Safer Dead

‘Let’s talk about your pal Dillon,’ I said.

‘What about him?’ Benn asked, reaching for a can of beer and wrenching off the cap with his teeth.

‘I hear he used to go after the Van Blakes’ pheasants.’

Benn smiled.

‘I guess that’s right. Van Blake didn’t seem to give a damn. He’d got more pheasants than he knew what to do with.’

‘Van Blake was shot on August 6th. Where was Dillon on that morning?’

Benn shook his head.

‘I don’t know. The day before he told me he was going on a poach.’

‘That would be on the night before Van Blake was shot?’

‘Yeah. He asked me if I could use a brace of birds. I used to buy them off him sometimes. He said he’d be in after eleven, but he didn’t show up. I thought maybe he hadn’t had any luck.’

‘I want to get this straight,’ I said. ‘The last time you saw him was when he offered to get you a brace of pheasants, is that it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘He would have no reason to be on the Van Blakes’ estate at seven o’clock in the morning?’

‘Of course not. Ted poached with a flashlight and a catapult. He only worked in the dark. He didn’t even own a gun.’

‘He used his motorcycle when he went to the Van Blakes’ estate?’

‘Yeah. He went in by the gate on the Frisco-Tampa City highway, left his motorcycle in the bushes just inside the gate and walked over the hill, down to where the pheasants were.’

‘He wore a crash helmet and goggles, didn’t he? What else did he wear?’

‘Usually a leather wind cheater and corduroy trousers. Where’s this getting you?’

‘I think he was murdered on the estate.’

Benn shook his head.

‘Couldn’t have been. He was seen on the highway around eight o’clock coming from the Van Blake’s estate on the morning of Van Blake’s murder. I reckon he was murdered somewhere near the harbour where his motorcycle was found.’

‘A crash helmet and goggles makes a good disguise. Suppose it wasn’t Dillon who was seen, but the killer, laying a red herring?’

‘I hadn’t thought of that. You could be right.’

‘Was Dillon a big fella?’

‘No, he was like me; a shrimp, but tough and strong for all that.’

The telephone bell rang at this moment. I picked up the receiver.

‘New York wants you,’ the operator said. ‘Will you hold a moment?’ There were clickings on the line, then a girl said, ‘is Mr. Sladen there? Mr. Fayette wants him.’

‘Speaking,’ I said. ‘Go ahead.’

Fayette came on the line.

‘I’ve just had a cable from Low,’ he told me. ‘I thought maybe you’d want to know about it right away. I’ll read it to you.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Here’s what he says: Woman staying at George V on August 3rd last year, calling herself Cornelia Van Blake, positively, repeat positively, identified by reliable hotel witnesses as Fay Benson. Returning immediately with affidavits. Low.’ Fayette paused, then asked, ‘Is that any use to you?’

‘I’ll say it is,’ I said. ‘That’s the last nail in the coffin. I’ll have the case in the bag by tomorrow. Be seeing you then,’ and I hung up.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I

At ten-thirty, with a cloud covered moon spreading a faded light over the city, Benn and I drove fast along the Tampa City—San Francisco highway. It took us ten minutes or so to reach the gate to the Van Blake estate that Dillon had used on his last poaching expedition.

Benn stopped the car by the gate. The red spark of his cigarette lit up his face as he turned to look at me.

‘I’ll get rid of the heep and join you.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m going in there alone. You keep out of this, Sam. I may want you as a witness later on.’

‘What happens if you run into trouble?’

‘I’ll take good care I don’t.’ I got out of the car. ‘Leave this to me. I can handle it.’

He looked doubtfully at me.

‘Well, okay, if you say so. Are you sure?’

‘Yep. I’ll get back somehow on my own steam. If I don’t show up by dawn, report to Creed. But you’ve got to keep out of trouble. You know the setup now, and one of us has to be around to straighten out the kinks.’

Benn lifted his shoulders.

‘You’re the boss. Well, if you don’t want me I’ll scram.’ He engaged gear. ‘So long and good luck.’

I watched him drive away then, climbing the gate, I made my way along the path that led in a gently rising slope to the wood near where Van Blake had met his violent end. When I reached the top of the pimple in the middle of the clearing, I paused. Some fourteen months ago Van Blake had ridden up here to survey his estate. A killer had waited for him, shotgun in hand. Seconds later, Van Blake was lying on the ground, and his horse was trotting homewards to raise the alarm.

From where I stood I could see the white ribbon of the highway and the distant car lights as the cars drove towards Tampa City. It was silent and still up on the hill, and there was an eerie atmosphere that made me feel spooked. I set off downhill, keeping to the path through the wood. The moon, floating behind hazy clouds, gave enough light for me to find my way.