“Enter the Bureau of Internal Revenue?”
“Why not? We could tell them how much stuff Talbott got his hands on, what he had to pay for it, and what the retail value was. That profit transaction didn’t appear on his tax returns. His wife signed them, too. When we can’t jail them on a narcotics charge, we like to be able to think of something else. At least, it’s nice to remove all the profit from it.”
Brock thought in silence for long moments. “Then Mr. Crees is taking the retail valuation of the estimated shipments and deducting what those boys usually pay at shipside, and calling the answer Talbott’s net?”
“Something like that.”
“You see the flaw, don’t you?”
The flabby man smiled, almost sadly. “Of course. The narcotics business is too highly organized for a man like Talbott to be in business for himself. We concentrate men in New York, and it comes through Galveston or New Orleans. We shift men down there, and it comes through Boston. It’s an international set-up. I’d say Talbott was an employee, and as an educated guess, I’d say Talbott crossed his employers.”
“Then why is Crees directing his case as though Talbott were in business for himself?”
“He’s the only one with the legal right to put pressure on Mrs. Talbott. We can’t, because we have nothing on her. We cooperate, you know. He’ll push her so hard she’ll crack. Then she’ll name Talbott’s business connections in Thrace.”
“What if she knows nothing?”
The man closed his eyes for a moment. “Put it this way. If she acts like she knows nothing, I’d say she was being smart. It’s one way to stay healthy.”
“You’ve told me a lot. I appreciate it.”
The man stared at him. For a moment something harsh, almost vicious, showed in his expression. “Better bow out of it, Ellison. Even if she was nine times removed from direct peddling of the stuff, if she has guilty knowledge you couldn’t get her soul clean with laundry soap and a wire brush. Let them take her over the jumps. You can’t help her.”
“You don’t think much of her.”
The man smiled. “I’ve seen them steer school kids onto it, Ellison. It isn’t easy to forget.”
On the quick plane trip back to Thrace, Ellison kept thinking of Beth Talbott. Her face was good. Humor and serenity in the mouth. A level decency in her eyes. Yet he had seen a boy once with the face of an angel — his voice low and sweet and clear as he told how he had disposed of the gun.
Though her face was lovely and had a look of strength, it could well conceal the determination to outsmart all of them. He told himself he was just a bit too old to tie milady’s colors to his lance. He wondered if his desire to be with her was born of pure curiosity, or whether there was a personal and emotional angle. Very few women made you think, inanely, of marriage.
Beth was sickened by the damage that had been done to the house. And, as soon as she was up and about again, she sensed the change in Marian’s attitude. There was hostility, watchfulness.
Beth tried to say she was sorry about what had happened to the house. It seemed a pointless apology. Slow days went by with no word from Ellison. Harry was remote, uncommunicative.
Harry came home one night, took Marian into their bedroom, and closed the door. Beth could hear their low voices. She busied herself in the kitchen, wondering what was happening. She knew she was gaining strength rapidly. Another eight to ten pounds, and she would be up where she belonged. In her bath she saw the slatlike leanness fading into the long familiar curves. Her hair was growing with a pleasing rapidity, though she knew she still looked ridiculously boyish.
At dinner Harry talked heavily and with false joviality about his day at the office. Marian prattled in an artificial voice. Both of them were very solicitous about passing things to Beth.
Over coffee Harry cleared his throat and said, “Beth, I’m afraid we’re going to have to have a serious talk.”
“Of course, Harry.”
“I talked with Marian before dinner, and she agrees. You understand that this isn’t a — pleasant or an easy thing to do.”
“None of this has been either pleasant or easy,” Beth said softly.
“I talked to my accountant today, and also to J. Kane Thompson. Up until Mr. Crees came into the picture, we’d spent about two thousand dollars. I had to pay Thompson a retainer. This Ellison fellow costs forty dollars a day and expenses. Insurance will cover only about half the damage to the house here. My accountant tells me that in order to go ahead, I’ll have to liquidate some of the stock holdings I bought as a reserve for our old age. Frankly, Beth, I just can’t see my way clear to going ahead this way.”
“I... I know how ridiculous it is to promise to repay you within a reasonable time, Harry. But I certainly will pay back every penny of it eventually.”
“We know that. Today I took the liberty of telling Mr. Thompson to pay Ellison up to date and let him go.”
Both of them were looking at her with odd expressions. She said, “I understand perfectly. That’s quite all right.”
Beth saw Harry give Marian a helpless look. Marian said, “Go on, Harry. Say it.”
Harry looked miserable. “Your sister and I, Beth, we thought that if you could lay your hands on some money—”
“I could sell my clothes and what furniture we had, but that wouldn’t bring in anywhere near enough. I haven’t any jewelry. That all went a long time ago.”
“We don’t mean that, dear,” Marian said.
Beth stared at her and began to understand. “You mean,” she said faintly, “that you think I might have — some of that money—”
Marian leaned forward. Her face looked puffy with anger, quite ugly. “Somebody thinks so. Somebody thinks so strongly enough to come in here and ruin my home.”
“Marian!”
“I can’t help what I think. How do I know you aren’t—”
“Please, baby,” Harry said heavily. “Let her alone.”
“Please excuse me,” Beth said. “I’m going up and lie down! I... I don’t feel well.”
Beth closed the door and sat in the single chair. The window was a rectangle of dusk. She sat alone, thinking of how everything was being taken from her, one thing at a time. Now Brock Ellison, and Marian. And no objection was possible. They’d done all that could be expected. More. They had a right to the security they had earned. She would convince Marian, all over again, that she knew nothing about the money, and yet something had gone out of the relationship that could never be replaced. She had a grotesque picture of what would happen if she were cleared by the court. Good old Beth. Just like when they were kids. Marian constantly gold-bricking while Beth was always stuck with the housework. Good old Beth, working to pay back all that money her kind sister had loaned her, retiring to her room in the evening after the dishes were done. Yes, my sister lives with us. She’s a widow, you know, poor thing. Husband died in a horrible automobile accident. We just had to take her in. But she’s really very understanding. Stays in her room when the work is all done.
She sensed how dangerously close she had come to those tears of self-pity. She lifted her chin. They’d purchased her services. They would get full value.
When they were kids, Marian had been the pretty one, and Beth had been strange and awkward. But during the last few years Roger had begun to call Beth handsome. He had said that “pretty” was a weak, tired word. “Lambie, there’s nothing pretty about those cheekbones and that nice curve along your jaw.”
She could almost hear his voice in the room. She was thinking of him when she heard the voices in the downstairs hall, heard Marian come up and tap on her door, saying in a sugary tone, “Sis? Mr. Ellison is here. Do you feel well enough to come down? He wants you to go out with him, but I told him you weren’t feeling very good.”