Free Tenth Commandment by Lawrence Sanders Page A

for an hour on the Lexington Avenue IRT this evening while the body of a man was removed from the express tracks at the 14th Street station.
    He apparently fell or jumped to his death at the south end of the station just as a train was coming in. The victim has tentatively been identified as Martin Reape of Manhattan.
    No additional details are available at this time. And now, a 69
    message to all denture w e a r e r s . . . '
    'What?' I said, waking up. 'What did he say?'
    7
    I read the story in the Times on the 23rd Street crosstown bus in the morning. It was only a paragraph in 'The City'
    column:
    'Police are seeking witnesses to the death of Martin Reape of Manhattan who fell or jumped at the 14th Street station of the Lexington Avenue IRT subway. The accident occurred during the evening rush hour and resulted in delays of more than an hour. The motorman of the train involved told police he had just entered the station and had applied his brakes when "the body came flying out of nowhere." '
    Rook before you Reape.
    I made it to the office a few minutes before 9.00, called Thelma Potts, and told her I had to see Mr Tabatchnick as soon as possible.
    'You're getting to be a regular visitor,' she said.
    'Just an excuse to see you,' I said.
    'Oh you! ' she said.
    I spent an hour typing up a report of my conversations with the Stonehouses and Mrs Dark. I tried to leave nothing out, because at that time I had no conception of what was important and what was just sludge. After reading over the report, I could detect no pattern, not even a vague clue to the professor's disappearance. Just then Thelma Potts called to say Mr Tabatchnick would see me.
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    When I entered his office, he was standing behind the trestle table, drinking from a mug that had 'Grandpa'
    painted on it. He was in a testy mood.
    'What is so urgent that it couldn't wait until I had a chance to inspect my fish?'
    I laid the Times column on his desk. I had boxed the Reape item with a red grease pencil.
    Mr Tabatchnick removed a heavy pair of black hornrimmed glasses from his breast pocket. He took out a clean, neatly pressed handkerchief and slowly polished the glasses, breathing on them first. He donned the spectacles and, still standing, began to read. His expression didn't change, but he lowered himself slowly into his swivel chair.
    'Sit down, Mr Bigg,' he said. The voice wasn't irritable anymore. In fact, it sounded a little shaky. 'What do you think happened?'
    'I think he was murdered, sir. Pushed on to the tracks by that other customer or customers he was going to see.'
    'You have a vivid imagination, Mr Bigg.'
    'It fits, sir.'
    'Then wouldn't he have had the money on him if he had sold the information? The paper mentions nothing of that.
    Or if he hadn't made the deal, wouldn't he have had the information on his person?'
    'Not necessarily, sir. First of all, we don't know that his information was physical evidence. It may have been just something he knew. And it's possible he went to see his other customers just to discuss the details of the deal, and no exchange took place prior to his death. But after talking to him, his customers feared the payment would be only the first of a series of demands, and so they decided his death was the only solution.'
    He exhaled heavily.
    'Very fanciful,' he said. 'And totally without proof.'
    'Yes, sir,' I said, 'I admit that. But during my meeting with Reape, I said something to the effect that fifty 71
    thousand was a lot of money, and he said, quote, It's worth fifty grand to make sure it goes to the right people, ain't it? Unquote. He was speaking of the estate, sir. So perhaps his other customers were the wrong people. You follow, Mr Tabatchnick?'
    'Of course I follow,' he said furiously. 'You're saying that with Reape out of the picture, the wrong people will profit. That means that the beneficiaries named in the existing will may include the wrong people.'
    He didn't like that at all. He leaned forward to read