Or the same ones over again. I’ve told it so many times. . .”
“Yes,” I said. I felt good. I’d put it over. “It’s been rough on you, and we hate to be the pests we are, but we’ve got a job to do. However, mine isn’t quite the same as the police’s. They’re looking for your husband.”
“Aren’t you?” she asked.
I studied the end of the cigarette. “Only incidentally.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll be frank with you, Mrs. Butler. My orders, first and last, are to find that money. Any way I can. We have to pick up the tab for it if it’s not recovered, so you can see where our interest is.”
“I wish I could help you. You can see that, can’t you? But there isn’t anything I can tell you that hasn’t already been told.”
I waited, not saying anything.
She sighed again. “All right. He came home from the bank at noon that Saturday, said he was going to some lake in Louisiana, fishing, and that he’d be home Sunday night. I didn’t see any money, or anything that could have held that much money, but maybe it was in the car, if he had it. He didn’t take any clothes except fishing clothes, as far as I could tell afterward. I know he didn’t take a bag. Just the fishing tackle. I was a little worried when he didn’t return Sunday night, but I thought perhaps he had merely decided to stay over another day. And then, Monday morning, Mr. Matthews, the president of the bank, came out and told me—” She quit talking and just stared down at her hands.
“You don’t have any idea why he would do a thing like that?” I asked.
The hesitation was hardly noticeable. “No,” she said.
I frowned at the cigarette in my hand, and then looked squarely at her. “Well, I’m afraid we do now,” I said. “It’s unpleasant, and I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was running off with another woman.”
“No!”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Butler. But that’s the lead I mentioned, the thing our Sanport office found out. The girl’s name is Diana James, or at least that’s what she calls herself. She had an apartment in Sanport, and that’s where he was headed. She was going to hide him there.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Unfortunately, it’s true.”
“Then,” she said, “under the circumstances, don’t you think you’re just wasting your time talking to me? Apparently this James person is the only one who really knows anything about my husband.”
“No,” I said. “It’s not quite as simple as that. You see, he never did get to her apartment. And the only answer to that is a very ugly one.”
She was watching me narrowly. “What?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Butler. But he’s dead, and has been ever since that Saturday.”
She tried to get up from the chair, but her legs wouldn’t hold her and she slumped onto the table. I carried her into the other room and put her on the bed. In a moment her eyes opened. She just lay there looking up at the rafters. She didn’t cry.
I went out to the other room and got the bottle. It had gone all right so far. She knew now that at least one outfit was wise to the fact that Butler had never reached the James girl’s apartment, and had guessed why he hadn’t. Maybe not the police, but the insurance company was working with them, wasn’t it?
“I’m sorry,” I said. I held out the drink. “This will make you feel better.”
She sat up and brushed the dark hair back from her face with her hand. She drank the whisky and shuddered.
“You must have suspected it,” I said. “After all, it’s been over two months, with the police in twenty states looking for him.”
“I suppose so,” she said. “Maybe I just didn’t want to admit it.”
I sat down in the chair and lit her a cigarette. She took it between listless fingers and forgot it.
“You see how that changes the picture, don’t you?” I said. “We’re not looking for your husband any more. We’re looking for whoever killed him. That is, the police are, or will be as soon as they get the word about the James girl. What I’m looking for is the money. And that brings us to why I wanted to talk to you. You might be able to add something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you might think of something that didn’t seem important before,