Crime on My Hands (8 page)

“None of your business. Sit down. When you stand, you look as if you're falling apart.”

He grinned. “I am kind of loose jointed, I guess. Listen, I got a great idea. We give out that you're going to–”

“We will not!” Melva cut in. “George, you've got to stay out of–”

“Stay out?” Fred cried. “Stay
out
? The opportunity of a–”

“The opportunity to get himself–” Melva interrupted.

“Be still!” I said. “I feel like an old bone between you. What, if anything, is this all about?”

Melva waved Fred to silence. “I'll tell it. We heard, about three o'clock this afternoon, that somebody had got himself killed. So we came – I, to protect you; Fred, to ruin you.”

“If you'd switch roles, I'd have more fun,” I said... I don't need protection.”

“Then where did you get that bandage?” Melva demanded. “What's under it?”

“A lumpy head, darling. The murderer bopped me.”

Melva gave a stricken moan. “Oh, George!”

“I wasn't hurt very badly,” I reassured her.

“Thank God for that,” she said with deep feeling. “If you get knocked off, I might as well go out of the agency business.”

“Your solicitude,” I told her, “is a thing of terrible beauty.”

She pointed a stern finger at me. “You stay out of this murder, you hear? I can't afford it.”

Fred said, “But–”

Melva cut him off with a savage gesture. She directed slit-eyed suspicion at me. “Are you playing detective on this?”

‘I'm not playing,” I said bitterly.

“Then I'm going to stay right here and see that you keep hands off,” she said grimly. “Listen, do you know what happens to smarties who look for murderers? They find 'em, sometimes, only they never know about it. I am not going to let you get yourself killed. That's final.”

“What have you found out so far, George?” Fred asked.

“Whatever it is,” Melva broke in, “he's forgotten. Look, Georgie, you came to me only a few days ago saying you'd never take another role as a gumshoe. But I knew different. It's in your blood. When I heard about this guy – what
is
his name, anyway? – getting killed, I knew you'd be in the thick of it. So I'm here to tell you you can't go back on your word.”

Fred took her by the shoulders and pushed her onto the window seat. Neither his action nor expression invited any protest from her. “You stay there,” he said. “You be quiet.” He turned to me, ignoring her. “Here's my idea. You
can
solve this thing, can't you?” He put a hand tightly over Melva's mouth as she started to say something.

“I'd have had it wrapped up if you two had stayed where you belonged,” I said. “God knows what will happen now.”

“You're on the track of the killer, then?”

“Or vice versa,” I said, touching the bandage.

Melva bit Fred's hand. He jerked it away. “That's what I mean,” she said. “Are you trying to put me out of business?” she demanded angrily. “George got mixed up in this thing and he got his head cracked. He's got to get out.”

“I can't,” I said. “I'm a suspect.”

“Oh, Lordi” Melva moaned. “There goes your career!”

“If I could have a word,” I said. “That is, if you don't mind too much. I've been under the impression that both of you are working for me, though I am sometimes confused on that point. At any rate, your emoluments are deducted or deductible from my income tax, and I think that makes you, legally, my employees. As your boss, then, I have an order. Scram!”

“Not until we know what goes on,” Melva said firmly. “You'll have to throw us out bodily. If you do, I'll have you arrested for assault.”

“You're trespassing on my property,” I pointed out.

She pulled her skirt up above her knees and arranged her beautiful legs in a witness-chair pose. “I was just bringing him some calves-foot jelly,” she said to an imaginary panel of twelve, “and he attacked me.” To me, sweetly, “Do you think they'd believe me – or you? Which?”

“I am not amused by idle threats.”

“You think they're idle? Try putting me out!”

“She means it, George,” Fred said. “She had me arrested once. She gave me a cigarette case, and I gave it to my baby brother. That made her mad, and she claimed I stole it from her and sold it to him. She'd have had him pinched as a receiver of stolen goods if he hadn't been under-age. So don't give her an opening.”

I went to the door. ‘I'm going out. I'm hungry. You two can stay here and vegetate if you like.”

They were after me like fox hounds. “We accept with pleasure,” Melva said. “It's a long time since you took us to dinner. Shall we go in your car or ours?”

“Going out?” a voice asked from the door. Lamar James lounged there, eyeing us steadily. He came inside. ‘I'm glad I caught you,” he said to me.

“Caught him?” Melva echoed. “He didn't do anything. He was with me all the time.”

James ran an appreciative eye over her. “Who are you, Miss?”

I made the introductions. “My agent, and press agent,” I explained.

James nodded. “How did you know Mr. Sanders was in a jam?” he asked Melva.

“When murder comes,” she said, “can George be far behind?”

James grinned briefly. He looked at me. “I came over for our little talk. I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

“Good,” I said. I turned to Fred and Melva. “I'm happy that you dropped in. I'll see you in Hollywood.”

“Oh, no, you don't!” Melva said. She turned to James and added, “We have a considerable investment wrapped up in this piece of property, and we intend to see that he stays intact. He's no good subdivided.”

James's eyes sparkled a little. ‘I'm getting tired,” he said levelly, “of this Hollywood attitude. Can't you people get it through your heads that a man has been killed? It's a human life gone. No matter who or what he was, it was his life and he wanted it. But–” He paused and ran a hand over his hair. “I never saw such an outfit. Mr. Riegleman is worried about his shooting schedule. What's his name – Paul – is afraid he'll lose his job because a stranger sneaked in with somebody else's work permit. That fat guy, Sammy, tells one lie after another. And Mr. George Sanders gets in my hair at every turn. Meanwhile, a man is dead! Maybe he wanted to live, just the same as you. Can you get that through your heads?”

The silence was uncomfortable.

‘I'm sorry,” Melva murmured. She paused and said apologetically, “It's only natural to think of your own interests.”

“Yeah, all right. Well, Mr. Sanders, what about these two? Will you talk in front of 'em?”

I sighed. “Show me an alternative.”

“I could arrest you,” he said flatly, “and we could talk in your cell.”

“Arrest me for what?”

“We'll come to that later.”

“They'd better stay, then,” I decided. “I may need a friend on the outside. What do you want to know?”

“Let's sit down,” he said. “Instead of standing here like prize-fighters waiting for the bell.”

There were barely enough seats. Melva ran her eyes around the crowded space. “Hang out the S.R.O. sign, Fred.”

James flicked her a glance, and she colored under it. “Now,” he said to me. “You say that Miss Folsom couldn't have shot Flynne. How do you know?”

“She isn't the type,” I said.

James shook his dark head doggedly. “That doesn't go with me. There isn't any ‘type', and you know it. You're holding back information, Mr. Sanders, and I want to know what it is.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” I said. “I've known Carla for several years, and I know she hasn't the capacity for murder. She's a very sweet, gentle person.”

“Look, Mr. Sanders, I know you're no dope,” James said patiently. “That girl is scared. You knew it, and you rushed in to defend her. I didn't go on questioning her, because I got lots of time. I thought I'd wait, and see what happened. But I got to thinking it over, and I knew you'd have kept out of it if you didn't have some reason to believe she didn't fire the shot. I mean an actual, concrete reason. What is it?”

“My faith in her,” I said gravely.

“Galahad!” Melva muttered. It was a bad word in her mouth.

I continued to hold tight. “I have nothing else to say,” I told him.

“All right. We'll lay that thought away, and take up another one. You said the slug came out of a Smith & Wesson thirty-eight. You can't tell that by looking at the hole.”

“Why not?” I demanded. “Remember, I found the body. I could study the wound while it was fresh.”

“What made you think it was a Smith & Wesson?”

He had me there. Unless I could read the trade mark, I didn't know a Smith & Wesson from a Webley. “It's very simple,” I said. “The characteristics of small arms are definite, according to make and type. I have made some study of these, in my own modest way. As a result of my research, I was able to identify the make of weapon.”

James snorted. “Look, you're going to have to tell all this to a coroner's jury tomorrow. So you'd better make a better story of it than that. Because, you see, I'm the coroner, too.”

“If I tell the truth, I have nothing to fear.”

“Yeah,
if
. Tell me one difference in the ballistics characteristics between a slug from a Colt thirty-eight Special and a Smith & Wesson same.”

“If I so choose,” I said, unfairly, “I can order you out. I needn't talk to you. I'm not under arrest.”

He sighed. “Yes, you are too under arrest. I hoped I wouldn't have to do this. But I'm trying to nab the person who killed Flynne. I haven't any interest in amateurs who want to show off for the newspapers, which the presence of your press agent indicates. I hoped you'd tell me what you know, because you know some things I don't. But since you're so troublesome, you're under arrest.”

“On what charge?” I asked quietly.

“Illegal parking,” he said. “We got a city ordinance that says nobody can establish living quarters on our beach. Sure, you can be bailed out or pay a ten-dollar fine, but not before tomorrow. Because Judge Guilding has gone home, and he doesn't like being disturbed. In the meantime, you and I can have a little heart to heart talk for a few hours. Come on!” 

He didn't really want to arrest me. That made us even, I didn't really want to be arrested.

This may sound over-fastidious, but there were other, and important considerations. I am no believer in truth prevailing over all. History is smudged with wars between the true and the false, and you may toss a coin for the winner. So, although I had not laid Severance Flynne dead in the dust, I was not completely certain that I could convince Lamar James or a jury of that fact.

I knew that I should have followed my first impulse and told the truth about the guns. Now that Sammy and Listless had further complicated the situation, I didn't dare.

Of course, when the reel of film was developed, it would prove me innocent. But in the meantime, if Lamar James got me alone in a small cell, he could take all night for an interview. My idea of a big night is not to spend it in a small town jail.

Besides, there was the trap I'd set for the murderer. It had been interfered with enough already.

I looked at Lamar James. “I see no need to toss me in the tank,” I said. “All you want is conversation anyway. Suppose we go to dinner and have a nice quiet chat.”

James colored. “You can't bribe me.”

“Does asking a man to dinner constitute an attempt at bribery?” I demanded, with cold dignity.

“In this case,” he said steadily, “yes.”

He had me there. I wouldn't answer his questions, and he wouldn't go to dinner. This deadlock brought a strained silence.

Fred broke it with, “There are three of us, George. We can teach this hick cop a lesson. I don't like this illegal parking gag. I couldn't make a country weekly with the yarn. Now if he wants to make it a murder charge–”

“Stop dreaming headlines,” Melva commanded. She turned to James. “You can't put him in jail. He has to work tomorrow, and he'd look like the devil if he didn't get any sleep. We're not going to let you put him in jail.”

James paid no attention to them. “Come on, Mr. Sanders.”

“I'd like very much to have a word about my own welfare,” I said. “If you – all of you – hadn't come charging in here like the Light Brigade, I'd have had your murderer all wrapped up by now.” A thought struck me. “Not necessarily yet, however. Look here, if you'll all be quiet for a few minutes, we'll test it. I laid a trap for the murderer tonight, and maybe it isn't too late to set it again. Will you agree to try it?” I asked James.

“What kind of a trap?”

I explained that Sammy was out spreading a story. “It doesn't matter what the story is,” I said. “It's enough to know that it was designed to draw the murderer here. It's possible, of course, that he has been scared off by the lights and the convention we've been holding, but it's also possible that he hasn't started yet. All of you sit quietly while I put out the lights.”

Without waiting for permission, I brought darkness again and cut the searchlight back into the circuit. “And don't breathe heavily,” I said.

‘I'm between you and the door, Sanders,” James said. “Don't make any breaks.”

“That's a lovely picture,” Melva murmured. “George resisting arrest on a parking charge, and getting shot for it. Mr. James, if you impair his earning capacity one cent, you'll be combing me out of your hair from now on.”

“Shoot him where it won't show,” Fred said.