Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 39, No. 6, June, 1994
- Автор: Bashover Albert, Crawford Dan
- Год: 1994
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: ISSN: 0002-5224
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 39, No. 6, June, 1994». Краткое содержание книги:
Jerry remembered when, as a child, he had disassembled the lock from his father’s desk. He had not been prepared for what was about to happen. When he removed the slip ring that held the unit together, and slid out the center cylinder, all the little brass pins and springs exploded into the air like a bunch of escaping grasshoppers and buried themselves in the depths of the shag carpet. His dad was due home soon, and Jerry was not supposed to be in his den. He had to work fast. He was able to find only enough pins and springs to fill two holes. With luck, he put the lock together again but with only two of the pin sets in the correct holes. Even with three of the locking pin sets missing, the lock acted normally, and his father never found out about Jerry’s intrusion.
Jerry looked at the lock in his hand. If he was right, he would not have to be very careful with this lock.
As he expected, when he disassembled the unit, four of the five holes in the cylinder were empty. Only the last hole held its complement of pins and spring. That one set of pins would make the lock seem to operate properly. The only difference would be that any key with just the last cut of the proper depth — any one of hundreds of keys — could open the lock.
Jerry felt an odd combination of relief and sadness. He had figured out how someone had been getting into his drawer without his knowledge. All that person had to do was remain in the engineering department some evening doing overtime work. Since the drawer would be unlocked when Jerry wasn’t working on something, he could remove the lock from the drawer as Jerry had done. Then he could remove most of the pins so almost any key could open it. From that point on, Jerry wouldn’t notice any breach of security, but the spy would have free access to the drawer with any one of hundreds of keys.
Jerry knew, even before he checked the keys in the key cabinet, that Frank Duval’s key could open the tampered lock, but as he’d feared, so did eight of the other keys in the cabinet. He had solved the how, but he had no proof of the who.
Jerry and Miriam had been going to La Trattoria on 58th Street for only three weeks, but they had come to think of it as “their” place. The restaurant was just two blocks from the offices of Caruso, Kelly and Cohen, where Miriam worked, so as usual she was there before Jerry. She sat at their usual table in the tiny restaurant savoring the smells of cheese and herbs coming from the noisy kitchen. In a little while Jerry would arrive from the Jamaica plant. They would talk about everything except law or the toy business. Mario, without asking, would bring them their meatballs and spaghetti. Later they would stroll for a few blocks down Eighth Avenue, not seeing the grime and seediness of the area; then they would see a show, or say goodbye with a light kiss at the subway station. The time went too quickly. Miriam knew it wouldn’t be long before their evenings would end differently.
This time when Jerry arrived, he looked preoccupied. Usually he was able to wipe the day’s cares from his mind and happily enter a world where only he, Miriam, and the aromas of basil, garlic, and oregano existed. This evening the real world and its cares showed on his face.
Miriam tried to keep the conversation light, but when the spaghetti and meatballs came, she finally said, “You might as well talk about it, Jerry. Whatever is bothering you obviously can’t be ignored.”
“We’ve managed not to talk about our work for so long, I hate to start now.”
“I know something about the toy business, Jerry. Talk to me about it. Perhaps I can help.”
Jerry poured out the story of his meeting with Dave Rabb, the discovery of the tampered desk lock, and his suspicions of Frank Duval.
“So I know how it was done, but I can’t confront Frank and accuse him. I have no proof. I can’t just fire him. Suppose he isn’t the guilty party? I could ruin the man’s reputation. But you know your dad. Sacha would want action, positive action, fast. If it were he in my position, he would probably fire Frank on the spot even if he had to invent a reason, but I can’t do it.”
“You’re right about Dad. Delicacy has never been his strong point, but Dad would be right about one thing. We can’t let this situation go on. You have to take some action, Jerry. Perhaps if—” Miriam stopped with a thoughtful frown. After a while her frown had turned into a slight smile. “I have an idea. It’s a little left-handed, but you might want to try it.”
Jerry was away from the office on business for two days. When he returned, the engineering office was buzzing about how Frank Duval, after being with Carnow Industries all these years, had called the personnel office and quit without notice. He hadn’t even come in to pick up his personal items. It was almost as if he was afraid to face his co-workers.
Jerry entered the office and sat down at the desk. He slid open the now unlocked “idea” drawer and lifted out the folded single sheet of paper lying in it. He dusted off the particles of flour still sticking to the paper and blew out the rest of the flour scattered in the bottom of the drawer.
Jerry smiled as he looked over the letter he had written. “Dear Frank,” it read. “Since the flour sprinkled on this sheet has been disturbed, and you are now reading this note, you may consider this your dismissal notice. You now know why I gave you overtime work before I left. It also should be obvious to you that there will be no more company secrets available to you in this drawer. I hope you will find contentment in your next job, but you realize, of course, I cannot give you an unconditional recommendation.
“In case you think it was just a wild guess that let me know it was you who was selling my ideas to Acme, you will find that your key, and only your key will now fit the lock of this drawer. I put your lock in my desk drawer, and the lock you tampered with in your desk.”
The letter was signed with Jerry’s usual scrawl.
Jerry leaned back in his swivel chair and thought of Sacha. He frowned. Sacha would approve of the results, but he probably wouldn’t appreciate the method very much. He would have preferred that Jerry face Frank and somehow extract a confession from him. Oh well, as Miriam had once said, there’s more than one way to skin a cat. He would let Miriam explain what happened to her father. After all it was her idea. That brought his thoughts around to Miriam, and Jerry started to smile again.
The Mirror
by J. A. Paul
The words struck the dim alley outside my open kitchen window and ricocheted back as if the speaker were perched on my sill. The shout had come from my side, but that was all I knew for sure. I lived on the fifth floor and there were four levels above me, not to mention the building across the sooty ravine. The words rang false.
“What goes on here!”
It sounded like a line of script, the response of an actor catching his daughter in the arms of the town hoodlum. It was authenticated by a bang! bang! and moments later another bang! like an exclamation point.
I was standing at the sink, hands under flowing water peeling a potato. It slipped from my fingers and I swear not ten seconds passed before I thought of dialing 911, but either I was immobile longer than I knew or the cops were at the corner. Sirens were shrieking before I turned off the faucet.
Gary arrived for his second dinner of the week and told me reporters were crowding the entrance. I repeated word for word, shot for shot, what had transpired, expecting, I suppose, a consoling hug. I might have read him a summary on the life cycle of snails. He asked if there were onions with the steak.