“Everybody is a suspect. You didn’t mention Tackett when I came in, and you probably weren’t going to. Isn’t that a form of lying?”
“Last night,” she said. “Here, last night, was that a form of investigation?” Her voice was getting shrill.
“Calm down,” I said, “and tell me about Tackett.”
Her voice was quieter, but cold. “Mr. Tackett came to tell me that a man named Deutscher was out to get manufactured evidence of fraud on Jeremiah Adams. Mr. Tackett wanted to warn me, as he claims this Deutscher has some influential people behind him.”
“He couldn’t tell you that over at your home?”
“No. He claimed Deutscher was watching the house.”
“Why? Eve, what’s wrong with telling me the truth? Would the truth hurt you?”
“I’m telling you what Tackett told me. I don’t know if it’s the truth or not, but it’s what he told me.”
I shook my head.
“Are you calling me a liar, Joe Puma?”
“I have to. And if you’re innocent, this is a bad time to lie.”
She stared. “If I’m innocent? Do you mean of murder?”
I met her stare and didn’t answer.
Finally she whispered hoarsely, “Get out! Right now. Get out!”
“All right. The police will have to take your statement. I’m going to talk to your dad about this, though. He’ll know how to handle Deutscher, if you’re telling the truth.” I stood up and started for the door.
I was almost to it when she said, “Wait, Joe, wait a second.”
I turned.
“Dad’s — He has a heart condition and if you mention this threat to me, it could be too much — ”
“The threat is against Jeremiah,” I pointed out. “That shouldn’t disturb your dad.”
She took a deep breath. “I lied to you.”
I waited.
“The threat was against me. This Tackett person knows I was gone from the hotel that morning, at the time Burns Murphy was killed. He didn’t come out openly and admit he was blackmailing me, but his entire conversation implied it.”
“If he wasn’t blackmailing you openly, what was his excuse for meeting you up here?”
“To warn me that Deutscher was willing to pay him for the information and was also exerting other pressure on him. This Deutscher, Mr. Tackett said, has the Police Department solidly behind him.”
“I see. Eve, the Department already knows that you were gone from the hotel at the time Burns Murphy died. And I’m sure Tackett has already told Jim Murphy that. And Murphy is Deutscher’s client. Tackett simply hasn’t anything to sell.”
“Possibly not to me. I’m healthy. But he knows he can get to Dad, frighten him.”
“Maybe. I can’t personally think of anything that would frighten your dad. How long has he had this heart condition?”
She didn’t answer for seconds while her gaze searched my face for the meaning to that question. Then she said softly, “His heart has been bad for six months. It’s the main reason I went home.”
Somewhere, a circulating fan went on with a soft swish and heat streamed down from the register overhead. I couldn’t think of anything to say.
She still stood in the archway, staring at me. Finally, “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Not completely, I’m afraid, Eve.”
“I’ve told you the truth. I can’t think of anything to add.”
“You said your first story was the truth, too. Think of it from my angle.”
She sighed. I started for the door, and she asked, “Joe, are you going to tell my dad? Are you going to see him now?”
“Not tonight.” I went past her, to the door.
Before the door closed, she had started to cry.
14
THE FOG WAS HEAVIER NOW, flowing in over the rim of the canyon, haloing the light from the kitchen window. Above the ground-clinging fog, I could see a few stars.
Women, women, women, the truth isn’t in ‘em. If I hadn’t mentioned Tackett, I knew she wouldn’t have. With the old Chief of Police, Tackett would be no problem. We’d have him hauled in and work the story out of him the old way.
The windshield of my car was running with moisture. I wiped it with a rag from the glove compartment and then sat behind the wheel, waiting for the lights of the Cad to come on. The end of an affair, I thought. All that vintage body I had forced out of my reach. Big-mouth Puma.
Then I saw the reflection of her lights in the low mist as they swung onto the road and started downgrade. I waited until they appeared briefly through a rift of the fog on a curve far below and then turned on my own lights and started down.
She went directly home and I went on to the other place on Sunset, to that imported monstrosity from the Middle-west, the Murphy manse.
I was a quarter of a block from it when I saw the dirty Chevy come out from the driveway and turn east. Tackett had reported to his master.
The butler came to the door again and came back a few moments later to tell me Mr. Murphy would see me.
When I came into the high-ceilinged and darkly furnished living room, Big Jim stood in the same position as he had during our last meeting, his back to the small fire in the grate, his attention directed toward the doorway I came through.
“What is it this time?” he asked curtly.
“Tackett,” I said. “Clyde Tackett.”
His eyes widened in surprise. He said nothing.
“He’s been bothering Miss Deering, threatening her with blackmail, claiming that Deutscher is trying to frame her for the murder of your brother.”
“You’re lying,” he said.
“Easy now. He came from her place to here. Didn’t he tell you he’d been to see her?”
Murphy shook his head.
I asked, “Deutscher is working for you, isn’t he?”
“Whose business is that?”
“I’m making it mine. I’m questioning you, Mr. Murphy, as an authorized and licensed investigator from the District Attorney’s office. I was warned by my superior not to get muscular about it, but I won’t take any guff.”
He studied me. Then, “Fifteen years ago, I’d have thrown you all the way to the front lawn for a remark like that.”
“Maybe,” I said. “You didn’t get all the way to where you are by muscle alone, Mr. Murphy. Why don’t you stop and think for a few seconds?”
He said nothing.
“Phone Tackett,” I said. “Ask him if he saw Eve Deering tonight. Or I’ll phone her and you can listen in.”
He turned his back to me, holding his hands toward the fire to warm them. His voice was muffled. “You boys sure scared the pants off that crummy Progressive, didn’t you? Whose work was that?”
“Mr. Deering’s, I believe.”
“What’s he trying to hide?”
“I don’t know what anybody in this case is trying to hide, Mr. Murphy. Mr. Deering’s chief concern seems to be his daughter. I can guess he’s trying to protect her.”
Murphy rubbed his hands and laced his fingers, stretching them until they cracked loudly. He turned around and considered me. “Burns did like you. He said you were a rarity, an honest private operator.”
“Thank you. He could have been describing himself.”
“He was too honest to work for me.”
I said lightly, “That gave him a lot of leeway.”
He sighed and his smile was weak. “You son-of-a-bitch. Arrogant, aren’t you? And why? Because of your biceps. Young man, they aren’t enough to keep you arrogant, not in this world.”
I nodded. “I know. I’m resigned to the certainty that I’ll never be rich, Mr. Murphy. So I try to maintain my pride.”
“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll bring you a drink.”
I sat on a sofa.
While he was putting ice cubes in the glasses, he said, “Your brother was at the funeral. Where were you?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t stand funer
als.”
“Don’t ‘sir’ me; it makes me nervous.” He brought over the drink and sat at the other end of the long sofa. “Your investigation is getting nowhere, I hear.”
“That’s right. Though Homicide may have something I haven’t. Originally, I was assigned to work on this cult, but then when Adams became involved in — in what happened, I was ordered to work along with the Department on that.”
“How about that girl, that Eve Deering? How clear is she?”
“I wish I knew. I followed her tonight to that house of hers above the Malibu Colony. That’s when I saw Tackett go in to talk with her. I don’t think she would have admitted he’d been to see her if I hadn’t opened the subject.”
“You’re being very frank,” he said. “Do most citizens get this much inside information?”
“No. But I figure some people in this case are definitely innocent of criminal involvement. And I figured if I laid all my cards on the table, they might, too.”
“I see,” he said, and leaned back, looking at the high ceiling. Then, “All right, Tackett was here tonight. He’s the one who steered Deutscher to that Malibu place. I don’t like his looks and I wouldn’t be a damned bit surprised if he’d try to play this whole deal to his own advantage. He neglected to tell me he’d seen Miss Deering tonight.”
“What did he tell you the first time he was here?”
“He told me Miss Deering was gone from the hotel at the time my brother was killed.”
“Homicide has that information and is checking it. But what motive would Miss Deering have?”
“Burns was checking her, wasn’t he? For her dad. And checking that lousy Adams at the same time. She may have resented both investigations.”
I shook my head. “Not that much. She’s not pathological.”
“She’s her father’s daughter.”
I sipped my drink, vintage whisky.
Big Jim said, “I’m supposed to be the bum in this rhubarb. He’s the solid citizen, that bastard.” I didn’t comment.
“He’s the one all the yokels look up to,” Big Jim said bitterly.
“He and the mayor,” I agreed.
That dim smile again. “All right. And Griffin.”
“Mr. Griffin,” I said, “is about the finest man who ever held that office. And all he gets for his work is an ulcer.”
Murphy said grudgingly, “You could be right. He’s really out to nail that cult, huh?”
“If we can. We have to get clear evidence of fraud, and we haven’t had a break yet. We’re still on it.”
Big Jim leaned back again, resting his head on the cushioned top of the sofa. He closed his eyes. “All right, Puma, I’ll keep an eye on this Tackett weasel. I won’t say anything to him about your visit here.”
“I wouldn’t say anything to Deutscher, either, Mr. Murphy. I know he’s solid with the Department, but he’s got a private rep for cutting it real cute at times.”
“I know. I checked his background.” He opened his eyes. “You going to stay with the D.A.’s office?”
“Not after this job is over, not if business gets back to normal. I’m one of those free-enterprise boys, I guess.”
“I’ll probably have some work for you,” he said. “I like the cut of your jib. That Deutscher makes me nervous.”
I stood up. “Fine. I can always use honest business.”
He shook his head. “Take it easy. Now remember, I’ll expect some cooperation from you in this current idiocy.”
I nodded, and he walked with me to the door. He was silent and he looked weary. He was sad. His brother had been buried this morning. He patted my shoulder before he closed the door.
The Plymouth coughed at me and I coughed back. I had the sniffles and an ache behind my eyes and the tenseness in the back of my neck.
The apartment smelled stale and felt cold. I turned on the big wall heater and opened the windows. It was only ten-thirty, but I was tired and irritable.
After I’d aired the place out, I took a hot shower and drank some whisky in hot water with sugar. Then I threw an extra blanket on the bed and climbed in.
It wasn’t enough. I was still cold, a huddled hunk of quivering muscle. I arched my neck, trying to stretch the stiffness from it.
Burns Murphy, too, was cold now, but he didn’t feel it and there were no aches in him. Burns was beyond us, beyond the petty grievances of the flesh and humiliations of the spirit, untroubled by the times.
I went over all of them in my mind, trying to fit a gun to one of then, trying to find a killer in the group. Nothing came.
Well, it was Homicide’s baby. I turned over, seeking sleep. I thought of Yosemite, tried to picture its cool and restful quiet. I thought of Lake Arrowhead and Cachuma, but sleep didn’t come. I started to count a whole parade-field of soldiers, rank on rank.
I was just about making it when the phone rang.
“Puma?”
“Right.”
“This is Ernie Kafke. I’m over at that cult on San Vicente. I think you’d better get over here.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Adams has been murdered.”
15
THE BODY WAS STILL THERE when I arrived and a photographer was taking pictures of it. Jeremiah Adams lay spread-eagled on the floor of his study.
“Shot twice,” Sergeant Kafke said. “Head and neck.”
“Who found him?”
“One of the faithful. I guess the church door is always open and she came over to meditate. Went past this doorway and the light was on.”
I asked, “How long has he been dead?”
The boys in white came in and Kafke moved over to give them clearance. “I don’t know yet, for sure. But not very damned long, I’d say. He’s still limp.”
“Didn’t the woman see anything but Adams?”
“She saw an old and dirty Chevy parked out at the curb and a man with a small mustache standing on the walk next to the car when she came up the walk.”
“Tackett,” I said. “Clyde Tackett. You’ve got the call out for him, I suppose?”
“Of course.”
“How did she know it was a Chevy?” I asked. “Most women can’t tell one car from another.”
“Luck. She had a fifty Chevy just like it, same color, everything. Just blind luck.”
Another flashbulb flared and Ernie and I went out onto the drive to give the boys room to maneuver the body through the doorway.
A Star reporter came over to ask the sergeant, “Any leads, Kafke? Or the standard Department baloney?”
“Drop dead, Cregar,” Kafke said.
“Not me,” the reporter answered. “You might be put on the case.”
A Times photographer took a picture of the body being carried across the driveway. I could almost see the lead: In the sleeping calm of exclusive Brentwood last night….
From a new Olds parked at the curb, a stocky woman in a suede coat emerged and came up the drive toward us. She wore no hat and her gray hair was cut almost as short as a man’s.
Anabelle Compt, the distaff Galahad.
A reporter from the Mirror-News shouted, “Here comes your girl friend, Puma. Hey, Arnie, get a picture of this. This could be historic.”
The man named Arnie moved over for a clear camera shot.
Annabelle saw me before she saw Kafke and her first words were directed at me. “Are you in Homicide now, Mr. Puma?”
The flashbulb erupted as I said, “I’m working with them, Miss Compt. Are you still with the paper?”
One of the reporters laughed and Annabelle glared at me before tackling Kafke.
I went back into the study. There was a magazine on the desk, a science-fiction magazine, Starlight. The outline of the body had been chalked on the maroon carpeting. The head of the body had been pointing almost directly north.
I was studying the letters piled neatly in a basket atop the desk when Kafke came in. “That woman — ” he said. “That — ”
; “Relax, Ernie,” I soothed him. “How would you like to be a columnist on a paper losing more money every day?”
“She doesn’t have to take it out on me. She’s a cop-hater, that bitch!”
“Most citizens are. The papers are going to eat this, Ernie. With the publicity Adams got on that first murder, this will cover the front page.”
He nodded and looked moodily down at the chalked outline. “This ends your interest in the case, doesn’t it? The Children of Proton won’t go on without Adams.”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to get the word from Griffin.”
“You tell him I can always use an extra hand.”
“I’ll do that. I’d better get home now, though. I’ve a cold that won’t quit.”
He nodded, and I went back to my car. I was about to climb into it when Deutscher’s Buick pulled up behind me. I went back.
He was alone in the car. I said, “Who gave you the news?”
“What news?”
“Adams is dead.”
He stared at me. “How?”
“Shot,” I said. “In the head and in the neck. What brought you over here?”
“My radio gets the police wave length, but the call didn’t indicate murder.”
“Do you usually stay up this late?” I asked.
He looked at me wearily. “Joe, what the hell is it to you? I hope you don’t think a couple days in the D.A.’s office makes you a cop.”
“It gives me the edge right now,” I told him. “Where’s Tackett?”
“How the hell do I know?”
“Ned,” I said gravely, “you damned near lost your license a couple months ago. You play it cute on this one and you’re out of business.”
He glared at me. “Who told you I damned near lost my license? Who have you been talking to?”
“My friends in the Department. I’ve got a lot of ‘em.” A wave of dizziness came over me and I put my hand on the Buick for support.
“You have like hell. They hate your guts. Maybe, you think you brown-nosed your way into Big Jim’s confidence, huh?”
I wavered, half in rage and half in weakness. I said, “I’m a sick man, but I’ll be seeing you again, Ned.” I went up to my car.
I drove directly home. And there I took some cold tablets and hit the hay. I was asleep in seconds.
Sweet Wild Wench Page 10