I got up and plugged in the coffee. I turned on my heaters. I sat at the kitchen table. All right, I was at a dead end because there were too many variables, too many possibilities. Science has a method of tackling problems with too many variables and not enough facts. Scientists assume certain variables to be fixed, and then make an hypothesis to explain the facts they do know. The hypothesis may not be true, but it gives them a start.
I waited until the coffee was ready, and poured a cup. My assumption, my fixed variable, was that Weiss was telling the truth. My hypothesis was that Paul Baron had killed Jonathan Radford. It might not be true, but it fitted the facts enough to be workable, and it gave me a simple line of reasoning to follow: why had Baron been killed?
Radford is dead. Then what? Revenge? The family would have let the law handle Baron if they knew he had killed Jonathan. My client, Agnes Moore? She had a reason, and probably the hate and the courage. It was possible. I could work on that.
Radford is dead. Baron starts to frame Weiss. The frame seems to work well, the cops go howling after Weiss. Baron still has the material to blackmail Walter Radford. Did he try to use it again, go on with the squeeze with Walter now rich? Or did someone just think he might try to go on, and move to stop him? Remove the threat once and for all?
Or had some associate of Baron’s, some friend, become scared after Radford’s murder and decided that Baron was too dangerous to have around? Someone who was involved with Baron and no longer trusted Baron after Radford’s murder?
Or maybe some associate of Baron’s had decided to keep the blackmail all to himself. A partner who got greedy.
Partner?
Another rule of science says look at the facts, no matter how ridiculous they seem. No man would frame another man for his own murder. But that was exactly what Baron had done. Two facts that could not both be true, and yet were. One answer: Baron had not known what he was really doing. He had been manipulated.
Someone had changed the plan, had fooled Baron into framing Weiss for Baron’s own murder. Someone close enough to Baron, and to the whole scheme, to know everything that Baron did, and even to control much of what Baron did. A person who must have been working with Baron all along. An unknown partner.
The proof was staring at me: the message Baron had sent to Weiss to contact me. Weiss hadn’t questioned the message because as far as he knew only Baron knew where he was. But Baron had been long dead when that message was sent to Weiss.
I began to dress. Someone who knew that Baron was dead had sent the message. To flush Weiss out, to lead me to Weiss, and, eventually, to Baron. Once I heard Weiss’s story, there were only two ways I could act: go and find Baron, as I had done; or turn Weiss in to the police. Then the police would find Baron. Once Baron was found, no one would believe Weiss’s story. Everything would point to Weiss as Baron’s killer. Mission accomplished.
I went out to the nearest Riker’s for breakfast. Gazzo would say that there had been no message, that Weiss had cooked up the story to convince me that he didn’t know Baron was dead. Gazzo could be right, but my assumption was that Weiss was not lying. That meant there was a partner. Leo Zar had known where Weiss was, but Leo didn’t fit my picture. He was too obvious, he would have had to work in a different way, and I didn’t see him as a partner or double-dealer. He was a subordinate, a soldier for Baron, the loyal retainer. I could be wrong.
While I waited for my eggs, I called the Radford house in North Chester. The butler said that Walter was not home, but Mrs. Radford was. I waited and heard a click on the line. No one spoke. A moment later Mrs. Radford came on.
“You again, Mr. Fortune?” she said.
“Sorry. Can you tell me if everyone was up there Wednesday night, late? Between midnight and five A.M. Start with yourself.”
“You’re a direct man. I presume I was in bed. Has something more happened?”
“A man named Paul Baron was shot. Didn’t the police call?”
“Why would they call? I told you I knew no Paul Baron.”
“Walter knew him.”
“Then I suppose they would call Walter.”
“Was he at home Wednesday night?”
“No, he and Deirdre went to New York. They stayed the night with George, I believe.”
“How about your daughter?”
“Morgana? Why, I think she was here. Yes, I’m sure.”
“How sure?”
“Really, Mr. Fortune, you spoke to her yourself that evening. But, of course, she does have her own cottage. I don’t watch her. That was the night before the funeral. We buried poor Jonathan yesterday. I’m sure she was here.”
I thanked her and listened to her hang up. I waited. The line did not go dead at once. There was a brief pause before it clicked dead.
I went back to my eggs.
Walter Radford answered the door of the East Sixty-third Street apartment. His face was drawn, and his chip eyes were smaller than ever. His lip twitched, and his manners were down.
“What do you want?”
“Some more questions.”
His smile seemed to hurt him. “Go away.”
He tried to stare me down, but it wasn’t his character. I stared back and pushed in past him. I detected changes already. There were two tall brass lamps with gaudy shades, a fustian armchair with footstool, and a carved smoking stand. The balance had been ruined. A bachelor Victorian gentleman fussiness had crept into the room. It looked like George Ames was out from under the hand of Jonathan.
I turned on Walter. “I know what the $25,000 was really about. So do the police, although I doubt if they’ll do much about your lying, seeing who you are, and that they figure the case is solved.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Just how much did Baron have on you?”
“Baron had nothing on me. You can’t prove he did.”
“You mean with Baron dead it can’t be proved? Lucky.”
He clenched his fists, took a step toward me. I grinned. He had two hands, but I had seen him swing at Costa. It isn’t often I feel in command of a physical situation. His hands dropped.
“Go away, Fortune. Please.”
His voice was as plaintive as that of a small boy asking a domineering father to leave him alone.
“The way it stands you had the prime motive to kill Baron. If he murdered Jonathan, he’d have wanted money for a fast fade. Did he go on with the squeeze? Did he contact you?”
“Of course not! And I didn’t know he was dead until the police called this morning. I lied about the blackmail, yes. Why admit I’d been involved in illegal business? I had no idea that Paul might have killed my uncle. I don’t know that he did. The police seem to think that Weiss killed them both.”
“And that suits you fine.”
“I don’t really care one way or the other.”
“You’re rich, and Baron is dead. End of the affair?”
“Why not?”
“Whoever killed Baron has what he had against you.”
His lip twitched again, but he said nothing.
“Was one of Baron’s witnesses Carla Devine?”
“Yes. The little bitch was in love with Paul.”
“Who else? Misty Dawn?”
“No one else, not as a partner, if that’s what you mean. He had names, places, checks, photographs.”
“Tell me how he worked it.”
“We played poker and I lost. Not $25,000; about $5,000. He was nice about it, but he said he really needed the money. I told him I couldn’t get any more from Jonathan. He said he understood, but he was in trouble and couldn’t wait. He said he had an idea of how I could pay it off fast. There were some girls he worked with who would pay for contacts. I had plenty of rich friends. If I arranged dates, the girls would pay me, and so would the men if I worked it right. I liked the idea. I’d use my sacred family position to make money. So I contacted old friends and acquaintances, especially those in companies who entertained out-of-town customers. Everyone was happy. I made money. Then Paul lowered the trap.”