“I buy you drinks. I buy you dinner. Reward for services rendered.”
“Then what?”
“Then we ponder.”
“We can ponder while we’re working over the taste buds, can’t we?”
“If you’d like to ponder.”
They went up to the bar. Martinis came. Kathy said, “I ponder out loud. Davisson’s offer was too low. But he waved his money about. They brooded over that money all day. He came back and waved it about some more. Mrs. Drynfells’s acquisitive instincts were aroused. She followed him, met him outside of here, clunked him on the head, pitched him in the Gulf, and went home and hid the money under the bed.”
“Nice, but I don’t like it.”
“Okay. You ponder.”
“Like this. Drynfells lied from the beginning. He sold the land to Temple Davisson. They went back. Drynfells took the bundle of cash, possibly a check for the balance. Those twenty minutes inside was when some sort of document was being executed. Davisson mentions where he’s going. In the afternoon Drynfells gets a better offer for the land. He stalls the buyer. He gets hold of Davisson and asks him to come back. Davisson does so. Drynfells wants to cancel the sale. Maybe he offers Davisson a bonus to tear up the document and take his money and check back. Davisson laughs at him. Drynfells asks for just a little bit of time. Davisson says he’ll give him a little time. He’ll be at the Aqua Azul for twenty minutes. From here he phones his wife. Can’t get her. Makes eyes at you. Leaves. Drynfells, steered by his wife’s instincts, has dropped her off and gone up the road a bit. She waits by Temple Davisson’s car. He comes out. He is susceptible, as Mrs. Drynfells has guessed, to a little night walk with a very pretty young lady. She walks him up the road to where Drynfells is waiting. They bash him, tumble him into the Drynfells car, remove document of sale, dispose of body. That leaves them with the wad of cash, plus the money from the sale to the new customer Drynfells stalled. The weak point was the possibility of Davisson’s car being seen at their place. That little scene we witnessed this morning had the flavor of being very well rehearsed.”
Kathy snapped her fingers, eyes glowing. “It fits! Every little bit of it fits. They couldn’t do it there, when he came back, because that would have left them with the car. He had to be seen someplace else. Here.”
“There’s one fat flaw, Kathy.”
“How could there be?”
“Just how do we go about proving it?”
She thought that over. Her face fell. “I see what you mean.”
“I don’t think that the dark-haired girl he was seen with could be identified as Mrs. Drynfells. Without evidence that the sale was consummated, we lack motive — except, of course, for the possible motive of murder for the money he carried.”
Kathy sat with her chin propped on the backs of her fingers, studying him. “I wouldn’t care to have you on my trail, Mr. Darrigan.”
“How so?”
“You’re very impressive, in your quiet little way, hiding behind that mask.”
“A mask, yet.”
“Of course. And behind it you sit, equipped with extra senses, catching the scent of murder, putting yourself neatly in the murderer’s shoes, with all your reasoning based on emotions, not logic.”
“I’m very logical. I plod. And I now plod out to the phone and see if logic has borne any fruit.”
He went to the lobby and phoned Dinah Davisson.
“I found him, Mr. Darrigan. He’s staying at the Kingfisher with his wife.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No. Just to the desk clerk.”
“Thanks. You’ll hear from me later, Mrs. Davisson.”
He phoned the Kingfisher and had Mr. Brock called from the dining room to the phone. “Mr. Brock, my name is Darrigan. Mr. Temple Davisson told me you were interested in a plot of Gulf-front land.”
“Has he been found?”
“No, he hasn’t. I’m wondering if you’re still in the market.”
“Sorry, I’m not. I think I’m going to get the piece I want.”
“At Redington Beach?”
Brock had a deep voice. “How did you know that?”
“Just a guess, Mr. Brock. Would you mind telling me who you’re buying it from?”
“A Mr. Drynfells. He isn’t an agent. It’s his land.”
“He contacted you last Friday, I suppose. In the afternoon?”
“You must have a crystal ball, Mr. Darrigan. Yes, he did. And he came in to see me late Friday night. We inspected the land Sunday. I suppose you even know what I’ll be paying for it.”
“Probably around one seventy-five.”
“That’s too close for comfort, Mr. Darrigan.”
“Sorry to take you away from your dinner for no good reason. Thanks for being so frank with me.”
“Quite all right.”
Gilbert Darrigan walked slowly back into the bar. Kathy studied him. “Now you’re even more impressive, Gil. Your eyes have gone cold.”
“I feel cold. Right down into my bones. I feel this way when I’ve guessed a bit too accurately.” She listened, eyes narrowed, as he told her the conversation.
“Mr. Drynfells had a busy Friday,” she said.
“Now we have the matter of proof.”
“How do you go about that? Psychological warfare, perhaps?”
“Not with that pair. They’re careful. They’re too selfish to have very much imagination. I believe we should consider the problem of the body.”
She sipped her drink, stared over his head at the far wall. “The dramatic place, of course, would be under the concrete of that new pool, with the dark greedy wife sunbathing beside it, sleepy-eyed and callous.”
He reached across the table and put his fingers hard around her wrist. “You are almost beyond price, Kathy. That is exactly where it is.”
She looked faintly ill. “No,” she said weakly. “I was only—”
“You thought you were inventing. But your subconscious mind knew, as mine did.”
It was not too difficult to arrange. The call had to come from Clearwater. They drove there in Kathy’s car, and Darrigan, lowering his voice, said to Drynfells over the phone, “I’ve got my lawyer here and I’d like you to come in right now, Mr. Drynfells. Bring your wife with you. We’ll make it business and pleasure both.”
“I don’t know as I—”
“I have to make some definite arrangement, Mr. Drynfells. If I can’t complete the deal with you, I’ll have to pick up a different plot.”
“But you took an option, Mr. Brock!”
“I can forfeit that, Mr. Drynfells. How soon can I expect you?”
After a long pause Drynfells said, “We’ll leave here in twenty minutes.”
On the way back out to Madeira Beach, Darrigan drove as fast as he dared. Kathy refused to be dropped off at the Aqua Azul. The Coral Tour Haven was dark, the “No Vacancy” sign lighted.
They walked out to the dark back yard, Kathy carrying the flash, Darrigan carrying the borrowed pickaxe. He found the valve to empty the shallow pool, turned it. He stood by Kathy. She giggled nervously as the water level dropped.
“We’d better not be wrong,” she said.
“We’re not wrong,” Darrigan murmured. The water took an infuriating time to drain out of the pool. He rolled up his pants legs, pulled off shoes and socks, stepped down in when there was a matter of inches left. The cement had set firmly. It took several minutes to break through to the soil underneath. Then, using the pick point as a lever, he broke a piece free. He got his hands on it and turned it over. The flashlight wavered. Only the soil underneath was visible. Again he inserted a curved side of the pick, leaned his weight against it, lifted it up slowly. The flashlight beam focused on the side of a muddy white shoe, a gray sock encasing a heavy ankle. The light went out and Kathy Marrick made a moaning sound, deep in her throat.