Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(26)
I stared at Sam. He meant every word. He’d taken the convoluted conjoining of a fake ransom call and a rich man’s murder and figured out a rationale that made sense to him. He agreed that the fake ransom call led Susan Gilbert to creep into her employer’s study. He knew—because I’d been there—that she took only the shoe box. But he understood greed. He believed Susan succumbed to temptation, returned to the study for the rare coins, and was surprised by Wilbur. I was certain that she tossed and turned in restless misery, but I couldn’t prove she hadn’t left the house again. I was in Sam’s office, checking out the guests at the luncheon where Wilbur called for the coins and, as far as I was concerned, signed his own death warrant.
Sam looked more and more content. Half the fries were gone. He grabbed a handful, finished his cheeseburger.
Unfortunately, his interpretation made lots of sense. But I tried. “The whole thing was set up to involve Susan in Wilbur’s murder. If Wilbur’s body had been found this morning and the ransom call never happened, the police would be checking out his family, friends, employees. Sure, you would check Susan, but without a fake kidnapping, Sylvie would have come home as usual. She would testify Susan never left the house. Instead, Sylvie was decoyed away. The killer removes her from the house and tricks Susan into opening the safe and getting the money. And this is critical, Sam, when Susan hurried to the Fitch house to get the shoe box, the study door was unlocked. She doesn’t have a key. The caller told her the door would be unlocked. That means the person who killed Wilbur was in the house at that moment, possibly a guest at the party. After the party is over”—I leaned forward, tried to sound authoritative, not pleading—“the killer entices Wilbur down to the study. Maybe someone who attended the party returns, knocks on Wilbur’s door, knowing Wilbur stays up late. Any excuse would do. Hey, forgot my cell phone, or I misplaced my car keys. Or I was walking on the terrace and I thought I saw a flashlight in your study. Maybe we should go down and check. Or if it’s someone in the house, claim to have heard a funny noise in the study. The result is the same, Wilbur and his killer walk down the stairs, go to the study. Maybe the killer has pulled the painting back. That would get Wilbur’s attention. He crosses to the safe, punches in the combination, the killer strikes.”
Sam’s broad face creased in thought.
I felt a spark of hope and speared another strip of chicken.
Sam chewed on more fries, then shook his head. “Too complicated. Why not just kill him?”
I pounced. “If you commit murder, wouldn’t you want a ready-made suspect?”
Sam wiped his fingers with a paper napkin, put his trash in the paper sack. “If your take is right, this mythical killer had to know Susan could open the safe and that she had a free spirit sister who’d hide out for twenty-four hours for a couple of free Blake Shelton tickets. Plus”—he was emphatic—“that would mean the killer brought the coin collections to the Gilbert house and dallied around in the backyard for a place to hide the coins and found the tub by the back steps. You can’t do that in the dark. That means a flashlight was bobbing around sometime after one o’clock in the morning. What if Susan looked out the window? What if a next-door neighbor had a toothache? A flashlight in a backyard at that time of night would get a nine-one-one call pronto. Let’s keep it simple. A mean joke puts Susan Gilbert in her boss’s study, but once she opens the safe and takes out the shoe box, she knows how easy it would be to get the coins.”
“Who opened the study door?”
He wasn’t concerned. “That’s easy. The hoaxer was at the party. More than a hundred guests. I didn’t say the joke wasn’t well planned. Sure, it was. Susan’s caller was there, all right, but had nothing to do with Wilbur’s murder. That happened because she came back and Wilbur was unlucky enough to pick that moment to go into his study.”
“Sam.” Now I was imploring. “Susan is innocent. Why, this morning she immediately told you about the box of cash.”
Sam’s look was pitying. “Maybe a driveway full of cop cars scared her. Maybe she thought she would divert attention from the missing coins. She didn’t say a word about the coin collections.” He pushed back his chair, rose. Our conference was over. “Crimes are pretty simple, Bailey Ruth. Sex or money. I’ve done some checking on Susan Gilbert. Smart girl. According to most people, a nice girl. Even nice people can be tempted by big bucks. She could open the safe. She did open the safe. She admits she was there, admits she took the box full of cash. You back her up there. But she came home. No ransom call. She goes to bed. You come here. Maybe she feels like a rat in a trap, and it’s always better to be a rich rat than a poor rat. She decides to go back to the Fitch house, get the coins. But her luck ran out. Or maybe I should say Wilbur Fitch’s luck ran out. She’s there. He finds her. She kills him.”
Chapter 6
I was out in the cold. Literally. In every way. I stood on the City Hall roof, shivering. The poncho was elegant but not meant for a windchill in the forties. I added a black cashmere scarf and an ankle-length black cashmere topcoat. I no longer shivered, but I felt as bleak as an iced-over farm pond pelted by sleet. Adelaide’s main street stretched below me. It was still early afternoon, but everything looked gray as thick clouds squeezed out the sun. The Christmas lights that garlanded the streetlamps did little to add cheer.