“How about that letter?”
“Mr. H. Taylor. General Delivery. Chicago. And the ticket was to Chicago.”
Brock nodded. “I see. He thought they might be suspicious, that they might have got word of the Boston tip and added two and two. And if he was stopped and searched, he didn’t want to be caught with the money, or with any evidence of where to find the money. That would have been fatal. But they’d added two and two and got six and wanted him dead, very quickly, without ever a chance to say he was just taking a little innocent trip with his wife.”
“It must have been that way. Brock, the police have been questioning me about those men. I couldn’t tell them anything. What will I do?”
“They’ve been here. I got word to Tom Blaskell. You didn’t make an official complaint, did you?”
“No.”
“Good. Now, let me handle this. Just sit tight. I’ll be out of here tomorrow. Phone my office and tell the girl to get me a noon plane reservation to Chicago. I don’t know how long they keep unclaimed baggage shipped through on tickets.”
“You aren’t well enough!”
“By tomorrow I’ll be able to get around.”
She stood up, twisting at the catch on her purse, avoiding his eyes. “You made me drink that whisky. I think I said some silly things.”
“Stop looking like a spanked kid. What silly things? Say them over.”
“Please, Brock.”
He reached out suddenly and caught her hand. “When I was a little kid, Beth, they made me go to dancing school. It was brutal. But one day, in the hall, I kissed a little girl who was wearing about two pounds of braces on her teeth. Remarkable experience.” He pulled at her hand.
“No, Brock. You don’t want—”
“Let me figure out what I want.”
She kissed the corner of his mouth cautiously, lightly, and fled, hearing his quiet laugh as she turned down the corridor.
It was a conference room. Beth sat in the corner, her lips dry. Brock had guided her to that chair, told her not to speak unless he, and only he, asked her to. Crees sat with his brief case on the table in front of him. In the hallway Brock had introduced her to Tom Blaskell. She had liked him at once — a big, shaggy man with an oddly shy smile. There were other men present. She did not know them. They had a harried, official look, and an air of expectancy. There was smoke and low conversation.
“All right,” Crees said. “Who’s going to run this?”
Blaskell was standing by the windows. He said, “I know a lot of the angles.”
“Go ahead, Tom,” Brock said.
“This isn’t a hearing,” Blaskell said. “It isn’t even as formal as a conference. You men represent a lot of agencies and departments. I think before we decide on any course of action, we ought to hear from Brock Ellison.”
A heavy man said, “Can the lady wait outside?”
“She stays,” Brock said firmly. “You all have some groundwork on the Talbott case. My client had no idea her husband was engaged in any illicit undertaking. You all know that she and her husband lived in a very meager way. She had no idea that he had an outside source of income. Mr. Crees, do you still intend to charge her with fraud on those tax returns?”
Crees fiddled with a buckle on the brief case. “Put it this way. Unless you can prove what you just said, we intend to go ahead.”
“Talbott worked for somebody else. All you gentlemen realize that. There are no lone wolves in the highly organized narcotics business. Talbott was crossing the organization and making his escape the night he was killed. Mrs. Talbott has recovered her memory of that night. I have here a statement from her doctors explaining that this is not an unusual phenomenon with a skull fracture or concussion. What she remembered gave me a clue to the location of the money that Talbott hid. I recovered it in Chicago the day before yesterday. It is here in this brief case. Fifty-three thousand odd dollars. This money, I would judge, can be considered a part of the estate of the deceased.”
“Just a moment,” Crees said. “Unless you can prove your assertion, Ellison, that Talbott was acting as an agent, as an employee, we’ll have to stick to our original computation of his total income.”
“What happens if I can prove not only that Talbott was an agent, but that his wife had no knowledge of his — sub rosa activities?”
“That’s a big ‘if.’ I expect we would consider that money as additional income not reported, prorate it over the three-year period, and figure the tax plus interest, without penalties. And then we would take an inheritance tax on the balance. The state income and inheritance taxes would also figure in. There would be something left. Not much, of course.”
“I don’t want any of it,” Beth said.
They all turned and looked at her. Brock said quickly, “I don’t think anybody could blame her for not wanting this sort of money. She just found out recently what Roger Talbott was doing.”
“This is all pretty suppositional,” Crees said.
“Let me ask one more question, Mr. Crees, and then we’ll get down to business. Suppose, Mr. Crees, that my client can give you information showing who got the lion’s share of the profits. You’d go after them for back taxes. Would my client get the usual percentage of money collected for giving such information?”
Crees gave a bland smile. “Let’s not contradict ourselves. You build up a picture of the innocence of Mrs. Talbott, and then tell us she can inform on the kingpin in this picture.”
Brock grinned. “Sorry. This money is part of the estate. So is the document recovered with the money. I believe Talbott wrote it as a form of insurance. You can see that it’s a lengthy document. It gives a detailed record of his operations under the indirect guidance of one Salvatore Lorrio.”
Beth felt the sudden stillness.
Brock said quietly, “Times, dates, places, names, methods, routes, pay rolls. Talbott had an orderly mind. Now let me read one passage of special interest to my client. Here it is. On page eleven. ‘Jimmy Lorrio warned me again today that I must be careful never to let my wife know or suspect what I am doing. I told him she did not know. He said to keep it that way because if she did know I was making money like his brother was paying me, plus the bonuses on delivery, she would want to spend some of it, and it would spoil my cover to start living high. He told me I could be a big shot around Boston, but around here I have to keep on being a guy who can’t quite make a decent living. He said he didn’t want revenue boys checking on me on that account, or the police either.’ ”
“May I see that page?” Crees asked.
“How about giving me a look at any part of it?” a thin, nervous man at the end of the table asked eagerly.
Brock handed out some sheets, saying, “There’s no doubt that Talbott wrote it. To try to call it decent evidence is something else again.”
The heavy man looked up from the sheets on the table with a broad grin. “Let’s just call it a treasure map, boys. It tells you where to dig.”
Tom Blaskell leaned on the table and said, “Can I depend on you federal people really to go to town on this and get enough dope to keep me in the clear if I take a chance?”
“What kind of a chance?” the thin, nervous man asked.
“I’ve got a couple of squads waiting. I’ve been through that report and picked out some of the more interesting names. I want to tell my boys to go ahead and pick them up fast before they can start covering up their tracks. The Lorrios have friends. But if you don’t back me up with charges that will hold water before Lorrio’s lawyers can get everybody out on writs, I’m going to be out of the police business.”