Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 75, No. 2. Whole No. 436, February 11, 1980

Safe and Free by D. O. Bell

© 1979 by D. O. Bell.

D. O. Bell’s first story, “Trial and Error,” appeared in the November 1978 issue of EQMM. His second story, as usually happens to new writers of mysteries, is altogether different — a fresh and modern variation of a traditional ’tec theme...

The idea of murdering his partner had never risen above fantasy in Adams’ mind. But it was a recurring fantasy. He spent an unhealthy amount of time visualizing Baker falling victim to “the perfect murder.” And when the local radio reported the names of accident fatalities, Adams tuned his ear, hoping to hear the name Joseph Baker. That name, however, was never listed among the dead, and Adams’ desire to see it in the obituary column intensified.

Adams’ growing obsession with Baker’s demise was not rooted in personal animosity; it was purely a business ambition, a veritable necessity of business. Splitting up the partnership or leaving the business would not suffice.

The A & B Air Transport Service had been Baker’s idea. He had the plane and some capital and a few business connections. Adams was the other necessary ingredient — he was an experienced pilot who wanted to fly. Adams had instantly grabbed at the proposal and wasted no time borrowing the $10,000 necessary to buy in.

Besides, he needed the work. His reputation as a daredevil, an audacious flyer who too often acted on impulse, had prevented him from getting a commercial flying job on his general discharge from the Air Force. He saw the new business as sure-fire, figuring he would be comfortably well-off in five years.

Five years had passed, and despite long work weeks he was still paying off the original loan. The only variable he had failed to figure on was the fact that Baker was an easy touch. Baker handled the business end efficiently enough but like a patsy. Anybody with a well-phrased request (and almost everybody had one) could get the rates reduced, sometimes even to below cost. The lack of a large income did not disturb Baker whose needs and pleasures were simple and inexpensive. He was a nature lover and lived alone in the country. Adams starkly felt the meager income. His extravagant tastes steadily pushed him further and further into debt.

On the several occasions when Adams confronted Baker with the income problem, Baker replied, “I’m not in business to rip people off, and I won’t. If you want out, I’ll buy you out.” But the return of the $10,000 investment would leave Adams with nothing but five wasted years. It was all Adams could do to restrain his rage at this reply to his complaint.

As Adams began to feel trapped by his predicament, he soon began daydreaming of Baker’s death or disappearance. It all started one evening when Adams reread the partnership agreement. He was looking for a way to assume more control of the financial side. It was Baker who had had the agreement drafted originally, and Adams had scarcely considered the terms at the time he signed. Now they were to become as familiar to him as flight instructions.

One unusual aspect of the agreement was the provision that on the death of one partner, the other (rather than the heirs of the deceased) would inherit the deceased’s share and thus become full owner of the business. There was another unusual provision: included in the definition of death was “disappearance for more than twenty days.” Baker had explained: “Planes crash over rough terrain, and sometimes the passengers and crew are never found. This will resolve any question of that nature.”

The partners had also taken out a life insurance policy on each other in the amount of $100,000. The agent writing the insurance had agreed to write in the 20-day disappearance provision.

Adams never felt that he had planned Baker’s murder. The plan just came to him, and he was helpless to resist implementing it.

One afternoon in early winter Adams had just returned from a short flight. He got back to the office and found a note from Baker saying that he was downtown shopping for some camping equipment and would be back soon. Adams shook his head, wondering how many customer calls had been missed while Baker was out. Adams’ irritation was interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

“A and B Air Transport,” he said.

“Yes, I need to ship some cargo.”

“All right. Where to?”

“Bainbridge,” the customer said.

“Bainbridge,” Adams repeated, tracking the map on the wall. “Let’s see, Bainbridge is way up in the northeast corner of the state.”

“That’s right.”

“That’s mountainous country up there with pretty bad weather this time of year.”

“Can you do it or not?” The voice was not without impatience.

“Sure, we can do it.”

“What’s your price?”

“To Bainbridge, eight hundred dollars,” Adams ventured. Maybe he could avoid telling Baker about this job.

“All right,” the customer said, so easily that Adams wished he had overcharged even more. “But the cargo has to be picked up tomorrow and delivered tomorrow to Bainbridge.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Adams said, seizing the opportunity. “I’ll have to pay my pilot overtime. That’ll run another two hundred.”

There was a pause during which Adams feared he had gone too far. Then the voice said in a sighing tone of resignation, “Oh, all right.”

“Fine,” Adams said, pleased with himself. “Give me the details.”

Baker soon returned to the small storefront office. He was laden with new camping gear and appeared to have not a care in the world.

“Trip go all right?” he asked Adams.

“Fine,” Adams said. “If only we’d made some money on it.”

“We made a fee on it.”

“Slave wages.”

“It was all they could afford,” Baker said. “It was that or keep the plane on the ground for the day. We didn’t have any other orders.”

Adams bit back a sarcastic retort about Baker’s absence from the office. He also remained silent about the Bainbridge order.

“Well,” Baker said, surveying his new gear, “I’m going to take a couple of days off and go camping. I’m going hiking in the mountains. I love it up there this time of year.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. Is the plane ready for flight?”

“You’re going to fly?” Adams failed to disguise either surprise or annoyance.

“If my license hasn’t expired,” Baker said.

Adams saw that he could no longer conceal the Bainbridge trip, so he told Baker he’d be flying over the mountains tomorrow.

“Great,” Baker said. “You can just drop me off.”

“I’ll be glad to,” Adams said.

He thought about it that night until he fell asleep.

Early Saturday morning Adams drove the A & B van out to the Lennox Funeral Home. He was met there by the junior Lennox who was in his mid-forties. “Pull your van right around here,” he told Adams, pointing to double doors at the side.

Adams backed the van up to the doors, got out, and went inside to Lennox’s office.

“You’ll be met at the Bainbridge Airport,” Lennox said in a practised low tone. “These are the people who’ll be meeting you.” He handed Adams a note. “And here’s your fee.” He handed Adams a check for $1000.

“Thank you,” Adams said, carefully folding the check. “Happy to be of service.” Adams stood to go, then paused. “Not that it matters,” he said, “but I’m just curious about the person who’ll be riding along with me.”

“A Mrs. Horton,” Lennox said without inflection. “She went into the hospital for some routine surgery and died on the operating table. We had her funeral service here, but her family’s from Bainbridge. They wanted her buried there, so we made the arrangements. The Bainbridge Funeral Home people will pick up the casket from you, take it straight to the cemetery, and bury it.”

“Okay,” Adams said. He turned to go, but Lennox was not quite finished.

“If I were the woman’s husband, I’d be suing,” Lennox said with sudden anger in his voice. “I may be in the funeral business, but I don’t want them until they’re due. I’ve been dealing with dead people long enough to know this woman shouldn’t have died. It’s none of my business, but I’d be suing.”

Adams saw that Lennox was finally through, so he turned to the door and left.

Baker met Adams at the plane. Though Baker was rather small and slight, the two of them had little trouble loading the somewhat large casket into the plane. Baker remarked about the odd cargo, then began putting his camping equipment on board as Adams checked out the plane. Inside, Adams tested all the instruments, then felt beneath his seat for his pistol. He’d had it since his Air Force days and out of habit had kept it there for security.

He clicked it to be sure it was still loaded. Holding the pistol beneath the seat, he looked around at the casket in the back and at Baker wrestling with his gear. Blood rushed to Adams’ head so fast he thought for a moment he might faint.

“A few miles this side of Bainbridge there’s an airstrip,” Baker said when they were airborne. “A paper company once used it and it’s still in good shape according to my source up there. It’s used now mostly by campers. You can let me off there and I’ll enter the woods at that spot.”

“All right,” Adams said without looking away from the instrument panel. He wiped a palm on his shirt and hoped Baker didn’t notice how profusely he was perspiring.

They flew in silence most of the way. Baker made an occasional remark about how much he was looking forward to his weekend of camping.

The airstrip came into view, and Baker said, “There it is.”

“I’ll survey it first,” Adams said, putting the plane into descent. He flew low over the strip and then up again.

“It looks fine to me,” Baker said.

“Yeah. Did you see anybody else around?”

“No, it looks deserted.”

Adams circled and headed back toward the strip. He suddenly had that feeling of terror mixed with ecstasy that he used to get when zeroing in on a bombing target. He set the plane down on the abandoned runway as Baker gathered his belongings. The plane slowed and stopped. Adams gripped the controls to keep his hands from shaking.

Adams’ hand shot beneath the seat and fingered the pistol. He knew it was now or never. The rush to his head came again. At last he spoke, finding his voice surprisingly strong and calm. “Baker,” he said, “I’m sorry to have to do this. It has nothing to do with you personally, but I’ve lived in need of money too long. And I’ll probably never get another perfect chance.”

Baker’s face showed an expression of confusion as Adams pulled up the pistol and shot him twice in the heart.

Adams set feverishly to work as though he had but a few minutes to complete the task or be discovered. He opened the casket and removed the corpse of Mrs. Horton. Then he took out the cushions from the bottom of the casket and placed Baker’s body inside. He cleaned up all the blood, working with the efficiency of a fine machine, and squeezed the bloody garments next to Baker’s body.

After replacing the cushions, he put back Mrs. Horton’s body. She now fitted too high, so he removed the body again and frantically tore away the inside of the cushioning. This time she fitted better. With the cushion cover in place, a casual glance would not raise any suspicion. Adams shut the casket lid and returned to the pilot’s seat.

He sped down the runway and took off. Moments later he made radio contact with the Bainbridge Airport.

Everything went as planned. The funeral-home people were there waiting. As they loaded the casket into their hearse, they made some comments about wanting to hurry and get the body buried so they could get home in time for the football kickoff on television.

Flying back, Adams decided to drop Baker’s camping gear over the mountains, then realized that would look anything but authentic. He would fly somewhere out of the way and bury it or incinerate it.

Adams was seized by panic that somehow he would be found out and would spend the rest of his life in prison. He did not sleep at all Saturday night. He chain-smoked and drank a fifth of whiskey. Sunday he dozed off and on in his drunkenness and awoke from nightmares of Baker and two policemen coming to take him away. Another nightmare which brought him awake cold and sweating was of Mrs. Horton picking him out of a police lineup.

Sunday night was also sleepless until almost time to get up Monday morning. He had a trip to make to another state, so he busied himself with that. Up in the air he felt safe and free. He was alone and protected by his aloneness. No one could get to him when he was in the air. On the ground he was on the edge of panic. He was like the bomb dismantlers he had known in the war: dismantling a live bomb, their hands were steady and sure; later on in the bar their hands shook so badly they couldn’t light a cigarette.

By the time Adams was finished Monday afternoon, it was too late to fly back. He checked into a local motel and went to the nearest bar. He got drunk again, tried to pick up the barmaid, and was finally escorted to the door by the bouncer.

On Tuesday, Adams felt certain that when he got home the authorities would be waiting on his doorstep. His heart beat faster as he approached the runway. But after he arrived, he saw that no one was treating him any differently from the way they always did. Everything on the ground was normal.

Adams went to the office Wednesday morning and realized he had better notify someone of Baker’s disappearance. It scared him to do it, but he knew it was the sensible thing to do. He called the forest ranger station in the northeast, informed them where Baker had entered the woods, and that he had not returned on schedule. Adams was told there had been a new snow, so tracking would not be easy, but they would look into it and keep him posted.

Adams’ panic was renewed when someone from the police called him to ask some routine questions. He told the police the same story he had told the forest ranger. Adams’ fears were allayed when the police called back a few days later to say they had checked out his story and found it to be true, but they couldn’t know if any foul play was involved until they located the body.

Adams thanked them for calling and asked them to let him know if there was any news.

After a few weeks Adams began to quit worrying that he would be found out. Winter had come to the mountains in earnest, preventing further searching, and by spring all suspicions would have grown dim.

Adams made the claim for the insurance and was promptly paid the $100,000 in accordance with the terms. He hired a receptionist at minimum wages to take orders for him. He more than doubled Baker’s prices, but orders did not diminish. The business was finally doing what it should have been doing all along.

But Adams was still haunted. Not by a fear or dread of being caught, but by a guilt of having actually killed someone. He lay awake at night unable to exorcise the ghost of Baker. The guilt grew so great at times he resolved that in the morning he would seek out a priest and confess or go directly to the police. But by morning he had collected his wits again and told himself that he had pulled off the perfect murder — and for good reason — and there was no cause to ruin it now.

Other times Adams thought about the murder in the context of his war experiences. He had dropped bombs on who-knows-how-many people. He had felt momentary guilt at that, but that too was justified, and he had got over it. Survival of the fittest, right? Baker was just another of his bombing victims. They were all justifiable homicides. There was no reason to feel guilty.

And in time the guilt did subside, just as the fear of being caught had. Adams began to sleep — and sleep without nightmares. He ate well; he drank less. He felt better than he had in years.

The Adams Air Transport Service flourished. In fact, it became the most prosperous business in town. By summer Adams had purchased another plane and hired another pilot. He still flew himself because it gave him his only true freedom. In the fall Adams was elected President of the local Chamber of Commerce. With the passing of time and all his newfound respectability, Adams had all but forgotten that he had murdered his partner. Every successful business has something to hide, he reasoned. His secret was in the category of war memories and other unpleasant memories, suppressed in a seldom visited corner of his mind.

Of course, he couldn’t avoid it completely. An unexpected reminder hit him occasionally, such as when someone asked about Baker. But even then he was growing accustomed to passing it off easily.

One morning Adams came into the office to check on the new orders.

“We have two,” the receptionist said. “One to Sutton, and one to Bainbridge.”

Adams felt the sudden rush of fear hit him like a sharp wind. He paused momentarily to regain control. It had been nearly a year since Baker’s death, and this was the first order for Bainbridge since then. No cause for alarm, Adams assured himself. He must not balk at an order to go to Bainbridge. He must adjust to the name Bainbridge as he had to Baker.

“Okay,” he said, “fine.” He was going to meet it head-on but at the last moment he choked. “I’ll take Sutton. Howard, you can have the Bainbridge trip.”

“Okay,” Howard said.

Late that afternoon Adams was back in the office before Howard returned. Adams looked over the orders for the month. It was his best month yet. He felt proud of himself for building the business so well and so fast. Finally, he felt, he had overcome the unfortunate Baker trouble. Now he was where he wanted to be — and without any nagging guilt.

Howard soon came in. He was a young pilot but good and dependable, a real asset to the company.

“How was the trip?” Adams asked.

“You won’t believe it,” Howard said.

“Why not? Rough weather?”

“No, the weather was fine. It was the cargo.”

“What did you take up there?”

“I didn’t take anything up there. But you won’t believe what I brought back. I’m going to fumigate the plane the first thing in the morning. It was all I could do to keep from gagging.”

“What do you mean?” There was urgency in Adams’ voice.

“Some lady died about a year ago. Now they’re suing her doctor for malpractice. They got a court order for a new autopsy, so her body had to be exhumed and brought back here. I just delivered it to the hospital. I’ve never in my life smelled anything so rank. I may be sick yet.”

But it was Adams who was pale and faint.