Black Mask (Vol. 33, No. 3 — September 1949)

The receiver clicked sharply in my ear. I turned slowly, my mind a jumble of confusion. I didn’t like it, but Reba wanted me right away! Hurriedly I descended the two flights of stairs and strode out to the parking lot.

It took me ten minutes to return to the white house on Sherman drive. The windows were blazing with lights now. Reba opened the door and I paused on the threshold. Charles Jaxon’s twisted body lay face down at the foot of the stairs.

“Are you sure he’s dead?”

“I’m sure.”

I stared at her. “You found him just like that when you came in?”

“Just like that.”

“Didn’t you touch him?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know he’s dead?”

Her gaze moved from mine to the body of her husband and bade again. “He looks dead!”

“Turn him over.”

She stood woodenly.

“Turn him over! Regardless of how you might feel, it would look damned funny if you just walked in here, saw him like that, and called a doctor.”

“But I didn’t walk in here. I haven’t been out of the house.”

“All the more reason. You hear him fall, run in here, try to help him, turn him over, then call for help.”

Quickly she moved forward to drop on her knees. She lifted the dead man’s thin shoulders and rolled him face up. She glanced at me and I nodded. As she rose she dug a finger nail into her stocking. A beautiful run spread over her knee.

“His cane!” I exclaimed.

“What?”

“You told me he was never without his cane anymore. Where’s his cane?”

The eyebrow twitched and her eyes bored into mine. “Oh, that’s right,” she said slowly, deliberately. “He should have his cane.”

And now I knew! Of course, I should have known before, but this time she didn’t even pretend. I heard her rapid steps mounting the stairs and crossing the hall. I heard the cane hit the top step and clatter down to rest against Charles Jaxon’s legs. I heard a car door slam out in the street.

Reba opened the door for the doctor. I helped him carry the body to the living room sofa.

He made a brief, thorough examination, then I called a prominent undertaking firm. By 11 o’clock we were alone in the, hallway.

“Joe.” Her eyes were wide and pleading.

“Yes?”

“I... I— Are you going?”

“I can’t stay here.”

“No.” She hesitated. “You’ll see me through this, won’t you?”

“Sure.” A choking nausea hung in my throat.

“It was an accident. You know that don’t you?”

I didn’t even try to answer that one.

“I swear it was! When I came in he was just lying there. Maybe it didn’t look that way to you, but that’s the way it was.”

I could be wrong. It could have been an accident. “I’d better go. Reba.”

She clung to my arm. “You’ve got to believe me! It might just be the break we’ve been waiting for — if everything works out.”

But things didn’t work out.

First, there was a guy named Chambers. I opened the door when he knocked. He was middle-aged, well-groomed and very polite.

“Mr. Adams?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to talk to you a few minutes.”

I hesitated.

“I’m from police headquarters.”

“Oh.” I stepped aside.

He dropped into my only chair and removed his hat. “Sure hot.”

“Yes, it is.” I perched on the edge of the bed.

“We’ve been trying to see you for a couple of days, Mr. Adams, but you were always out.”

“I’ve been down state. I’m a sales representative for Preston Trucking Company.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Is — anything wrong?”

“Well, no. We’re just trying to clean up some old files.” He smiled blandly.

“I see.” But I didn’t.

He pulled out a notebook and leafed through it casually. “Oh, here it is — the accident on Charles Jaxon.”

My heart nose-dived to my stomach.

“You don’t mind answering a few routine questions, do you?”

“No indeed.”

“All right.” He glanced at the notebook again. “You were the first one to arrive after the accident. I believe.”

“Yes, after Reba—” I almost stopped there, “Mrs. Jaxon called.”

“And she called you because you were a close friend?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you’ve only been in town four days.”

“I don’t believe she had any friends here. I’ve known her for a long time — before she was married.”

“Quite natural,” he nodded. “Now would you describe the scene for me.”

“The scene?”

“Yes, the position of the body and so on.”

“Oh. Well, I went in and he was lying at the foot of the stairs.”

“How?”

“How. Why sort of on his back — face up.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Oh, his cane was beside him.”

“Beside him, Mr. Adams?”

“Now that you mention it, no. It was resting against his legs.” And it shouldn’t have been! It should have been under him or beyond, anyplace but where it was.

“I see. You have a good eye for detail.”

I didn’t say anything. I’d said too much already.

“Can you describe Mrs. Jaxon’s appearance, Mr. Adams?”

“You mean how she was dressed?”

“Well, partly. Was she overwrought?”

“No,” I answered slowly.

“Didn’t that strike you as strange?”

“Well, she was white and sort of tense, but I think she was expecting something like that to happen.”

“Really.”

“Not in that way, of course.” Everything I said seemed to be wrong.

“I see. You mentioned the way she was dressed. Anything odd about it?”

“No. Except she had a large runner in one stocking.”

“Ah. Wonder what caused that?”

“I... I don’t know?”