by Wade Miller
“Does the Lynn girl smoke up?”
“Probably a little. I think mostly she was getting it for her friend. Madeline’s pretty far gone.” Walter James pulled the envelope out of his coat pocket and pushed it across the table. Clapp snatched it out of a beer puddle. “That’s the scrapings from the girls’ cigarette box. Your lab will probably find some traces of marijuana. They were awfully anxious to fill the box with straight cigarettes when I rolled up to the front door.”
Clapp stuck the envelope in his pocket. “We’ll run a test this afternoon.”
“That doesn’t affect the picture as I see it one way or another. I picked that up before I had my run-in with Madeline.” Walter James finished the sandwich and tossed the crust on the plate.
“Do you think Shasta Lynn’s one of the people we want?”
“No.”
“Do you think the Filipino might have told her who he was dealing with?”
“I doubt it. I don’t think the Filipino knew.”
“Dead end?”
“Dead end.” Walter James pulled the torn fragment of Boniface’s business card from his pocket. He slid it face up across the table. “But here’s a present for you.”
Clapp said slowly. “That’s the other half of the card we found in Solez’ pocket. Where’d you get it?”
Walter James grinned. “You’re going to hate me for this, Clapp. It was wedged in the seat where the body was found. I was interested in that card so I went over the place with a fine-toothed comb.”
Clapp’s eyes were cold. “I told Felix to search the place. I’ll have to speak to him about that. And I might clip you at the same time for obstructing justice.”
“Who’s obstructing? I gave it to you, didn’t I?” Walter James pointed out blandly. “I’ll even give you some more help. Put those two cards together and you’ll find it belongs to a doctor named Boniface, a psychiatrist in the Moulton Building.”
Clapp took a billfold from his inside coat pocket and put the torn business card in it carefully. “We’ll look him up.”
“I’ve done it already. I tried to scare him. He’s an obvious quack with an office setup that comes straight out of Dr. Caligari’s cabinet. I didn’t learn much except that he’s got a guilty conscience. As soon as I closed the door in back of me, he was burning up the wires with a Major Rockwell.”
“Oh?”
“Mean anything to you?”
Clapp frowned. “I can’t see where it ties in with us, though. There was a suicide case a while back. One of the prominent families so it was pretty well covered up.”
“Rockwell?”
“We talked to him just as routine. A couple of the boys had the idea that there might be a blackmail angle, but we couldn’t prove it. And even if we could, it wouldn’t necessarily mean that Rockwell was in it.”
Walter James squinted a reflective eye at his nearby empty vodka glass. “Still, the tie-in is interesting.” He looked at Clapp. “What’s Rockwell like?”
Clapp pursed his lips. “Big man. Retired Army. Seems to have plenty of money — a big house, yacht and so on. He travels a good deal.”
“Let me have a go at him first. He might be more talkative to me.” Clapp shook his head slowly. Walter James scowled. “Don’t be dumb, Clapp. We’re whistling in the dark. All we can do is bluff and I’m good at that sort of thing.”
Clapp said, “Make it fast. This case is dragging.”
“Sure,” said Walter James. “Sure.” He spilled the rest of his vodka down his throat. Clapp smiled broadly.
“Coming back to Shasta Lynn again — did you know she’s been putting a lot more money in the bank than she made taking her clothes off?”
Walter James looked at the detective over his water glass. He took a sip and set it down gently. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “Where did it come from?”
“It’s not on her bank account whether she made it off marijuana or whether she made it off blackmail.”
“So,” said Walter James, “maybe little Ferdy did tell her who one of the big men was.” He let the thought roll around his mind a minute.
“And,” continued Clapp, “did you know that Shasta Lynn bought that house in La Mesa from the Gilbert girl’s father?”
Tne pale blue eyes slowly went flat “Clapp — are you still trying to drag Kevin into this?”
“Kevin?’ The corners of the big man’s mouth quirked upward briefly. “James, are you trying to drag the Gilbert girl out of this?”
There was a pause while their glances threshed. Walter James relaxed first and felt for his cigarettes. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If you get any further along that angle, I’ll buy you a big shiny brewery.”
Clapp laughed easily. “I’ll get that when I go to heaven. You may be right. It may be just a coincidence. In this racket it’s always some damn coincidence that screws up the works. Where’s the check? I got to get back.”
“I’ll get it.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll match you.”
“Have it your way,” said Walter James. “I’ll match you.”
13. Monday, September 25, 5:45 P.M.
THE SUN was rimming the Point Loma hills as Walter James eased his Buick out Rosecrans Boulevard. A stiff breeze was blowing off the bay. He rolled the car window higher.
Past the small shopping center, he turned left and followed the street toward the bay. A curved archway loomed ahead. The painted-chipped letters said EL REY YACHT CLUB. Two rows of straggly palm trees led toward a rambling frame building at the water’s edge. Small piers jutted haphazardly out into the bay, each with its cluster of sailboats and motor launches.
The parking lot was deserted except for a new Chevrolet and a 1938 Dodge. Walter James parked his Buick next to the Dodge. The wind blew small fragments of sand against the windows. When he got out, it pulled his trousers tight against his legs.
He met a brisk young man in dungarees and yachting cap just outside the front door.
“I’m looking for Major Rockwell,” Walter James said.
The young man pointed. “Follow that boardwalk around the clubhouse to the second pier and go right down to the end. He’s on board his cruiser. The Carrie II. I think he’s expecting you.”
“Thanks,” said Walter James. His heels knocked echoes from the boardwalk. He squeezed his left arm against the shoulder holster for reassurance. The wind made it hard to walk in a straight line. He looked at the Carrie II admiringly. It was a large cabin cruiser, about seventy-five feet long, painted white and brown. A blue and white flag with crossed swords snapped at the prow.
A man was seated in a deck chair watching him approach. Walter James halted ten feet away. “I’m looking for Major Rockwell.”
“I’m Major Rockwell,” the man said, and as he spoke he cocked the hand-action rifle that lay in his lap. “Won’t you come aboard, Mr. James?”
The slender man said, “You make it hard to refuse, Major.” He stepped gingerly aboard the gently rocking ship and dropped lightly to the deck.
Rockwell said, “Don’t let the rifle frighten you, Mr. James. I’ve been shooting at birds.” He was a big man, deeply tanned, with coarse gray hair. The backs of his hands and the portion of his chest visible from the open-throat shirt were covered with heavily matted black hair.
“Rifles never frighten me, Major.”
“You’re a brave man then. I’ve seen plenty of them and believe me, Mr. James, they are a competent weapon.”
Walter James tried unsuccessfully to light a cigarette. “The weapon is no better than the man who uses it.”
“Here,” said the major. “Let me.” He held up a wind-proof lighter. Walter James bent his head over it, puffed furiously.
“Thanks,” he said. “You need something like that around here.”
“Yes, the wind comes up every evening about this time. You get so you like it after a while. I’d miss it now.”
“Every man to his taste.”
“Yes,” said t
he major. “Every man to his taste. What’s yours, Mr. James?”
Walter James grinned without mirth. “You didn’t catch me off balance by knowing my name, Major. I’ve been in this business too long. I’m pretty damn sure you didn’t ever see me before, but then I’m the kind of a guy who isn’t hard to recognize. Even when the description is given over the phone.”
Rockwell’s eyes were bland. “You underestimate your fame, sir.”
Walter James looked out across the water. “What’s over there?”
“North Island — the Navy air base. Coronado Island is on the other side of it. You can’t see it from here.”
“Who’s the boat named for?”
There was a pause. The major said softly, “My wife. She’s — dead.”
“Do you think she’d like this business?” Walter James asked him. “And I don’t mean the yacht.”
Rockwell’s big hand brushed a speck of dust from the rifle barrel. “Subtlety is not your strong point, is it?”
“Sometimes, sometimes,” said Walter James. “Everything in its time and in its place. Tonight I feel like shooting the works. You see, Major Rockwell, I’m looking for a man.”
Rockwell lidded his eyes and didn’t speak. Walter James stared at him for a moment.
“Maybe you can tell me something I want to know. Or maybe I can tell you something. Let’s see who can surprise the other, shall we?”
The major smiled. “You’re a pleasant talker, Mr. James. Why don’t you just keep on?”
“I’ll give you some advice. You should get rid of Boniface. He’s too obvious to anybody with a suspicious mind. Like the police, for instance.”
Rockwell seemed amused. “My only connection with Dr. Boniface is through our country club.”
“In a pig’s eye,” said Walter James pleasantly. “He’s the front man in your racket. He has that fancy office, all complete with Lienster machine to put the suckers into a nice hypnotic condition before he even gets to them. Boniface digs out their troubles and he probably gets some beauties. San Diego is a rich town, a lot of retired people here. There’s bound to be a lot of neurosis mixed in.”
“But, Mr. James,” murmured the major, “isn’t that a psychiatrist’s business?” He seemed almost asleep in the chair, but his fingers caressed the stock of the rifle lovingly.
“Sure,” the smaller man said. “Sure, it’s his business. And business is pretty good. Because Dr. Boniface doesn’t stop there. As soon as he gets the dirt, he passes it along to somebody who decides if there are any possibilities, financially speaking.”
“You have very interesting theories, Mr. James. I’d be interested in hearing who you think that mysterious somebody is.”
Walter James pitched his cigarette overboard and watched the trail of sparks. The sun was entirely gone from the bay, but its traces were still visible on the Laguna mountains in the far distance.
“Don’t be naive, Major,” he said. “I figure it would be somebody with nothing much to do, somebody with a lot of nerve who likes action. Maybe even somebody with a yacht.”
There was a long silence. Rockwell stirred and stretched, his arms high above his head.
“Very pretty, Mr. James,” he said lazily. “But I’m afraid that you’re a better romancer than you are a thinker. That’s all just speculation on your part. Where’s your proof?”
“I’m not particularly interested in proof at the moment, Major.”
Rockwell stood up. His head almost touched the canvas awning that shaded the deck. He held the rifle casually under one arm, its muzzle pointing at the deck boards.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand you, sir. Just what are you interested in?”
Walter James smiled. “I thought I told you. I want some information.”
“What kind of information?”
“I want to know what you know about Fernando Solez. That’s all, Major. I’m not interested in your racket — I’m not one of the local law. As far as I’m concerned you can blackmail the mayor and feed dope to the city council. That’s your business. My business is Fernando Solez.”
“I’m sorry that I can’t help you, Mr. James — ”
The detective straightened his slim shoulders. His voice snarled. “You’ll be damn sorry if you can’t help me, Major. Let’s take off the gloves. I’ve got to know anything you do about Solez. Tell me and we’ll be as chummy as hell. Otherwise, Lieutenant Clapp might hear your name mentioned.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. James?”
“Call it any name you like — but start talking.”
Rockwell looked out across the darkening water. “I like you, Mr. James — you’re a man after my own heart.” He chuckled. “Of course, your story is ridiculous — ”
“Skip it,” said Walter James.
“But since you’ve gone to the trouble to look me up, I’ll admit that I was acquainted with Solez, though only slightly. He was useful to me in a business connection on one or two occasions. The first I knew that he was dead was when I read it in the paper.”
“Put it plainer than that, Major. I’m kinda dumb tonight.”
Rockwell’s eyes glinted at him. “You’re a blunt man, Mr. James. That’s an admirable quality at times. Solez was able to procure certain chemicals that are useful to Dr. Boniface and myself in experiments that we’re conducting.”
The slender detective laughed noiselessly and without much mirth. “Our brown brother really got around. Where’d he get the stuff?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? It has to come from somewhere.”
“Dr. Boniface handled all the arrangements,” the major said smoothly. “I merely provided the financial — ah, backing. Neither of us were interested in the source.”
“Keep talking.”
The major gestured with his hands. “That’s all there is to tell.”
There was another moment of silence as Walter James picked over the story in his mind. “When was the last time you had any business dealings with Solez?” he asked finally.
“Let me see,” the major said blandly. “It’s hard to remember, Mr. James — it’s been quite a long while.”
Walter James said, “Take another look, Major. I’d say there was a deal on last Saturday night. The night the Filipino was stabbed.”
Major Rockwell laughed deeply but without sound. “I swear, Mr. James, you’re a wizard. There’s no use trying to conceal a thing from you, really there isn’t.”
“Oh, I’m no mind reader, Major,” Walter James deprecated. “There was a card found on Solez — at least, half a card. I found the other half later. Put them together and the trail was plain. Especially since it was one of the doctor’s business cards.”
The major was silent. A chuckle rippled through the other man’s slight frame. “Here’s how I figured it, Major. For a long time I wondered why the card was torn in two. But it’s really simple. Solez was a ticket taker and what does the ordinary ticket taker do with your ticket? Yep, he tears it in two. Am I boring you?”
The major sat down in the deck chair again. “Please continue, Mr. James.”
“Every time you and Boniface wanted a delivery from Solez, Boniface wrote him a note on a small piece of paper and handed it to the Filipino along with a ticket. Solez tore it in two and stuck it in his coat pocket. He read it later. It’s my hunch that he was just about to read it when he was killed. At least, that would account for why one piece was still in his coat.”
He paused. Rockwell didn’t move. “Maybe Boniface gave the note to Solez at an early show — or maybe he was sitting in on the last one. A check of the audience would show. But it doesn’t matter. He’d hardly give the Filipino a note with one hand and stab him with the other.”
The shadowy figure in the chair moved its head slightly. “I don’t see how all this particularly concerns me, Mr. James. I’m simply an innocent bystander.”
Walter James stretched the length of his slim form. “
Bystander, yes, Major. But innocent — well, now, I wonder.” He groped around for the ladder to the dock.
The quiet in Rockwell’s voice was underwritten with subtle menace. “You wonder what, Mr. James?”
Walter James watched the rifle lying across the sitting man’s lap. “I wonder if you might be Doctor Boone.” The rifle didn’t move. Walter James put his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder.
“Why do you ask that?” The major’s tones were unreadable.
Walter James shrugged. “Just an idle question. I’m like Durante. I got a million of ‘em.”
14. Monday, September 25, 7:15 P.M.
HE PICKED KEVIN UP at her house a little after seven. She was ready and waiting in a black cloth coat over a crepe dress that approached mustard yellow in color. Mr. Gilbert slouched in a low chair by the radio. He unfolded and shook hands when the girl let Walter James in; he appeared not to notice the little lights in his daughter’s eyes. The two men appraised each other coldly. Walter James was wondering about the older man’s connection with Shasta Lynn. He could sense Gilbert’s wonder about his own connection with his daughter. Suddenly, Kevin seemed younger and younger.
The two men exchanged a few brief unimportant comments before Walter James followed the girl through the doorway. Gilbert’s last words were: “Don’t stay out too late, Laura. You’ve been doing it too much lately.” His looming shadow against the front room lights seemed to pursue them to the car.
Kevin gave an exclamation of disgust. “Oh, gosh, Walter — there’s Bob!” She gestured with her head at the yellow Model A coupe nuzzling the Buick’s rear bumper.
“He’s persistent, anyway.”
“I think he’s following me,” the girl said angrily. “Wait a minute, Walter. We might as well get this over with right now.” Her high heels made a belligerent tap-tap as she crossed the sidewalk to the yellow car. Walter James followed more leisurely.
“ — your own business,” Kevin was saying.
Newcomb’s head was a dark silhouette against the car window. “It is my business — at least it was until this guy showed up.”