A Gambling Man

Chapter 40

The bay town police station was located in a large one-story, cream-colored stucco building with thick, curved orange terra-cotta roof tiles to keep out the rain and enough wrought iron railing to keep the blast furnaces in Pittsburgh in business.

Archer noted the four prowlers slant-parked out front and the string of uniformed cops in their dark blue uniforms, chest straps, big, holstered revolvers, black boots, and crisp short-brimmed caps who lurked near the entrance. Two motorcycle officers were astride their Harley-Davidsons and passing the time with two young, pretty women in dark skirts, tight blouses, and high heels.

Dash led him inside to the front desk, where a burly man about six-four with shoulders as wide as a doorway and sergeant stripes down his sleeve sat in front of the large duty book in which he was carefully marking entries in pen.

“Steve Prichard,” said Dash. “Long time, no see.”

Prichard looked up, and his expression told Archer that the cop would have preferred the no see part going on indefinitely.

“What do you want, Dash?”

Dash smiled. “Is Carl in?”

“No.”

Dash’s smile broadened. “No really, or just not for me?”

“There’s been a murder, or maybe you hadn’t heard,” growled Prichard, taking a look at Archer and coming away unimpressed. “Fresh meat, Willie? This one looks underfed.”

“He’s okay. And that murder is why we’re here,” said Dash.

Prichard perked up at this. “Is that so? What’s your interest?”

“I’d rather talk to Carl about that. Professional courtesy, you understand.”

“He’s up at Midnight Moods looking into it. That’s where the dame was killed.”

“All right. Guess we’ll take a ride over there.” He hooked a thumb at Archer. “And this is my new associate, Archer.”

“Who cares?” Prichard said, turning back to the pages of the duty book.

Archer looked over the man’s shoulder and saw two photos on the wall. One was of President Harry Truman. And for the other he had to read the name on a brass plate at the bottom.

Governor Earl Warren.

As they walked out of the police station, Archer commented, “Boy, Willie, you got them wrapped around your little finger in that place.”

“Let’s go get that car of yours and take a run over to Midnight Moods.”

“Is Pickett any friendlier to you than Prichard was?”

“Oh, me and Steve Prichard are good buddies. Play cards once a week over hooch and cigars, and spin tales about women we took to bed, none of which are true.”

“Then I wouldn’t want to see how he acts around somebody he doesn’t like.”

“I’m joshing you, Archer. He’s my friend like Hitler was Roosevelt’s. Same with Pickett.”

“Okay.”

“And unlike Armstrong’s cronies, Big Steve hits where it doesn’t show. He got more confessions that way than any cop on the force. And if you were colored or Mexican, you usually didn’t live long enough to sign that confession.”

“And they let him get away with that?”

“Get away with it? It’s in the playbook, Archer. Big Steve just does it better than anyone else. Hell, son, didn’t they teach you anything in prison?”

On the drive over to Midnight Moods, Dash patted the door of the Delahaye. “Now this is a fine machine, Archer. Puts a spring in my step just riding in it.”

“Glad I could do that for you. What do you hope to accomplish at Midnight Moods?”

“I want to get in to see Ruby’s room. Then I want to talk to folks who might have seen something last night. We need to narrow the time window down, to see who might be suspects and who might not.”

“I guess they’ll do an autopsy on her body.”

“Yes, they will. I know the county coroner, Mortimer Wallace. He’s a good man.”

“Is he a doctor?”

“No, but he owns a funeral home and he’s got experience doing the cutting. From what you told me it doesn’t sound like the cause of death will be a tough one here.”

“But can he tell us when she died?”

“Within reasonable parameters, Archer. It won’t be to the minute. But we spoke with Ruby earlier that day. Other people will have seen her after we did. We can narrow it down that way if Mortimer can’t be real specific. It’s the only way we check alibis. Now, how long do you reckon she was dead when you saw her?”

“She was cold.”

“How about her arms? Starting to get stiff yet?”

“No. They were soft as putty.”

“So no rigor mortis then.” He eyed Archer. “Body starts to get all stiff after death. But it takes a while for it to happen. Then you can’t bend an arm or leg without breaking bones.”

“Well, I can tell you she wasn’t in rigor mortis then. Nowhere close.”

Dash snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute, when was her act last night?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. She didn’t show up for it, so my friend did the singing instead.”

“What time was she supposed to be on again?”

“Ten. The thing is, Mabel Dawson said they went to look for Ruby but she wasn’t in her room. This was probably around nine thirty or so.”

“Okay. So she was somewhere else getting murdered.”

“Seems like it.”

“Who’s your friend again?”

“Liberty Callahan. She drove with me from Reno. She’s a singer and a dancer. Wants to be an actress in Hollywood.”

“Her and every other dame. Think she’s got a shot?”

“If anyone does, yeah.”

When they reached Midnight Moods, two prowlers and a Chrysler as big as a tank were parked together next to the front entrance.

“That green Chrysler Town and Country belongs to Pickett,” said Dash as they passed by it. “Small dick, big car. I’ve found that to be far more accurate than the weather forecast.”

“Does he usually go out to all the murders?”

“Damn, Archer, how many homicides do you think we have around here?”

“I don’t know. I was in a little town in the middle of nowhere and we had three in a matter of a few days.”

“You weren’t responsible for any of them, were you?”

“Only one, but it was self-defense.”

Dash stopped and eyed him. “Well, well, am I going to have to reconsider my opinion of you, Archer?”

“Depends on whether that opinion will get better or worse if you do.”

“You keep surprising me, Archer, you surely do.”

“Is that good?”

“I’ll let you know.”

They ducked inside to see a lawman.