him to juggle the books around so that the discrepancy wouldn’t be discovered, at least for the time being. And long before the “time being” had expired Sidney would have jumped in and out again and replaced the amount of the first loss.
For example, Sidney had his eye on Fairbanks Steel. Apparently Fairbanks Steel had its eye on Sidney, because the day after he waded in with a three thousand dollar investment, Fairbanks stock plunged to an all time low.
This shook him up. He couldn’t understand why things weren’t working out for him as they had when he was only a paper investor. He was now five grand in the hole and the bank’s books were giving him an uncomfortable feeling every time he opened them. They seemed to screech at him to restore the money he had stolen.
Sidney studied the market for another week and then, convinced that his system couldn’t fail a third time, decided to take the plunge. He “borrowed” another ten thousand dollars from the bank and nailed it on Melrose Chemicals. Melrose Chemicals had no sympathy or understanding whatever. Ten days later they folded Sidney’s — or the bank’s — ten thousand bucks vanished, never to be heard from again.
Sidney was now beset by a feeling he had never before known. It was a feeling of panic. Desperately he scanned the stock market reports. Brown Electronics looked good. It looked extremely good. It was a comparatively new company and had moved steadily forward since its inception. But was it worth the risk?
Sidney thought about it. Despite his careful calculations he had failed three times. The bank examiners were due: any day. They would detect the discrepancies at a glance and point the finger of guilt at him. He’d be arrested, tried and convicted. He’d be sent to jail for ten years, with three years off for good behavior.
Sidney shuddered. Then he had a great idea. If he was going to be sent to jail anyway, why not be sent for something worth while?
The next day was Friday and Sidney arrived at the bank with an empty suitcase. He told everyone he was leaving right after the bank closed for a week-end with some friends in New Hampshire.
Sidney was a long-time and trusted employee. One of his duties was to check the cash in the vault at the end of each business day. Thus it took no great scheming for him to fill his suitcase with stacks of currency, amounting to a quarter of a million dollars, without arousing suspicion. The theft couldn’t possibly be discovered until the vault was opened on Monday.