Judas Cat (28 page)

“Infantry?” he said.

“Quartermaster,” Alex answered.

Alex paused at the corner of Hunter and County Streets. A Salvation Army band was playing there, and the feeling of people about him was good and reassuring. The decision he had to make now, and quickly, was whether to return to Hillside immediately. He was sure now that Mabel had the codicil or whatever it was. Andy had given her a key to the house, somehow anticipating the events as they came. Mabel’s visitor that night had gone to her looking for the other copy. Why had she not given it to him, or else to Fred Waterman? Was she afraid of being implicated in Andy’s death? Or was she really implicated? Gautier had suggested the chauffeur as the other signer. Alex thought not.

And what were the contents of the codicil? Two incidents suggested patents: the newspaper stories and Joe Hershel. Where was the tie-up there? It was reasonable to assume that Joe wanted to make the fortune that had not come his way when Andy was alive. What he had failed to learn about Hershel and Altman’s transactions from them he might learn from George Addison, especially if it had nothing to do with the codicil. It was important to eliminate them, if they were to be eliminated. He was none too anxious to lead the three men back to Hillside after him until he was sure of himself. And he was far from that. He was not even sure of Gautier. The information was too vital, too pat. Either the lawyer’s conjecture was absolutely right or it was a perfect ruse.

He dropped a quarter into the tambourine and moved through the onlookers. He stopped at the first drug store and looked up the Addison number, and gave it to the operator. The phone was answered immediately.

“I want to speak to George Addison,” Alex said.

“Whom shall I say is calling, please?”

“Tell him …” Alex rang off purposely. Addison was at home. And that too he thought was strange. It would seem likely that a man of Addison’s means would have taken weekends at least away from Riverdale.

He ordered a coke at the fountain and lit a cigarette. By this time the chauffeur and his buddies would be watching the car for his return. He took a
Sentinel
envelope from his pocket and wrote “Pepsi Cola hits the spot” on it because the words were on the fountain mirror. He then folded a paper napkin and sealed it into the envelope. Finishing the coke at one swallow he left a dime on the counter and started for the car, keeping next to the street curb in case anyone got too close to him. He had the ignition key ready and without breaking rhythm he swung into the car and had the motor started before he closed the door. He drove into County Street and double parked in front of the Farmer’s Exchange Bank. Still with measured pace, he got out and pushed the envelope through the night deposit slot. The black sedan with its three passengers passed just as he turned. If they still wanted to follow him, he would lead them home, he thought.

There was no sign of them as he turned into the long Addison driveway. While he was waiting in the hall of the big house he realized that it was little wonder Addison stayed here. It was the coolest place he had been since the last air-conditioned movie. He took out his handkerchief and wiped some of the rust from his clothes and hands. The maid who had announced him returned and said that Mr. Addison would see him in the library. Alex could hear the click of the girl’s heels echoing in the great hall as he followed her, and then before they reached the library door, he heard men’s voices and realized that Addison was not alone.

“Good afternoon, Whiting,” Addison said cordially enough, coming to meet him. But Alex had to force his eyes away from the other man in the room. “May I present Mr. Whiting … Mr. Turnsby.”

Alex felt that he had seen him before although he knew that he had not. He was a handsome man with deep black eyes that missed nothing, and he was over six feet tall. His features were strong looking, and yet somehow delicate. The cheekbones and forehead were brown from the sun. He threw back his head a little as he came forward to shake hands, and Alex realized that this was how Andy must have looked when he came to Hillside. The head of a lion, his father said. Now he knew what he meant, for he was shaking hands with Andrew Mattson’s son.

“Won’t you sit down, gentlemen,” Addison said. “A drink, Whiting? You look as though you’ve had some trouble. A motor accident?”

“No,” Alex said. “No thank you. We’ve run into difficulties in our investigation, and I’d like to talk to you again if you don’t mind, Mr. Addison.”

“I’m very happy to,” Addison said. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Turnsby and I were on the subject now.”

Alex looked from one of them to the other. “We have traced the relationship between Addisons, Turnsbys and Mattson,” he said.

“I see,” Addison said. “Then you can understand why I should prefer to keep them unknown.”

“Maybe.”

“If you prefer, I’ll be happy to wait in another room,” Turnsby said.

Alex wondered why he was there. “I’d like to talk to you, too, Mr. Turnsby.”

“We might as well go through this all together if we’re going to do it at all,” Addison said. “By the way, Whiting, how is it you’re still at it? I thought you were under a restraining order of the court.”

“I am,” Alex said. “If you wanted to, you could probably call the sheriff’s office now, and I could be taken into custody.”

Addison looked at him momentarily. “It’s no affair of mine,” he said. “I only hope you are being discreet enough not to involve me.”

Alex could not tell whether the remark implied a threat or not, but the casualness with which it was spoken irked him. “I’m afraid our extreme discretion has been the cause of our failure thus far,” he said. “I’m getting to the point where I scarcely know how to be discreet any more. So I’ll ask the questions I came to ask and if they seem impertinent, I’m just going to have to suffer the consequences. I’m not a bad person, Mr. Addison. Neither is Chief Waterman, and yet due to the power you wield in this county we’ve been made to look as though we are. The only chance we’ve got of proving our integrity is clearing up Mattson’s death.”

“Just a minute, Whiting. I’ll hear you, but just hold on a minute. The power I wield in this county of which you speak is incidental. Neither I, nor my father before me have ever used it to further our interests. That’s a notion every reformer in the county has. And never once has it been proven.”

“I know,” Alex said. “My father told me that. It’s just that some people like to bow down.”

“And that’s no concern of mine,” Addison said. “Now let’s hear your troubles. If I can help you, I will. But I warn you, my father was a monument in this state. He helped to build it, and I’ll not tolerate any attempt to vilify him … from anybody.”

Alex thought the remark was intended to include Walter Turnsby. “Believe me, sir, I want to vilify no one, but I want no one to vilify me either. We think Mattson died because somebody wanted him dead by a specific time. Two coincidences led me to you, and you didn’t help. I asked you about Mattson’s relatives. Nothing. Now I find his son sitting in your house. Now there’s a restraining order against Waterman and me, and I think that’s due to some negotiation between Altman and you, and maybe Joe Hershel.”

“That is nothing more than an example of the expediency we spoke of before. Altman has given me the impression of being most solicitous of my interests. I have not encouraged it, and I scarcely see where it touches the basic problems here.”

“Perhaps it doesn’t, Mr. Addison, but for twenty or more years Andy Mattson provided Joe Hershel with model toys, beautiful things … and he received a minimum of compensation—as he wanted it—but he put the provision on Hershel that no patents be taken on these models. You would call that poor business. Maybe I would too, but what I want to ask you straight, have Hershel and Altman approached you on some kind of deal based on patents Hershel intends to file now?”

“Young man,” Addison said after a moment, “I think that’s information you must obtain from Mr. Hershel.”

Alex got up from the table. “Then you really don’t intend to help me at all, do you, Mr. Addison?”

“If you can prove Mattson was murdered and come here with legal authorization to obtain your information, I will be happy to cooperate.”

“Can’t you see …” Alex started, and then he knew that Addison could not or would not see. “All right, I have another question. Is the man who was your father’s chauffeur still in your employ?”

“No,” Addison said, “he is not. Why?”

“Because for two days he’s scarcely let me out of his sight, and today he and two other thugs tried to corner me in an old building here in town.”

For the first time Addison’s impassiveness seemed to have left him. He contemplated the ends of his fingers for a few seconds as though he were trying to fit something together. “That’s interesting,” he said. “Very interesting. Excuse me a moment.”

He went to a pull cord by the fireplace, and Alex sat down again.

“How did you happen to know it was my father’s chauffeur, Whiting?”

“One of our
Sentinel
people recognized him.”

The maid came in then. “Ellen, has my secretary left the grounds yet?”

“Yes, he has, Mr. Addison.”

“Please send Phillip in then.”

While he waited he drew the drapes apart that hung over the long French doors, and looked out while he waited. From where he was Alex could see the terrace, and beyond that the glisten of water from the garden sprinklers.

“You’re learning things about your father, aren’t you, Walter? Had you any idea he was a toymaker?”

“Not the faintest,” Turnsby said. “There were many things I did not know about him. But I should have expected that patent business.”

“Yes, of course,” Addison said. “Apparently he was a rather brilliant man. With his quirks, naturally. All of us have them, I suppose. Father used to say that in all his years he had never met a brain more subtle, more astute, or a man with less to say, or to put it more accurately, a man who could speak volumes in a sentence. …”

Alex got the impression that Addison was talking now to fill the time before Phillip came, edging away from the mention of patents, and he was conciliatory again.

“… We are scarcely the men our fathers were, are we, Walter?”

“No,” the man who called himself Turnsby said, “but we have our inheritance.”

The words had come from him quietly, and, Alex thought, spoke the volumes accredited to his father’s sentences. He knew the reference was not to money.

“Yes, of course,” Addison said again. A tall man wearing a white serving coat came in. “Phillip is my butler, gentlemen. Phillip, you remember when Bracken left our service?”

“Yes sir. About two weeks after the old Mr. Addison’s death.”

“Do you recall if we have had any calls for reference on him since?”

“I think not, sir. We were talking of it at breakfast the other morning. Cook had seen him in town, and Mr. Faulkes said it was queer he hadn’t had any inquiries on him, seeing how long he’d worked for the old Mr. Addison.”

“Faulkes is my secretary,” Addison explained. “Phillip, in the time Bracken was around after he received his notice, did he seem disgruntled about it?”

“He was a bit put out, sir. He felt there ought to be a place for him here. Felt that you should give him some sort of work.”

“I see. But he was not what we might call vindictive about it?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Addison.”

“All right. Thank you very much, Phillip.”

After the butler left Addison returned to his chair. “That doesn’t tell us very much, does it?”

Alex wondered. It would seem proper that Addison should give his father’s chauffeur a job. He still felt that he had, that all this was rehearsed.

“Whiting, did you ever see this man Bracken in the company of your mayor or Mr. Hershel?”

“No.”

“I’ve decided to tell you the story of that deal which actually is no deal, and now it won’t be until this business is cleared up. Altman has been at us for years to open a plant in Hillside. I saw no advantage to it with the main plants here in Riverdale. Then one day in early summer this year he and Hershel came up and suggested that we extend our line of building equipment and household goods to include miniatures, the plans for which he already had. He pointed out where our prestige and his facilities if extended to the proper size would pay off immediately. I presumed the plans to be his, and there was absolutely no mention of Mattson. I agreed to give him an answer by September first. Naturally I’d have my lawyers in on it if we agreed to go ahead. We have not yet arrived at that status.”

“You’ll forgive me if I seem skeptical, Mr. Addison,” Alex said. “But on my last visit you were no help. I’ve traced that Pissarro painting myself. I found out Mattson purchased all of them in the Addison collection when he was in France. I should think you’d have known that. And I can’t help but wonder if your father didn’t know what Andy did for a living, and if it wouldn’t be natural for him to have mentioned it to you.”

There was a trace of a smile about Turnsby’s lips. The color rose to Addison’s face. “That’s enough of your impertinence, young man. If you have so many doubts as to my integrity, I suggest you make your charges and see where they land you.”

“I am quite aware of where they will land me,” Alex said. “And I know how much more you can afford to do than I can. I know there’s something as rotten as hell in this some place. And it goes back further than Hershel and his ideas of expansion. It involves patents, and I’m pretty sure it involves patents already in the possession of Addison Industries. I think it also involves your father’s will, or some sort of codicil to that will. Now you know how far along we are on this investigation and what we expect to come of it.”

“My father’s will is no concern of yours whatever, young man,” Addison said angrily. “It was in the hands of reputable lawyers from the day he made it until it was filed in probate court. There seems to be some idea here that half the world was responsible for his success and for his fortune. There is not a court in the land would allow it, and not a court would allow claims on the estate not provided in that will.”