“Is he usually by himself when he steps out?” Schmidt asked. Meriwell nodded. “And is the lab near the street?” Meriwell nodded again. “Very good. Then we’ll park nearby and wait for our chance.”
Esther pulled over on Maywood Street. Goddard opened his door, stuck his umbrella outside and opened it, then reached down to pick up his briefcase. “So you’re coming back after you’re done with the shopping?” he asked Hillman, who made no move to get out of the car.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Esther smiled at him. “I won’t borrow Max for very long. I just want to have him carry the groceries to the car. You know how I hate doing that when it’s coming down like this.”
“My dear, you’ve become spoiled from all those years living in the desert. So much as a drizzle, and you think it’s a downpour.” Goddard gave his wife a mock scowl. “Just bring him back when you’re done… and no fooling around!”
“Oh, no.” Esther glanced back at Hillman. “We’re in trouble now. He knows about our affair.”
The corporal’s face went red as the Goddards shared a laugh at his expense. Over the past few months, a running joke had developed among the three of them: Esther had taken Max as her secret lover, and Bob was blissfully ignorant of the whole thing. Nothing of the sort was going on, of course, but Bob and Esther had learned how to embarrass their houseguest with this little jest.
“See you later,” Goddard said, then he climbed out, slamming the door shut behind him. The side door of the Science Building, which led straight to his lab, was only twenty feet from the street; he’d reached it even before Esther had driven out of sight. Pausing beneath the awning to shake out his umbrella and close it, Goddard paid no attention to the sedan that drove past the Science Building, turned around in a driveway across the street, then came back to park on the other side of Maywood.
As usual, the 390 Group was already there, but Goddard noticed at once that a few members were missing. Henry Morse wasn’t in the room, and neither was Hamilton Ballou or Michael Ferris. Jack Cube and Colonel Bliss were absent, of course; they were still in New Mexico. Frank O’Connor was in his usual place, perched on a stool near the door and reading the morning paper.
“Where are the others?” Goddard asked as he added his umbrella to the collection propped against the wall beside the door.
“Mike and Ham went out to fetch coffee and doughnuts,” Harry Chung said, barely looking up from the electrical wiring diagrams he and Taylor had laid out across the bench. “I don’t know where Henry is.”
“Library,” Gerry Mander said. There was a sly smile on his face as he fixed his attention on the chemical reference he was studying. “Again.”
“Hmm… well, yes, I suppose.” Goddard had noticed that Henry was spending an unusual amount of time at the campus library. Most of his visits were necessary, of course—the team constantly needed to find some piece of information for their work—but lately it seemed that he was beginning his day there before coming to work at the lab. He caught the look that quickly passed between Gerry, Taylor, and Ham. If they were sharing a secret, they could have it. Probably none of his business anyway.
“Well, now that you’re here…” O’Connor folded his newspaper, hopped off the stool. “’Cuse me, gents. Need to visit the little boys’ room.”
Goddard stepped aside to let the FBI agent pass; O’Connor left the lab, shutting the door behind him. Goddard was about to take off his overcoat when his hand brushed against the mail he’d brought with him from home. It was still in the coat’s inside pocket. Esther usually took care of the bills, but there was no sense leaving the mail in his coat where it might fall out and get lost. Goddard removed the letters from his pocket and was about to transfer them to his briefcase when his eye fell on the top one. The return address was the City of Worcester, Office of Tax Assessment, and stamped in red ink across the bottom of the envelope was URGENT—OPEN IMMEDIATELY!
“Hello?” he murmured, then dropped the rest of the mail on a nearby table and tore open the envelope. No one paid any attention as he skimmed the letter inside, then…
“Oh, damn it to hell!”
Everyone jumped. “Bob?” Taylor asked. “What’s going on?”
Goddard continued to stare at the letter even as he slammed a fist down on the table. “The damn city claims we haven’t paid our property taxes for this year!” he snapped. “Now they’re planning to fine us ten dollars a day until we cough up!”
Harry was baffled. “You haven’t paid your taxes? But…”
“Of course I paid my taxes. I’ve been doing that every year since we moved to New Mexico. In fact, I made sure that…” Goddard stopped suddenly. He appeared to be lost in thought for a moment, then he closed his eyes. “I know what happened. I made arrangements with my bank here to pay my local taxes while I was gone, but when we moved back, I told them that was no longer necessary. And then…”
“You forgot to pay the taxes yourself?” Harry asked.
Goddard nodded. “The bank probably continued receiving my tax bills, but someone didn’t forward them to Esther and me. And now…”
Not bothering to pick up his umbrella, Goddard turned to the door. “Look, I’ve got to take care of this right now. I’ll be back soon.”
Before anyone had a chance to say anything, he was gone.
“Look!” Meriwell pointed through the windshield. “There he is!”
Just minutes after he’d entered the Science Building, Goddard came out again. Yet it was obvious that he wasn’t stepping out for a smoke. Instead of lingering beneath the awning, he hurried to the sidewalk and began walking swiftly down Maywood, heading toward Main Street less than a block away.
Schmidt was out of the car in a second, but he took his time crossing the street. Nothing attracts attention more quickly than a running man, and Goddard was moving fast enough already. If anyone happened to look out a window of the Science Building or any other nearby university building, they couldn’t help but spot one person chasing another. So Schmidt strolled after Goddard, keeping him in sight while gradually closing the distance between them, taking care not to make his presence obvious.
His overcoat was buttoned shut, but its right pocket had a hidden slit inside, big enough for him to put his hand and wrist through. In this way, he was able to carry his silenced Walther without its being seen. One he was close enough to Goddard and no one else was in sight, all he’d have to do was pull out the gun, take aim at the back of the scientist’s head, and fire. The silencer wouldn’t completely eliminate the sound of his gunshot, but it would muffle it enough that it wouldn’t be heard by anyone nearby.
Then he’d simply drop the gun and walk away, again making sure that he didn’t draw attention by running. He’d made sure never to handle the gun, its silencer, or bullets without wearing gloves. All the police would find would be a body, the murder weapon lying alongside it, with no fingerprints, witnesses, suspects, or apparent motives. A clean kill.
After that, Schmidt would have Meriwell drive him to the extraction point on the northern Maine coast, where the same U-boat that had brought him to America was scheduled to pick him up in two days. Unless someone connected Goddard’s murder with the death of a Beach Patrol officer the same day, there would be nothing to indicate that it had been an Abwehr assassination… at least long enough for Schmidt to make good his escape.
As Schmidt approached Goddard, though, he realized that killing him wouldn’t be quite so easy. He’d had already reached Main Street, where a streetcar was rapidly approaching. A couple of other people were already waiting at the corner trolley stop. Goddard joined them as the streetcar glided to a halt, and the three of them climbed aboard while Schmidt was still more than twenty feet away.