Tell It To The Birds

"Maddox would love that remark. If you go on making those bright deductions, you'll finish up as Chief of Police." As he got into the car beside Jenson, he went on, "Hey! Here's an idea! If she has a boy friend, guess which room in Barlowe's house he is most likely to visit?" Jenson started the car. "Go on ... I can guess."

"The way she keeps that house, never cleaning it, you might find his finger prints. Why not send your boys out there and go-ever the bedroom before she leaves hospital? You could do it nice and quiet without anyone knowing. If she has a record, he might too and then we could find him a lot faster than waiting for him to come out from under the wraps.

And another thing ... finger print the gun box. You might get a surprise there."

Jenson drove in silence to the hotel, frowning, then as he pulled up outside the hotel he said, "Yeah, you've got something. Okay, I'll send the boys out there this afternoon."

"Who runs the Pru Town Small Arms Club?" Harmas asked as he got out of the car, "and where do I find him?"

"Harry Seamore. You'll probably find him at the club on Sycamore Street. Why?"

"I want to talk to him," Harmas said. "Stick around, I'll get the^dossier."

Harry Seamore, a heavy built, red-faced man in his early forties, shook hands with Harmas after Harmas had introduced himself.

"I'm interested in Barlowe's gun," Harmas said. "I've been told he gave the gun away about nine months ago. Do you know who he gave it to?"

Seamore, settling in his chair, looked puzzled.

"I think you have made a mistake. Phil wouldn't ever give his guns away. I know for a fact he had one of them last week. I happened to have borrowed it from him."

Harmas leaned forward.

"Guns? Did he have more than one?"

Seamore grinned.

"He had a pair and they were beauties. I ought to know. I got them for him: they were a matched pair: about the best .38's I've ever handled."

Harmas ran his fingers through his hair as he frowned at Seamore.

"You just said you borrowed one of his guns?"

"That's right. A friend of mine from Miami was staying with me. He reckons he is a pretty good shot." Seamore's pleasant face creased again into a smile. "We had a wager. I use a .45, but my friend is used to a .38 and he hadn't his gun with him. So I called Phil and asked him if he'd lend me one of his guns. My friend and I had this match ... he using Phil's gun. I returned the gun to Phil three days before the poor guy was killed."

Harmas leaned back in his chair until the chair back creaked.

"Where did this match take place, Mr. Seamore?"

"Right here," Seamore said, jerking his thumb towards the window through which Harmas could see a shooting alley.

"We set up two target boxes and we both fired fifteen rounds. I pipped my friend by an inner."

"What are the chances of getting the spent bullets from both guns, Mr. Seamore?" Harmas asked.

"Easiest thing in the world. There's been no shooting for the past week. The slugs are in the boxes right now."

"You know which box your friend shot into?"

"Of course."

"Could I use your telephone?"

"Go right ahead."

Smiling happily, Harmas dialled police headquarters.

Chapter 11

Anson had two likely prospects to call on in Pru Town. He then planned to spend the night at the Marlborough hotel before returning to Brent.

As he drove along the busy highway, he wondered what was happening to Meg. She would soon be discharged from hospital. He had already warned her to destroy the insurance policy he had given to Barlowe. This he was sure she had done. He had sent the policy for a claim of $50,000, signed by Barlowe to Jack Jameson, a young but alert lawyer who was now acting for Meg.

Not for one moment had Anson any misgivings that his plans weren't foolproof. The police would be hunting for the bald headed, sex maniac. The press was sympathetic towards Meg. Jameson would put in the claim and Maddox would have to meet it. There was, however, one slight uneasiness in Anson's mind ... this dossier Harmas had mentioned.

Anson kept asking himself what could be in it.

His two calls successfully completed, he drove back to the hotel. It was after he had finished his lunch and was walking towards the exit when he ran into Harmas.

"There you are," Harmas said. "I was hoping to see you. I want to talk to you."

Anson looked sharply at him, then followed him into the deserted lounge. They sat in a far corner.

"What is it?" Anson said, waving to the waiter to bring coffee.

"The Barlowe affair," Harmas said. "Maddox is right. That man kills me! He is always right. The claim is phony."

Anson took from his pocket a pack of cigarettes. He offered it and the two men lit up.

"Go on ... tell me," he said, his voice steady and wooden.

The waiter brought them coffee. When he had gone, Harmas said, "I'm sure as I'm sitting here this woman, with the help of a boy friend, murdered her husband. They used the sex killer as a front."