He directed himself to Miller and waited while Miller got comfortable. “Let’s see what we have, Fred. When did MacIver die?”

“August twelfth.”

“How old was he?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Was there a coroner’s inquest?”

“Yes, there was.”

Leland glanced at Mrs. MacIver: she was checking Miller’s answers.

“What was the verdict?”

“Suicide.” Miller leaned toward the ash tray.

“How much insurance?”

“A hundred and eighty-seven thousand, but—”

Leland nodded. “How much was paid off?”

“Thirty-seven thousand.”

“The rest was protected by the two-year suicide clause?” Leland asked.

“That’s right,” Miller said.

“Don’t you think it was suicide?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you think it was?”

“I don’t have an opinion, Joe. I knew Colin for nine years, and I didn’t think this of him.”

“How long did the clause have to run?”

“Even the longest was less than a year.”

“Say he had been thinking of suicide, was he the sort of guy to have waited?”

“Oh, yes,” Miller said.

“Tell me why,” Leland said.

“Well, for one thing, he was a very good man with money.”

“He never mentioned suicide to you?” Leland asked. “Never talked about others—Carole Landis, James Forrestal?”

“No, he never did.”

“Okay,” said Leland. “Did you see the autopsy protocol or the inquest proceedings?”

“No, just the death certificate.”

“Give me the cause of death.”

“That’s getting rough, Joe.”

“I’ll stop you if I think so,” Leland said.

“Death was caused by a frontal skull fracture. That’s not it exactly.”

“Close enough. Where did he jump or fall?”

“From the roof of Flatlands Racetrack.”

“Give me the time of day.”

“Four twenty-eight exactly. They were able—”

“The horses were running,” Leland said. “Okay. You write all the insurance?”

“Every cent.”

“What did MacIver do for a living?”

“He was an accountant, a C. P. A.”

Leland turned away from Miller. “Did your husband leave a will, Mrs. MacIver?”

“Yes.”

“Who is the executor?”

“I am. Executrix.”

“Who are the heirs to the estate?”

“I am—just me.”

“What sort of condition is it in—debts and so forth?”

She repositioned herself in the chair. “There were the funeral expenses, the lease on his office, the salary for that week for his secretary, the utilities bills and things like that. The court approved a month’s severance for the secretary. I wanted to give her that.”

“Then everything has been cleared up except taxes?” Leland said.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“You don’t mind telling me how much was left, do you?”

“No. It came to two hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars.”

Leland sat back and scratched the back of his hand. There was no sense in concealing his surprise. Her husband had bought his insurance in increasing amounts over nine years, which meant that he had earned his own money. He had done very well. Fred Miller had been his insurance agent: that was interesting. “How was his money invested?” Leland asked her.