And kill once more (11 page)

Then I put that apparent lack of forcefulness up against Kate's suspicion that Sandy mifiht have been forced to remain on the estate. That same force might make her reticent—but it didn't have to keep her from murder. I was beginning to wonder if the e '~ad been an envelope with Sandra Engle written across its white surface . . . after all, George wouldn't have had to entrust her with the combination to the wall safe. She could have known just where to look for it after he was dead.

The sun was warm on my face and I grew weary of graooling with the problem. I wanted to slip into a pair of swim trunks and splash around in Engle's pool for a while but it didn't look like Widdle would go for anyone's leaving long enough to change. So instead I began to do a little mental calculation on my own project—that gold mine I hoped some day to own. I let my eye measure the

Engle plunge and wondered if there was anything here I could use when I went into business. Blue tile? No, I guessed I wouldn't go for that. In the setup I planned a white pool would look better and I could keep the water sparkling and blue without any help from the tile. The drain was extra large for speedy changing of water, the stainless steel grille sunk into the reinforced concrete to give maximum drainage through its bottom and sides —this kept the pool in operation practically twenty-four hours a day. Then. . . .

I came out of it when Sandy Engle swung her feet down and stood up. She looked around leisurely, then folded the blanket and tossed it on the grass, ran a slow hand through her long black hair, and went toward the pool. She stood there several minutes, her eyes on the water, and I watched in silence. Then we heard the noise of a laboring car engine winding up toward the estate. It pulled onto the parking strip and a few minutes later Sheriff Toland came toward us, a firm smile on his brown face, and walking beside him was a tall woman wearing a simple business suit.

"Miss Birch," Toland said, "from our office. I hate to bother you, Mrs. Engle, but we have to be sure about your not holding out an envelope or two. So if you you'd like, Miss Weston can go along, but I want you and Miss Birch to go up to the house for a while. She'll—" Toland hesitated, then finished—"go through your things."

"You mean search me?" Sandy asked incredulously.

"That's about it, ma'm. It would have been very easy for you to slip some of those things from the safe into your dress," Toland said firmly "We don't want anyone to claim later that you had, so for your protection Miss Birch will go with you to your room."

Toland had put it nicely, I thought, and it didn't leave Sandy Engle much of an out. Not that she appeared to want one. She frowned momentarily, then said, "Of

course. I'll be more than glad to cooperate. No one could be more interested in seeing justice—seeing the person who killed my husband brought to trial." Then she turned and went toward the house, Miss Birch a step behind her. Sheriff Toland nodded to Kate.

"I'd really rather you went along. Miss Birch isn't a policewoman or anything—just our one-woman office force. It might be much better if you were to sort of add a third voice to the proceedings. Would you?"

Kate stood up and we watched her join the other two going along the walk.

Before they went through the door, Cronk began to nag at the sheriff. "Now look here, you got me out on a limb, Toland. "I may be on the hook for operating as an M.D. under a diploma mill license, but that's a hell of a way from a murder charge. I demand that you get to the bottom of—"

"You don't demand anything of me, Cronk," Toland said shortly. "One of the things I don't need around here is someone telling me my job. We're making progress. Slow, maybe, but sure. If you didn't kill Engle you can spend all of your time worrying about what you'll tell the medical examiners; we're not going to railroad you on the killing. On the other hand, Cronk, maybe you did have a hand in giving Engle his send-off. In that case, mister, you're in for plenty of trouble. In the meantime all I'll need from you is peace and quiet. I can handle this job, and I will. You got that, Cronk?"

Cronk nodded and Toland turned to me. "So far, Bowman, you've insisted that you weren't even acquainted with Engle; you're clear because you had no reason. That right?"

"Yes."

"You're strictly a friend of Miss Weston? How long have you two been chasing around together?"

This was going to be easy. In those first few miles of the trip up here Kate and I had agreed on our check points. I'd stick to that script and be on safe ground, but along with that I could build us both in solid with Toland if I played it right. I let a grin spread over my face.

"Kate and I met over three months ago." I reflected a moment, then said, "Almost four, now. Jim Spencer, a friend of mine has a steady and they worked out this double date, you see, and—"

"What's that girl friend's name, Bowman? Spencer's girl, I mean."

"Helen," I answered brightly, and tried to hide how glad I was he'd asked. Then I dribbled along, carefully working in all the points we'd set up. It made a fairly plausible situation and Toland seemed satisfied. He let that angle cool off and worked on the Pilchers a while, but the newly liberated fat boy wasn't going to talk much. He was convinced that George Engle's information had gone up the flue and sounded determined to stick by his first statement—simply a friend up for the weekend.

Toland was still getting nowhere with Pilcher when Miss Birch came down the walk with Kate. Her report was short and negative. Mrs. Engle had concealed nothing on her person.

"Uh-huh. Now Miss Weston, I've been going over some items with Mr. Bowman here, and I'd like to check with you. Bowman tells me you two have been running around for over three months and—" The sheriff went on easily, and I had to admit I had thought he was sharper than he appeared at the moment. He didn't change a thing, didn't alter a name or try to trap Kate. He wasn't even watching me to be sure I didn't prompt her a little. He just talked along, working in the facts I'd recited for him and which Kate and I had previously agreed upon.

But halfway through I caught the pitch. He was keep-

ing it straight and honest. When he made the shift she was going to be off the deep end. I closed my eyes and waited, and then I heard Toland's voice grow louder. I looked up to see he'd turned my way, was watching me, but he still spoke to Kate.

"You two seem to agree on everything, but I still think you're holding back. I think George Engle himself invited Bowman up here. And I'll tell you when. According to Mrs. Engle, George was in town one week ago Monday, until late at night. Bowman says that you and he had dinner alone at a place called Karl's, on Wilshire out around Western Avenue. Me, I don't believe you two were alone. I think that you and Bowman met George Engle there for dinner and Bowman is lying when he says he didn't know Engle until yesterday."

"No. We had dinner alone," Kate said. "At Karl's, just as Marty said, and George wasn't—" She stopped then. The look on Toland's face was enough to tell her she'd tripped.

"Now wait a second," I cut in, hoping to blast one past him. "Karl's is a popular place. I eat there often and it just happens—"

Toland held up a hand. "Not on Monday you didn't. I like to have a bite there myself when I'm in L.A. and I know the place pretty well—enough to know you're caught off base. It's closed on Mondays, son. I guess it's about time for someone to make a nice clean breast of things. We could start with you."

"No, let's start with me," Kate said softly. "I—have been guilty of a lot of false answers, I'm afraid. I must have been blessed with an oversupply of concern for other people's business, because Mr. Bowman is a detective and I brought him up here to find out some things for me."

Widdle spoke first. "I'll be damned," he said sarcastically. "A professional nosey. Now I've seen everything."

Eleven

You could have heard the ripples on the pool if there had been any. Toland scratched a leathery ear, then fixed his firm eyes on my face.

"Uh-huh. I got nothing but help around here, it seems, but like I told Cronk, I can get by nicely on my own. You'll limit your hand in this game to answering questions and keeping your fingers out of things. You get that, son?" I nodded and Toland grunted another uh-huh. "We'll start with a look at your license, Bowman."

There wouldn't be any use in tossing Fred's ticket out on the table. I had it; Fred had passed it into my wallet back at Gregory's; something to use for a quick flash if needed, but anything Toland looked at from here on would be strictly under a sharp eye.

"Haven't one," T said simply. "Gregory Agency employed me and the papers haven't gone through yet."

"A little previous, weren't you, taking on work without a card?" I didn't answer, but I was thinking fast. Fred was going to get word to Boreland Gregory when I called last night. By now the fat man must have started the wheels rolling on some kind of ticket for me, if only to protect himself, so it didn't have to be too bad. Vaguely I heard Toland's voice again. "That stuff about you being a lifeguard and all, the part you gave us last night—no wonder it checked out all right. Just went to work for that detective outfit. Well, now, exactly what were you supposed to dig out, Bowman? I guess with the latest developments under our noses we don't have to guess very hard. Miss Weston was under Engle's thumb in a big way, maybe? You were brought up to do something

about it and by the looks of things, you certainly filled the bill—once and for all. You got Engle ofi her back for good."

"Now wait a second, Sheriff. You've got things twisted a bit, and—"

"You haven't said what you were doing up here, son."

"If you'll hold everything for half a second we'll get to that," I said.

Then Kate took over. She put a hand on my arm and her eyes met mine. Then she shook that lovely blonde hair back with a decisive toss of her head.

"Let me do it, Sheriff. I won't lie to you and Marty might, out of chivalry or something. I have never been blackmailed by anyone at any time, and my trips up here were all to see Sandy Engle. We've been friends for years and—" Her warm, soft voice was curiously firm telling Toland the things she had told me about her worries over Sandy and George and the guests at the ranch. Once I'd had difficulty believing her—hadn't believed her, in fact—now she sounded strangely convincing. I could see Toland taking it all in. Now and then her words seemed to filter through a shadow of doubt in his mind, and I could almost see the questions taking shape against the time when he would have to ask them. Right now he wanted to listen.

Outright disbelief was in Bob Widdle's young face but at least part of it made sense to the others gathered around. Most of them could well believe the part about guests being forced to show up at Engle's place. Kate wound it up with a rebuttal to Mrs. Pilcher's story of what had taken place down in front of the cafe, then stopped for the cross examination we knew would follow.

Toland didn't tee off with as much force as I had expected. He watched us all carefully, then pulled that oversized hat off and gave it his full attention. When he'd reset the crease and put it back on he forced a smile. "It

looks like a good day for confessions. Anyone else got something weighing on his chest? I guess we still have most of the questions unanswered, you might say, and someone ought to be able to help us. Cronk?"

"You know why I'm up here. And you know why the rest of them are here too—the same damn reason."

"Not quite all of us," Mrs. Pilcher put in haughtily. "You forget that Dan and I were friends of George. We didn't come up here to pay any—"

"We have a minority report on that," Toland said dryly. "Miss Weston's version of the scene in front of the cafe would seem to indicate that you might have brought a few dollars for an insurance premium when you came."

He drew a nasty look from Mrs. Pilcher but it seemed to worry him little. "Miss Doyle. You've been around the edge of things here for some little time. Exactly what was your connection with Engle?"

Els a favored the sheriff with a cool brown-eyed look and then let a small smile show through. When she spoke her voice was impersonal and matter-of-fact, and didn't indicate that she cared a damn whether he believed her or not.

"Business, Sheriff. Ironical as it seems, I'm on the other end of the money—George hired me to come here for the weekend."

"He what?" I said and Toland gave me a warning glance.

Then he reworded the question: "How was that, Miss Doyle?"

"It may help solve one of your problems," she said smoothly. "George Engle wasn't exactly what we call a stage-door johnny, but he did know a few people in pictures. My agent, for one. Phil Kegler. George stopped by Kegler's office one day just as I was leaving. We were introduced and a few days later I received a phone call from him, inviting me up for a weekend of relaxation.

I've been here twice since. You see, George always liked to have a house well filled with guests, at least on the weekends, for as Miss Weston has just pointed out, Sandy Engie never leaves here."

"Now wait a minute," Toland said quickly. "Exactly what do you know about Mrs. Engle's not leaving? What besides the things you just heard Miss Weston say five minutes ago?"

"Nothing. Have I said I did?"

"No. But—"

"I'll make it clear once more," Elsa said patiently. "I work for a living. In front of cameras, usually, or in personal appearances, but it all amounts to the same thing —you portray a character. Sandy couldn't—or wouldn't —leave here for some reason, so Engie brought people in. It is obvious, isn't it, that he could have collected his false insurance premiums just as easily in his Los Angeles otnce? But he didn't, or at least not all of them. Some were asked to come up here for a weekend and bring the cash with them. Why? Surely you can see it as an attempt to keep her from being completely lonely, and a very thoughtful gesture on his part. Quite possibly his list of —of customers included few women. So he hired one now and then. It was, for me, simply a job, a comfortable weekend's work and relaxation. The pay wasn't really in cash, but George always sends a present of some sort after I've been here."