The Wrong Gun

17

Mark Taylor threaded his way through the tables across the dining room to the far corner where Steve Winslow and Tracy Garvin stood. Steve had given him the high sign, otherwise Mark would have been perfectly happy to remain at his table and have dessert. Unable to resist, he had scooped up the rich wedge of chocolate layer cake, and was munching on it as he went.

Taylor walked up to them, chewed twice, swallowed and said, “What’s up?”

“I hate to interrupt your dinner,” Steve said, “but we have this murder on our hands.”

“Don’t be a grouse,” Taylor said. “If we’re stuck here, we should eat. Didn’t you eat?”

“We’ve been interviewing witnesses,” Tracy said.

“No excuse for not eating. I bet I interviewed more than both of you combined.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve said.

Taylor shrugged. “Hey, you said I could tell ’em who I am. I sat down at a crowded table, told ’em I was a private detective, and people fell all over themselves wanting to talk to me. I not only got those people, I had them runnin’ around grabbin’ people and bringin’ ’em over. Didn’t you see me?”

“I saw you stuffing your face.”

“Hey, if you didn’t eat, you got no one to blame but yourself.”

Taylor shoved the last bit of cake in his mouth, licked his fingers, then reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out his notebook. “I got names, addresses, stories, what have you. I had dinner and I still talked to more people than you.”

“So what’d you learn?”

“The prime rib is fabulous. Timberlaine may be a murderer, but the man sets a hell of a table.”

“Mark.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” Taylor flipped open his notebook. “I got two kinds of people here. People with the check are people who have already been interrogated by the police. People without the check haven’t.”

“What have you got?”

“Nothing helpful. At least, nothing I know that’s helpful. When I get it all typed up you can go over it. For right now, there’s nothing that jumps out and grabs you. I got everybody’s alibi and they’re all pretty much the same. After the auction, they either went out on the patio where there was a bar set up, or they went up to their room, or they just hung out in the grand ballroom. Usually a combination of the three.

“Now, as far as Timberlaine’s concerned, practically everyone recalls seein’ him stalk out of the auction. No one remembers seein’ him between that time and the time you guys found the body.” Taylor winced. “Gee, that sounds bad, doesn’t it? Maybe I should just say, the time the body was found.”

“Let’s not get hung up on semantics, Mark.”

“Right. Or legalities, technicalities, or whatever. Anyway, no one remembers seein’ him.

“Now, Potter, it’s a different story. Most people can’t remember seein’ him at the auction at all. Those that do remember, aren’t that sure about it. And none of ’em saw him leave. So the bottom line is, I can’t prove he was even there.”

Steve frowned.

“What about you?” Taylor said. “You got a definite eyewitness?”

Tracy smiled. “We were just talking about it. We were hoping you would.”

“Oh?”

“That’s why we called you over,” Steve said. “We can’t find anyone either.”

“Well, neither can I. Can I go back now? They’re serving coffee.”

“Jesus, Mark.”

“Well, it’s probably good coffee, not the lousy shit you get on the corner.”

“You mind giving me the rest of your report first?”

“That’s basically it. Everyone saw Timberlaine, no one saw Potter and no one went near the gun room at any time after the auction.”

“How about before the auction?”

“Huh?”

“Well, if no one saw Potter at the auction, he could have been shot before it.”

Taylor’s face fell. “Shit, Steve. Give me a break. Besides, I got people thought they saw him at the auction.”

“I know. Depending on when they fix the time of death, those people may or may not be important.”

Melvin Burdett pushed his way past the officer at the door, looked around the dining room, spotted them and bustled over.

“They just interrogated me,” Burdett said. “That lieutenant-what’s his name?”

“Sanders.”

“That’s the one. I don’t like him. The man is obnoxious.”

Steve kept a straight face. “Oh?” he said.

“His manner’s insulting. As if he didn’t believe you.”

“What did he ask you?”

“If I saw Potter, and if Potter tipped me off.”

“Tipped you off?”

“To the gun. To the damn stupid gun. To the cavalry piece.”

“He wanted to know if Potter tipped you off about the gun?”

“Yeah. To the fact Russ was going to bid.”

“What did you tell him?”

“What do you think I told him? I said no way. Potter’s a professional. No pro would do a thing like that.”

“Potter didn’t tip you off?”

“I just said he didn’t.”

“Then how’d you know Timberlaine was going to bid on the gun?”

Burdett made a face. “Give me a break. A child of four knew Russ was going to bid on the gun.”

“Is that what you told Sanders?”

“Sure I did. And the son of a bitch doesn’t believe me.”

“What else did he ask you?”

“Did I see Potter at the auction.”

“Did you?”

“No. And he doesn’t believe that either. He says if I bought rare guns, I’d want Potter to check ’em out.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The man’s a moron. You don’t check out guns after you bid on ’em. You check ’em out before. I mean, the guy may not know anything about guns, but he’s a cop, he should know how to think. What, he thinks I buy a gun and then have someone check it out to see what I bought?”

“So you didn’t see Potter at the auction?”

“No.”

“You didn’t notice if he was there?”

“Why should I? It’s got nothing to do with me.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No.”

“Did he ask you if you saw Timberlaine leave the auction?”

“Of course he did.”

“And did you?”

“Of course I did. I just bought the gun, of course I’m going to look to see how he took it.”

“You surprised when he stormed out?”

“Not at all. Russ has a temper. He hates to lose.”

“What about you?”

“What?”

“Do you hate to lose?”

Burdett smiled. “Are you kidding? Everyone hates to lose. Now look, you gotta do something.”

“What?” Steve said.

“You’re Timberlaine’s lawyer, right? Well, this cop, this lieutenant’s all screwed up, thinks Russ did it. Ridiculous. Russ wouldn’t hurt a fly. Now, I hate to say this about our host, but the man’s a little naive, you know? Like thinking I wouldn’t know he wanted that gun. Anyway, this cop’s talking like he thinks Russ did it, and Russ isn’t going to believe that could happen to him, and he’s apt to walk into something, you know?”

“I sure do.”

“So you gotta shut him up before he hurts himself.”

“You like to suggest how?”

Burdett grinned. “That’s a problem, isn’t it? Russ doesn’t take kindly to suggestions. So how the hell you gonna protect him?”

“Do you think Timberlaine killed Potter?”

“Of course not.”

“Fine,” Steve said. “Then someone else did. All I gotta do is find out who.”

“How you gonna do that?”

“By asking questions. Tell me, what did you do from the time the auction was over to the time the body was found.”

Burdett grinned. “Right, right. You mean I’m a suspect. O.K., let’s see. I went up on stage, verified my purchases and wrote checks.”

“You take possession of the guns you bought?”

Burdett shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Russ’s rules. Dealers retain possession of the guns sold at auction until such time as the purchasers leave.”

“Why is that?”

“Security reasons. Russ doesn’t want to be liable for a guest having a gun stolen from his room. Dealers retain possession and the collections are locked in the safe.”

“What safe?”

“This huge safe in Timberlaine’s office. My guns are there now.”

“O.K.,” Steve said. “So you went up on stage, wrote checks for the guns and then what?”

“Went out on the patio and had a drink. They had a bar set up on one end, you know. So I had a drink. I looked around for Russ, didn’t see him. So I stayed on the patio for a while, talking to people about the auction. Then I went to my room to freshen up and change for dinner. I was still there when I heard the commotion and the police cars arrived.”

“I see,” Steve said. “And you hadn’t seen Timberlaine or Potter since the end of the auction?”

“That’s right.”

“And Potter never tipped you off about the gun?”

“That’s right.”

“And last night, when you came by Timberlaine’s table, you told Potter you wanted to talk to him after dinner?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you?”

“Sure.”

“What about?”

“What do you think? I had him check out some guns.”

“Including the cavalry piece?”

“Of course.”

“Was that the only gun you had him check out?”

“No, I had him do a whole bunch.”

“But you did ask him about the cavalry piece?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You asked him specifically to check out that gun?”

“Yes, I did.”

“The lieutenant ask you that?”

“What?”

“About talking to Potter last night? Asking about the gun?”

“Yeah, he did. Why?”

“He bring it up, or you did?”

“He did, of course. I wasn’t volunteering anything. Why?”

“If he asked about it, it means he heard it from someone else.”

“Of course.” Burdett said, impatiently. “That’s obvious. All right, look. I’ve answered your questions. Now you answer mine. What are you going to do for Russ?”

Steve looked at Burdett, pursed his lips. “You want an honest answer?”

Burdett frowned. “What, are you nuts? Of course I do.”

Steve shook his head. “Then, frankly, Mr. Burdett, I haven’t the faintest idea.”