The Long Saturday Night Part 6

It wasn't very conclusive. From the time Roberts had arrived in April, until August, there was no change. Then from August through December she'd cashed checks for a total of $2100, or an average of a little over $400 per month. That would be about $200 above the average for the rest of the year. It might be significant, but it certainly wasn't enough to account for Ernie's story. In a carelessly run business, $200 a month could disappear without a trace.

But still the similarity of the ways they had come here was too much of a coincidence. Had they known each other before? You could concede that one person might come to a small town where he knew no one at all and open a business, a town apparently chosen at random-but two? It was improbable.

I heard the front door open. It was probably Evans or Turner. But when I looked at my watch I saw it was already nine-fifty-five; they probably weren't even going to show up. There was an indistinguishable murmur of voices, and then the door opened again. The intercom came on. "Here we go," she whispered. I s.n.a.t.c.hed eagerly at the telephone. The telegram had come.

7

She dialed the operator and put through the call. In a moment a girl's voice said, "Norman Detective Agency."

"Detective agency?" Barbara asked. agency?" Barbara asked.

"Yes. Are you sure you have the right number?"

"Well, it must be, if this is the Norman agency. Could I speak to Mr. Norman, please?"

When he came on the line, she said, "This is the Warren Realty Company, in Carthage-"

"Who's speaking?" he asked.

"Barbara Ryan. Mr. Warren's not here, and we've received a rather strange telegram from a Mr. Weaver, in-"

He cut her off. "Never mind where it's from; if it's what I think it is, I'd just as soon not know. Maybe you'd better read it to me." She read it.

"Umh-umh," he said. "Your telegram's from your boss."

"From Mr. Warren himself?" himself?"

"In person. He pulled a whizzer on me, and now he's about to pull one on you." "How do you mean?"

"He wants some information I've got for him, but if you pa.s.s it along to him without telling the police where he is you're sticking your neck out a mile. When he hired me to get this information for him he didn't tell me he was hotter than radioactive cobalt; I had to find that out by reading the papers last night, like any other dope. And now I'm expecting the cops to come pounding on the door any minute; they know he was here in town, and it was Mrs Mrs. Warren we asked five thousand people about yesterday. But that's all right; I don't know where he is, and I don't want to know."

"Would you be breaking any law if you gave me the information?"

"No. I've got a signed authorization to do it, as long as you have that file number. What you do with it is your pigeon."

"I suppose, under the circ.u.mstances, I should give it to the police, along with the telegram. But if Mr. Warren calls, I'll also give it to him. After all, he's paying for it. You don't object to the police knowing he hired you, do you?"

"No. As long as. I'm not withholding information as to his whereabouts, I'm in the clear. I don't think it'll be much help to him, but we have found out what he wanted. I mean, what his wife was doing down here."

I waited tensely. "What was it?" Barbara asked.

"She was playing the ponies."

That trumpet call! I cursed myself for a tone-deaf idiot; anybody else would have placed it long ago. It was the same one they always play at racetracks when the horses come out to parade to the post. She'd called from a booth somewhere near the track.

"Are you sure of that?" Barbara asked.

"No doubt of it at all. For the whole week she was out there every afternoon the track was open. And she really dropped a wad. At four yesterday afternoon we located two taxi drivers who remembered taking her out to the track on different days, so we s.h.a.gged out there and started flashing her picture to the sellers. We didn't have any luck until we hit the $50 window, but he remembered her all right. She'd been throwing it in to the tune of $200 and $300 a race, especially the last couple of days. We also found where she hocked the coat. She got $350 for it, a mink worth three or four thousand. If Warren's lawyer could get enough husbands with bingo-playing wives on the jury, he'd be a cinch to beat it."

"Do you have any other information?"

"Two items. We're certain there wasn't any other man involved. And equally certain somebody was having her tailed, at least part of the time."

"You mean followed? By a private detective?"

"Yes. I told Warren about it yesterday. Later we found out for sure."

"Do you know the agency this detective works for?"

"For himself. He's a kind of fringe-area gumshoe named Paul Denman. That about wraps it up as far as we're concerned. Warren has a balance due him from the money he paid us, and we'll send you a check."

"Thank you very much." She hung up.

I stared hopelessly at the wall. Horses? It was insane. In the 18 months we'd been married she'd never mentioned horses, and she'd never gambled on anything except bridge at a tenth of a cent a point. But it didn't matter; it obviously had nothing to do with her being killed, and the whole thing had been for nothing. No. There was Denman. When we found out who was having her followed, we might have the answer to everything. Barbara was dialing again.

"Sheriff's office, Scanlon speaking."

"Mr. Scanlon, this is Barbara Ryan. I have something here that perhaps you should know about. I-uh-" She hesitated.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Well, it's a telegram. And it seems to be from Mr. Warren."

"Warren?" he broke in. "Where's it from?"

"El Paso. Texas. But maybe I'd better read it to you." She read it, and went on. "I couldn't make any sense out of it at first, but when I called this Mr. Norman he turned out to be a private detective, and he said the telegram's from Mr. Warren and that legally I'm obliged to turn it over to the police-"

"Good for you, Mrs. Ryan. Hold on a minute." I heard him giving orders to somebody in the room. "Get over to Warren's office and pick up a telegram Mrs. Ryan's got for us. And make it fast." He came back on the line. "Now. What else did this Norman say?"

She repeated the conversation, and asked, "What should I do if Mr. Warren does call?"

"Give him the information, but don't tell him we know anything about it. Keep him on the line as long as you can. We'll alert the telephone company and the El Paso police."

"Well, all right," she agreed reluctantly. "But I still feel like a Judas. He thought he could depend on me."

"Mrs. Ryan, get it through your head-Warren's either the coldest-blooded murderer of this century, or a dangerous maniac in the last stages of paranoia. Take a look at it yourself-ten minutes after he beat his wife to death with an andiron, he was in my office accusing me of persecuting him, and demanding a lawyer to defend his const.i.tutional rights. Personally, I just think he'd forgotten he'd killed her. He even told George Clement he didn't know when she was coming home. And when Owens went out there to see why he didn't answer the phone, he'd been asleep. Good G.o.d in Heaven-probably in the same room! He's dangerous to himself and to everybody else, as long as he's at large."

"You refuse to consider the possibility he could be innocent?"

He sighed wearily. "Listen. Everybody's innocent until he's proved guilty, even a maniac. And I'm not trying the case, anyway; all I'm trying to do is grab him before he kills somebody else."

"But what about this information from Norman? Or even the fact that Mr. Warren hired him in the first place?" "

"To investigate his wife, after he'd already killed her?"

"No, no. I mean the fact that somebody else was having her followed, before before she was killed. If you could find out who hired this man Denman-" she was killed. If you could find out who hired this man Denman-"

There was pity in his voice. "You mean you don't know?"

"He couldn't have."

"G.o.d knows how many detectives he's hired. We'll probably hear next he's having me investigated. Or Roberts."

"All right, Mr. Scanlon, if you don't want to look into this, I'm afraid I can't cooperate with you. I'll tell him-"

"Hold it!" he broke in. "Don't get yourself in trouble. Of course I'll check it; that's what I'm here for. I'll ask the New Orleans police to question this Denman, but you know as well as I do it was Warren that hired him."

"I still say the whole thing's a horrible mistake; I know Mrs. Warren was still alive after he left the house with Mulholland."

"It's no good, Mrs. Ryan. You admit yourself you can't place the time nearer than fifteen minutes; it was before he left, when he was bawling me out."

That was puzzling. What the devil were they talking about?

"All right," she said then. "I'll do it."

"Good for you. You've been a lot of help."

"I do think, though, you should let me know what Denman says."

"I will." He hung up.

I heard the deputy come in and pick up the telegram. In the next two hours there were five telephone calls, three of them from newspapers wanting background information, one from a man who identified himself and said he thought I was innocent, and the last from a man who didn't identify himself and said when I was caught and brought back I'd be lynched. She signaled on the intercom when she went out to lunch so I wouldn't pick up the phone. It rang once while she was gone. When she returned, she came on down the pa.s.sage toward the washroom and pushed open the side door. She slid a chair up close to the desk and sat down.

"What was that about with Scanlon?" I asked.

"I've only got a minute, but that's what I wanted to explain. I tried to call you last night-I mean, night before last-to ask if you'd heard the story going around town that Roberts had been murdered instead of accidentally shooting himself. But the line was busy."

"What time?" I asked quickly.

"That's the trouble. All I'm certain of is that it was right around eleven-forty-five, between there and midnight. They say it was eleven-forty-five when you left the house with Mulholland, and that you'd been on the phone, talking to Scanlon. They think that's what it was. G.o.d, if I'd only looked at the clock."

"There's no doubt she called somebody, as soon as I was out the door."

"But why? To get herself killed?"

"I don't know," I said helplessly. "I'm so fouled up now I'm not sure of my own name. Norman's information was no help at all."

"Well, there's still Denman. I wanted to tell you, if necessary you can talk back on the intercom. Evans and Turner aren't here, and n.o.body can hear you from the street. I'm facing the other way, so they can't see my lips move. If somebody comes in, I'll cut the switch."

"Good girl. You're wonderful."

She grinned sardonically. "I guess I'm a born cloak-and-dagger type. But it's almost one; I'm going to call Doris Bentley."

She went out. I picked up the phone and waited tensely while she dialed.

"Crown Theatre."

"Would you tell me what the feature is today, please?" Barbara asked.

"Yes. It's Gregory Peck in 'The Bravados'." My pulse leaped; I was certain it was the right voice.

"And what time does it start, please?"

"At one-thirty-five, just after the news and the cartoon."

"Thank you."

Barbara hung-up, and in a moment the intercom hummed. "What do you think?" she asked softly.

I pressed the key and leaned close to the box. "She's the girl; I'm sure of it."

"What now?"

"I'm going to talk to her."

"How can you?"

"We'll wait till the picture starts and she's not busy. Can you do an imitation of a long-lines operator?"

"Sure. But, listen-if she reports it to Scanlon, he'll know it's a fake. The phone company's watching all incoming calls."

"I don't think she'll report it, for the same reason she's never identified herself. She's not eager for publicity."

"Here's hoping."

I waited nervously while a half hour dragged by. The chances were she'd refuse to admit she was the one unless I could scare her. She obviously didn't want to be identified, either because she was mixed up in this thing herself, or from a natural disinclination to admit she'd been in Roberts' apartment-which was the only way she could have found the lighter there. The intercom came on, and I heard Barbara dialing.

"Crown Theatre."

"This is long distance. We have call for a Miss Doris Bentley. Is she there?"

"Long distance?"

"Yes. El Paso is calling. For Miss Bentley."

'This is Miss Bentley, but-"

"Go ahead, please."

"h.e.l.lo," I said. "h.e.l.lo, Doris?" I heard her gasp. "It took me a long time to remember where I'd heard your voice before."