The Mammoth Book of Perfect Crimes & Impossible Mysteries by Mike Ashley Page B

broken with them. What’s more to the point, Banner, she was in the room with Gosling when he was killed. The only person in the room with him. And she was holding the gun that killed him!”
    “So?” muttered Banner. “Mebbe you can explain away the sealed envelope.” When McKitrick didn’t answer, Banner shrugged. “How was she able to shoot the gun through the envelope without making any holes in it?”
    McKitrick sighed. “Times are getting brutal for us investigators when all a murderer has to do is send his victim a gun by mail and it does the killing for him.”
    The wind coming across the Potomac River that afternoon had the icy sting of early winter on its breath.
    Gertrude Wagner, wrapped up in a cloth coat, walking on the park path, stopped suddenly. She stared nervously around her. A man in an oystercolored balmacaan, who had been following her, veered around a turn in the path. When he saw her looking straight at him he hesitated for a fraction of a second, then he kept on coming, his pace more deliberate. Under the slant brim of his hat Gertrude could see the bright red hair. The wide shoulders were familiar.
    She stood there until Odell came up to her. He grinned sheepishly. “Hello, Gertie. Mind if I walk the rest of the way with you?”
    She drew back a pace as if she was afraid he might contaminate her. Her face looked pale and scared. “You’ve been following me,” she accused him.
    Odell was sober. “To tell the truth, Gertie—”
    “Why do you have to hound me? Can’t you leave me alone?”
    “I’m not hounding you,” he said, disheartening to know that she had interpreted his actions that way.
    “You are, Mr Odell. I haven’t been able to make a move since you came to the Legation without having your eyes on me. You people are watching me all the time, waiting to pounce on me for the least slip I make. I thought America was a free country, but the police watch you here as much as they do over there . . . You think I killed Mr Gosling!”
    “Did it ever occur to you,” he said through clenched teeth, “that I might have other reasons for wanting to be near you?”
    “What?” she said, hardly believing her ears. “What did you say?”
    “You’re not hard to take, Gertie,” he said.
    “Take?” she said in confusion. “Oh but—”
    “You never gave me much encouragement. You always seemed to have so much on your mind, Gertie.”
    “If that’s really true, Mr Odell, I’m sorry I – if I offended you just now.”
    “ If it’s really true! You don’t think I’m telling you the truth?”
    “I can’t be sure of anything any more.”
    “I was in that office to protect Mr Gosling – and you.” He looked at her steadily. “You believe me, Gertie.”
    She looked back at him for a long moment, and he thought her eyes were watering.
    She lowered her gaze. “Yes, Mr Odell, I do. I do believe you.”
    “Well, then,” smiled Odell, “I hope you’re not doing anything tonight, as I want—”
    “Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry. Not tonight. I have an appointment I can’t break. Shall we make it some other time?”
    “Sure, Gertie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow.” She smiled. “So long then.” She had her right hand in her coat pocket. She took it out and held it toward him. He grasped her palm. And then he felt that she had something in her hand – a slip of paper. When she drew her hand away she left it in his palm. He felt, with a rush of intuition, that everything was wrong. He pretended not to notice what she’d left in his hand. As she turned on her high heels to walk swiftly away from him, he thrust his own hand into his pocket.
    He watched her go out of sight along the path, then he walked out of the park in the opposite direction. He was curious about what she was trying to convey to him. He went into the first street corner phone booth he came to and took the slip of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it.
    The wrinkles of perplexity