“Thank you,” I said.
She said, indicating the suitcase, “I’m going to join my husband in Montana.”
“Are you indeed? Expect to be gone long?”
She said, “No, I’m just going up for a visit. He’s up there on a business trip. He telephoned me to ask if I wanted to join him.”
“That’s splendid,” I said. “When are you leaving?”
“Oh I don’t know” she said. “Sometime tomorrow. I’ll have to check with him again about planes. He’s going to call me later on.”
“I see,” I told her. “Now, there’s another small premium that we give for people who have won their prizes and who can give us testimonials about the encyclopedia. These are short testimonials and you get a hundred dollars apiece for them.”
“A hundred dollars!”
“That’s right. In cash,” I told her. “It’s pocket money for the housewife.” I smiled and went on, “If we made it in a check, it would have to go on the income tax, and the husband, as the business manager, would be apt to assert a proprietary interest.
“As it is, this is just a personal matter for the woman of the house, and we pay it in the form of cash, five twenty-dollar bills.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“We can only afford to make this offer to a limited number of people,” I said. “And, of course, it’s confidential. No one is to know there was any compensation for the testimonial.”
“Of course... and how is it handled? What do I do?”
I said, “You just have to read a little statement that we prepare to the effect that you purchased the encyclopedias and were astounded to find how good they are. You have already become recognized as an authority on many bits of knowledge and the neighbors frequently come to you to settle disputes.”
“You say I have to read it?”
“That’s right. Then we put it on tape,” I explained.
“Oh,” she said.
“And then, of course, we put it in front of the television cameras,” I went on.
“Television!”
“Yes.”
“I... I don’t think I’d care to do that Mr. Donald.”
“No?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically.
“It would only take a minute of your time, and several—”
“And, where would you use it, just locally?”
“Oh,” I said, “they’d probably use it all over the country, just in a spot announcement, you know, one of those little fifteen-second spot announcements that they buy on station time.”
“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t be interested.”
“Well,” I told her, “thank you very much. I just wanted you to know that we didn’t lose interest in our hundred-thousandth customer just because we had completed the sale.”
I left the apartment.
She was looking a little thoughtful as I left.
I took up a vigil outside of the apartment.
It was an all-night vigil. She didn’t come out until seven o’clock in the morning, then a taxi drew up and she came down and had the cabdriver bring down four suitcases. They were big heavy suitcases.
She took them all down to the airport, shipped the four of them by airfreight and kept only a little overnight bag with her.
She bought a ticket to Los Angeles.
There’s a knack about shadowing. If you are too anxious to be unobtrusive, you tip off your presence. If you just take it easy and are part of the scenery, it’s damned seldom people notice you.
I cut a small hole in a newspaper so I could hold it up and pretend to be reading. I kept watch until the Los Angeles flight was announced.
Mrs. Bruno was on first class. I got a ticket on tourist class went to the telegraph office, and sent a wire to Sgt. Frank Sellers Los Angeles Police Force:
PRIVATE DETECTIVE DONALD LAM HERE ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT NEW ANGLE ON MURDER CASE WHICH APPARENTLY YOU INVESTIGATING LOS ANGELES. LAM FOR LOS ANGELES AMERICAN, FLIGHT 709, THIS MORNING. WHILE HERE INADVERTENTLY NEGLECTED SIGN TEN DOLLAR CHECK. WE CAN PROSECUTE ON THAT IF YOU WANT EXCUSE TO HOLD HIM.
I signed the telegram, “Sgt. Smith,” sent it extra rush, then got aboard the tourist class section of the plane.
It’s a wonderful thing in following a person on a plane to be in tourist class. There’s a complete line of separation. The first-class people don’t come back to the tourist class, and the tourist very seldom go up to the first class.
I settled back in my seat. The plane was nonstop to Los Angeles and I had nothing to do except doze and wonder how I was going to explain to Breckinridge that I had taken it on myself to violate his instructions.
We flew steadily westward, racing the shadows and, at the speed of jet transportation, seeming to almost keep up with them. The air was smooth, clear as crystal, and after we passed New Mexico, we looked down on the Arizona desert and then the Colorado River and the Imperial Valley.
I almost fancied that I could pick out the Butte Valley Guest Ranch as we flew over Arizona. Buck Kramer would be out putting saddles on the horses; Dolores Ferrol turning on the highly personalized charm, infatuating the guests.
Then we began our long, slow descent into the Los Angeles airport and landed so smoothly that it was hard to tell we had reached the ground until the braking effect of the motors made itself manifest.
I was at the head of the line in the tourist-class division, but after I got off and reached the point where the stream of passengers merged I hung back until I saw Mrs. Bruno walking along, very sedate, with eyes downcast.
Then suddenly Sgt. Sellers and a plain-clothes man came barging down the long corridor.
I hurried to catch up with Mrs. Bruno. “Well, well,” I said, “you didn’t tell me you were taking this plane!”
She turned to look at me with consternation on her face, then suddenly made up her mind to brush it off as best she could. “Oh, Mr. Donald,” she said. “Well, heavens, you didn’t tell me you were on this plane.”
“I guess you were in first class” I said “My company doesn’t encourage me to travel on extra fare—”
“Okay, Pint Size,” Sgt. Sellers said. “This way.”
I said, “Well, well, Sergeant Sellers! Permit me to present the woman for whose murder you’re trying to arrest Foley Chester. Mrs. Chester, this is a very dear friend of mine, Sergeant Sellers of the local police.”
She looked as though she wanted to run, and that look was the thing that undid her. If she had been just a little scornful, just a little defiant and said, “What in the world are you trying to pull?” Sellers might have let her get away with it. But that look of panic gave everything away.
“What the hell are you talking about, Pint Size?” Sellers said, but his eyes were on the woman.
I said, “Mrs. Foley Chester, alias Mrs. Helmann Bruno.”
Sellers did a double take, fished a photograph out of his pocket, and said, “I’ll be damned if it isn’t.”
Then was when she started to run.
Sellers and the plainclothesman grabbed her.
By this time a crowd of gawking passengers were gathering around, and Sellers and the plainclothesman were rough with them. “On your way, folks,” Sellers said. “Break it up. Keep moving. That’s a lawful order from an officer. If you disobey it you’ll be arrested. Either keep moving about your business or get a free ride to headquarters in the paddy wagon, whichever you want.”
That started them scattering like startled chickens.
Sellers and the plainclothesman led the woman down to one of the deserted loading rooms which they used as an interrogation room.
“All right” Sellers said, “come clean.”
“Well,” she said, “there’s no us denying it. You’ve caught me.”