Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(50)

“Just for a moment let’s say I’m right and that shot was intended to convict Susan.”

Sam’s broad face was suddenly pleased. “Bingo. The logical fallacy. Why do we know there was a shot at seven past ten?”

“It was heard by Susan and by your officers.”

“If Porter and Warren weren’t following Gilbert, they would not have heard the shot, and it’s their testimony that will convict her. How did this mythical murderer know there would be anyone to hear a shot purportedly fired to incriminate Gilbert?”

I relaxed. For a moment I’d feared we were engaged in the if-a-tree-falls-in-the-woods-and-no-one-is-present-is-there-a-sound debate, and I’ve never done well with that. As far as I’m concerned of course there is a sound. It’s only that no one heard it. “You need to read yesterday afternoon’s Gazette. Joan Crandall covered the mayor’s press conference and informed Gazette readers that surveillance was in place, and the story makes it clear that surveillance was linked to Susan.”

Sam’s good humor evaporated. “Neva strikes again.”

“Now, as I was saying, let’s assume Susan did not shoot a gun at seven past ten.”

He balanced some scrambled eggs on a bite of waffle.

I spoke a little louder. “If the killer was out in the woods and shot the gun after Susan arrived, that means the call to Susan was not made by Carl Ross. Wilbur’s murderer called her after killing Ross. Susan was called by a man, just as it was a man who made the fake ransom call. There are five men who had the knowledge to set up the web that entangled Susan. Do you agree?”

“If I accept your premise.”

I reached across the table, put my hand atop his broad strong hand. “You’ll find out where the five men were last night when Ross was shot.”

Sam was resistant. “Ah, the famous five. You put them on a list because they are men and the caller was male. The odds are like ninety-nine percent that the male caller was Carl Ross and he said she’d better hike over to see him or he’d go to the police because he saw something that would send her to prison. Maybe he saw her sneaking out of the study with a blackjack in her hand. Maybe he followed her and knows where the weapon is.” His voice had a touch of bluster.

I shook my head. “The caller didn’t threaten her. The content was clever. The caller acted reluctant to be involved, and you know a lot of people don’t want to get involved with the police. The caller enticed her by saying he knew something that could help clear her.”

Sam raised a grizzled eyebrow. “So that’s what Gilbert claims. Of course that’s what she’d say.” He balled his napkin in a wad, finally, grudgingly, said, “There’s a couple of points in her favor. The test for gunshot residue showed her right hand clean. Of course she’d just washed it. She claims because of blood.”

“Would Susan even know about gunshot residue?”

He shrugged. “Maybe she just thought her hand felt greasy. Whatever. No residue. Another maybe positive point is a next-door neighbor thought she saw a flashlight in the Gilbert backyard around one fifteen a.m., but by the time she got out on her back porch, everything was quiet so she decided she’d made a mistake. Of course, Gilbert would have used a flashlight, too. But there’s a boost for your five-men theory. Minerva Lloyd showed up at the station yesterday, asked to see Detective Sergeant G. Latham. They called me from downstairs. I told them to send her up. One good-looking broad. I told her Detective Sergeant Latham wasn’t available but I would be glad to help her. The upshot was she’d seen the story in the Gazette and thought we ought to know that Wilbur told her, it was the Saturday night before the anniversary dance, that he was going to make some big changes at Fitch Enterprises, starting the day after the party. She said, Wilbur had on his buccaneer face, said he wanted the best for the company. He looked at me and said he always surrounded himself with the best, like me. Then she started to cry.”

“Big changes.” I was emphatic. “Like firing someone. He wouldn’t be talking about his secretary.”

A heavy sigh. Sam speared the last scrap of waffle, ate. “I’ll check out where the five were last night.”

“Don’t alert them. Talk to neighbors, secretaries, people around them.”

He frowned. “That requires a lot more man power. Why the heavy emphasis on no direct approach?”

I avoided his gaze, poured both of us fresh coffee, lifted my cup.

He lifted his cup, took a deep swallow. “Maybe I don’t want to know?”

I gave him another approving smile. It would be awkward, possibly result in irate calls to the station, even to the mayor, if upright citizens were besieged by multiple police detectives and Detective Sergeant G. Latham had her own agenda.

His large mouth spread in a lopsided grin. “What I don’t know can’t hurt me, right?”

? ? ?

The porch light flashed on and the peephole opened. Sylvie flung open the front door. She was dressed in a fuzzy orange angora sweater, shamrock green tights, and feathery blue mukluks. Even so, she was appealing and quite pretty. She burst out, “Where have you been? They put Susan in jail—”

“I’ve spoken to Susan. She’s fine.” As fine as a terrified woman confined behind bars could be, but Susan desperately wanted Sylvie reassured.