The Baxter Trust

at Stams. The Sergeant’s expression had not changed, but still, somehow he looked smug.
    Farron turned back to the girl. “Tell me about the phone call.”
    “It was a man’s voice. That’s all I know. I’d never heard it before. I’m sure of that.”
    “Old? Young?”
    “Not old. Not young. Just a voice. A deep, male voice. That’s all I can tell you.”
    With just a trace of irony in his voice, Farron said, “Could you tell me what it said?”
    Sheila caught the irony. “Oh,” she said. She smiled in an “aw shucks” way that men usually found endearing, but which was utterly wasted on Lieutenant Farron. “I’m sorry. The same thing. He said the same thing.”
    “What do you mean, the same thing?”
    “The same as the letter. ‘I know all about you.’”
    “That’s all?”
    “Yeah.”
    “No ‘hello,’ no ‘who is this?’”
    Sheila shook her head. “Nothing. I said, ‘Hello.’ The man said, ‘I know all about you’ and hung up.”
    Farron frowned. “I see. When did you get the phone call?”
    “Just now. Just before I came here.”
    Farron rubbed his forehead. “All right, let me reconstruct this. You went to the airport, you came back and got this letter.”
    “That’s right.”
    “You opened it at once, right? As soon as you got home?”
    “That’s right. In fact, I opened it in the foyer. I picked up the mail on my way in.”
    “Okay. And then you went right into your apartment?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And how soon after that was the phone call?”
    “Not long.”
    “How not long?”
    “Right away. Maybe five minutes.”
    Farron stole another glance at Stams, as if to say, “Is that what you think is significant?” Of course, he got no response.
    “You have any enemies?” he asked the girl.
    She shook her head. “No. And I don’t know anyone who’d want to blackmail me, either.”
    Farron looked at her. “You think this is a blackmail note?”
    She smiled. “Well, what do you think it is? An invitation to dinner?”
    Farron frowned. The girl was cute and spunky. Farron was beyond appreciating cute and spunky. He found girls like her a pain in the ass.
    “Are you a likely candidate for blackmail?” he asked.
    “Do you mean do I have any money, or do you mean do I have anything to hide?”
    “Either.”
    “As to money, I have none. I’m an actress. All I’ve been able to get lately is some extra work. I have a trust fund that doles me out just enough money to get by.”
    A light went on. “A trust fund?”
    “Yes. And you can stop thinking what you’re thinking, because my dear departed grandfather fixed it so that I can’t touch the money until I’m thirty-five. I’m twenty-four now.”
    “That’s very interesting. Tell me about the trust fund.”
    “Why? I told you, I can’t touch the money—”
    “Nonetheless, tell me about it.”
    “I don’t see what difference it makes.”
    “You also don’t see why anyone would want to send you that letter.”
    “Oh ...”
    Lieutenant Farron smiled, which didn’t come easy for him. “Humor me.”
    Sheila brushed the hair out of her eyes and frowned. She was no more used to men like Lieutenant Farron than he was to her. Like many pretty girls her age, she wasn’t used to doing what men wanted. She was used to smiling sweetly, and having men do what she wanted. Still, she was scared, and she wanted help.
    “Okay,” she said. “I’m an orphan. My father died before I was born. My mother was killed in a car accident when I was four. My Uncle Max brought me up. My grandfather, that’s my mother’s and Uncle Max’s father, died shortly after my mother was killed. In his will, he set up a trust fund for me. But I tell you, there’s no way I can touch it until I’m thirty-five.”
    Farron pursed his lips. “Is it a large trust?”
    “Yes.”
    “Could you be more explicit?”
    “What?”
    “How large?”
    “What does it matter? I tell you—”
    “Miss ...” Farron had a moment of panic, as he realized he had no idea who he was talking to, not the best of procedures for a veteran police officer. He glanced at the address on the envelope the letter had come in. “Miss Benton. I’m a police officer. It’s my job to determine what is and what isn’t important. I take all the facts and sift through them. If I let someone else decide for me what’s important and what’s not, then I’m a lousy police officer and I’m not doing my job. Now, I just want to know the relative