by Wade Miller
“I know more than that,” said the big man heavily. “I know you won’t leave this building until you tell a long, long story.”
“You can throw me in on a gun count. I’ll be out tomorrow on bail and Monday I’ll pay off the fine. About Tuesday you’ll get word from Atlanta. You’ll pull me in again because I killed three men there but you won’t be able to hold me. About next Saturday you’ll get a registry report on that .25 on your desk and you’ll pull me in again because that’s my gun. You won’t be able to charge me but you’ll put up a hell of a fight to hold me as a material witness. And you’ll lose. If you want to play that way, Clapp, I promise you, you’ll lose. I know this game as well as you do.”
Clapp’s eyes were steady and leaden in his hard face. “How do you want to play, James?”
Walter James leaned back and said softly, “I want to see us both co-operate. I want to tell my long, long story and walk out of here. I don’t want to see anything behind me but my own shadow. I don’t want to be booked on any 1898 charges because I’m a stranger in town.”
Clapp sat down. “What are you bidding with?”
“Two bodies right now. One in Atlanta and the one tonight.” Walter James smiled coldly. “I may raise you later.”
Clapp cleared his throat. “Give us the story and you can leave tonight. If the story checks and if you can keep your nose clean, I think we’ll get along.”
“I could stand another beer,” said Felix.
“We all could,” agreed Clapp, “but close the icebox door this time.”
“I decided to team up with Hal Lantz in 1942,” said Walter James. He ran his hand through his wavy brown hair. “I hadn’t known him except casually around town before then. We had offices about four blocks apart, on opposite sides of the city hall, but we’d meet occasionally in a bar or at police court. A private investigator has to keep an eye on the other half — how they’re living and who they are. Thanks, Felix.”
He sipped at the beer reflectively. “I inquired around and found that Hal was a pretty shrewd operator. I put it up to him — if we went in as partners, we could do about ten times as much business as we were doing separately. That’s just the way it worked out. We put up a big, reputable-looking front and began drawing the people that wanted dirty little jobs done but were afraid of the dirty little agencies. We pushed a few of the shoestring boys out of business and hired the best ops away from the others, so pretty soon we had Atlanta just the way we wanted it. And there was enough money to go around. On those summer nights, a lot of husbands need following.
“Furthermore, we made a big point of getting along with the local cops. We never crossed them up and our outfit kept a lot of trouble from ever getting out of the idea stage. Then, too, between Hal and me, we had a lot of stuff in our files that helped them out now and then. We even used our men in a few spots where they wouldn’t have dared used their own — politically speaking.”
Felix nodded appreciatively.
“I’m making a point of all this,” said Walter James, “so you’ll realize what an unblemished child I am.”
“You mentioned three men,” Clapp said mildly.
“You can’t keep out of trouble forever. All three were self-defense, and there was never any fuss over it. I shot two and ran down another with Hal’s Buick.”
“So you’ve been buying Buicks ever since. That makes a nice testimonial,” said Clapp. “And witnesses to all this?”
“No,” admitted the slender man. “They weren’t needed. You should have learned by this time that most killings are private affairs.” He flashed the girl a quick smile. She was sitting erect in her chair, her eyes fixed intently on his face.
“I’ve never had to kill a man,” said Clapp.
“Maybe you’re a poor shot.”
“I had the public welfare course ten years ago in police school.” Felix broke in. “Let’s get on with the story.”
“Anyhow, we did pretty well — Hal and I. I was from Cincinnati but Hal was a native son — he’d been a star halfback somewhere down there in his younger days and that didn’t hurt business any. And he was as friendly with our clients as if he was selling cars. Made a hell of a good front man. But he was smart for all his size.”
Clapp grunted.
“So that was the way we ran our business. Hal got out and met our clients, and I ran the office and kept up the contacts with people who weren’t our clients but who we needed just as badly. I didn’t get around too much unless things got involved and needed the plug pulled. Hal was smart but there are times in the agency racket when you need brains and speed. Or maybe just speed.”
“Okay. So you and your Hal got along like two worms in a big red apple. So what?”
“Let W. Somerset James tell his story in his way,” reproved the slender man. He sipped his beer deliberately. “Yes, we got along fine. We didn’t share a doughnut every morning, but we got along fine. Whenever we had time for any social life, the three of us generally went out together.”
Clapp raised his heavy eyebrows.
“Hal had a wife, Ethel. They were crazy about each other. She was a tall, good-looking blonde, and Hal was damn proud of her.”
“Jealous?”
“Not of me, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“You married?”
“I’m a free agent.” He gave Laura Gilbert an oblique glance. Her red mouth curved faintly at the corners.
“In fact,” Walter James continued, “Hal was so obviously wild about Ethel that one man we were dealing with thought he could get Hal through her. It was later on in that case that the Buick came in handy.”
“This place gets a little cold this time of morning,” Clapp said to the girl. “I can get you a blanket out of Stein’s office.”
“I’m all right,” she said, pulling the tweed coat a little tighter. “I just had a chill for a second.” She stroked the hair over her left ear. “Please go on. I feel fine.”
“That was the setup,” said Walter James, “and we never got involved because we kept our noses clean. But the way the agency operated, sometimes Hal didn’t know what I was doing and I didn’t know what he was doing. And about two months ago — July — Hal stumbled onto something he couldn’t handle. Only he thought he could. He didn’t tell me much about it, said he didn’t know anything definite. But the Atlanta cops had been having trouble for some time with pretty good-sized loads of dope being distributed across the South — and apparently out of Atlanta. They had called us and said if we got any leads along that line to cut them in. Well, whatever Hal picked up was along that line. He told me that much. But I figured that if he picked up something important he’d let me know and we’d work the deal along with the cops.”
“Dope?” Clapp asked.
“Marijuana.”
“From here?”
“That’s right.”
“How do you know?”
“The first of August Hal flew to Denver on a case. He was gone a lot longer than he should have been. I didn’t think anything of it at the time because he was his own boss. When I got into San Diego Thursday I drove straight to the airport. They showed a Hal Lantz coming in from Denver through L. A., staying here two days and flying back the same way.”
“It’ll take more than that to involve this town.”
“Okay. Three days after Hal got back from Denver some Boy Scouts found him parked in his car on the outskirts of Atlanta. Somebody had emptied a .45 into him. He’d been dead all night.”
“You own a .45?” Clapp asked gently. The little office died.
Walter James breathed out and his eyes went icy again. “That’s a poor question,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” Clapp agreed suddenly. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked it at this point.”
“I’ll answer it at this point. No.” Walter James put his hand next to Laura Gilbert’s on the desk. It was just as white and almost as small. “I have trouble holding onto a .45,” he said.
>
“Have one of my cigarettes,” the girl suggested. She lit it for him with a tiny lighter.
“Furthermore,” said Walter James after a moment, “except that the light was seen burning in my office at the agency, I have no alibi for the night my partner was gunned out.”
“What did the police find?”
“Nothing. Not even the gun. Hal’s wallet was emptied and he generally carried any papers he was working on in his inside coat pocket — that pocket was empty, too. And he didn’t leave me a letter or a damn thing telling me what progress he had made on whatever it was. Maybe he hadn’t made any progress. Maybe somebody just thought he had.”
“I guess his wife took it pretty hard,” Laura Gilbert ventured softly.
“We never found out,” said Walter James. “She was in Miami at the time and she never came back. Checked out of her hotel, with a few personal items, and disappeared. Left most of her clothes.”
“Anything more on that?”
“No. Atlanta has been checking every unidentified body on the East coast but no tall blondes. No nothing.”
“What makes you so sure that this town is involved?” Clapp passed his hand wearily over his tanned face.
“I wasn’t — up until the show tonight. Three days after Hal was killed, I got a tip-off by phone. It was a man’s voice. It said that if I told the Filipino at the Grand Theater in San Diego that I was Dr. Boone, I might get some place.”
“Dr. Boone? Who’s he?”
“Nobody in the Atlanta directory or the San Diego directory,” said Walter James. “Nobody at all — yet. I scouted the Grand Theater Friday and again Saturday afternoon. The Filipino always sat in on that strip number toward the last. I figured I wouldn’t have to sit through that damn show again — that I’d be safe in coming late and I could nab him after the show. Well, that’s the story. I never got the chance to pass myself off as Dr. Boone.” He drummed on the empty beer can with his fingernails. “Oh. There’s one other item. That gun — the .25 — that’s one of a set I gave Hal on his last birthday. They’re out of my collection and I think I can give you the number tomorrow on the other one. Except that it’s a lady’s pistol — concealed hammer and a little smaller — it’s the same design.”
“Did your partner have a silencer?”
“He may have. I don’t know.”
“Did he have the guns on him the night he was killed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were there any witnesses to that telephone tip-off you got?”
“No. How many witnesses do you have to your phone calls?”
“Not a hell of a lot.” Clapp rubbed his tongue over his teeth and squinted his eyes wearily. Walter James pushed his two beer cans into the wastebasket.
“May I go home now?”
“Okay,” said Clapp. “You can go home.” Walter James stood up first, then Laura Gilbert rose a little uncertainly, with a glance at the big man. He nodded. “Sure, you, too.” Walter James pushed open the door for her. Clapp waggled a finger at him.
“Here’s something else to think about, James. That box — the one we found in the Filipino’s sport coat — ”
“Yes,” said Walter James agreeably. “I recognized it. Marijuana, wasn’t it?”
Clapp sighed. “Yes,” he said. “Marijuana.”
6. Sunday, September 24, 2:45 A.M.
A WHITE STUCCO CARTON stood on the corner of El Cajon Boulevard and 45th Street. Above it a half-story rudder of tin proclaimed in blue and white: J. A. GILBERT REALTOR.
“That’s it,” announced the girl. Walter James wheeled the Buick in a U turn and pulled it up in front of the office. A flagged walk ran past the corner building to the back of the lot where another white stucco building huddled ineffectively behind two skeletal palms. “My home,” said Laura Gilbert flatly.
Walter James snapped off the lights. “What’s that big job across the street?”
“Hoover High. I used to go there. The college is about five miles on out.” She wiggled her fingers east toward the Laguna mountains and El Centro and Yuma.
“Studying to be anything?”
“No. What is there to be?”
“You’re bitter — even for three A.M.”
“I mean it,” the girl said, looking straight ahead. “I want to be something but I don’t know what. Liberal Arts isn’t any great adventure, but there isn’t anything I’d rather take. Oh, I don’t know what I want.”
“It’s not uncommon,” he agreed. “How about getting married?”
“Most of the girls are looking high and low for husbands. I’ve never seen a husband I wanted.” She blew smoke viciously at the windshield. “I’d hate to cook steak and potatoes seven nights a week.”
“Who is so fond of steak and potatoes?”
“Bob,” she said, and stopped short to regard him curiously. “You know your business, don’t you?”
Walter James laughed. “Really, I didn’t mean it as business. I’m interested.”
“Why?” Two freight vans roared by in quick succession, filling the silent boulevard with savage sound. After it had melted away, she said, “Never mind. As you say, that’s a poor question. Bob Newcomb is editor of The Aztec — that’s the college paper — and I work on The Aztec quite a bit. He’s a very sweet boy with what is known as a fine mind. He has an odd taste for taking me to dances. Why, I don’t know because frankly I don’t dance very well. But I guess he really is pretty smart.”
After a pause she added, “Brains aren’t everything. Sometimes you like brains and speed. Or just speed. You said that, didn’t you?”
A light came on in the house, an orange rectangle that silhouetted one slim palm tree. “It is pretty late,” said the girl. “You better take me in.”
“I want you to remember something about the man who sat on the other side of the Filipino.”
“But I can’t. Am I in trouble if I can’t?”
“No — you’re not in trouble. But so far there aren’t so many leads in this case that I can afford to pass any up. Keep trying — please.”
“I bet you don’t say please very often.”
Walter James laughed again. “You know your business, don’t you?”
“I hope I didn’t sound rude. I just happened to think of it.” She smiled demurely. “I got a busy little mind, too.” Her face sobered. She half-turned on the seat to face him. “I shouldn’t be laughing. That poor little guy — ”
Walter James said, “Death’s never pleasant to see.”
“But to go that way — in the dark and — and — ”
“Don’t think about it,” Walter James told her gently. “There’s nothing you can do. Brooding’s not going to help.”
She looked up at him and tried a pale smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. James. But I wish that I could do something to help. What do you think about tonight?”
Walter James smiled. “That’s a big question. Clapp seems to be handling the routine work as well as anyone can.”
“You sound as if you’re holding something back.”
“Well,” Walter James said, his blue eyes thoughtful, “The thing that interests me most in this mess so far is that card they found in the Filipino’s coat.”
“Oh,” she breathed her disappointment. He raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“And you, Sherlock, what do you make of it all?”
Laura Gilbert made a negative gesture with one hand. “I don’t know anything. I’m not smart at this sort of thing. But I thought from what you said about Shasta Lynn — ”
“You don’t like her, do you?” Walter James interjected softly. “Why?”
Silence crept in. “I don’t even know her,” the girl said stiffly. “Why should I dislike her?”
“Answering a question with a question isn’t polite,” he said smiling. “But let it pass.” He put his finger on the door handle and paused. “May I pick you up for dinner tomorrow night? Six o’clock?” He got out and walked around to the curbside door.
Laura Gilbert was looking at him with a little frown on her forehead.
“You must be way ahead of me. I don’t think I understand,” she said.
“There’s no problem to it. I’m not being devious. I just think we’ll get along.”
“Oh, I’m sure we would,” she said and put her head to one side. “I don’t know just how to put this and I don’t want to make you feel funny, but — aren’t I a little adolescent for you?”
“I’m thirty-eight,” said Walter James, “and even my adept mind can’t see quite what that has to do with it.” He opened the door; she collected her belongings and slipped gracefully to the ground.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you know later.” There was the hint of a saucy smile on her red lips. “Let me pretend to think it over, anyway, and I’ll let you know at the police station tomorrow — today.”
“I’ll see you at six then,” he said. “It’s not necessary for you to come down to headquarters. Get some sleep.”
“But Mr. Clapp said — ” she whispered.
“You need the sleep and I think I can keep Clapp occupied. I have the upper hand temporarily.”
She grinned outright. “You’re power mad.”
“Not at the moment. Not with your father to face.”
They walked up the flags together, two street-lighted figures of the same height. As they set foot on the small cement porch, the door opened, letting out a trickle of radio music. A tall spare man in a dressing gown stood in the light. “Laura?” he said.
“Good morning, Dad,” she answered. “Your daughter got in a little trouble tonight.”
The tall man held the screen door open. He had heavy gray hair and gray eyebrows accenting a tan, lined face. Walter James couldn’t see that the lines indicated any character, one way or another.
“Dad, this is Mr. James. Mr. James, my father.”
“Your daughter wasn’t personally involved in any trouble, Mr. Gilbert,” explained Walter James. “She just happened to be the only witness to an odd happening.”
“And Mr. James was kind enough to bring me home from the police station.”