Dead Hero

by William Campbell Gault

  “My lips are sealed,” I promised her. “And in return, I hope you won’t alert your customers. I’ll be checking them later, for attitudes, and I don’t want to get any preconceived opinions.”

  “I understand perfectly,” she lied. “Now, if you’ll come to my little file, hidden away in the shipping room — ”

  Well, all right, it was there, strengthening the theory. But a theory is quite often valid only in the mind of the holder. Judges and juries prefer evidence.

  Or a witness.

  I phoned the Malibu Station and learned that Kostic had been picked up. I phoned the Rusty Anchor and told Sam, “Tell Mr. Paretti that Kostic has been caught and is being held at the Malibu Sheriff’s Station.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Callahan, I sure will. You working for Mr. Paretti, too, now?”

  “Temporarily. You might add that I’m the man who told Bogaro where Kostic was hiding.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell the boss that,” Sam promised. “Our boss!”

  He was coming to life, Sam Judson. He was starting to counterpunch.

  When Jones came, I asked him, “Where did you park?”

  “Up the street a ways. When did you get smart?”

  “When I realized I’d been told a lie. I can see why you might not trust me. Do you have a case?”

  “I have evidence of fraud. Arson is going to be tougher.”

  “And murder?”

  He shook his head. “That’s not my baby.”

  I smiled. “I wont remind you what you told me about being a citizen and concerned with all crime.”

  He sat down and looked at me bleakly.

  “I’ve checked his credit,” I said. “It’s a sad picture. But would a fire have pulled him out of it?”

  “There was an eighteen by twenty-seven Kashan rug he sold in Oxnard two weeks before the fire. There were some antique tapestries he sold in Pasadena. He hoped to get paid for those twice, the second time from the insurance company. He increased his coverage about six months ago. Right this second, the company is paying his rent.”

  We were both silent for a few seconds and then Jones added, “But I can’t see him as a murderer. Don’t you figure that was Kostic?”

  I shook my head.

  “Bogaro wants to,” he said.

  “I know. He’s a single-minded man. He’s made me some promises. He’ll be phoning me later.”

  “Shouldn’t he be here now?”

  I shook my head again. “I’ll probably have enough trouble with him later.”

  And then I heard the footsteps starting up the stairs and I whispered to Jones, “In that alcove at the head of the bed. Nobody can see you there. Hurry!”

  He was out of sight when Bob Dunne came into the room.

  Bob asked, “Any luck today?”

  “Sit down,” I said. “There are some things that have been bothering me.”

  He looked at me doubtfully, warily. “What do you mean?”

  “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

  He sat down and stared at me anxiously.

  I said, “Remember when we met outside of Scooter’s house the night he was killed?”

  He nodded.

  “You told me you had been standing in the kitchen and you saw my car turn into your driveway. I went up to your old house this morning, Bob. I walked all over that slab floor of yours. You couldn’t see my car at the bottom of your driveway from any room in that house.”

  “Did I say I saw your car? I meant your lights. I saw your headlights turn in.”

  “They were off when I turned in.”

  He took a deep breath, his eyes trying to read mine.

  I asked, “Why should you lie? A man has a right to walk around his own neighborhood. You didn’t have to lie.”

  “You tell me why I lied,” he said softly.

  “Because you didn’t want me to suspect you were out prowling around. And that’s why you told the police I’d been in the neighborhood. I just learned today you told them that before Scooter was killed. Because if you didn’t tell them you’d seen me, you were afraid I might tell them I’d seen you.” I paused. “After the fire it would have meaning.”

  “You’re talking in circles, Brock,” he said. “You don’t think I killed Scooter, do you?”

  “Why not? You had reason to.”

  “To kill Scooter — ? You’ve lost your mind!”

  “Your wife planned to marry him,” I said.

  The shock on his face was genuine, I felt sure. I had told him something he hadn’t even suspected. I had also told him something I couldn’t prove.

  “You’re crazy! “ he said. “That was a rotten thing to say, Brock.”

  “It might be. Do you deny starting the fire?”

  “I’m not going to listen to any more of this,” he said. “Why aren’t the police here if you believe these things?”

  “I can phone them,” I said, “if you insist. I can tell them about the rug you sold in Oxnard and the tapestries you peddled in Pasadena. Shall I phone them now?”

  He paused, startled. Then his eyes narrowed. “Will you phone the papers, too? Why drag the Malones through all that mud?”

  “Is that a threat, Bob?”

  “It’s a statement. You want to smear my wife and the Malones. And why? What did the fire cost you?”

  “The death of a friend,” I said, “because of your big mouth. If you hadn’t been outside, you wouldn’t have seen me. If you hadn’t seen me, you wouldn’t have learned Scooter was in there with Linda Malone. You went back to your house and told your wife about that, didn’t you? You tell her everything. Is it a shock to find out she isn’t quite as communicative as you are?”

  He said nothing, breathing steadily, deeply, his shoulders hunched forward as though in pain.

  “And then you went out to start the fire,” I continued, “and down to report me. While you were gone, Maggie went up to have it out with Scooter about Linda Malone. It’s easy to imagine he laughed at her and she picked up the poker and — ”

  “Shut up! “ he said hoarsely. “Damn you, shut up!”

  I pointed at the phone. “It’s a separate line. Call her. Ask her to come up here.”

  “So you can tell her your filthy lies?”

  “All right, then, call the police, I’ve accused you of arson. The same phone will get the police.”

  He stared at me for seconds. Then he straightened his shoulders and walked over to the phone. He dialed with a steady hand.

  He said, “Will you come up here? Brock is — I mean, you’d better come up.”

  He went over to sit down again without looking at me.

  Scooter, all man, I thought. That’s why she had cried at breakfast yesterday morning when I had mentioned no woman would make me less of a man. She had immediately thought of Scooter and the kids she could have had with him.

  She came up the steps without hurrying and into the room almost as poised as ever. She glanced at Bob and looked closely at me. “What’s this all about?”

  “Murder,” I said. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “I prefer to stand.”

  “All right. There’s a man named Kostic being held out at the Malibu Sheriff’s Station. Deputy Bogaro out there would love to nail this Kostic for the death of Scooter Calvin.”

  “How does that concern me?”

  “I thought perhaps you might have seen Kostic up there when you went to see Scooter that night. You did go up there, didn’t you, after Bob told you about Linda Malone?”

  She shook her head.

  I said, “Scooter tried to implicate you, I think. He tried to leave a clue behind. He managed to get a book before his heart stopped, a book of yours.”

  “It’s strange that the police haven’t questioned me about it. Do the police think it’s my book?”

  “Not yet. Dawn Donovan knew it was your book. She must have known you were Scooter’s cultural adviser. She died without passing on that knowledge to the police.”

  “
But she passed it on to you?”

  I smiled.

  Her voice was tight. “What’s the name of the book?”

  “The World in the Evening.”

  “I’m not sure I ever owned a book with that title. Who wrote it?”

  “You’re an Isherwood fan and you don’t know who wrote that book? Don’t ever make a statement like that if you go to court.”

  She colored.

  “Well,” I lied, “there are fingerprints on it. But unless those prints are on file somewhere there’s no way the police could connect the book to you.”

  Bob said, “You’re not making sense, Brock. Who do you think killed Scooter, my wife or this Kostic?”

  Maggie silenced him with a gesture. “Mr. Callahan, are you trying to say something we’ve been too dense to understand?”

  “I’m asking you to be a witness. I’m hoping you’ll be honest enough to admit you saw Kostic up at Scooter’s house and that you had a reason for going there that night.”

  She was silent a moment and then she said softly, “I think you’re trying to trick me.”

  Bob said, “That’s right. He’s trying to threaten you so I won’t tell the police about the Malones. He even accused me of starting that fire.”

  There was no surprise on her face. She must have known about the fire. She continued to study me thoughtfully.

  I said, “In a few minutes, Deputy Bogaro is going to phone me. Would you rather talk with him about all this?”

  Bob started to answer, but again his wife silenced him. She suggested, “Why don’t I phone Deputy Bogaro and ask him about this man Kostic?”

  Bob said, “Maggie, what are you saying? My God, don’t tell me all these lies are — ”

  She looked at him pityingly. “I may have seen this Kostic up there. If he’s actually in custody and I can get a good look at him, it might be a man I’d recognize.” Her eyes shifted to meet mine. “ Of course, I don’t intend to be tricked into anything.”

  The phone rang.

  I said, “The chances are that’s Bogaro now. Do you want to answer it, Mrs. Dunne?”

  “No,” she said. “If this Kostic is out there, I’ll have a look at him. We can all go out together, can’t we?”

  Bob said fiercely, “You’re a tramp. You are a lying, dirty — ”

  His wife said wearily, “Oh, for Christ’s sake, grow up! It’s a man’s world and you’d better grow up!”

  I was at the phone now. Bogaro asked, “What’s new?”

  “I think I’ve got the witness you need to nail Kostic. How about your end?”

  “I went along with you. I haven’t told him about that witness at the apartment house. I haven’t even mentioned the Donovan killing to him. Are you bringing your witness out?”

  “We’re on the way. Keep things exactly the way they are and it will all be wrapped up soon.”

  I replaced the phone on its cradle and turned to face the Dunnes. I said sadly, “I can’t get you off, too, Bob. I can’t work miracles.”

  A sudden comprehension came to Maggie Dunne’s big brown eyes. The look she gave me was almost warm.

  Bob said, “You haven’t got a damned thing on me. Take the tramp with you, but you can’t prove a damned thing on me.”

  “Just a fraudulent fire claim,” I admitted. “But maybe the police can build on that.”

  “I’m not going along with you,” he said. “You can bring the police here if you think you’ve got a case, but I’m not riding anywhere with you two.”

  I thought of Galveston Jones, so quiet in the alcove. I said, “Suit yourself, Bob. If I were you, I’d phone an attorney. You’re going to need one. But I wouldn’t leave for Pango-Pango just yet. Ready, Mrs. Dunne?”

  “Ready,” she said, all first sergeant again. “Don’t play with matches while we’re away, Bob.”

  “You tramp,” he said. “You cold-blooded, two-bit, three-for-a-nickel — ”

  “It’s a declining market,” Maggie said. “We’d better get out of here, Mr. Callahan.”

  On the way out in the car Bob had rented for me, she said, “I underestimated you. I thought your head was as thick as your waistline.”

  “Not quite,” I said. “I’ll get that stomach down. But I’ll never have the Scooter’s build.”

  “He’s dead,” she said. “What kind of man is this Kostic?”

  “A punchy fighter,” I said. “Got a Section Eight discharge from the army. He was the muscle for a gambler named Joe Paretti. Deputy Bogaro has been after Paretti for a long, long time.”

  “Do you think he might have killed that Donovan girl, too?”

  “A case could be made out that way. Paretti was trying to get rid of her, and Kostic was his executioner.” I paused. “It might not be wise to say anything about that book unless you’re asked. We don’t want to complicate the case.”

  “We certainly don’t,” she agreed. “Do you think Bob’s phoning TWA about now?”

  “Not unless he’s a fool. Running away now would convict him for sure.”

  “He’s a fool,” she said. “And to think I gave him some of the best years of my life.”

  “You’re still a young woman, Maggie Dunne. Chin up.”

  Chin up and breathe deeply, Maggie Dunne; the eggs of cyanide will soon drop into the acid bath and the fumes will fill the gas chamber….

  The ocean was blue, the beach well crowded for a fall evening. Cars with surfboards lashed to them passed us in both directions. Surfers, they led the uncomplicated lives, waiting out there, waiting for a big one to come along.

  In the small stuffy room at the station, Kostic’s hands were manacled behind him. There was dried blood at one corner of his mouth. He sat in a heavy, wooden chair in the center of the room.

  His eyes widened as he saw Maggie. He looked balefully at me and then at the floor.

  “That’s the man,” Maggie said. “That’s the man I saw leaving Donald Calvin’s house the night he was killed. I’ll testify to that, any time.”

  Turk Kostic’s head jerked up. He started to rise, growling, and the deputy behind him put a heavy hand on his shoulder. He sat down again, glaring at Maggie.

  Bogaro asked, “You didn’t actually see him kill Calvin, then?”

  “I heard these sounds,” she said, “these horrible sounds, and then this man came running out of the house with blood on his hands and — oh, it’s all confused!”

  Kostic’s smile was frozen. “And how, it’s confused! Ask her about the five hundred you found on me. She gave it to me. And ask her about the five grand she promised to give me as soon as her insurance money came in.”

  Bogaro looked questioningly at my witness.

  Her voice was calm. “I paid him five hundred. He said he knew I was — was a friend of Donald’s and he knew I was married. He threatened to spread that all over the papers. But that’s a lie about the five thousand dollars. I never promised him that.”

  “You won’t get away with it,” Kostic said quietly. “Hell, when I got there, you still had the poker in your hand. You were still punchy. You won’t railroad me, you bitch.”

  Maggie Dunne looked at him without fear. “You have an unusual imagination for a man who is mentally retarded, Mr. Kostic. I’m sure, though, that you’re not fooling these officers.”

  “Bitch,” he said. “You even had to borrow the five hundred to pay me. Big mouth, small purse.”

  Bogaro asked, “Is that true? Did you have to borrow the five hundred to pay him?”

  She nodded. “My husband couldn’t be told, you see, and — ” She looked sadly at the wall beyond Kostic.

  Bogaro shook his head and looked at me. “Well — ?”

  I shrugged. “Each one accusing the other. That’s some case. Which one would the jury believe?”

  Bogaro’s smile was smugly cynical. “Take a look at them. Which one would you believe?”

  Maggie’s smile was as cynical as Bogaro’s.

  I said, “I’d believe Turk.”r />
  Maggie stopped smiling.

  Bogaro said, “So that’s why you asked me to play it so cute. You were trying to trap her, to get Turk to talk. Is that the way you figured it?”

  “It worked, didn’t it? How much would he tell you before I got here? You’ve had him for hours.”

  Bogaro colored. “Maybe we don’t believe in operating like that.”

  “How then? Why is his mouth bleeding?”

  “He got that at the house when we picked him up. You watch your tongue, Callahan.”

  Maggie Dunne said coolly, “Trickery is a part of Mr. Callahan’s business, Officer. He tried to blackmail me on the way out here. He made a number of — of offensive suggestions.”

  Kostic grunted, grinning vacantly.

  “Come off it, Maggie,” I said wearily. “Why don’t you give up? Why don’t you tell them about your book that Scooter was holding when he died?”

  She came for me then, clawing and cursing. She gashed my cheek before Bogaro could subdue her.

  “Of course it stings,” Jan said. “Iodine is supposed to sting, you dope. Now, don’t tell me there wasn’t some hanky-panky going on in that damned garage. Why would she scratch you?”

  “Because I double-crossed her.”

  “How?”

  “In various subtle ways. I’m pretty clever. Are you naïve enough to think a girl who had enjoyed Scooter’s body would settle for mine?”

  “That’s a point, “ Jan admitted. “You’re certainly turning into a fat slob. But maybe she wasn’t fussy.”

  “Have you ever considered that I might be? That’s enough of that kind of talk, now.”

  “Yes, master. Yes, Fat. A jury will never convict her, I’ll bet”

  “I’ll take the bet. Remember she knew her husband had started the fire and she never informed on him. Remember that fire cost the taxpayers of this county millions of dollars and there’ll be taxpayers on the jury.”

  “And Kostic?” she asked. “Why did he kill that Donovan girl?”

  “Because she knew that Mrs. Dunne was Scooter’s cultural advisor. And when I mentioned that book, Miss Dawn Donovan tied it up in her mind with the married woman who was after Scooter. She figured it out and wanted to tell Joe Paretti about it. But Kostic found out about it — and killed her.”

  “Why?”