“He doesn’t need to get rid of you because, if he followed his pattern, he took out a large insurance policy on Linda.” Nick looked at the items scattered across the workbenches. “There is always a life insurance policy.”
“I don’t know what to say. I never considered he might insure her life.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if the policy is for an amount that is worth more than Linda’s future inheritance. They are scheduled to sail for Hawaii today.”
“Yes. At noon.”
“At some point along the way Norburn will use a scarf to throttle Linda and then he will toss her overboard. The ship may be able to recover the body but it won’t matter. There won’t be enough evidence to arrest Norburn.”
“Dear heavens. How can you possibly know all this?”
“Because he has done this before. At least twice back East. Perhaps more often. He’s established a pattern. I saw it when I—” He stopped because any attempt to describe how he had tracked down the two East Coast brides would involve trying to explain the fever dreams. “I saw it when I examined the evidence,” he said smoothly.
Nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am. Just the usual private investigation methods and a little help from the Sundridge family curse.
But he didn’t say that aloud. Thanks to crime fiction magazines such as Black Mask and Hollywood’s version of the private investigator, the public had developed two distinct images of the profession. There was the sophisticated, fast-talking couple who moved in elite circles and amused themselves solving crimes at the highest level of society.
The other image, the one that was rapidly taking hold, was that of the tough, ruthless loner who did it for the money and whose methods did not stand close scrutiny. He was pretty sure his clients put him in that category, which was a good thing because they didn’t ask too many questions.
“This is ghastly news,” Eleanor said. “How can I convince Linda she’s married to a murderer before she boards the ship? She will never believe me.”
“I might be able to persuade her husband to betray himself,” Nick said.
As understatements went, that was a big one. But there was no reason to alarm the client further. Eleanor Barrows was already upset. If he explained what he planned to do, she might fly into an outright panic. She might even conclude that she had hired a mentally unbalanced private investigator.
“Why would he confess?” Mrs. Barrows was in tears now. “He has no reason to do that. He’s a monster.”
He’ll talk because I know his weak point now and I will apply pressure, Nick thought. But he did not say that aloud.
“I can be very persuasive,” he said instead. “I’m going to hang up now, Mrs. Barrows. I have to get to your niece’s house before she and her husband leave for the port. It would be much more difficult to deal with this situation there. Norburn might be able to slip away in the crowd.”
He put down the receiver, stuffed the photos and newspaper clippings into an envelope, and took his gun and shoulder holster off the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard. He buckled on the holster, selected a blazer that was cut in the fashionable drape style so that it concealed the gun, and headed for the door.
Rex bounded after him. Nick opened the passenger side door of the custom-built maroon Packard convertible. The dog leaped up onto the leather seat. He was vibrating with eagerness.
Nick got behind the wheel and fired up the powerful engine.
It was still very early when he arrived in the quiet residential neighborhood a short time later. He cruised slowly past the house where Linda and Gilford Norburn lived. There was a light on in the kitchen and in one of the upstairs bedrooms. The couple was awake but the shades were still closed. There was no vehicle in the driveway. Eleanor had mentioned that Norburn drove an expensive European speedster. It was most likely still parked in the garage behind the house.
Nick continued to the corner and pulled over on a side street. He shut off the engine and opened the door. Rex followed him out. Nick hesitated and then reached back into the car for the leash. Rex often made people uneasy but sometimes that proved a useful distraction. Nick hooked the leather lead to the dog’s collar.
“Try to look adorable,” Nick said. “We don’t want to frighten the neighbors.”
Rex ignored him.
“You aren’t exactly the adorable type, are you?” Nick said. “Neither am I. Probably why we ended up together. All right, let’s case the joint. It’s always good to get the lay of the land before you confront a guy who has no problem killing women.”
A service lane ran behind the house. Nick and Rex made their way along the path and gained access to the grounds by means of a garden gate. There was an unattached garage. Judging from the size and the barn door–style entrance, it had probably once served as a carriage house.
Nick went inside the garage. A sleek speedster loomed in the shadows. In Nick’s experience most people left the key in the ignition. It turned out that Gilford Norburn was no exception.
Nick pocketed the key. In addition to housing the speedster, the garage served as a tool and gardening shed. Rakes, trowels, shears, and watering cans were neatly arranged on a workbench that stood against one wall.
A roll of heavy garden twine caught his eye. He used a pair of shears to cut off a long length of it.
A few minutes later, satisfied with the arrangements he had made, he and Rex went around to the front of the house. Nick pressed the bell. Footsteps sounded in the hall. The door opened. The man who looked out was in his late thirties. He was mostly dressed for the day in a pair of buff-colored trousers and a white shirt. He had not yet put on a tie.
He eyed Rex with an expression that was somewhere between wariness and irritation. Either Rex was not doing a very good job of looking adorable or else Norburn did not like dogs in general. Nick was willing to bet on the latter.
“Gilford Norburn?” Nick said in the tone he used when he was playing the role of a salesman or a messenger.
“I’m Norburn. Who are you and what are you doing on my front step at this hour? If you’re selling something you can get lost.”
Gilford started to close the door.
“I have a message for Mrs. Linda Norburn,” Nick said. “It concerns a member of her family.”
Gilford paused in the act of shutting the door. He narrowed his eyes. “Mrs. Norburn is my wife. She’s upstairs, packing for a voyage to Hawaii. She doesn’t have time to talk to you. Give me the message. I’ll see that she gets it.”
“I was instructed to give the message to Mrs. Norburn personally,” Nick said. “It concerns an inheritance from a distant relative.”
That got Gilford’s attention. He opened the door wide. There was an avid glint of excitement in his eyes.