Cut Thin to Win

Chapter 18

I drove the rented car up to the motel I’d rented, unlocked the door and went in.

I looked at the door leading to Elsie Brand’s room. It was tightly closed.

I went to the bathroom, gave my hands and face a good scrubbing with a hot washcloth, and came out feeling a little better.

Things were whirling around now like an electric fan. But that’s better than having them get static in an unfavorable position. While things are moving around, it’s always possible to reach in and grab out something that you want. When they freeze in an unfavorable position, you’re frozen, too.

I walked over toward the connecting door intending to knock, when there was the sound of a gentle, almost surreptitious knock at the outer door of my cabin.

I hesitated a moment.

The knock was repeated.

I went to the door, opened it a crack.

Minerva Badger was there.

“Hello, Donald,” she said.

Her voice was dripping with syrup.

“Hello to you,” I said.

I thought I heard a motion behind me.

“May I come in, Donald?”

“Who’s with you?”

“I’m all alone.”

“Where’s this lawyer of yours?”

“Oh, you’ve met him?”

“You know I have.”

“He’s in his office, I guess.”

“How are the trump cards?” I asked. “Still got every one in the deck?”

“Donald, I have to talk with you about that.”

“Go on and talk.”

“Not here.”

“Come on in,” I invited.

She came into the room.

“You act pretty fast,” she said.

“Do I?”

“You just take the bit in your teeth and start going. You don’t give a person a chance to talk with you.”

“You’re talking now.”

“I need you, Donald.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you had every trump in the deck.”

“That’s the trouble,” she said. “I think I have every trump in the deck, but I don’t know what’s trumps. I think you do.”

“Talk some more,” I invited.

She said, “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know who I was when I got on the plane?”

“I suspected it.”

“How? What tipped you off?”

“Your clothes, your manner, the fact that you had followed me aboard the plane and then dropped into the seat beside me, the approach, the whole thing.”

“What about my clothes?”

“You were too well groomed for a detective or any kind of a woman having a job; you radiated money.”

“I took my big diamond off,” she said.

“I know you did,” I told her, “and the indentation in the flesh of the finger was very obvious.”

“All right,” she said, “you had me spotted and you’ve got me spotted now. But I need you.”

“How?”

“You had a job to do. You did it. You can help me now.”

“In what way?”

“My Denver lawyer has negotiated a property settlement. It’s not a very good property settlement. If I had the proof that my husband had been playing around and I could put my finger on the girl he’d been playing around with, I could make a lot more money.”

“How much more?”

“A whole lot more.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Talk.”

“I can’t tell you anything that will help you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.”

“You mean because you don’t know, or because of professional ethics?”

“I mean I can’t tell you a thing that will help you.”

She came over close to me, put her hands on my shoulders. “Look, Donald, I admit that I played tag with you on the plane. I wanted to talk with you. I thought perhaps a little sex would win you over and bring you into my camp.

“Now then, you’ve avoided me and left me in a spot where I hold a whole fistful of cards that I think are trumps, but I can’t establish that they are trumps without your help.

“You’re young. You’re working for money. You could have lots of money.”

I shook my head.

“And,” she said seductively, “you could go places — the Italian Riviera, the Alps, round-the-world cruises, and you could have — you could have your choice of women.”

She was standing close to me now. “You know what I mean, Donald? Your choice.”

“Wouldn’t that be rather hard to explain?” I asked.

“Phooey on explanations,” she said. “We’d make a settlement. I’d get a divorce, and you and I could be on a boat within forty-eight hours. We could go anywhere you wanted — do anything you wanted — anything.

“Donald, please, please.”

Her arms were around my neck now. “You can’t be just a thinking machine. You have to be a human, Donald, and I’m human, too, and from the minute I saw you I liked you — fell for you.

“I want—”

The sound which came from the closet was a combination of a suppressed sneeze and a strangled cough. It sounded like a thunderclap.

Minerva Badger jumped away from me as though I’d suddenly turned red hot. She gained the door to the closet in four swift strides and jerked it open.

Elsie Brand was seated there holding a handkerchief to her mouth, her eyes wide and glassy, the tape recorder running, the shorthand book in her lap filled with pothooks.

“And what, may I ask, is the meaning of this?” Minerva Badger demanded.

I had time only to flash Elsie one quick wink. “My God,” I said, “my wife!”

“Your wife!” Minerva shouted.

“Good heavens, Elsie,” I said, “how in the world did you get here and how long have you been here?”

Again I handed her a wink.

Elsie did her best to carry off the part. She got to her feet and said indignantly, “Long enough. I’d heard you were carrying on with a rich divorcee in Las Vegas.”

She reached over, put the tape recorder into high-speed reverse, rewound the tape, picked the spool off the spindle, put it in her purse, picked up her shorthand book, tucked her chin in the air, marched right through the apartment and out the front door.

Minerva stood looking at me with consternation all over her face. “You never told me you were married,” she said.

“You didn’t ask me,” I told her, “You were the fortuneteller. You were looking in my hand. Couldn’t you tell?”

“Don’t crack smart with me, Donald Lam. I didn’t know you were married.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“What’s she going to do with that tape recording?” she asked.

“Probably sue me for divorce and name you as co-respondent.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she said.

“It depends on what’s on that tape recorder and what Elsie says about the tone of your voice. It probably sounded rather seductive to a jealous wife sitting in a closet listening — getting evidence for divorce case.”

“Good Lord,” Minerva said, “of all the damned messes.”

She walked over to the telephone, dialed a number and said into the telephone, “Marvin... I guess you’d better get down here to this motel I told you about. I seem to have walked into a trap of some kind.”

She looked up from the instrument to glower at me and said, “At least I’m beginning to think it was a trap — No,” she said into the telephone, “I want you to come down here — that’s right — right away.”

She hung up the telephone.

She looked at me and said, “All right, your wife is gone, the tape recorder is gone. I’ll put it on the line. There’s evidence that exists that my husband was unfaithful. I want that evidence.”

“How do you know it exists?”

“I... I know.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“I believe there’s tangible evidence.”

Peremptory knuckles sounded in a preliminary knock on the door and then the door was shoved open.

Frank Sellers stood on the threshold. “All right, Pint Size,” he said, “let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Los Angeles... Who’s the dame?”

“Mrs. Badger,” I said, “may I present my warm, personal friend, Sergeant Frank Sellers of the Los Angeles police.”

She froze up. “Indeed,” she said, then nodded very distantly. “Good morning, Sergeant Sellers.”

Sellers looked her over, said, “I’d like to talk with you, Mrs. Badger.”

“Her attorney is on his way down here,” I said. “I think you’ve met the attorney. His name is Fowler. I believe it’s Marvin Estep Fowler.”

Sellers made some remark under his breath.

Minerva Badger stood looking at Sellers, apparently unable to take her eyes off him.

Sellers said, “Come on, Pint Size, we’re leaving quick.”

“How?”

“Charter plane, a fast one.”

“Where?” I asked. “To Denver?”

He shook his head. “Los Angeles.” He shifted the cigar in his mouth and said, “I’m going to get to the bottom of this if it takes the whole police force to do it. There’s something fishy about this and I don’t like it. This Tessie the Tumbler may be sitting pretty with an attorney to represent her in Las Vegas, but unless she gives me the information I want, she’s going to be extradited to California to face a couple of criminal conspiracy warrants there, and I think I’m going to have the goods on her.”

I looked at Minerva. There was, for a moment, sheer panic in her eyes, then she looked desperately at her wrist watch.

I did some thinking, said to Sellers, “Want to wait until after the attorney gets here, or go now?”

“We go now,” Sellers said. “Do you get it? Now.”

We went.

I had thought Sellers was planning to give me a third degree on the plane, but he sat there chewing on his cigar saying nothing.

“What’s the idea?” I asked, when we looked down at the Los Angeles airport.

“I’m getting back in my own bailiwick,” he said. “Denver can come to me and Las Vegas can come to me. I don’t need to go to them.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know yet, Pint Size,” he said. “I know that I want you, but I don’t know just how I’m going to get at you right now. Maybe you’re a friend. That is, maybe you want to act friendly. If you do, I’ll give you a break. Maybe you want to play smart aleck. If you do, it’s going to be too bad. And,” he added, taking the cigar from his mouth and poking the end at me in little forceful gestures, “maybe you tried to mastermind this whole damned business, and if you did it’s going to be just awfully too bad. You’re going to lose a lot more than your license. You’re going to lose your liberty.”

“And what do I do now, consider myself in custody?”

“I want to know where you are every five minutes,” Sellers said. “Go on to your apartment. Go to your office. Go see your best girl. Have a good dinner, go to bed if you want to, but be where I can put my hand on you at five minutes’ notice. And if you think I’m kidding, just try to duck out and see what happens. I’ll have you where I can put my hand on you any time, day or night.”

I said, “Okay, I’ll be at my apartment,” and went home.

I called the Las Vegas motel and asked for Elsie. She had checked out. I called Las Vegas and asked for Minerva Badger. Her phone didn’t answer. I called Denver, Colorado, and tried to get Alting Badger. I was advised he was unavailable.

I said that I would talk with Mellie Belden.

After a moment, her voice came on the line — cool, calm, competent, “May I take a message?” she asked. “This is Mr. Badger’s secretary.”

“You may take a message,” I said. “Tell Badger not to get panic-stricken, to sit tight and continue to be unavailable.”

“I take it this is Mr. Lain talking?”

“That’s right.”

“He’s told me about you,” she said. “Thank you. I’ll see that the message is delivered — if it’s at all possible.”

I took a bath, thought some of ringing the office, decided against it, rang up the airport, asked about Las Vegas schedules, found that there were several planes which had left shortly after I had left with Sellers in his chartered plane.

I rang Elsie Brand’s apartment.

No answer.

I put on clean clothes, mixed myself a drink, waited.

A gentle knock sounded on the door.

I opened it.

Elsie Brand was on the threshold.

“Oh, Donald,” she asked, “Donald, are you all right?”

“So far,” I told her, “I’m all right.”

She came rushing into the apartment and threw her arms around me. “Donald, I’m so glad, so terribly, terribly glad. I was afraid that you’d be... well, in trouble.”

“I am in trouble.”

She laughed and said, “I meant in jail.”

“I’m not in jail,” I said, and then added significantly, “yet.”

“Oh, Donald, you—”

The door which had been left ajar was pushed open, and Minerva Badger stood on the threshold.

She looked at Elsie and said, “I was on the same plane with you, Mrs. Lam, but you didn’t know it. You were in tourist. I was in the first class section.”

She seated herself and said, “All right, what are we going to do about it — but I want to assure you of this much, Mrs. Lam, I had no idea that Donald was married.”

I slipped an arm around Elsie’s waist and said, “I think Elsie is forgiving me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s forgiving you. You tried to buy me with sex.”

“With sex and money,” Minerva Badger said. “Those are the two things I happen to have the most of at the moment.”

I drew Elsie close to me, “Don’t mind her, honey,” I said. “She’s being a little coarse. I never did fall for her.”

“All right,” Minerva went on, “so now we find out the guy is married. It’s okay with me. We’ll leave the sex out of it and start talking money.”

“How much money?” I asked, holding Elsie in my arms so that Minerva couldn’t see her face.

“Lot’s of money,” she said, “provided I get what I want.”

“And what do you want?”

“Let’s not mince words. A nasty little blackmailer named Deering Canby had evidence, lots of evidence. He unfortunately died very suddenly and no one has been able to find the evidence.”

“No one?” I asked.

“No one,” she said firmly. “I retained a Denver attorney and Mr. Canby’s apartment was searched, ostensibly to look for a will, but my attorney had permission from Canby’s heirs to go through the apartment with a fine-tooth comb. He did it. There wasn’t a smell of what we wanted. However, there was enough stuff to show that Canby was a professional blackmailer... Now then, that opens up interesting possibilities.”

“Are you sure he had the stuff you wanted, this man, Canby?” I asked.

“Of course I’m sure.”

The door was suddenly pushed open. Sergeant Frank Sellers, accompanied by Bertha Cool, barged into the room.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sellers said. “We’ve got in on a family party.”

“Elsie,” Bertha screamed. “What are you doing here?”

Elsie broke away from my arm hastily, with flaming cheeks.

“You didn’t show up at the office,” Bertha said. “I should have known that you were lolligagging around with Donald somewhere. Sending me on wild-goose chases to Nevada!”

Minerva’s face showed a whole series of expressions.

“Who’s the Jane?” Bertha asked.

“Minerva Badger,” I said. “Las Vegas for the purpose of establishing a six weeks’ residence. More recently of Denver, Colorado.”

Sellers said, “All right, Pint Size, I’ve got Bertha Cool with me now and this is it. This is the showdown. Put your cards right out on the table.”

I said, “Okay, I will.”

“Not until I’ve put some of mine on the table,” Minerva Badger said bitterly. “You want evidence that will send this guy to jail and I’ve got it. And for your information I can be had. All I need is a little co-operation.”

Sellers looked at her with interest.

“And for your information,” I said to Sellers, “this woman murdered Deering L. Canby.”

“What?” Sellers exclaimed.

I said, “Canby had some evidence that he wanted to peddle to the highest bidder. He gave Badger the first crack at it. He told him not to be over two minutes late. That meant that he must have had a second appointment provided he and Badger couldn’t come to terms.

“The second appointment was with Minerva Badger here.

“She kept her appointment. She found him groggy, apparently about half drunk. It was a swell opportunity for her to get what she wanted without paying a red dime. She carries a little phial of chloral hydrate in her purse — at one time she was a nurse.

“She fed the guy knockout drops.

“Things had been happening she didn’t know about. The knockout drops were cumulative. He fell over dead. She searched him carefully, couldn’t find the evidence she wanted, couldn’t even find the keys to his apartment. She was baffled. She slipped out of the picture back to Las Vegas and consulted with her attorney.”

There was a sudden, heavy pounding of knuckles on the door, then almost immediately the knob turned, the door opened and Marvin Estep Fowler stood on the threshold. “I got here as soon as I could, Minerva,” he said. “I...” He broke off as he saw the number of people in the room and the tense, strained attitudes.

“And what are you doing here?” Sellers asked Fowler.

“I’m here representing my client, Mrs. Alting L. Badger. And I’d like to know what this is all about.”

“What do you mean you’re representing her?” Sellers asked.

“I’m representing her as an attorney.”

“The hell you are,” Sellers said. “You’re an attorney in Nevada. I didn’t know that the Nevada state line ran into the city of Los Angeles. You ever been admitted to practice law in California?”

“I can advise my client.”

“Just go ahead,” Sellers said, “and I’ll pinch you for practicing law without a license, impersonating an officer of the court and violating the Business and Professional Code.”

I took advantage of the strained silence and said, “Canby was a blackmailer. He had information that he wanted to sell. You know what he had in his mind as well as I do. He was selling it to the highest bidder. He had Badger come first; his wife was to come second. Canby was too smart to have the stuff in his possession, but Minerva here thought he had it in his possession. She slipped him the chloral hydrate and—”

“I’m going to sue you for slander and defamation of character,” Fowler said.

I said to Sellers, “She’s got a little bottle of chloral hydrate in her purse right now. She was planning to slip me a Mickey Finn if she couldn’t do business with me.”

Sellers reached for the purse.

“Don’t you touch that purse,” Fowler warned, pointing a finger at him. “You have no reasonable grounds for search. All you have is the slanderous, defamatory statement of this young man here.”

Sellers hesitated.

I said, “Do you have any objection if we look in your purse, Mrs. Badger?”

“I most certainly do,” she said. “In fact, I’m going to get out of here.”

“Not until I’ve had a chance to question you,” Sellers said.

He turned to Fowler. “But you can go. You’re not doing any good here. You can’t do any good. You can’t practice law in California. You’re out of your territory. As you so aptly pointed out to me, the logical thing would have been to have stopped in, explained the circumstances to some resident Los Angeles attorney and had him accompany you.”

“Don’t tell me how to practice law.”

“I’m telling you how I’ll practice law,” Sellers said. “Get out!”

“What do you mean?”

“Just two words,” Sellers said, advancing belligerently, “get out!”

“My client sent for me.”

“I’ll make it one word,” Sellers said. “Out.”

Fowler backed toward the door, “Now look,” he said, “you can’t do this, you can’t—”

“The hell I can’t,” Sellers said. He turned to me, “You want him out, Pint Size? — It’s your apartment.”

I nodded.

Sellers opened the door with his left hand, bunched a fistful of Fowler’s shirt and necktie in his right hand and heaved.

Fowler went out of the door backwards so fast he slammed against the wall on the other side of the hall.

Sellers kicked the door shut and dusted his hands. “I’d like to look in your purse,” he said to Minerva.

“You can go straight to hell,” she said. “I’m going out.”

“Remember,” I told her, “Elsie has a tape recording of your conversation and—”

“You rat,” she said, and swung her hand with the purse as hard as she could swing it.

A rough spot in the catch scratched down the side of my cheek and drew blood.

I said to Sellers, “Arrest her.”

“What for?” Sellers asked.

“Assault and battery,” I said. “Actually I think that purse is a deadly weapon.”

“You going to prosecute?” he asked.

“It gives you a good excuse to take her to headquarters,” I said, “and once you’ve got her down there you have to remove all personal property from her purse and give her a receipt.”

A slow smile spread over Seller’s features.

She took one look at him, then whirled and said, “Don’t you dare put your hands on me, you big brute.”

“Deputize me, Frank,” Bertha said.

“You’re deputized,” Sellers said.

Bertha reached out one long, meaty arm as heavy as the average leg, clamped it around the back of Minerva Badger’s dress and slammed her across the room.

Bertha came waddling after her like a Japanese wrestler, head forward, arms out.

Minerva swung the purse again. Bertha blocked it. The catch came open. The contents were strewn all over the rug.

Bertha threw her arms around Minerva, pinioned her by expertly twisting her wrists around behind her back. “Got any handcuffs, Frank?” she asked.

Sellers hesitated a moment.

“I’m a deputy,” Bertha said. “She resisted arrest. Isn’t it a crime to resist an officer in the performance of his duties?”

Sellers gave her the handcuffs.

I was down on my hands and knees looking around on the rug.

“Here it is,” I said, pointing to a small vial. “Chloral hydrate, otherwise known as knockout drops.”

Bertha slammed Minerva down into a chair. “Wait there for the paddy wagon,” she said.

“You’re hurting!” Minerva screamed. “Those handcuffs are breaking the bones in my wrists.”

“Quit trying to jerk loose,” Bertha said. “That makes them bite all the deeper. Sit there and shut up.”

Sellers looked at me. “This man, Canby, was killed by a dose of chloral hydrate?”

“That’s what the autopsy surgeon says.”

A slow grin spread over Sellers’ countenance. “I guess it isn’t going to hurt anything if the California cops solve a Colorado killing.”

“Now listen,” Minerva said, “let’s talk sense. You’re talking about murder. I didn’t give him enough to hurt him. All I gave him was a dose that would knock him out for about an hour. You can’t pin a murder rap on that.”

“Perhaps not,” I said, “but we can sure pin a manslaughter rap. And that isn’t going to help your divorce case any.”

Sellers had been doing a lot of thinking. He nodded to Bertha. “You’re still a deputy,” he said. “Get her up out of there; let’s go before some smart lawyer gets a writ.”