“Evidence, eh? What kind?”
“Well, actually it's more than just evidence, Mr. Hutchins. I rather not talk about it on the phone, but the Police Department would appreciate it if you could spare us a few minutes to take a look at it.”
“You really think is was this Albert Miller, eh?”
“I don't think there's any doubt about it,” I said. “We found some other things here in his apartment that… Well, as I said, it's not good policy to say too much on the phone. You understand how it is?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think you'll have time to give us a hand, Mr. Hutchins?”
“Hell yes. I'm just as damn anxious to see him get it as you are.”
“Could you make it right away? We'd appreciate it.”
“Sure,” he said. “Right away. Hell, I'll even take a cab.” He hung up.
Stan grinned, gave the cylinder of his revolver a final spin, and returned the gun to its holster.
“Take the bait, did he?” he asked.
“Sounded that way,” I said.
“What do you mean 'sounded'?”
“In this business, who's ever sure of anything?”
“Me,” Stan said. “If Marty Hutchins knocks on that door, Pete, he's our boy.”
The knock on the door came at five twenty-four. I glanced at Stan, then walked to the door and opened it
“Hello, Marty,” I said.
He came into the room smiling, his dark hair still damp from rapid combing and his eyes bright and alert, The spotless white polo shirt clung tightly to this massive chest and shoulders, and the biceps beneath the shirt's short sleeves were as big around as some men's thighs.
“Well, what do you know about that,” he said in his soft, pleasant voice. “So you've got him, have you?”
“We think so, Marty,” I said as I closed the door. “In fact, we're all but positive.” I gestured toward Stan. “My detective partner, Marty. Stan Rayder.”
Hutchins nodded to Stan, then turned back to me. “Well, where's this evidence you told me about? That's something I'd like to see.”
“It hasn't changed much,” Stan said.
Hutchins looked at him. “What?” he said.
“Sit down, Hutchins,” I said.
“Hey! There's something wrong here. What's with this skinny friend of yours?”
“You're under arrest, Hutchins,” I said.
“I'm what?” he said. “Me? What for?”
“We can start with extortion,” I said. “You and Nadine were blackmailing Dr. and Mrs. Campbell, Hutchins.”
“You're sick in the head, mister. I don't even know anybody like that.”
“No more than you know anyone in Kirkman, Mississippi,” I said. “Josie Daniels, for instance.”
He raised his right hand. “I'm telling you the God's truth,” he said, shaking his head from side to side. “I—”
“We've got sworn statements from both Susan and her husband,” I said. “You can stop lying — or not; it really doesn't make much difference.”
“Blackmailing your own wife,” Stan said. “You get some pretty original ideas, don't you, Hutchins?”
Hutchins turned his head slowly to look at him. “Prove it,” he said.
Stan grinned. “We'll just do that, Hutchins. But that's the least of our worries — just like it's the least of yours.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Hutchins asked.
“Nadine Ellison,” Stan said. “You didn't pussyfoot around with any blackmail when it came to her, Hutchins. You killed her.”
“You're even crazier than Selby,” Hutchins said. “I don't know who you guys think you're trying to frame, but—”
“Shut up, Hutchins,” Stan said softly. “Don't say that again.”
“My partner and I worked pretty hard this afternoon,” I said. “Just about the only thing we didn't find out is why you wanted Nadine dead.”
He shook his head contemptuously. “Boy, if I was as sick as you are, I'd be sick!”
“You'll be sick enough,” Stan said. “Don't worry.”
“You guys know damn well I was shacked up with a girl all that night,” Hutchins said. “You talked to her yourself, Selby. You went over to the Leighton Hotel and pulled that little Elaine Walton out of bed and damn near scared her to death. What's the matter with you? She was telling the truth, and you know damn well she was telling the truth.”
“She thought she was telling the truth,” I said. “As far as she was concerned, she was telling the truth. But I talked to her again this afternoon, Hutchins. It was the first time she'd ever done any heavy drinking. She was passed out cold.”
“She told you I never left the room!”
“Wrong. She told me she never saw you leave the room. She couldn't have seen you. She was dead to the world.” I paused. “We also checked with every man and woman that works for that hotel, Hutchins. We have three employees to swear you left the Leighton at about one-thirty, and two other employees to swear you got back around five. Nadine, as you know more exactly than I do, was killed somewhere between two and six.”
“And that,” Stan said, “means you have no alibi at all. Not a shred.”
“It's a little ironic,” I said, “but if you hadn't tried to fancy things up so much, you might have got away with it. I don't mean the way you hung her up on that pipe to make us think it was suicide. I'm talking about the way you tried to frame Albert Miller.”
“I never even heard of him! Not till you called me up and said—”
“Keep quiet a while, Hutchins,” Stan said. “Don't you know better than to interrupt people before they've finished?”
“You knew Miller,” I said. “You knew Nadine had been blackmailing him, and you knew his real name was Maurice Thibault, and that he was wanted in France for killing his wife.” I paused. “You got together a translation of a French newspaper item with a cut of Miller, and one of Nadine's bank books, and enough other stuff to keep the translation and the bank book from being too obvious, and planted them in Miller's desk drawer. Then you sent an anonymous telegram to the police, telling us exactly where to find it.”
Hutchins shook his head. “Jesus, no,” he said.
“Every hall door in this apartment house is fitted with one of the most expensive small locks on the market,” I said. “It's probably the only pickproof lock of its size in the country. You had a key, Hutchins. Otherwise you'd have had to break the door down.” I thought I saw something in his eyes, but I couldn't be sure. “You knew Nadine used to live with Miller, and you knew she still had her key. Perhaps she kept it in her strongbox, perhaps not; it doesn't matter. The point is, you had access to it, and you used it to let yourself in Miller's apartment and plant everything you figured the police would need to make them suspect him,”
Hutchins shook his head, but he didn't say anything. He stood there without body movement of any kind, blinking at me, frowning a little; the way a near-sighted person will do when he's forgotten his glasses.
I kept thinking of the momentary change in his eyes when I had talked about the key. It was worth a try. “How do you carry your keys, Hutchins?” I said. “Ring or folder?”
I–I don't have any,” he said. The look was there; I was certain of it.
“Everybody has at least one key,” I said. “Let's see them, Hutchins.”
“No,” he said. “I haven't got any.”
“All right,” I said, “then tell us why you didn't ask me where Miller's apartment was.”
“What?”
“I didn't tell you Miller's address when I asked you to come over,” I said. “I didn't tell you, and you didn't ask. You didn't have to ask, Hutchins. You already knew.”