“That’s fine, only I’ve had…”
“I know, but you’ll have some coffee with us.”
I watched her moving around. She was a cute package and she knew it. She liked to have me watch her.
She said, “So you got what you wanted, all right?”
“Uh huh.”
“You were pretty smart, all right. Sam had to laugh when he realized what you’d done.”
She turned the ham once more. “How do you want your eggs?”
“None for me, thanks. I simply couldn’t eat a thing.”
The redhead said: “How about some news?”
I said, “I can get you a morning paper and…”
“Phooey! They’re too much trouble to read. Let’s listen.”
She went over and turned on the radio, catching a radio broadcast that had apparently been on the air some two or three minutes when she turned it on. “I’ll make it loud so Sam can hear in the bathroom,” she explained and twisted the dial which controlled the volume.
The announcer had finished with a discussion of the foreign situation, made a few comments on current labour troubles and then launched into local news.
It was a little set, but it had good reception, and the voice of the announcer came in very clearly as he said. “The latest bulletin on the murder of Lucille Hollister, who was stocking-strangled by a sex maniac last night is a tribute to the detective ability of Sergeant Frank Sellers of the Homicide Squad.
“Detective Sellers, playing a hunch, checked back on the activities of a private detective who was known to have been working on a case in which the Hollister girl had some undisclosed interest.”
“Only a few moments ago, police were able to announce with positive certainty that the murderer for whom they are looking was a private detective by the name of Donald Lam, who together with his partner, B. Cool, transacts business as a private investigator under the firm name of COOL & LAM. Not only did the sister of the murdered girl positively identify photographs of Donald Lam as those of the man whom she had seen in her bedroom yesterday night immediately after the commission of the murder, but finger-prints which were left on the cellophane cover of the book the intruder was reading have been positively identified as those of Donald Lam.”
“Moreover, the proprietor of a suburban motor court has now identified the dead girl as being a young woman who appeared with Donald Lam at the motor court, at a time when the detective registering under the name of Dover Fulton and wife, secured one of the cottages.”
“Sergeant Sellers modestly disclaimed credit for any unusual detective work. The break, he said, came when, checking the description of the murdered girl, he found that it tallied almost identically with the description that had been given of the young woman who had been registered at the motor court as Mrs. Dover Fulton. Knowing that this young woman had been associated with the private detective, Sergeant Sellers made a quick trip to the motor court, got the woman who ran the place to rush to the morgue, where she positively identified the body. Thereupon Sergeant Sellers immediately started checking with Rosalind Hart, sister of the murdered girl, for the purpose of ascertaining whether Donald Lam might have been the intruder whom she saw waiting in her bedroom.”
“In commenting on the motivation for the crime, Sergeant Sellers said today, ‘Lam has always been exceptionally brilliant, but there has been some suspicion as to whether he was entirely normal. His partner admitted that, while women seemed attracted to Lam, and almost invariably made advances, Lam was at times cold, to the point of indifference.’
“Police have not as yet prepared a description for broadcast, but on our next news programme, on the hour, we will assist the police by broadcasting a detailed description of the suspect. In the meantime police are alerting all radio cars and watching all exits from the city. Sellers feels positive that Lam will be apprehended within the next few hours. ‘However,’ he announced grimly, and I quote, ‘it is pretty well established that the man is now desperate, and unless he is surprised and overpowered there will probably be trouble when we try to make the arrest.’ ”
The voice of the announcer then started on another subject and the redhead calmly walked over and switched the radio off.
Sam Lowry came out of the bathroom, wiping lather off his face with a wet towel. “Well, now,” he said, “isn’t that something.”
I lit a cigarette.
“What do we do?” the redhead asked.
“You got a gun?” Lowry asked me.
“No,” I said.
“Are you guilty of the murder?”
“No.”
“How did you happen to leave your fingerprints there?”
“I’ll explain that when the proper time comes.”
“It’s a damn good time right now,” Lowry said.
He moved around so that he was between me and the door. “Sam Lowry,” the girl screamed, “don’t you get me in the line of fire! — you got your gun?”
“I don’t need a gun,” Lowry said.
I kept on puffing at the cigarette.
“I’m going to phone the cops,” the girl said.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Lowry told her. “Get smart, will you?”
“What’s the matter?”
Lowry said, “There’s going to be a reward for this bird if they don’t have him by tomorrow morning. Suppose he just vanishes slick and clean? You know what happens in these sex murders. Police start beating the drums, and the city puts up a reward.”
The redhead looked at me with loathing and said, “You look like such a normal chap. How in the world could you do that to a woman? What satisfaction do you get out of anything like...?”
“Shut up,” Lowry said, “I’m getting an idea. Stand up, Lam.”
He came towards me, treading lightly on the balls of his feet, his shoulders weaving. “Don’t try anything now, buddy,” he said. “Just don’t try anything. Just stand up and turn your back.”
I stood up and turned my back. He ran his hands over my clothes carefully and said. “What do you know about that, Babe? He’s telling the truth. The guy really hasn’t got a gun.”
I sat down in the chair.
“Don’t you leave that man alone with me for as much as one second!” the girl said.
Lowry nodded, surveying me appraisingly with eyes that glittered from over high cheek-bones which had been permanently swollen by the impact of fists during a pugilistic career.
I said, “I didn’t kill her.”
“I know,” Lowry said, grinning. “She kissed you and then, all of a sudden she was possessed by an overpowering impulse, and grabbed up one of her stockings, wrapped it round her neck and choked herself to death. You watched in horrid fascination, powerless to stop her. I know just how it was, buddy.”
The redhead said, “If you let that man even get close to me, Sam Lowry, I’ll kill you.”
“Don’t worry, Babe,” Lowry said, “he isn’t going to get close to you. Watch that ham. You’re burning the hell out of it.”
“You do your own cooking,” she said, “I can’t.”
“You go ahead and cook the ham,” he told her, “I’m going to keep an eye on this bird. If you don’t do a good job with that cooking, I’ll walk out and leave you two alone.”
The threat was enough. She grabbed a fork, lifted the ham out of the frying pan.
“Now pour in some water, some milk and a little thickening, and make some gravy,” Lowry said.
“I know how to make it. Heaven knows I have enough times.”
“Okay, I’m not going to argue about it. Just snap into it.”
The girl made the gravy. Lowry licked his thick lips, and said, “I think I can make something out of this, Lam.”