The Brink of Murder (15 page)

“And brains,” Simon said. “Just the same, there’s more to her meetings with Amling than she said. I shook her up. I’d give a pretty penny to know who she called from that pay phone.”

“Think back. What did you say that shook her up the most?”

“I think it was when I asked the name of the sanatorium where her husband died. He was an alcoholic.”

“And Barney Amling was an alcoholic.”

“That’s right. Hannah, you may have hit on the tie between Amling and Alverna. I’m going to call Carole and see if she remembers the place where Barney took the cure.”

Simon went into the den and looked up Dr Larson’s telephone number. He was starting to dial when he saw a black Cadillac coming up the driveway. The sedan stopped and the front doors opened. Dr Larson and Carole Amling got out. Simon put down the telephone and met them at the front door.

“Perfect timing,” he said. “I was about to call you.”

“I thought Carole needed a drive,” Larson explained. “We started out for nowhere and ended up here.”

“Good. Come on in. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Could you make it tea?” Carole asked. “Barney and I have become great tea drinkers over the years. It’s a nice habit.”

Hannah, delighted to have an occasion to use the antique silver tea service she had picked up at a rummage sale, hurried off to the kitchen. Simon scooped up the photos and the Verna Castle dossier and dumped them into a drawer of a Victorian table with the ease of a host tidying up for guests. Carole and Dr Larson sat down on a velvet upholstered love seat and tried not to look like two people perched on the edge of a smoking volcano.

“Carole has decided to go home after the holidays,” Larson said. “I told her she was welcome to stay at my place as long as she likes but the woman is stubborn.”

“The boys have to go back to school,” Carole explained. “It will probably be horrible for them after the recent headlines, but they might as well start living with it. Little Jake doesn’t know anything about the Pacific Guaranty scandal yet, but I’ll try to tell him before Monday.”

“That’s the worst of it,” Larson said, “the children—”

“No,” Carole said firmly. “The worst of it is being in love with your man who is in trouble and not knowing where he is or how to help him.”

“That’s what I was going to call you about,” Simon said. “I need some information about Barney. Do either of you remember the name of the sanatorium he entered during that period of separation?”

“It was a long time ago,” Carole said. “I was never there but Eric was. Do you remember, Eric?”

Dr Larson adjusted his glasses and scowled. “It was in Hollywood—an old house up in the Los Feliz hills. Private. It may not be in operation any more.”

“But it must have had a name,” Simon prodded.

“It did. Something woodsey. Ferndale or something like that. A man and wife team ran it—a Dr Herrens, I think. If I had a classified directory of that area I might find it listed—if it still exists.”

“I have a full set of telephone directories—white and yellow—in my den,” Simon said. “I’d appreciate it, Larson, if you gave it a try.”

Simon ushered the doctor into his den and left him with the telephone directory file. He returned to Carole in the living room and found Hannah pouring tea. Carole took one lump of sugar and no lemon. She stirred the tea listlessly and then said:

“Why, Simon? Why is the sanatorium important?”

“I’m not sure that it is,” Simon said. “I have to start somewhere.”

“No word from Jack Keith?”

“Not so far. I’ve got another investigator helping me. We’re trying to find some motivation.”

“For Barney stealing that money? He didn’t, Simon!”

“I’m sorry, Carole. You asked me to help you find Barney and that’s what I’m trying to do. I may be on the wrong track but I’m trying. You’ll have to trust me. You were separated from Barney for almost a year as I recall.”

She smiled wryly. “Nine months. Giving birth to a husband was my hardest pregnancy. I wanted to go home to Papa Jake but I didn’t dare. He adored Barney and would have made me return to him immediately. That would have spoiled everything. I took Kevin and went to a hotel for the first few weeks. Then I got in touch with Eric and he helped me find a tiny house in West Hollywood where I could have a small yard for the baby. A month or so later I came to you and started the divorce.”

“Which never took place—thank God,” Simon said.

“Thank God,” she repeated.

“How were you reconciled?”

“Gradually. Somehow Barney found out I was seeing Eric. He went to Eric’s office and made a scene and Eric told him he would have to take me at my word that I wouldn’t go back to him until he stopped drinking. Barney was so anxious to make good at his new career. He bought the idea that social drinking would help him up the ladder. That’s ridiculous, of course. His career really soared after he quit the stuff, but it takes a lot of heartbreak for some people to learn that lesson. I remembered Barney the way he had been when we were married, and that’s the Barney I wanted to be the father of my child.”

“Did he enter the sanatorium after his talk with Eric?”

“I’m not sure when he went in. That was part of the agreement when we resumed our marriage—not to ask questions or dwell on the bitterness again. All I know is that he did contact Eric several months after the row and Eric visited the sanatorium. He told me about it and that Barney was serious. I wanted to go and see Barney then but Eric said it would be better to let him work out his problem alone. He was right. Barney didn’t try to contact me again until he was cured and had been back on the job for several months. He reached me through Eric and Eric took me home. All Barney ever said about the cure was that some men had to be knocked on the head before they could see straight.”

“Did he seem different after you went back to him?”

“He was more settled, if that’s what you mean. He didn’t seem afraid of his job any more. Barney’s always been conscientious about his work. He could keep loose playing football. He had to learn to do the same thing in business.” Carole put down her tea cup on the serving table and opened her purse. She took out a leather snapshot-fold and thumbed through it until she found what she was looking for. “Before and after,” she said, handing the open fold to Simon. “The picture on the left was taken a few weeks before I left Barney. I’d been on the verge of doing it for almost a year but couldn’t. I kept hoping he would straighten out by himself. The picture on the right was taken a few months after we started living together again. Do you see any difference?”

Simon studied the snapshots: typical Sunday afternoon family variety. In the first shot Barney was seated behind the steering wheel of an obviously new automobile—a blue and white Oldsmobile gleaming with chrome. Carole stood beside the driver’s door holding Kevin in her arms. The second snap was taken against a redwood fence. Barney was wearing a long barbecue apron. Carole and Kevin were holding paper plates in the manner of Oliver Twist asking for more.

“He looks more domesticated,” Simon said.

Carole smiled. “He was. Even to the car. That Olds was his pride and joy—our very first brand-new off-the-showroom model. It was so flashy Barney said he felt like a prostitute when he drove it, but we got it at a big knock-down price because the new models were coming out in a few weeks and the dealer was overstocked. When I went back to him the Olds was gone. He was driving a used Mercury—dark maroon. He said the Olds was a lemon—something wrong with the power steering. I suspected that he had to sell it to pay the sanatorium bills but I never asked him. Barney always handled the finances in the family. I’m just a spoiled-brat rich man’s daughter.”

“But not much of a spoiled brat,” Simon said.

“Thank you. I do my best. All I know is that I love Barney and I want him back.”

Carole picked up the tea cup again and drank deeply, in spite of the fact that it was probably stone cold by this time. Simon slipped the “before” snap out of the folder and asked if he could keep it for a while. “I suppose so,” she said, “if you need it.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” Simon said. What he didn’t say was that it might come in handy as identification if he had to make an extensive search for that sanatorium. He pocketed the snap and returned Carole’s folder just as Dr Larson returned from the den.

“We’re in luck,” Larson said. “The name of the place is Laurelwood and it’s still in operation. I made a call and asked for Dr Herrens. He’s retired but a man named Werner Fischer has taken over. I didn’t give any reason for calling. It’s up to you, Drake, if you want to dig further.”

“Thanks,” Simon said. “You’re staying for dinner, I hope.”

“Not if we’re going to get back to Ojai ahead of the fog. Did you ask Simon about what was troubling you, Carole?”

“Not yet. You heard about Mary Sutton’s death, didn’t you, Simon?”

“I witnessed it,” Simon said. “I was on my way to see her when she came through the window.”

“Then it was really an accident.”

“What else?” Simon asked.

“I thought—I was afraid she might have committed suicide.”

“Suicide?” Hannah echoed. “Why?”

“Because she was so hopelessly in love with Barney. Oh, don’t look shocked. It was obvious to everyone except Barney. I felt sorry for her. Years ago when women fell in love with my husband I got jealous. Lately I’ve learned just to feel sorry for them.”

“Were there many?” Hannah asked.

Carole smiled softly. “I stopped keeping score a long time ago.

• • •

I feel terrible about Mary. She was so young and lovely. I’d like to go to the funeral but I suppose the newspapers will make a fuss about this. I guess there’s no way to avoid the headlines.”

“Be an obscure failure,” Larson suggested. “I’m opposed to the funeral idea. You’ve been put through the wringer enough already, Carole.”

Larson was right. Nobody could help Mary Sutton now. Carole would be better off saving her strength for the long haul ahead. They said their goodbyes and drove off in the black Cadillac, leaving Simon’s own suspicions unspoken. When they were gone Hannah made an on-the-spot deduction.

“The doctor is in love with Barney Amling’s wife,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be strange if you were working on the wrong kind of triangle. Instead of looking for the woman who broke up Amling’s marriage and caused him to steal the company funds, maybe it was another man who reduced him to odd man out.”

That was the way matters stood on Friday evening two weeks after Barney had driven off into the dusk and never been seen again. Simon made a couple of sandwiches and a pot of coffee and went into his den where he spent the rest of the evening poring over the file on Alverna Castile and pondering results of his investigation to this point. He studied the snapshot he had borrowed from Carole and saw a young man grinning over the steering wheel of a flashy new car. Within about thirteen years the same man would be the head of a large Savings and Loan Association who drove a luxurious Continental sedan and probably traded it off every 20,000 miles without a backward glance. This was success, American style, with all the heartaches and ruthless decisions it entailed. Of course he had changed. That’s what life was—change. Was it as simple as Lieutenant Wabash and practically all of the millions who read the headlines and listened to the media news surmised? Was almost a million dollars in cash sufficient motivation for what everybody thought Barney had done? Could a man get as tired of success as of failure? Barney was no Gauguin, driven by his own demon to create his immortality in art. Was there something significant in that flashy, chrome bedecked new car—circa 1959? Was there a playboy lurking in Barney Amling’s executive heart waiting to break loose for one final broken-field run down the field for a touchdown?

Simon slipped a sheet of paper into his typewriter and pecked out the heading:

Simon read over the list and added a footnote:
Items 5, 6 and 8 could indicate growing emotional disturbance. (Is Barney sane? Is he alive?)

The last question seemed to type itself. Simon stared at it, shocked by his own subconscious. Two weeks was a long time for a family man to be missing. As Barney Amling or as Barry Anderson he would have to surface somewhere. He was about to add another footnote about the airline ticket to South America when the telephone on his desk began to ring.

He answered it quickly. It was almost midnight. He didn’t want the whole household disturbed.

Carole Amling was on the telephone. She sounded hysterical.

“Simon, can you come at once?” she asked.

“Where?” Simon queried.

“To the house at Palos Verdes. We’re going home immediately. I’ve just heard from Barney.”

S
IMON DIDN’T ASK
for details. He put down the telephone and went upstairs to get a jacket and coat. A light was showing under Hannah’s door and he had the uneasy feeling that she had been listening on the extension. He hoped not. He didn’t want to waste time on explanations. He did take time to write a brief note to Wanda telling her where he was going and slipped it under the door to her room where no light was showing. He wanted to look in on her but didn’t dare risk waking her. The distance from Larson’s clinic to the Amling house was almost the same as the distance he would have to travel. If he started immediately they might arrive simultaneously. He put on the jacket and car coat, transferred his wallet and keys and went back downstairs. The light under Hannah’s door was gone.

A light was showing in Chester’s apartment above the garage where he was cramming for his new appointment. Simon went into the garage and opened the door of the Jaguar.

“What took you so long?” Hannah said.

Wrapped in a voluminous, hooded cape she looked like a runaway monk hitching a ride.

“You were listening,” Simon said.

“Of course I was. I’m going with you.”

“You weren’t invited.”

“That’s the trouble. You’re treating me like an old auntie. We used to work together on cases before you married Wanda.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Of course I am. And if you try to put me out of the car I’ll scream until everybody wakes up. You won’t get away for hours.”

The only way to cope with Hannah was to take her at her word. If she threatened to scream, she would scream. Simon switched on the ignition and shifted into reverse. Ten minutes later he was on the freeway headed north. He was the first to arrive at the Amling estate. A light was showing on the ground floor. He rang the bell and waited until a gangling adolescent in robe and slippers opened the door a few inches and peered out apprehensively.

“I’m Simon Drake, Mrs Amling’s lawyer,” Simon said. “I’m expected.”

To his surprise the door opened immediately. Carole had called the house and briefed Norman on his coming. Hannah’s appearance evoked some misgivings, but when she swept into the entry hall swathed in the cape and bearing a silver-headed cane like a sceptre, Norman was left speechless. Except for the entry the only light in the house came from a television set in the family room. Norman, playing host, led the way. “This is a neat room,” he explained. “I bed down on the couch and watch TV until I go to sleep. I’ve got a swell horror movie on now if you’d like to watch.”

“I’m freezing,” Hannah said. “Simon, that looks like a bar across the room. See if there’s any brandy.”

Simon had barely time to find the bottle and fill Hannah’s request when new activity began at the front door. No doorbell this time. A key scratching at the lock, the door opening to admit Carole, her sons, and Dr Larson. Like Norman, Little Jake was in pyjamas and robe and barely awake. Carole immediately ordered the children upstairs to bed. Norman reluctantly turned off the television, as the swamp monster walked nonchalantly through a barrage of flame throwers, and accompanied his hosts. Quiet returned to the room with no loss of excitement.

Carole took a cablegram from her handbag and gave it to Simon.

“It was sent in my name to Eric’s place,” she said. “Barney must have known this house would be under surveillance.”

Simon read the cable aloud. It was date-lined Buenos Aires. The message was brief.

“I know it’s really from Barney,” Carole said excitedly, “because of the pet names. He called me ‘squirrel’ when I did some silly thing like spending too much money for a painting, and then I would call him ‘bear’ for growling about it.”

“When did you receive it?” Simon asked.

“Just before I called you. The office telephoned first and we picked up the message on the way here. Eric knows the agent. He eopned up the office so we could verify the wording. Simon—” Carole fixed him with a determined stare. “—I’m going to Buenos Aires.”

“He doesn’t ask you to do that,” Larson insisted. “He says that a letter follows.”

“I don’t care. I’m going to find my husband!”

“You might lead him into a trap,” Simon said. “I’m sure the local police and the FBI are watching all flights to South America.”

“But there’s no extradition from Argentina.”

“That didn’t stop the Israelis from getting Eichmann out,” Hannah said. “They simply drugged him and dressed him up in an Israeli Airline uniform.”

“She’s right,” Larson said. “Go down there now and you’ll be putting Barney behind bars. Besides, you can’t leave the boys now. You know what an ordeal they’re facing.”

That was the argument that won over Carole. Defeated, she sank down on Norman’s make-shift bed and began to cry. Nobody tried to stop her. She had had a good cry coming for two weeks.

“At least you have heard something,” Simon said. “That’s better than silence.”

Carole found a handkerchief and blew her nose. “I’m all right now,” she said. “I couldn’t go immediately anyway. My passport’s expired. Barney always kept his up to date, but I didn’t travel as much as he did.”

“My passport’s good,” Hannah said eagerly.

Everybody looked at her strangely. It wasn’t the time for levity, but Hannah was serious. “I’ve kept it up religiously ever since my accident,” she said. “Even when I was bed-ridden. It kept my hope alive. What’s more important, Carole, is that I have friends in South America. One of them living in Buenos Aires was in the CIA in world war two, only they didn’t call it that then. He would have excellent connections.”

“Carole wants to help Barney—not have him arrested,” Simon said.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about Alex. He hasn’t been a cloak-and-dagger man since we were the arsenal of democracy instead of hypocrisy. He’s married to one of my dearest friends and they’ve lived in Argentina for years. I can get off a cable right away—”

“You’re
serious
” Simon gasped.

“Of course I am, darling. Isn’t Carole serious?”

“But you can’t go alone.”

“Of course I can. Nobody will be watching my movements—not even J. Edgar Hoover.”

“Simon, if there’s any chance of finding Barney,” Carole said, “wouldn’t it be easier to do so before he has time to hole in somewhere?”

“Of course there’s a chance—but not this way. He needs someone who knows him and can talk like a Dutch uncle. Wait, I’ve got it. I can call my pilot friend and arrange for a private flight to Miami. My passport’s in order, too. From Miami I can take a scheduled flight south without arousing suspicion.”

“
We
can take a scheduled flight,” Hannah said. “Do you speak Spanish?”

“Do you?”

“No, but my friends do. They’ll have the proper contacts and know how to cut red tape. Time really is important, isn’t it?”

Carole’s face gave the answer to that question. “All right,” Simon conceded, “we’ll go.”

“Good!” Hannah cried. “I’ll get a cable off to my friends—”

“Not until I’ve finished with the telephone. Carole—?”

“There’s one in the entry hall,” Carole said. “I’m going into the kitchen to make coffee.”

By the time Simon completed his call all the others were in the kitchen. He joined them there and explained over coffee that the flight was set. “All we have to do is be at the Grange County airport at ten o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. He’s calling ahead to get us ticketed through to Buenos Aires. The reservations will be waiting for us at the Miami international.”

Hannah’s eyes were shining with excitement. “That doesn’t leave much time to pack. Oh, well. It’s summer in South America. We won’t need much luggage.”

“It doesn’t leave much time to sleep,” Simon said. “We’ll have to start back to The Mansion right away. Are you staying over, Larson?”

The doctor nodded. “For as long as Carole needs me.”

“Good. The reporters will be around asking for a statement as soon as they find out Carole’s here. Keep it brief and noncommittal. Don’t let anyone mention the cable—above all, don’t let the reporters get under your skin. I’ll call you as soon as we land in Buenos Aires. Now, about Barney. Does he take any particular medication?”

Carole seemed puzzled. “Medication? No, I don’t think so. Vitamins—occasionally an aspirin. Why do you ask?”

“Because if he needs a doctor he’ll want an English-speaking one. There may be an English hospital. There’s bound to be an American-type drug store for tourists.”

“Good idea,” Larson said. “What about newstands selling English-language newspapers? I’ve seen a copy of an excellent one printed in Buenos Aires.”

“I’ll remember that,” Simon said. “Buenos Aires is a big city but Barney’s a North American and we have a way of being obvious wherever we go.”

“He wears glasses for reading,” Carole added thoughtfully. “He mentioned not long ago that he needed a new prescription.”

“Good. That’s a help, too. Believe me, Carole, I’ll do everything I can to find Barney before—” Simon hesitated. He was about to say “—before anyone else recognizes him and tries to get that bag of money”. That idea was a bit rough for Carole to cope with. “—before he finds that hideout,” he concluded.

• • •

Simon managed to get a few hours’ sleep after the drive back to Marina Beach. Hannah spent her night packing. In the morning Wanda packed a light bag for Simon while he brought her up to date on the situation. He had taken the cable with him in the hope that the office of origin would be identifiable in Buenos Aires. There was no question of Wanda joining the search. She had a promotion tour on schedule that would keep her busy.

She read the cable and gave it back to Simon. “If you do find Barney Amling will you bring him back?” she asked.

“I’ll try.”

“To what, Simon?”

“If he has the money—to make restitution.”

“But it will mean prison.”

“Yes, but we can plead temporary insanity—amnesia. If he’s got the money and doesn’t want to come back I’ll borrow Hannah’s cane and crack him over the skull until he has amnesia.”

Wanda didn’t smile. “Simon, be careful,” she said. “This isn’t a boyhood hero you’re going after. It’s a man who’s probably committed a major felony.”

“Now you sound like a lawyer’s wife.”

“That’s the general idea. I am a lawyer’s wife and I’d like to preserve that condition for so long as we both shall live—like the nice man in Las Vegas said. If Barney’s desperate—”

“Stop worrying or I’ll think you love me.”

Simon put his arms around her and Wanda didn’t have a chance to say anything at all.

Chester drove them to the airport in Hannah’s Rolls. He was transferring the baggage into the waiting plane when he suddenly slapped his hand to his forehead and exclaimed, “I almost forgot to tell you! There was a call for you, Simon, after you left the house last night. A man named Adler wanted you to call him as soon as you came back. He said it was important.”

Hannah was already on board and the pilot was warming up the engines. He received a clear runway signal from the tower. “If we don’t take off now it may be half an hour before I get another clearance,” he said. “There’s an Air West landing within a few minutes.”

Simon glanced back at the terminal building where he could find a telephone and call Adler.

“Let’s go now,” he said. “If it’s all that important Adler will call again and Wanda can take the message.”

He didn’t mean to doom a man to death by that decision, but it was exactly what he did.