After a while it came to me where I was headed. Maybe I’d known all along. The suburban traffic was all headed into the city as the morning rush hour began, and I made good time going against the stream. It was just eight o’clock when I pulled into the driveway of the Winton ranch home. Craig Winton’s car was in the garage.
It took me five minutes of ringing the doorbell before she’d answer. When she finally came she was wearing a rumpled T-shirt and faded jeans, looking like she was dead instead of her husband.
“God, what is it? What do you want? Haven’t you done enough to us already?”
“I’d like to come in, Mrs. Winton. It’s very important.”
She seemed ready to bar my way, but finally she stepped aside. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said, passing a hand over her eyes. “I took a sleeping pill and I just woke up.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to your husband.”
“Is it true that Mike Trapper killed him?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“He was just here yesterday asking more questions. He was really trying to help us. How could he have killed Craig?”
“I drove out here to ask the same question.” I’d followed her into the kitchen and taken a chair across the table from her.
“Do you want some coffee?”
“That would be fine.” She rose to make it and I continued, “Your husband’s death still leaves the problem of the double unresolved.”
“It hardly matters now. Just send me your bill.”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“Why not?”
“There wasn’t any double, was there, Mrs. Winton? It was Craig Winton all the time.”
She turned from the coffee percolator. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was a scheme of Craig’s to embezzle money from his company, and a clever scheme at that. He created a double who made a few appearances. He even hired a two-bit private detective agency to find the double. Last night was to be a key element of his plan. Mike Trapper would testify to having seen the double. He’d know it wasn’t our client because the double would run from him and even draw a gun. Unfortunately for Craig Winton, he didn’t know that a nervous kid like Mike, investigating his first case, would shoot and kill him.”
“That’s guesswork.” She poured two cups of coffee.
“Not entirely,” I said. “Craig’s secretary, Milly, told me the double didn’t speak to her. At first this made sense but then I remembered the supposed double had spoken to you in the garage here. If his voice could fool you it could certainly fool his secretary. Yet he hurried in and out of the office, giving Milly only a glimpse. It didn’t sound like a true impersonation to me. It sounded like someone trying to fake an impersonation. The same goes for the two earlier events. Craig made a fuss at the hotel and at the meeting just so the incidents would be remembered.”
“It still could have been a double.”
“Then consider this. That day at the office Milly saw the supposed double wearing a pink sports jacket like Craig’s. And obviously he was wearing the same clothes as Craig that day in the garage. Duplicating those clothes — the correct clothes for each day — would be next to impossible, unless you believe in the supernatural. Either the double had prior knowledge of each day’s costume, or there was no double. Either way Craig had to be involved in the plot.”
“I don’t know a thing about that,” she insisted.
“I believe you do, Mrs. Winton. You were there last night when Mike shot your husband in the parking lot.”
“What? That’s insane!”
“Is it? The first time I spoke to you I learned the two of you had only one car, and didn’t plan to buy another one till fall. Mike saw Winton drive up to the motel in that car last night, yet the police made no mention of the car later. O’Keefe even told me you were driving over to identify* the body. And the car is sitting in your garage right now. How did it get from the motel parking lot back to this house before the police called, unless you were there to drive it back?”
“I—”
“Mike said he saw a gun in Winton’s hand, yet by the time the police arrived there was no sign of one. That’s one reason the kid tried to lie about the shooting. I think you saw it all from nearby. When Mike ran into the motel to phone the police and me, you hurried over to the body, picked up the gun, and drove the car home. You didn’t want the police finding the gun and guessing this double business had been part of an embezzlement scheme. And you had to take the car because you couldn’t risk a cab driver identifying you later. And you had to be home before the police called.”
“All right,” she said quietly. The fight had gone out of her.
“You admit you took the gun?”
“It was only a starter’s pistol. Craig wasn’t going to harm anyone. He simply wanted your partner’s testimony that a double existed. He’d been manipulating his company’s money for years, ever since that big divorce settlement took all his cash. He tried to create a double who could be blamed for unauthorized bank withdrawals and other shady business. It was a farfetched scheme, but it would have been enough to raise a reasonable doubt in any jury’s mind.”
“What about the car?”
“I took a cab to the motel hours earlier for just that purpose. After Mike saw him Craig planned to jump in a cab and get away. While Mike was chasing him I was to drive the car home, as if Craig had come out of his meeting and left with it. When Mike returned to the lot and found Craig’s car gone, it would be extra proof there must be two Craig Wintons.”
I finished my coffee. “Mike’s in jail and you’re the only one who can get him out. I want you to come with me and tell all this to the police.”
“Is he that important to you?”
“I guess he is. I want him out.”
Our eyes met for just an instant. She may have been trying to tell me something, to offer me something, but we both knew it was useless.
She picked up her purse and I followed her out to the car.
Joseph L. Koenig
The Scoop
For the past fifteen years Joseph Koenig has mitten true crime articles for pulp magazines. “The Scoop” is his first published fiction, except for what he describes as “a couple of very short pieces for a pulp that went belly-up”
There are two sources for “The Scoop.” The plot is based on a true story that circulated some years ago involving the female editor of a true crime magazine. The technique was inspired by Ring Lardner’s “Haircut.”
Mr. Koenig’s first novel will be published this year.
So this is the new fella. You’re only an hour late’s what gives it away. Solly mentioned he was sending you up. Must be he still has a soft spot for the Lincoln County bureau, ’cause we get all the eager beavers. Just lift your feet and let me sweep underneath a bit. The newsies don’t usually start dropping by till happy hour’s done.
Bet you didn’t know Solly won his stripes here. Before he got his legs broke he was a real eager beaver himself. If he wasn’t waking the DA for a perp’s middle initial, he’d be snatching some stiff’s picture right off the crate to run in the obits. Else you’d find him down to the sheriff’s office collecting the john list from Maybry’s vice dicks. Judge Walker okayed seventeen divorces the year he done that and in a county the size of Lincoln it’s some kind of record. Lot of folks’d shot him if they got the chance, but Solly passed the blame like shit through a goose. Said it’s a reporter’s job to print all the facts and let the chips fall where they may. Solly’s one fella still has principles.