Cut Thin to Win

Chapter 11

They put me in a cell in the Denver jail. After an hour, a trusty came with a telegram for me. The telegram had been opened, read, stamped, censored and was handed to me in that condition.

The telegram was signed by Colton C. Essex. It said,

I asked if I had the privilege of sending out for a meal which I could pay for out of my own pocket and was advised I didn’t have that privilege.

I asked about bail. I was told that would be arranged in due time, but if I wanted to sign a paper waiving extradition, I could have quite a few courtesies.

I said I was sitting tight.

I was told that a man was due to arrive to take me back to Los Angeles to face the charges in California. Again, I was told I would make it a lot easier for myself if I waived extradition. I had a poor night.

Frank Sellers was there in the morning.

They took me from the cell up to an office where a couple of plainclothes men sat at a table, and Frank Sellers spoke in such carefully guarded language that I knew the room was bugged and everything I said was being taped.

“Well, Pint Size,” Sellers said, “you didn’t do so good. Want to tell us about it?”

“Tell you about what?”

“About the whole thing.”

“I have nothing to tell.”

“I’m in a little different position now than when I was talking with you the last time,” he said. “Now I’ve got a witness that saw the woman being struck by the automobile.”

“Did he get the license number?” I asked.

“We don’t need the license number,” Sellers said. “We got the car. We’ve got a perfect case of circumstantial evidence.”

“How come?”

“Fibers from the fabric of the skirt the woman was wearing were found adhering to the undercarriage of the automobile. It’s a perfect match.”

Sellers turned to one of the detectives and said conversationally “That’s a Colorado license plate on the number. We’ve got the owner all right, Phyllis Eldon, who resides here in Denver.”

One of the detectives nodded; then suddenly stiffened to attention. “Wait a minute,” he said, “did you say Eldon, E-L-D-O-N?”

“That’s right.”

“When was this accident? This hit-and-run you’re talking about?”

Sellers looked at his notebook. “On the twenty-first,” he said.

“What time on the twenty-first?”

“Eight o’clock in the evening.”

Both Denver detectives were sitting straight up at attention.

One of them said, “Wait a minute, this Eldon dame is one we’ve been wanting to question in connection with...” He suddenly broke off and looked at me.

“Well, she’s in L. A.,” Sellers Said. “I’ve got her spotted. All I need to make a perfect case is to find out what Pint Size here has done with the victim. He made a pay-off and has her under cover.”

“Wait a minute — wait a minute,” one of the Denver detectives said, “let’s not do any more talking right now. Take him back to his cell.”

“There’s no use taking him back now and letting him think it over,” Sellers said. “I’m putting it on the line with him. He is in bad. I offered him a deal if he’d give us the information. He told us who his client was. It’s a phony. He’s been double-crossing me. His license is on the line right now and he’s in bad. We’ve got a charge against him, compounding a felony.”

The detective leaned toward Sellers. “We’ve got a little talking to do,” he said. “We don’t want him in on it.” He turned to me and said, “Come on, Lam, come with me.”

Sellers started to protest but was outnumbered. He looked mad and puzzled as they beckoned to me.

I followed the detective back down the corridor, was delivered to a turnkey and escorted back to my cell.

I stayed there.