He didn’t answer. There was a newspaper on the sand beside his chair and he leaned over and handed it to me. It was the Late Night Final of a San Francisco newspaper for the seventh.
“Turn to page four,” he said.
I turned to page four and found an article describing the arrival of the USS Guam at the Golden Gate, at four o’clock in the afternoon. A contingent of Waves had greeted the returning heroes, and a band had played “California, Here I Come.”
“If you want to see Mrs. Dreen, she’s in the house,” Jack Rossiter said. “But it looks to me as if your job is finished.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“And if I don’t see you again, good-bye.”
“Are you leaving?”
“A friend is coming out from Santa Barbara to pick me up in a few minutes. I’m flying up to Alameda with him to see about getting leave. I just had a forty-eight, and I’ve got to be here for the inquest tomorrow. And the funeral.” His voice was hard. His whole personality had hardened overnight. The evening before his nature had been wide open. Now it was closed and invulnerable.
“Good-bye,” I said, and plodded through the soft sand to the house. On the way I thought of something, and walked faster.
When I knocked, Mrs. Dreen came to the door holding a cup of coffee, not very steadily. She was wearing a heavy wool dressing robe with a silk rope around the waist, and a silk cap on her head. Her eyes were bleary.
“Hello,” she said. “I came back last night after all. I couldn’t work today anyway. And I didn’t think Jack should be by himself.”
“He seems to be doing all right.”
“I’m glad you think so. Will you come in?”
I stepped inside. “You said last night that you wanted to know who killed Una no matter who it was.”
“Well?”
“Does that still go?”
“Yes. Why? Did you find out something?”
“Not exactly. I thought of something, that’s all.”
“The coroner believes it was an accident. I talked to him on the phone this morning.” She sipped her black coffee. Her hand vibrated steadily, like a leaf in the wind.
“He may be right,” I said. “He may be wrong.”
There was the sound of a car outside, and I moved to the window and looked out. A station wagon stopped on the beach, and a Navy officer got out and walked towards Jack Rossiter. Rossiter got up and they shook hands.
“Will you call Jack, Mrs. Dreen, and tell him to come into the house for a minute?”
“If you wish.” She went to the door and called him.
Rossiter came to the door and said a little impatiently: “What is it?”
“Come in,” I said. “And tell me what time you left the ship the day before yesterday.”
“Let’s see. We got in at four–”
“No, you didn’t. The ship did, but not you. Am I right?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know what I mean. It’s so simple that it couldn’t fool anybody for a minute, not if he knew anything about carriers. You flew your plane off the ship a couple of hours before she got into port. My guess is that you gave that telegram to a buddy to send for you before you left the ship. You flew down here, caught your wife being made love to by another man, landed on the beach – and drowned her.”
“You’re insane!” After a moment he said less violently: “I admit I flew off the ship. You could easily find that out anyway. I flew around for a couple of hours, getting in some flying time–”
“Where did you fly?”
“Along the coast. I don’t get down this far. I landed at Alameda at five-thirty, and I can prove it.”
“Who’s your friend?” I pointed through the open door to the other officer, who was standing on the beach looking out to sea.
“Lieutenant Harris. I’m going to fly up to Alameda with him. I warn you, don’t make any ridiculous accusations in his presence, or you’ll suffer for it.”
“I want to ask him a question,” I said. “What sort of plane were you flying?”
“FM-3.”
I went out of the house and down the slope to Lieutenant Harris. He turned towards me and I saw the wings on his blouse.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” I said. “You’ve done a good deal of flying, I suppose?”
“Thirty-two months, Why?”
“I want to settle a bet. Could a plane land on this beach and take off again?”
“I think maybe a Piper Cub could. I’d try it anyway. Does that settle the bet?”
“It was a fighter I had in mind. An FM-3.”
“Not an FM-3,” he said. “Not possibly. It might just conceivably be able to land but it’d never get off again. Not enough room, and very poor surface. Ask Jack, he’ll tell you the same.”
I went back to the house and said to Jack: “I was wrong. I’m sorry. As you said, I guess I’m all washed up with this case.”
“Good-bye, Millicent,” Jack said, and kissed her cheek. “If I’m not back tonight I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Keep a stiff upper lip.”
“You do, too, Jack.”
He went away without looking at me again. So the case was ending as it had begun, with me and Mrs. Dreen alone in a room wondering what had happened to her daughter.
“You shouldn’t have said what you did to him,” she said. “He’s had enough to bear.”
My mind was working very fast. I wondered whether it was producing anything. “I suppose Lieutenant Harris knows what he’s talking about. He says a fighter couldn’t land and take off from this beach. There’s no other place around here he could have landed without being seen. So he didn’t land.
“But I still don’t believe that he wasn’t here. No young husband flying along the coast within range of the house where his wife was – well, he’d fly low and dip his wings to her, wouldn’t he? Terry Neville saw the plane come down.”
“Terry Neville?”
“I talked to him last night. He was with Una before she died. The two of them were out on the raft together when Jack’s plane came down. Jack saw them, and saw what they were doing. They saw him. Terry Neville went away. Then what?”
“You’re making this up,” Mrs. Dreen said, but her green eyes were intent on my face.
“I’m making it up, of course. I wasn’t here. After Terry Neville ran away, there was no one here but Una, and Jack in a plane circling over her head. I’m trying to figure out why Una died. I have to make it up. But I think she died of fright. I think Jack dived at her and forced her into the water. I think he kept on diving at her until she was gone. Then he flew back to Alameda and chalked up his flying time.”
“Fantasy,” she said. “And very ugly. I don’t believe it.”
“You should. You’ve got that cable, haven’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Jack sent Una a cable from Pearl, telling her what day he was arriving. Una mentioned it to Hilda Karp. Hilda Karp mentioned it to me. It’s funny you didn’t say anything about it.”
“I didn’t know about it,” Millicent Dreen said. Her eyes were blank.
I went on, paying no attention to her deniaclass="underline" “My guess is that the cable said not only that Jack’s ship was coming in on the seventh, but that he’d fly over the beach house that afternoon. Fortunately, I don’t have to depend on guesswork. The cable will be on file at Western Union, and the police will be able to look at it. I’m going into town now.”
“Wait,” she said. “Don’t go to the police about it. You’ll only get Jack in trouble. I destroyed the cable to protect him, but I’ll tell you what was in it. Your guess was right. He said he’d fly over on the seventh.”
“When did you destroy it?”
“Yesterday, before I came to you. I was afraid it would implicate Jack.”