The Mike Hammer Collection

She chewed at her lip again. “The police were inclined to—well, they were annoyed. They figured the person had time to get away.” Her eyes clouded, then drifted back in time. “But it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. No more. In fact, there could have been no time at all before I called. It’s just that I don’t remember those first few moments.”

“Forget it anyway,” I said. “That part doesn’t count anymore.”

Laura paused, then nodded in agreement. “You’re right, of course. Well, then the police came, but there was nothing they could do. Whoever it was had gone through the French windows in the den, then had run across the yard, gone through the gate and driven away. There were no tire tracks and the footprints he left were of no consequence.”

“What about the house?”

She wrinkled her forehead as she looked over at me. “The safe was open and empty. The police believe Leo either surprised the burglar after he opened the safe or the burglar made him open the safe and when Leo went for him, killed him. There were no marks on the safe at all. It had been opened by using the combination.”

“How many people knew the combination?”

“Just Leo, as far as I know.”

I said, “The papers stated that nothing of importance was in the safe.”

“That’s right. There couldn’t have been over a few hundred dollars in cash, a couple of account books, Leo’s insurance policies, some legal papers and some jewelry of mine. The books and legal papers were on the floor intact so—”

“What jewelry?” I interrupted.

“It was junk.”

“The papers quoted you as saying about a thousand dollars’ worth.”

She didn’t hesitate and there was no evasion in her manner. “That’s right, a thousand dollars’ worth of paste. They were replicas of the genuine pieces I keep in a vault. That value is almost a hundred thousand dollars.”

“A false premise is as good a reason for robbery as any.”

Her eyes said she didn’t agree with me. “Nobody knew I kept that paste jewelry in there.”

“Two people did.”

“Oh?”

I said, “Your husband and his killer.”

The implication of it finally came to her. “He wouldn’t have mentioned it to anyone. No, you’re wrong there. It wasn’t that important to him at all.”

“Then why put it in the safe?”

“It’s a natural place for it. Besides, as you mentioned, it could be a strong come-on to one who didn’t know any better.”

“Why didn’t you have the combination?”

“I didn’t need it. It was the only safe in the house, in Leo’s private study—and, concerning his affairs, I stayed out completely.”

“Servants?”

“At that time we had two. Both were very old and both have since died. I don’t think they ever suspected that there were two sets of jewels anyway.”

“Were they trustworthy?”

“They had been with Leo all his life. Yes, they were trustworthy.”

I leaned back in the chair, reaching hard for any possibility now. “Could anything else have been in that safe? Something you didn’t know about?”

“Certainty.”

I edged forward now, waiting.

“Leo could have kept anything there, but I doubt that he did. I believe you’re thinking of what could be termed state secrets?”

“It’s happened before. The Senator was a man pretty high in the machinery of government.”

“And a smart one,” she countered. “His papers that had governmental importance were all intact in his safe-deposit box and were recovered immediately after his death by the FBI, according to a memo he left with his office.” She waited a moment then, watching me try to fasten on some obscure piece of information. Then she asked, “May I know what you’re trying to get at?”

This time there was no answer. Very simply the whole thing broke down to a not unusual coincidence. One gun had been used for two kills. It happens often enough. These kills had been years apart, and from all the facts, totally unrelated.

I said, “It was a try, that’s all. Nothing seems to match.”

Quietly, she stated, “I’m sorry.”

“Couldn’t be helped.” I stood up, not quite wanting to terminate our discussion. “It might have been the jewels, but a real pro would have made sure of what he was going after, and this isn’t exactly the kind of place an amateur would hit.”

Laura held out her hand and I took it, pulling her to her feet. It was like an unwinding, like a large fireside cat coming erect, yet so naturally that you were never aware of any artifice, but only the similarity. “Are you sure there’s nothing further . . .?”

“Maybe one thing,” I said. “Can I see the den?”

She nodded, reaching out to touch my arm. “Whatever you want.”

While she changed she left me alone in the room. It was a man’s place, where only a man could be comfortable, a place designed and used by a man used to living. The desk was an oversized piece of deep-colored wood, almost antique in style, offset by dark leather chairs and original oil seascapes. The walnut paneling was hand carved, years old and well polished, matching the worn Oriental rug that must have come over on a Yankee clipper ship.