You’re Lonely When You’re Dead

I

She stared at me blankly for perhaps half a second, then recognition jumped into her eyes and she caught her breath sharply, the way you catch your breath when a ghost appears at the bottom of your bed. But she didn’t lose her presence of mind. She took two quick steps back and tried to slam the door, but I shot out my foot, blocked the door open and gave it a hard shove with my shoulder. She went staggering back as I swept into the room, spun on her heel and made a dive for another door at the far end of the room. I caught up with her before she reached the door, grabbed her wrist and swung her around to face me.

‘Take it easy,’ I said. ‘I want to talk to you.’

She wrenched free and backed away. Her breasts rose and fell under the white silk of her blouse, her eyes glittered and her face was the colour of old ivory. She looked nothing like the seductive charmer who had tried so hard to get me to talk the previous night. Now she looked older and harder and a little shop soiled: an ex-follies girl who had kicked around and had been kicked around, who had grown tired of shoving men off, and because she didn’t shove anymore had lost the freshness and the charm that made her type of beauty mean something; and on top of all that she looked scared. Her wide grey eyes were full of terror.

‘Get out!’ she said in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

The room we were in was a bedroom: a nice room; not the kind of room you’d expect to find on the top floor of a night club. The carpet was thick and easy to the feet The bed looked comfortable. The drapes matched the carpet, and the carpet matched the quilted walls. The dressing table was loaded with bottles and powders and perfumes and atomizers. There were a number of lamps with parchment shades scattered about the room to give a restful even illumination. A girl — even a millionaire’s wife — could be happy in such a room, but Anita Cerf didn’t look happy. She looked like the victim of a railroad accident coming out of a smashed-up coach.

‘I’ve been looking all over for you,’ I said. ‘I have some questions to ask you, Mrs. Cerf.’

‘Get out!’ She pointed to the door with a finger that shook like the finger of an old woman with palsy. ‘I’m not going to answer questions! I’m not going to listen to you!’

‘What about the necklace? Don’t you want it?’

She reeled back on her heels as if I had hit her, and her hand flew to her mouth.

‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘Yes, you do. The necklace you gave Dana Lewis. Why did you give it to her?’

She darted across the room and wrenched open a drawer of the dressing-table. I had seen enough movies to guess what she was after, and arrived at her side as she snatched a .25 automatic from the drawer. My hand clamped down on hers as she was bringing up the gun. I could feel her fingers undermine striving to pull back the safety catch, and I exerted pressure, crushing her fingers against the sides of the gun.

‘Drop it!’ I said. ‘Stop acting like a fool!’

She rammed her elbow into my chest and fell against me, making me stagger. I caught hold of her round her waist and held her to me. It was like trying to hold a wild cat, and she fought with the desperation of terror. I had all I could do to hold her. We went staggering and wrestling across the room.

‘Cut it out or you’ll get hurt!’ I exclaimed as she tried to butt me under the chin.

She hit me in the face, using her fist like a hammer, and hacked at my shin with the heel of her shoe. She was panting, and I could feel the muscles in her body twitching. As she tried to hit me again, I twisted her arm, forcing her to turn her back on me, and pushed up her hand towards her shoulder blades. She bent over, gasping. I put on more pressure, and her fingers relaxed hold of the gun. It dropped to the carpet and I kicked it under the bed.

‘You’re breaking my arm,’ she moaned, and flopped down on her knees.

I let go of her wrist, caught her by her elbows and lifted her to her feet, steadying her. Then I stepped away from her.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Cerf,’ I said, knowing I didn’t sound sorry at all. ‘Let’s cut out the fighting and talk. Why did you give Dana Lewis your necklace?’

‘I didn’t give it to her,’ she said, holding her wrist and glaring at me. ‘You’ve nearly broken my arm.’

‘You went with her to her apartment. You were wearing the necklace when you went in. You weren’t wearing it when you came out. It was found in the room. You gave it to her? Why?’

‘I tell you I didn’t!’

‘You were seen,’ I told her. ‘You can either tell me or the police. Please yourself — but make up your mind.’

She made up her mind by a sudden dive for the bed. She dropped on hands and knees and began scrabbling wildly for the gun; but it was well out of reach.

I went over to her and pulled her to her feet. She started fighting again, but I was tired of her by now and slung her on the bed hard enough to drive the breath out of her. She lay flat, her chest arched, her arms stretched wide on the green coverlet.

‘Why did you give it to her?’ I repeated, standing over her.

‘I didn’t!’ she panted. ‘The necklace was stolen! I didn’t give it to her.’

“Why did you take a taxi and go out to East Beach when you left her?’

She struggled up. Her face was stiff with fear.

‘I don’t know what you are talking about. I didn’t go to East Beach.’

You were there when she was shot. Did you shoot her?’

‘I wasn’t. I was never there! Get out! I won’t listen to you Get out!’

The odd thing was all the time she was scared she might be overheard And her terror worried me. She wasn’t frightened of me. But she was frightened of what I might say. Every time I got set to speak I saw her stiffen the way you stiffen when the dentist begins to drill close to a nerve.

‘You don’t know anything, do you?’ I said. ‘Then why are you hiding? Why don’t you go home? Does Cerf know you are here? Come on: it’s time you tallied!’

She half-lay, half-sat on the bed, flinching away from me. She began to say something, but the mumble died suddenly and she stiffened, and her eyes opened very wide and a resigned look of terror came into her face that wasn’t pleasant to see.

I didn’t hear the door open: the door at the far end of the room. I didn’t hear anyone come in. But I caught a movement reflected in the big mirror in the wardrobe and I turned slowly.

Ralph Bannister stood in the doorway, his hand holding the doorknob: a man of middle height, square, broad shoulders, in a well-fitting tuxedo. He had a lot of grey-black hair taken straight back off a wide, high forehead. His eyes were small and deep set, and there were heavy dark bags under them which gave him a permanently tired look; as if he got very little sleep. His mouth was pale and thin, and his skin was without colour. I had seen him a few times in the better restaurants downtown, but I had never spoken to him, and I didn’t think he had ever noticed me. He wasn’t the kind of man to notice people, nor could you imagine him to be the owner of a gaudy nighterie like L’Etoile. He looked more like a successful criminal lawyer or maybe a specialist in some obscure disease.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Anita’s head turn slowly until she was looking at Bannister, and I saw her fists clench and her knuckles turn white.

He paid her no attention. His small, expressionless eyes ran over me, and his stillness managed to create a sharp atmosphere of menace.

‘What do you know about the necklace?’ he asked. His voice subdued and quiet, like a churchwarden apologizing for giving you a draughty pew.

‘You want to keep out of this,’ I said. ‘Unless you’re interested in murder.’

‘Where is the necklace?’ he asked.

‘Under lock and key. Did she tell you she’s mixed up in murder? Keeping her here makes you an accessory. But maybe a little thing like that doesn’t bother you.’

He turned his expressionless eyes to Anita.

‘Is this the man you were telling me about?’

She nodded, rigid with terror. The veins in her neck stood out like knotted cords.

He turned back to me.

‘How did you get in here?’

I wasn’t going to get Gail Bolus into trouble if I could help it, so I said, ‘I walked in — what’s to stop me?’

His small dark eyes examined my face, shifted away. His pale mouth tightened as he moved across the room. All his movements were leisurely, like the movements of a man with a bad heart. He touched the bellpush in the wall, then moved away to take up a position in the middle of the room.

I thought of the .25 under the bed. I felt a sudden need for it, but unless I went down on hands and knees and crawled half under the bed there was no way of getting it. I didn’t think Bannister, for all his languid airs, would stand by passively while I was crawling under the bed. I decided regretfully to wait and see what happened. I didn’t have to wait long. The door jerked open and Gates came in. He took one look at me and a gun jumped into his hand.

Bannister said, ‘How did he get in here?’

Gates moved into the room. There was a ferocious look of rage on his thin, bony face.

‘Gail Bolus brought him.’ Rage made his voice unsteady.

Flat feet came thumping along the corridor and Shannon appeared in the doorway. His eyes jumped from Bannister to me and back to Bannister again. I could see the great lumpy muscles in his shoulders suddenly form into knots under his ill-fitting tuxedo.

‘Get her,’ Bannister said.

Shannon went quickly away down the corridor, making a thudding noise like a man walking on stilts.

Bannister waved a hand at Anita.

‘Go into the other room.’

She got off the bed.

‘I don’t know what he’s talking about,’ she said in a cold, tight voice. ‘lie’s lying. He’s trying to get me into trouble.’

Bannister looked at her the way you might look at a dead cat you’ve found lying in the gutter.

‘Go into the other room,’ he said in his churchwarden voice.

She went.

As the door clicked shut Bannister went on to Gates. ‘I said no one was to come up here. One more slip like this and you’re through. You and Shannon.’

Gates didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at Bannister. His beady, black eyes were fixed on me, and he looked as if he could eat me.

‘Why don’t you use your head and keep out of this?’ I said to Bannister. ‘Turn Mrs. Cerf over to me and you’ll hear no more about it.’

He eyed me over and sat down in the only armchair in the room. His movements were like those of an old man who is stiff in the joints and very tired.

‘It’s not going to be as easy as that,’ he said.

Shannon’s flat feet came thumping along the corridor. The door swung open and Miss Bolus came in. Shannon followed her in, pushed the door shut and set his back against it.

Miss Bolus looked calm and indifferent. Her chinky eyes took in the scene. They shifted from Gates and his gun to me, to Bannister and to me again.

‘Hello,’ she said, brightly. ‘How did you get up here, and what’s the idea of the gun?’

Bannister pointed a long white finger at me.

‘Did you bring him here?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said, and her eyebrows went up. ‘Don’t you want custom?’

‘Not his, nor yours. I always thought you’d turn out to be a trouble maker.’

‘How nice!’ She laughed. ‘I’m so glad you’re not disappointed. But do stop acting like Adolphe Menjou and tell your cheap bouncer to put away his gun.’ She looked over at me. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here. They can’t stop us.’

It was a brave little speech, but it didn’t inspire me with a lot of confidence. Up to now I hadn’t moved a fraction of an inch. I didn’t like the hungry, ferocious expression in Gates’s eyes. I had a feeling that if I gave him the slightest opportunity he would start spraying lead.

‘Shoot if he moves,’ Bannister said to Gates, and made a sign to Shannon: a flicking movement with his wrist.

Shannon sidled up to Miss Bolus, tapped her on her bare shoulder. As she jerked away and turned angrily, he hit her on the side of the jaw. It was a punch that would have put Joe Louis on his back. Miss Bolus went across the room as if she had been caught up by the blast of an exploding bomb. She smashed into the dressing table. One limp arm scattered the bottles and powders with a crash of glass to the floor. The dressing table rocked and shot away from her, leaving her lying amid broken bottles; a trickle of blood ran down her face from a cut above her eye. She lay still, her eyes half-open, motionless.

All this happened in a second or so. Gates, who hadn’t seen Bannister’s signal, was startled and shifted his eyes from me to Miss Bolus.

I sprang at him, my right hand smashing down on his wrist. The gun jumped out of his hand and went sliding across the carpet to land up at Bannister’s feet.

Gates let out a startled oath, clutched at his wrist and staggered forward. I socked him in the face and sent him reeling across the room as Shannon closed in on me. He hit me in the body with his left. It was like being hit with the buffer of a train. I ducked under the right cross that came whistling through the air and slammed a couple of quick ones into a body that felt like a sack of concrete. Shannon grunted and gave ground. I jumped out of range as Gates came staggering across the room at me. I tapped him on the bridge of his nose and then sank a hard one into his midriff-lie went down on hands and knees. Shannon came charging in and I spun round a fraction late. I managed to duck under his left, but walked into a right hook that came up from the floor. A blinding flash of light exploded before my eyes and I went down into a pit that had no bottom.

II

A single, naked electric-light bulb hung from a ceiling that had big patches of damp on it. It’s hard, bright light cast sharp etched shadows on the brick wall opposite me: the shadows of two men playing cards on an upturned packing case.

I closed my eyes against the light and tried to remember what had happened. The scene in the bedroom came back bit by bit. I wondered where Miss Bolus was. I opened my eyes and without turning my head looked around the room. As far as I could see the room was big: some kind of cellar, and full of packing cases. There were no windows, and by the damp ceiling and the sweating walls I guessed it was well underground. I turned my attention to the two shadows on the opposite wall: Shannon and Gates. The smoke from their cigarettes moved up the wall in spirals. Gates was shuffling the cards, and as I watched, he began to deal, his hand flicking the cards across the packing case so quickly that the shadows of his hand and the cards falling on the packing case were moving blurs on the wall.

I was lying on the bare springs of a creaky iron bedstead. They hadn’t bothered to tie me, and by now the effects of Shannon’s punch were wearing off. But I didn’t want them to have any warning I was ready to start trouble until my head cleared, so I lay quiet. I thought of Gates and his gun. That was something that had to be risked. If I could put Shannon out of action I felt confident I could handle Gates, but Shannon presented a problem. I would have to hit him no hard enough to put him out. From the scar tissue on his face he had taken plenty of punches in his time, and I didn’t kid myself I could hit him any harder than he had been hit before.

Then suddenly, as if he had picked up my thought waves, Gates said, ‘It’s about time this punk came to. The boss wants to talk to him.’

‘When I hit them, they stay hit,’ Shannon said in a complacent growl. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ A sneer crept into his voice. ‘I thought you liked losing your dough.’

I turned my head slowly. They were sitting about three yards from me to the rear of the head of the bed. I didn’t expect them to be that close: the shadows were deceptive.

My movement attracted Gates’s attention. He swung round as I put my one hand on the springs to give me a lever for my spring and his gun swung up and on me.

‘Don’t try anything funny,’ he said in his grating voice. ‘Or it’ll be too bad for you.’

I looked at him and then at Shannon, who had put down his cards and was easing the great ropey muscles in his shoulders.

‘Better tell the boss,’ Gates said, without taking his eyes off me. ‘I’ll watch him.’

Shannon got up, gave me a hard scowl and went pounding across the concrete floor to a door at the far end of the cellar.

‘What’s happened to Gail Bolus?’ I asked and touched the lump on my jaw with tender fingers.

‘You don’t want to worry about her,’ Gates said. ‘It’s you you want to worry about.’

I decided it wouldn’t be safe to jump him. There was a bleak look in his eyes that told me he’d shoot if he had to, and by the way he held the gun I hadn’t a hope that he’d miss.

‘All the same I worry about her,’ I said. ‘I have that kind of a mind. Just where is she?’

‘She’s being taken care of,’ he returned, and a thin smile twisted his lips. ‘You pipe down and take it easy unless you want a smack in the puss with this rod.’

I glanced at my wristwatch. It was twenty minutes to eleven. That meant I had been in the club a little over an hour and a half. I had no idea what was coming, but I didn’t have to be clairvoyant to know whatever it was wouldn’t be pleasant.

Except for an occasional drip of water from a leaky tap in the distant comer of a cellar there was no more sound for several minutes. Gates held the gun on me and smoked. During those minutes he didn’t once look away or give me the slightest hope of surprising him.

The cellar door swung open and Bannister came in, followed by Shannon. Bannister moved across the floor slowly, his hands in his pockets, his eyes distant and cold. He stood at the foot of the bed and looked at me. Shannon moved to the head of the bed. He was close enough for me to smell the odour of stale tobacco and sweat that clung to his clothes.

Bannister’s first words came as a complete surprise to me. He said, ‘I owe you an apology, Mr. Malloy. Why didn’t you tell me who you were? I’m sorry. I mistook you for someone else.’

I swung my legs off the bed and ran my fingers over the side of my face.

‘You didn’t give me much time to introduce myself, did you?’

‘You had no business to be on the third floor. I was misled by Mrs. Cerf. I’m sorry you were manhandled. You’re free to go just as soon as you are ready.’

‘Then how would it be if Weasel-face put away his rod?’ I asked.

Gates snarled at me, but at a sign from Bannister he shoved his gun into its holster and moved away to glower at me from the shadows.

‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘Now, where’s Mrs. Cerf?’

‘She’s gone. I’ve thrown her out.’

‘Where’s she gone to?’

‘I don’t know. I told her to pack and take her car and get out. She left about ten minutes ago.’ He offered me a cigarette from a leather case. ‘I’m interested in the necklace,’ he said. ‘You seem to know something about it.’

I took the cigarette, lit it and blew the smoke at him.

‘Why?’ I asked. ‘What’s the necklace to you?’

‘She promised it to me,’ he said, and pulled thoughtfully at his long, thin nose. ‘That’s why I had her here.’

‘You mean — Mrs. Cerf?’

‘Yes. A couple of nights ago she came to see me. She said she needed protection and was willing to pay for it. She wanted a room in the club for a week. She offered five hundred dollars.’ A bleak little smile came to h s grey face. ‘It wasn’t enough. She was obviously in trouble, and besides she’s married to a millionaire. I finally agreed to give her a room and protection, and in return she promised me the necklace. I’m being quite frank with you, you see. But when she arrived last night she said the necklace had been stolen. I thought she was lying, but I wasn’t sure. She was in a bad way: hysterical and frightened. She wouldn’t say why. I let her stay the night. We were negotiating terms when you interrupted us. The neck ace belongs to me. At least I have the first claim. Where is it?’

‘You wouldn’t want it,’ I said. ‘It was found in the room of a girl who was murdered last night. Dana Lewis. You’ve read about her in the papers. The police don’t know we have it, but they’ll come around to it sooner or later. I should forget about it quick. I should forget about Mrs. Cerf too.’

He drummed on his knee with white fingers, thinking, then he lifted his shoulders in a tired shrug.

‘Who is Dana Lewis?’ he asked. ‘What has she to do with Mrs. Cerf?’

‘Dana was one of my operators. Cerf hired her to watch h’s wife. That’s all I can tell you, and you can keep that to yourself too.’

‘You think she killed this girl?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I don’t know.’

‘Maybe I’d better forget the necklace,’ he said, half to himself.

‘What was frightening her?’ I asked. ‘You saw the way she acted. She was scared of something. What was it?’

‘I don’t know. She was like that all the time she was here Every time she heard someone in the corridor she would start out of her chair. When I told her to get out, there was a look of death in her face. I was glad to see her go.’

‘When she came to you she asked for protection — is that right?’

‘She said a man she knew was pestering her, and she wanted to get out of his way for a while. She said he was dangerous. She wanted to be sure if he came to the club looking for her I’d take care of him That’s why you were pushed around. I thought you were the fella she was scared of. When we went through your pockets and found who you were I guessed she had been lying.’ He stood up. ‘That’s all. I have work to do. Keep clear of this place from now on. I don’t want any more of this kind of trouble.’

I got off the bed.

‘How about Gail Bolus?’ I asked.

‘She’s in your car, waiting for you.’

‘Doesn’t she collect anything for that punch in the jaw? She could sue for assault.’

Bannister gave a tired smile.

‘She could but she won’t. We know her. She’s been cheating the house for weeks. A punch on the jaw will do her good. I hope so anyway.’

‘If that’s how you feel about it,’ I said and shrugged. ‘Which way do I go?’

‘Show him,’ Bannister said to Shannon. ‘And neither the girl nor Malloy is to come here again. Understand?’

I went across to the door, opened it and found myself in a dimly lit passage. Shannon came pounding after mc.

‘Straight ahead,’ he said. ‘The door at the far end takes you to the car park. Now scram out of here, and don’t show your mug here unless you want it flattened.’

I turned and grinned at him.

‘I won’t,’ I said, ‘and don’t you punch any more girls in the jaw. One of them might get annoyed.’

He was beginning a slow, leering smile when I hit him. I didn’t give him a chance to duck. The punch travelled about four inches, and it had all my weight behind it. My fist bounced against the side of his jaw with a crack like the snapping of dry wood. As he began to fall I slammed in another punch to the same spot and stood back to watch him fold up on the floor. Then I grabbed his arm and rolled him over on his back. I had to work fast. Gates might come out to see what the row was about. When I had him on his back, I placed the heel of my shoe squarely on his nose and mouth and put my weight on it.

If there’s one thing that makes me madder than another it’s the louse who hits women.

III

I pulled up outside the gates of the Santa Rosa Estate, and tapped my horn button. It was now a little after one o’clock in the morning, and I wasn’t sure whether there’d be a guard on duty at that hour. There was, and he wasn’t Comrade Mills. The guardhouse door opened and a tall, thickset man in a peaked cap and knee boots, opened one of the gates and came out.

‘Is Mr. Cerf back yet?’ I asked as he threw the beam of a powerful flashlight on me.

‘Well, he’s back, but I don’t know if he’s seeing anyone. It’s kind of late, mister. Who are you?’

I told him.

‘Stick around,’ he said. ‘I’ll find out,’ and he went back into the guard house.

I got out of the car and fidgeted around like an expectant father waiting for news. Since leaving L’Etoile I had taken Miss Bolus to her two-room apartment on Jefferson Avenue, and had driven right over to the Santa Rosa Estate in the hope that Anita Cerf had come home, or at next best Cerf would know where she was.

The guard returned.

‘Yeah, he’s in and will see you,’ he said. ‘I’ll open the gates and you can drive up.’

I drove up.

The house was in darkness, but the regal looking butler was waiting on the doorstep as I ran up the steps. He took my hat without a word. His back was stiff with disapproval. Maybe he didn’t like me keeping him out of bed, or maybe he just didn’t like me.

We tramped through the big hall, along the passage lined on either side with suits of armour, into the elevator that took us up to the second floor, along another mile of corridor to Cerf’s study.

The butler opened the study door and said in a low, dismal voice, ‘Mr. Malloy, sir,’ ushered me in and shut the door behind me.

Cerf was sitting in a big armchair, a cigar between his fingers, a book open on his knee. As I crossed the room towards him, he closed the book and placed it on the table beside him.

‘Well? What do you want?’ he demanded, as aggressive as a pneumatic drill.

‘I want Mrs. Cerf, and I want her quick,’ I snapped back, matching his tone.

He stiffened and the mauve in his face deepened.

‘We’re not going over that again. I told that girl what would happen if you tried to drag Mrs. Cerf into this. If that’s all you want you can get out!’

I said, ‘That was this morning. A lot of things have happened since then. I’ve dug up something that connects your wife with the murder. It’s just a matter of time before the police get on to it too.’

‘What have you dug up?’

‘It’s a long story. Where’s Mrs. Cerf?’

‘She’s out of town. I’m keeping her out of this, Malloy. You can forget Mrs. Cerf. You’ll have no opportunity to talk to her. I’ll see to that.’

‘I’ve already talked to her.’

The cigar slipped out of his fingers and dropped to the floor. Muttering under his breath he bent to pick it up and remained bent, his face hidden for much longer than it takes to pick up a cigar. When he finally straightened, his nice mauve sun-tanned complexion was a shade paler, and there was a worried look in his eyes.

‘You’ve... what?’

“That’s right,’ I said, pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘You told Miss Bensinger this morning you were sending Mrs. Cerf out of town. The truth was, Mr. Cerf, you didn’t see your wife after she had gone out last night, and I don’t think you have an idea where she spent the night. You think she’s connected with Dana Lewis’s death. You may even think she shot Dana, and you’re trying to cover her up. It won’t work. And I’ll tell you why. Mrs. Cerf came to see me last night a little after ten o’clock. She wanted to know why she was being watched. I didn’t tell her. She offered a bribe, but I referred her to you. She left my place and contacted Dana Lewis. The two of diem went to Dana’s apartment. They arrived there about eleven-thirty. They were seen together. About twenty minutes later, Mrs. Cerf left. She took a taxi to East Beach. Nearly an hour later Dana had a phone call, and she left her apartment. She was later discovered by a guy named Owen Leadbetter, shot to death in some shrubs out at East Beach. One of my operators went to her apartment to make certain there was nothing in the apartment that would connect you with her murder. He found Mrs. Cerf’s necklace under Dana’s mattress.’

He had been listening to all this in motionless silence. His face had been as expressionless as the wall behind his head, but the reference to the diamond necklace was a little too much for him. The muscles in his face went suddenly slack and he nearly dropped his cigar again.

‘That’s a lie,’ he said, and sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth.

‘I have the necklace, Mr. Cerf. The situation is tricky because we had no business to take it from the apartment. But I’m trying to keep you clear of police inquiries. I have accepted you as a client, and I’ll maintain our guarantee of secrecy as long as I can, but how long that will be depends on how fast I can find Mrs. Cerf.’

He sat staring at me, his fists clenched and an ugly glitter in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

‘To make matters worse there’s another murder,’ I went on. ‘Leadbetter, who was responsible for finding Dana’s body, was shot this afternoon. He either saw the murder committed or else the murderer. I think he was trying to blackmail the murderer and the murderer silenced him. Anyway he was shot this afternoon.’

Cerf made a sudden furious gesture with his hand, spilling ash over his trousers.

‘I must have been crazy to have employed you!’ he exploded, his face turning a deep purple. ‘I won’t be dragged into this! Do you understand? I’ll sue you! Just because this blasted woman gets shot...’

‘Dana Lewis was shot because you employed her to watch your wife,’ I broke in curtly. ‘And you know it! If it wasn’t for your wife, the girl would be alive now. It’s your responsibility as much as mine.’

He glared at me, muttering something under his breath, and drummed on the arm of his chair with angry fingers.

‘I don’t intend to accept the responsibility,’ he said.

‘If I decide to tell the police all I know, you’ll have to accept it.’

He touched his lips with the tip of his tongue, scowled down at his immaculate shoes and said in a more subdued voice, ‘Now look, Malloy, you’ve got to keep me out of this. I have my daughter to think of.’

‘Let’s think of Mrs. Cerf. Where is she?’

‘You said just now you have talked to her,’ Cerf said, looking up sharply. ‘Why ask me?’

‘Our talk was interrupted. I traced her to L’Etoile night club. She was hiding there. Has she come here?’

He shook his head.

‘Have you heard from her?’

‘No.’

‘Have you any idea where she could have gone?’

‘No.’

He was beginning to calm down now and the worried expression had come back.

He said, ‘She was at this night club all last night?’

‘Yes. Her story to Bannister — he owns the place — was that some man was pestering her and she wanted to keep out of his way. She offered her necklace to Bannister in return for protection, but Bannister didn’t get the necklace so he threw her out.’

‘This is fantastic,’ he muttered, getting to his feet. ‘Who’s the man who is pestering her?’

‘That’s something I have to find out. Maybe the guy who’s blackmailing her.’

He began to pace up and down, paused suddenly and looked at me.

‘You don’t think she shot this girl?’

I gave him a sour smile.

‘I don’t. Both Dana and Leadbetter were shot with a .45. Leadbetter was shot at about twenty yards range. I doubt whether any woman could hit a haystack at that range with a .45, let alone a target as small as a man’s head. But I’m not saying the police wouldn’t try to make a case against her. The way she’s behaving makes her suspect number one.’

‘I was a fool to have married her,’ he said, grinding his clenched fist into his palm. He went on, ‘Keep me out of this, Malloy. I’ve got to think of my daughter. I know I’ve been unreasonable, but surely you can understand my position? If I can do anything to help I’ll do it. But keep this away from the police and the newspapers.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ I said. ‘But I must find Mrs. Cerf. Is there any way of stopping her money? If you can cut off her money so she’ll come to you...’

‘I can do that, and I will,’ he said. ‘I’ll see the bank tomorrow.’

I got to my feet.

‘It’s getting late. I won’t keep you any longer, Mr. Cerf. One more thing. I’d like my cheque.’

He hesitated, then went over to his desk, sat down and wrote out a cheque.

‘Here,’ he said, handing it to me. ‘Get me out of this mess, Malloy, and I’ll pay again.’

I slid the cheque into my pocket.

‘If I can’t get you out of it I’ll return the money,’ I said, and made for the door, pausing to ask, ‘How long have you had Mills in your employment?’

He looked startled.

‘Mills? Why? Has he anything to do with this business?’

‘I don’t know. I hear he lives in a very fancy style. I’m wondering if he is the fella who’s blackmailing Mrs. Cerf.’

‘Mills?’ He rubbed his fleshy chin, staring at me. ‘I don’t know anything about him. He’s been with me about a month or so. Franklin, my butler, engages the staff. Do you want me to talk to him?’

‘Not yet. I’ll dig up some more dirt on Mills first. Leave him to me. And if you hear anything of Mrs. Cerf will you get in touch with my office?’

He said he would, and as I moved to the door, he went on, ‘I’m sorry for the way I have acted, Malloy, and I appreciate all you’ve done up to now to keep me clear of this business.’

I said I’d keep on with the job, and for him not to worry. This new attitude of his made a nice change from being bawled out, but I knew he was piping down because he had to and not because he wanted to. I left him standing with his back to the fireplace, his dead cigar clenched tightly between finger and thumb and a sick look on his solid well-fed face.

The butler, Franklin, was hovering at the far end of the corridor. As soon as he saw me come out of the room he came silently towards me.

‘Miss Natalie is asking for you, sir,’ he said, disapproving as a bishop at a bubble dance. ‘If you will come this way.’

That was something I hadn’t expected, but I followed his ramrod back down the corridor to a door opposite the elevator. He tapped on the door, opened it and said, ‘Mr. Malloy, madam,’ in a voice covered with frost and stood aside as I walked into a big, high-ceilinged room, lit by a bedside lamp that threw a soft light on the divan bed and wrapped the rest of the room in shadows.

Natalie Cerf lay in the bed. She had on black pyjamas, and her hands lay folded on the lilac-coloured sheet. Her dark, glossy hair was arranged on the lilac pillow to frame her thin, pinched face. Her dark eyes looked at me with the same searching scrutiny as when we had first met, giving me the same feeling that she could read the letters in my wallet and count the small change in my pockets.

I moved to the foot of the bed and waited. She remained motionless, staring at me until the bedroom door closed softly, and tire faint sound of Franklin’s footsteps faded away down the corridor. Then she said in her hard, tight little voice, ‘Have you found her?’

I shook my head.

‘Not yet.’

‘Have you tried L’Etoile night club?’

‘Do you think she’s there?’

She gave a quick nod of her head.

‘Either there or with George Barclay. There’s, nowhere else for her to go.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

A little sneer lifted the corners of her drooping lips.

‘I know her. She’s in trouble, isn’t she?’ Satisfaction gleamed in the dark eyes. ‘She has no one to go to except Barclay or that man at L’Etoile.’

‘What makes you think she’s in trouble, Miss Cerf?’

‘She murdered that woman operator of yours. Perhaps you don’t call that trouble?’

‘We don’t know she did. Do you?’

‘She’s been practising with a gun.’

‘What kind of a gun?’

She made an irritable little shrug.

‘A revolver. What does it matter? For the past week she’s been shooting at a target out at East Beach.’

‘How do you know that?’

The dark eyes shifted away from my face.

‘I’ve had her watched — ever since she came here.’

I wondered if Mills had done the watching.

I said, ‘Because a woman shoots at a target it doesn’t follow she’s a murderess.’

‘Then why is she hiding? Why doesn’t she come back here? It would take a lot to keep her away from all the things Father has given her, and that’s what she is doing.’

‘There may be another reason. What do you know about Barclay?’

Again the little sneer came to her mouth.

‘He’s her lover. She was always going to his place.’

‘She was being blackmailed; did you know?’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Your father thinks so.’

‘He’s trying to find an excuse for her. She’s been giving her money to her lovers.’

‘All right. I’ll have another talk to Barclay.’

‘You’ve seen him?’ Her eyebrows came down in a sharp frown.

‘I get around, Miss Cerf. Does your father know about Barclay?’

She shook her head.

‘Did he tell you he found a suitcase in her cupboard full of knick-knacks taken from his friends?’ I said.

‘He didn’t have to tell me. She stole some of my things. She is a thief.’

‘You hate her, don’t you?’

The thin hands, like the claws of a bird, clenched into fists.

‘I don’t like her,’ she said in a carefully controlled voice.

‘The suit-case could have been planted in her cupboard. It’s been done before.’

‘You are a fool if you believe that. She’s a thief. Even Franklin has missed things from his room. We all know she’s a thief.’

‘Has Mills missed anything?’

Her mouth tightened and a flash of anger showed in her eyes.

‘He may have.’

‘But he would have told you, wouldn’t he?’

‘He would have told Franklin.’

‘Mills acted as Mrs. Cerf’s chauffeur, didn’t he?’

A faint spot of colour came into the pinched cheeks.

‘What if he did?’

‘Well, she’s attractive. He seems to have plenty of spare cash. I was wondering if they got together at any time.’

‘Got together — for what?’ she asked, a little hiss in her voice.

‘I should have thought you would have been told about the facts of life by now, Miss Cerf.’

She took a handkerchief from under her pillow and began to nibble at it. Her lipstick made little red smears on the white cambric.

‘I don’t like your manner,’ she said.

‘Few people do, but they get used to it,’ I returned, wondering if I had imagined a slight movement of the long drapes that covered the window near the bed. I was careful not to look in that direction but I began to listen intently.

She said, ‘When you find her, are you going to hand her over to the police?’

‘Is that what you want me to do?’

‘That’s not the point. Are you or aren’t you?’

‘If I’m sure she shot Dana Lewis, I shall. But I’ll have to be sure first.’

‘Aren’t you sure?’ She sounded surprised.

‘I haven’t discovered the motive. Why should she shoot her? Tell me that and I might be convinced.’

‘My father’s settled money on her. In two years’ time, if she is still with him, she is to come in to a great deal of money.’ She lifted her head to look at me, and her long, dark tresses fell back from her face. ‘Isn’t that good enough for a motive?’

‘You mean Barclay would be evidence for a divorce, and she would lose the money, and that’s why Dana was shot?’

‘It’s plain enough, isn’t it?’

‘But Barclay has money.’

‘Not enough. You don’t know her like I do. She wouldn’t want to be dependent on Barclay: not if she could help it.’

‘It still doesn’t make sense.’ I was sure now I could hear someone breathing behind the curtained recess. I felt a creepy sensation run up my spine. ‘If she was so determined to have the money she would have come back here after the shooting. By going to Bannister she’s gypped herself out of it.’

‘She wouldn’t have gone to Bannister unless something had gone wrong: unless she had been seen.’

‘For someone who can’t get around, Miss Cerf, you seem to keep very well informed.’

‘Yes.’ She met my eyes calmly. ‘As I can’t get about I take precautions. I hope you will think over what I have told you. I want to go to sleep now. I’m tired.’ She switched on the tired, lonely look. ‘You should thank me. I’ve told you who murdered your friend. You should be able to do the rest.’ She waved her hand to the door. ‘Franklin will show you the way out. I don’t want to talk anymore.’

‘If you get any other ideas about Mrs. Cerf you might let me know. So far, you’re doing fine,’ I said.

‘I don’t want to talk anymore,’ she repeated firmly and closed her eyes, withdrawing her hands from above the sheet and hiding them from sight.

By now I had enough experience of her ways not to waste any more time on her. Anyway I was tired too. It had been a long day and a longer night. I crossed the room to the door. As I opened it I took a quick look at the window recess. I couldn’t see much because of the shadows, but I did catch a glimpse of something that glittered: something that could have been a shiny toe-cap of a knee-boot: the kind of boot Comrade Mills liked to wear. I wondered if Natalie knew he was there, and decided she probably did.

IV

In the distance a car backfired, making me jump. The sound reminded me of gunfire, and I told myself irritably that if I was going to start jumping out of my skin every time a car backfired I’d better give up my job and become a dancing master at an academy for young ladies. And as soon as the idea dropped into my mind, I wondered if I wouldn’t be a lot better off.

I sat in the car, bumping over the uneven beach road that led to my cabin. I was in no hurry and drove slowly. There was a moon like a grapefruit hanging in the sky, no stars and no clouds. The heat from the sun still clung to the sandy road, but there was a faint breeze coming off the sea that kept the temperature pleasant. The headlights of my car made a big white glare that bounced on the sand and came back at me.

I had been doing a lot of heavy thinking while I drove from the Santa Rosa Estate, and I was beginning to get a few ideas: the first tangible ideas I had had since the murder. I thought it would be nice to get home, mix myself a long drink with plenty of ice in it and sit out on the verandah and sort these ideas over. I wasn’t tired anymore. I decided to see the dawn come up over the hills, think over my ideas and then go to bed. On the face of it it seemed a pretty good programme, and I speeded up the car and went jolting over the sandy road, past the other beach cabins that were in darkness, along the half-mile of vacant building plots that separated my cabin from the rest of them, up the sharp little hill where I had a clear view of my cabin in the moonlight.

A light streamed out from my open verandah doors.

When I had left the place with Miss Bolus I had turned off the lights and locked the doors. Now the lights were on and the doors open. It occurred to me as I pulled up outside the gate that if this sort of thing was going to continue I might just as well have a hotel sign hoisted on the roof. I thought maybe Jack Kerman had got back from Los Angeles or Paula was waiting to talk to me or even Benny had come back from Frisco with news. I didn’t think anything was wrong until I reached the steps to the verandah, then I came to an abrupt halt.

Grey smoke hung in the air, drifted out through the open doorway: smoke that smelt of gunpowder. I remembered the car that had backfired, and felt suddenly spooked.

I climbed the steps to the verandah like an old man with gout: tiptoed to the open door.

The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. On the carpet by the open window was a .45 Colt automatic. That was the first tiring I saw. I looked from the Colt to the casting couch at the far end of the room and the hairs at the back of my neck bristled. Lying on the couch was a blonde woman in a white silk blouse and brick-red slacks. Blood flowed from a hole in her forehead and soaked into the big yellow cushion that had supported a number of female heads in its time. By tire looks of it now the cushion wasn’t likely to support any more heads.

I went slowly across the room and stood over her. She was dead of course. A .45 does a job of work. It is a little crude, a little too heavy and needs a strong wrist, but in the right hands it does do a job of work. Terror still lurked in her eyes. A face framed in blood isn’t pretty: not even Anita Cerf’s beauty could ride above the smashed forehead and the blood.

I was staring down at her when the shadow of a man appeared on the opposite wall: the shadow of a man in a slouch hat, his arm raised and a blunt something in his fist. It all happened very quickly. I saw the shadow and heard the swish of the descending sap simultaneously and I ducked; but much, much too late. Then the top of my head seemed to fly off, and I felt myself falling.