Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 34, No. 5, April 1974

“I’m not walking into no house. That’s dangerous. I’m a second-story man. What if somebody sees me?”

“Look,” Alec said. “You know what a modus operandi file is, don’t you? The M.O. You’re a second story worker, so if you walk in the front door, the police never even think of you. Never.”

“What if somebody sees me?”

“Then you walk out. You claim you rang the bell and nobody answered, so you opened the door. No crime, is it?”

Toosh thought for a long time. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. He lit a cigarette and tamped it out. He stroked his cheek. He stared at Alec. Then Toosh finally spoke.

“What’s the address, and when do I do it?”

“Seventeen Seventy-five West Lime. On September fourteenth. At exactly eight o’clock. Not a minute earlier and not a minute later. Is that clear?”

“I got a battery watch. Never fails.”

“How old is the battery?”

“Two months.”

“Okay. Just don’t lose it.”

“You trying to teach me about watches, or you got a job for me?”

“The timing’s important. At exactly eight o’clock you walk into this house and take the first doorway to the left. There, you’ll find the necklace on a coffee table in front of the couch. It’s a marble-topped table. The street light gives you enough illumination to see it. Pick up the necklace and examine it, and if you think it’s not worth the money, forget the whole business. But I guarantee that the necklace is worth fifty thousand, and maybe a lot more. So pick it up and go. All yours. I never see you again, and you never saw me in your life.”

“Give me ten bucks now, just to show you’re not kidding.”

Condon took out his wallet and removed a ten-spot.

“Here,” he said.

Toosh accepted the bill, got up and walked away.

Good, Alec told himself. All set. Grace called everything nice. Well, her murder would be nice, too.

For the next few months, preceding his birthday, he was a model husband. He attended Grace like a lovesick swain. When she lost her purse, he produced an extra one from his pocket.

“I had it with me, just in case you lost yours,” he said, handing it to her.

Grace took it gratefully.

“That’s nice,” she said.

“I like to make it easy for you,” he said. “I know you mislay things, but it’s because you’re dreamy and your mind is on higher matters. I don’t mind.”

“That’s nice,” she said.

On September fourth he reminded her of her promise to wear the necklace on his birthday.

“I won’t forget,” she said.

Nevertheless he reminded her again the next day, and every day thereafter.

The following Tuesday he found a broken piano leg in a deserted lot on the next street. He hefted the thick, heavy piece of lumber. Teak, he decided. It was strong, and the narrower turning at the base gave him an excellent grip. Perfect, he told himself. Not only a good weapon, but it obviated the risk of his being identified as the man who’d bought a mallet of the kind and type matching the splinters extracted from the dead woman’s skull.

He liked the phrase and, applying it to Grace and thinking of her as the dead woman, he pitied her and began almost to like her. Then he thought of Myra, and his determination hardened. He wanted Myra and he wanted Grace’s money, and he was going to have them both.

On the morning of his birthday Grace kissed him. He told her to get the necklace from the vault and he offered to go with her, but she refused.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll have it.”

She came home at noon and showed him the necklace.

“Better give it to me,” he said. “I’m afraid you might lose it.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Not this. Never.”

In the afternoon he went for a ride. He was excited and he kept telling himself that everything would go according to schedule. The only element over which he had no control was Toosh’s arrival. It Toosh failed, then Alec would have the somewhat risky job of disposing of the necklace. Otherwise, he was home free. He’d play the part of the distraught husband and he’d have nothing to tell the police except that he’d found his wife dead and the necklace gone. He’d state that he’d been in his studio all evening, which would be true. There would be no complications and no points on which he could be tripped up.

It was the servants’ night off and they’d tell the police that Mrs. Condon often forgot to close the front door. They’d say that Mr. and Mrs. Condon got along well and never quarreled. Friends would corroborate the statement. The police would also find out that Grace had taken her necklace from the vault specifically for her husband’s birthday. Alec would say she’d showed it to him at lunch, and that he’d been touched by her act.

The police might or might not dig up his affair with Myra. If they did, it would be obvious that he and Myra had broken up some time ago. If they went so far as to question her, he was reasonably certain that she’d cover up.

“Alec Condon?” she’d say. “I haven’t seen him in months, and what’s more, I don’t want to. After the way he threw me over, we’re finished.”