Shooting Star / Spiderweb

by Robert Bloch

  “Mark, where do you think Harry went?”

  “How should I know? Some studio, probably. You know how he operates.”

  “I know how he used to operate. Before all this started.” She must have had the jumps after all. The drink disappeared before my eye, and she was on her feet already, mixing another. “But now he doesn’t even call and let me know where to reach him. I never know what time he’s coming home.”

  “Maybe the police are questioning him about Trent’s death.”

  The liquor slopped over the edge of her glass “I—I never thought of that.”

  “Where was he when it happened, anyway?”

  She mopped up the tabletop. “Why—home, home with me. That is, he came home. He’d gone out earlier in the evening to see some client, down near Pacific Palisades.”

  “But he was here most of the evening?”

  “Of course.” She began to work on that second drink. “Mark, you keep asking questions about Harry, almost as if you didn’t trust him.”

  “Do you?”

  She bit her lip. “Of course. He’s my husband.”

  “I know. I keep reminding myself about that.”

  Daisy smiled. “Do you?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. But that’s not what I came here to talk about.”

  “Why not?”

  For a minute I didn’t think I was hearing straight. Apparently she realized this, because she stood up and walked over to where I was sitting. And then she put her drink down very carefully, and lowered herself into my lap.

  I didn’t move.

  I didn’t have a chance to move, because her arms were around me and her head was on my shoulder, and I could feel the weight and the warmth of her quivering against me. The perfume was rising all around me, and her voice was rustling into my ear.

  “Oh, Mark, I’m glad. I’m so lonely, so frightened. I don’t know what to do. If you only knew what it’s been like, just sitting here day after day, wondering what was going to happen next.”

  “Please, Daisy.”

  “Don’t talk. Let’s not talk now. Let’s forget all about what’s happened. You’ll do that for me, won’t you, Mark? You’ll help me to forget?”

  I twisted my head away. “That’s not my job, Daisy. I’m here to help you remember.” Her pajamas had a tendency to gape. So did I. But I didn’t move.

  “Mark. Darling. Try to understand...”

  I wasn’t letting her finish her sentences, or anything else she planned on starting. I reached out and held her at arm’s length. “I understand, Daisy,” I said. “You don’t go for me, really. You’re just scared.”

  “All right. I’m scared. I said so, didn’t I? How long do you think I can go on this way, watching people getting murdered, knowing that Harry’s been threatened too?”

  “So you went into a big vamp scene,” I told her. “Which would end up by you getting me to promise that I’d quit the investigation.”

  She got off my lap so fast I thought she’d hit the ceiling. Literally. Figuratively, that’s just what she was doing now. “You’re going to quit!” she snapped. “You’ve got to! I’m not taking any more of this. They killed Foster, they killed Trent, they tried to kill you. Where’s it going to end? Do you want to see Harry dead, is that it?”

  “Calm down,” I answered. “Take another drink. Take two drinks. Get yourself loaded, for all I care. Do you good.”

  “Nothing does any good. Not as long as this keeps on. Mark, you’ve got to lay off. Can’t you see this is all your fault? If you hadn’t stirred things up again, there wouldn’t have been any trouble.”

  “My fault?” I shook my head. “Harry hired me, in case you don’t remember. And have you forgotten why? Because he has to clear things up in order to swing his deal. You’ve got a big stake in this too, Daisy. You know that.”

  “Not enough to risk our lives—his and mine. Mark, be reasonable.”

  “I’m reasonable.”

  “I’ll talk to Harry. I don’t know how much he promised you for doing this, but I’ll see that he pays you every penny, in full. You don’t have to keep on just for the money.”

  “It isn’t the money alone, believe me,” I said. “And I don’t expect to be paid off unless I deliver the goods.”

  She poured her third drink. This time she was slow about it, and careful. Nothing spilled, but when she turned to face me I could see she hadn’t lied. She was jumpy, and her voice held an unnatural edge. “Quit talking about delivering the goods. I mean it. The minute I see Harry, I’m going to get him to stop you. This has gone far enough.”

  “It’s going further, I’m afraid.” I stood up. “Listen to me, Daisy. Stopping me won’t help matters now. This is a police job, because of the murders. You can take me off the case, but they’ll go on.”

  “Let them. They haven’t done anything so far.”

  “How do you know? Don’t underestimate the police. And they may turn up something any minute now. If they do, good. If they don’t, things won’t change. The murderer, whoever he is, will still be at large. If he has any future plans, he’ll go through with them whether I’m involved in the case or not. Seems to me you’d want my help. The more help you’ve got, the sooner we’ll settle this thing.”

  “Mark, there’s something you’re not telling me. Some reason why you insist on risking your life, our lives, taking crazy chances. What is it?”

  I tugged at my eye-patch. “I can’t tell you, Daisy. Let’s just say that I’m a crusader, shall we? And let it go at that?”

  “Crusader?” She slammed her glass down on the table. “Well, I’m talking to Harry, wait and see. He’ll have you off your horse in no time. So you might as well stop, right now.”

  I shrugged. “When he tells me to quit, I quit,” I said. “Until then—”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Got to see a guy about breaking a lance with the heathen.” I headed for the door. “Tell Harry I’ll call him.”

  “Mark...”

  She wasn’t angry any more. She was very soft. Soft and clinging.

  “What is it?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.

  “Do you have to go?”

  “I have to go. I’m sorry, Daisy. Really, I am.”

  “So am I. I—I’m not putting on an act, this time. I like you, Mark.”

  “I like you, too, Daisy. That’s why I’m going to try and save the family fortune.”

  She sighed. Standing where she was, I could feel it as well as hear it. “All right, you stubborn idiot! But couldn’t you at least kiss me?”

  “No,” I said. “I couldn’t at least kiss you. As you damned well know.”

  “Maybe you’re right, at that.”

  “I know I am. And so do you. See you, Daisy.”

  “Promise me you’ll be careful?”

  “I’m always careful. You’ve just had a demonstration.” I left her standing there and went out through the hall. The fresh air outside had its points, but I preferred the perfume I’d left behind.

  Driving away, I wondered what was the matter with me. Old age setting in? Perhaps; although I hadn’t noticed any of the symptoms when Daisy Bannock put her arms around me.

  Then what was it? Why did I deliberately walk away from that setup and head for trouble?

  Why was I stopping at this drugstore? Why did I call Apex and ask for Mr. Kolmar? Why did I bother to find out he was at home this afternoon instead of at the studio? And why did I get back in my car and head off to the San Fernando Valley?

  I’d already had the San Fernando Valley. Enough to last me the rest of my lifetime, however long that might be. Going out there again might shorten it considerably.

  And remembering fat little, redfaced Abe Kolmar, I couldn’t understand why I’d prefer his company to Daisy’s. Daisy had red-gold hair and white sateen pajamas. Why, Kolmar was baldheaded, and I bet he didn’t have a pair of white sateen pajamas to his name.

  So why was I going?

  Mark C
layburn, crusader, riding his rusty steed into the Valley. Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred. Bring on your heathen, your infidels. Here comes Clayburn, ye true and parfait knight. Dig the stance of that lance. Onward, Christian soldiers!

  It was hot in the Valley this afternoon. I was sweating. I didn’t stop perspiring as I passed Trent’s place, either. No signs of life, though. There wouldn’t be. And what about signs of death?

  No police cars, either. I was glad of that. Maybe I’d be sorry, later on. A police car in the neighborhood might come in handy.

  I kept driving. Kolmar lived way out. He was a good five miles away from Trent. But come to think of it, that wasn’t very far. A man could cover the distance in a very short time. I might ask Kolmar about that.

  Then again, I might not. I’d have to wait and see.

  I waited and saw his ranch loom ahead.

  This was the genuine article. Kolmar did have a ranch, and it was big enough to serve as a location for his oat operas. Come to think of it, here’s where Dick Ryan died. Here’s where Dick Ryan died, and Tom Trent got it only five miles away. Very interesting.

  The car entered the gateway between the fence posts and climbed a long hill. The big house was set way back from the road. I could see a corral and outbuildings, baking under the sunlight.

  A new Hillman-Minx was parked in the driveway alongside of a veranda. Somebody was polishing the fenders with a rag.

  I pulled up behind the car and let the motor die. Then I climbed out. The car-polisher glanced up, then walked around to meet me.

  “Who you looking for?” he asked.

  I stared, then stiffened. “You,” I said. Then I took two steps forward and my right came up. There was a dull sound, a grunt, and another sound as he flopped at my feet.

  I stood there, gazing down at the face of the little man who had come after me with Fritz.

  My knuckles hurt. I started to rub them, then looked up as I heard a sound. A man appeared in the doorway of the house, a chunky man with a bald head. “What’s the big idea?” he murmured.

  “Just squaring a debt,” I said. “I’ve owed this guy a punch on the jaw ever since he roughed me up the other night.”

  “You’re Clayburn, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m Abe Kolmar.”

  “I know. I was coming to see you.”

  “Is that any reason for assaulting one of my employees?”

  “Told you why I hit him. He’s one of the two guys who tried to kill me.”

  The man in the doorway shook his head. “Better take another look,” he said. “This man couldn’t have attacked you. I happen to know where he was at the time you were abducted. And so do the police, because that’s where he was—at headquarters.”

  I stared down. The man at my feet began to mumble and stir. I eyed his features closely. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Maybe I did make a mistake—”

  “This is Joe Dean,” said Kolmar. “My chauffeur. You made a mistake all right.”

  “I’m sorry, I could have sworn—”

  Kolmar nodded. “A big mistake,” he said. “Suppose you come inside now and let me straighten you out.”

  “Well—”

  “Come inside.” Kolmar made an impatient gesture with his hand.

  I looked at it. He was holding a revolver.

  “This way,” he said.

  I went this way.

  Kolmar kept the muzzle trained on my waist. “You all right?” he called.

  The little man was sitting up now. He held the side of his jaw and grunted.

  “You got him, huh? This the bastard who slugged me? Put your gun down, A.J. I want a chance at him myself.”

  “Come in,” Kolmar told him. “We’re going to settle this inside.”

  Dean got to his feet and charged up the porch steps. “I’ll settle him,” he panted. “Hit a guy without warning, huh? I’ll rip his heart out, the sonof—”

  “Shut up!”

  Dean shut up. We walked into the parlor. Kolmar jerked the gun toward me. “Over there,” he said.

  Dean began to move after me.

  “You stay where you are,” Kolmar ordered.

  “But I only want to give him a—”

  “Never mind.”

  I turned and nodded. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I apologize. I thought you were somebody else, one of the men who tried to kill me last night. You look just like him. It was a natural mistake.”

  “The hell it was. You come right up and socked me one. If A. J. don’t let me have a chance at you, I’ll—”

  “It’s the truth,” I said. “You look enough like this man to be his brother.” I paused. “Do you have a brother, Dean?”

  “No.”

  Kolmar grunted at him. “Get out,” he said.

  “Now wait a minute, A.J.”

  “Get out.”

  “All right.” Dean moved toward the door. “But I’m not forgetting. You got something coming to you, brother.”

  He went out.

  “Are you sure he hasn’t got a brother?” I asked.

  Kolmar grunted again. “I wouldn’t know, Clayburn. I wouldn’t know.” The gun kept watching me out of its one eye. We made a good pair, but I didn’t appreciate it right now.

  “Suppose I ask the questions for a change,” Kolmar suggested.

  “Go ahead,” I told him. “But why don’t you put that thing away? You’re not going to shoot me.”

  “Don’t be too sure.”

  “Tell you the truth, I’m not.” It was hard to grin, but I made it. And he put the gun down on the desk. Not too far away, though.

  “What’s your interest in this business, Clayburn?”

  “Looking for a story. Didn’t Trent tell you?”

  “Why should he tell me anything?”

  “That’s one of the things I wanted to find out. Trent worked for you. Polly Foster worked for you. Dick Ryan worked for you. And they’re all dead now.”

  “So?”

  “It could be a coincidence. But I don’t think so.”

  He almost reached for the gun again. Instead his hand went to his pocket and came out with a handkerchief. He mopped his forehead. There was plenty to mop. It went all the way back.

  “What are you suggesting, Clayburn? That I killed them? That’s impossible. The police have my alibis.”

  “I’m not saying you pulled the trigger, no. But you have people working for you.”

  “Killers?”

  “This Joe Dean wanted to do a job on me just now.”

  “You hit him. Naturally, he got sore.”

  “Naturally.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he’d kill you. It doesn’t mean he’d kill anybody.”

  “He has a record in Detroit.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. He’s just my chauffeur.”

  “And he used to work for Dick Ryan.”

  “That’s right.” Kolmar put the handkerchief down. “He used to work for Dick Ryan and Ryan was murdered. You know what that cost me, to have that boy die on me in the middle of production? And everything he ever did went sour when the news hit the papers. Reefers, yet, they had to drag reefers into the case!”

  “I know.”

  “You know something else?” Kolmar sighed. “Polly Foster cost me another fortune: seven reels in the can, and three to go. Now she’s dead. I ask you!”

  “Tough.”

  “Tough, he says? And Trent. We were getting ready to do something with Trent. Had a new script lined up, going to make him over into a sympathetic character. Gotten ourselves a new hero type, maybe. So what happens? Bang.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Well be aware of this, then, Clayburn. You think I’d go to work and commit suicide by knocking off my own contract players? You think I’d toss a million dollars out the window like that? It don’t make sense.”

  “Nothing makes sense,” I answered. “Nothing. That’s why I’m grabbing at anything th
at looks as if it formed even part of a pattern. Like the fact that all these people worked for you.”

  “You think I haven’t wondered about that? Maybe it’s one of my lousy competitors, some of those guys would murder their own mothers. Take a fella like Sam Hague, now.”

  I shook my head. “That’s nonsense, and you know it.”

  “So what else can a guy figure? Like you say, it’s all meshuggah.”

  “There’s one other possible link,” I said slowly. “And that’s what I came out here to see about.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Reefers.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh yes you do. They found evidence in Ryan’s trailer, didn’t they? I think that forms part of the pattern, too. Did Polly Foster smoke weed? What about Tom Trent?”

  “You’re meshuggah yourself, Clayburn. My people are clean, I wouldn’t have anybody around unless I was sure of that.”

  “You’ve got Dean. He has a record.”

  “So maybe I’ll fire him. Clayburn, take it from me, that reefer talk don’t mean a thing.”

  “I think it does. I think it’s the key to the whole mess. And I was hoping you’d be able to furnish some information which might help me. If not, I’ll just have to keep on looking.”

  “For a lousy magazine story, huh?”

  “It’s a living.”

  “Living?” He came around from behind the desk. “You talk about a living, after what’s happened to me? I’m going to tell you something, Clayburn. These killings cost me some of my top talent. I lost more than a million bucks so far. How long you think I can afford to sit still and watch this kind of stuff go on?

  “You think I’m blind or something? I know what’s happening. It’s a conspiracy, that’s what it is. You think you fool me? Maybe the cops believe that cockeyed story of yours about how you’re out trying to write a yarn for the magazines. But I know better.

  “It’s a frame, isn’t it? I was right, wasn’t I? Somebody’s behind all this; somebody’s out to ruin me. And you know who. Because you’re working for them!”

  “That’s not so.”