Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

limited number of people who might notice it, i.e., the secretary and the equally unfortunate Jonathan Flint.
    Then all she has to do is enter a change of address for X in the system, instead of erasing him, said address being a post office box somewhere within a couple of hours’ driving range of LA and to not forget to make sure X’s checks are henceforth to be the instantly cashable certified ones. Then she or Tex rents a box in a suitable town in X’s name, and rub their greedy hands with glee forever and ever. Benny wanted to know what kind of money we were talking about here. I told him at the most, $5,325,000, but to reach that total Mary would have had to start milking all twenty-seven accounts at roughly the same time, seven years ago, which wouldn’t have been possible, so maybe something like five million would be nearer the mark.
    “Did you ever meet her?” Sara said.
    “No,” I said. “Funny to be building a case against someone I’ve only seen a couple of times in the distance trotting in and out of post offices.” I gave King the last of the sandwich, which was mostly crust anyway.
    “To start with, she had luck,” Benny said, clearing up the used napkins and empty cole slaw containers and what-all from the wooden ta-bletop we were picnicking on. “She stumbled into a situation where IMM’s limited-access policy, which is typical of corporation paranoia, left her wide open to do pretty much what she wanted, as long as the Joneses were moderately careful how they used the money.” Katy took the bagful of garbage from him and deposited it in a nearby bin.
    “To end with, she ran out of luck,” I said. “Jonathan Flint must have spotted some name he recognized, against all the odds, someone that he knew was dead. Maybe someone who worked upstate with him, outside Oakland , where his wife told me they were before. Who knows or will ever know, although if I sent a copy of the list to Mrs. Flint, who is now back home in dear old Hutchinson, which in case you didn’t know is about fifty miles west of Minneapolis, and asked her if she knew any of the people on the list, maybe she would.”
    “This guy Flint ,” Sara said, “what happened to him?”
    “Darlin’, he’s gone where all good actuaries go,” I said, giving her wispy hair a good tousle, “and it is up to you to decide whether that be Heaven or Hell.”
    “How about six months each?” she said, making Katy giggle again. “Come on, you lot, wagons roll,” I said. “We can’t sit around here jawing all day, some of us have work to do.”
    When we were, some hour and a half later, back again in civilization, to use the word loosely, Benny the Boy dropped me off at my office and down to work I got, after letting King nag me into a walk around the block first. I dug out, rearranged, and then wrote down every tidbit of information about Tex and Mary I had picked up in my travels by keeping alert—which is something I recommend you do from time to time, kids—from all the various sources—Tom ‘n’ Jerry, Debby Flint, the police, the Met reports, Frank the vodka drinker, plus bits of gossip, plus a few surmises, plus some more or less logical deductions, and plus of course the personal observations re post office boxes carried out that very day by myself, Katy, Benjamin, and my own, my very own bowlegged irregular S. Silvetti. It took me about an hour and a half before I was jotting down the last jot. Then I was just about to try R. Howieson at his home when who should come a-scratching at the door but Injun Joe. With one finger I beckoned him to enter. He did so. While he was stooped over saying an affectionate hello to King, I couldn’t help noticing his once-proud finery, entirely bankrolled by me, you will recall, had somehow managed in a week or so to self-destruct down to the abysmal level of his wardrobe before I played Santa.
    “Hey, chief,” he said, straightening up carefully. “How come pancakes can present a TV show?”
    “They can’t,” I said.
    “Yeah, but they does,” he said. “I was watchin’ TV over at Lil’s and this guy said the progrum was bein’ brought to us by some pancakes.”
    “It wasn’t the pancakes that was doin’ the bringin’, Joe,” I said, “it was the friendly folks who make the pancakes.”
    “So why didn’t they say so?” he said.
    “I do not know,” I said. “Anything else important on your mind, Joe?”
    “Well,” he said, looking down and scuffling his