“Can you take her apart?”
“I’ll take her apart,” Bertha promised. “I’ll have her sawdust stuffing spilled all over the floor of her apartment.”
“Let’s go,” I told her.
Chapter 20
I pressed the buzzer on Helen Manning’s apartment.
“Who is it?” she called through the doorway in dulcet tones.
“Donald Lam,” I said.
“Just a minute, Donald.”
She waited a moment, then laughed and said, “I was just in the shower. Let me put something on.”
Bertha and I waited for about five minutes; then the door opened.
The clothes she had put on were fluffy, semitransparent and good-looking. She raised her eyes to mine and said demurely, “You’ll have to pardon my appearance, Donald, I just came out of the bath and— Who’s this?”
Bertha Cool barged on into the room like a fortified tank moving in on an enemy front line of entrenchments.
“I’m Bertha Cool,” she said. “I’m a detective. Cut out the lollygagging and get the hell down to business.
Sit over there where I can look at you.”
Bertha kicked the door shut with her heel.
“What the hell was the idea of shooting Karl Endicott?” she demanded.
Helen Manning fell back. Her hand went to her throat; her eyes were wide. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Bertha said. “You went down to see Endicott the day he was killed. You took your gun with you, didn’t you, dearie?
“When you were so nasty nice on the witness stand today, when you were billing and cooing with that romantic-looking district attorney down there, you didn’t tell him the whole story. You didn’t tell him about having bought a gun, did you?
“Well, I’ll tell you all about that gun, dearie. You bought that gun down at a sporting goods store in Santa Ana, and it was a nice little .38 caliber Colt revolver. You bought it two days before Karl Endicott was murdered. You haven’t had it in your possession since Karl Endicott was murdered.
“Now, won’t that be nice to tell the district attorney?”
Helen Manning said, “Why you... I didn’t... I never—”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t,” Bertha screamed at her. “You’re not showing your goddam legs to some impressionable man now. You’re talking to a woman who knows all the tricks. And don’t pull that business of being a little lady with me. You were sleeping with Karl Endicott and you didn’t mind his getting married as long as you were the number one mistress, but when he ran somebody else in and relegated you to the number two position you went off your trolley.”
“I... I—” Helen Manning started to sob.
“That’s right, go ahead and bawl,” Bertha said. “Keeps you from having to look in my eyes. But it isn’t going to do you any good. When you get your tears all dried up you’re going to be facing Bertha Cool, not Donald Lam. Now cut out the waterworks and give me the low-down before I decide to really get tough.”
“What... what do you want?”
“What happened the night Endicott was murdered?”
“I... I don’t know.”
“The hell you don’t,” Bertha said. “You told Mrs. Endicott all about Karl sending John Ansel up into the Amazon on a trip from which he wasn’t supposed to return. You really spilled your guts there. And she had to go and spill the story to her husband. That put the fat in the fire and the husband telephoned for you. That’s my best guess. Anyway you were there the night he was murdered. You were there when John Ansel came in. You were the girl who was in the upstairs bedroom. And after you killed him, you thought your gun would never be found. Well, dearie, for your information, we found your gun and the ballistics expert will testify that the fatal bullet was fired from that gun, a gun you bought two days before in a sporting goods store in Santa Ana. Now do you want to talk or do you want me to get the police up here and have the newspaper reporters rip your life wide open?”
Bertha stood over Helen Manning, glaring down at her, and Bertha was hard. There was no mistake about that. When Bertha got hard, she got hard.
Helen Manning said, “I didn’t shoot him, Mrs. Cool. I honestly didn’t.”
“Who did?”
“Cooper Hale was the only one who could have done it.”
“Now you’re talking,” Bertha Cool said. “Let’s get some facts in the case. What happened?”
She said, “I told his wife. His wife told him about what I had said. He was furious. He sent for me to come down to see him. I was frightened. I had bought that gun—
“I don’t know what I intended to do, but... I had been very fond of Karl Endicott and... I had given him much more than he had given me. I had given him my heart. I had given him the best years of my life. I—”
“Can that stuff!” Bertha said. “Give me the facts. We haven’t got much time!”
She said, “When I arrived there at the house, he told me that Mr. Hale was coming at almost any minute. He took me to an upstairs room, a bedroom. He was nice to me. He said his wife had left him. He... he was awfully nice. He took me in his arms and... well, his hands... he found the gun.”
“And then what?”
“He laughed and took it away from me and put it on the dresser.
“And then the doorbell rang. That was Hale.
“He told me to wait. He said that he was coming back, that Hale wouldn’t he there very long.
“I was so confused and upset I just didn’t know what to do. And then the doorbell rang again. That was John Ansel. I had thought John Ansel was dead. It startled me to hear his voice. Karl took Ansel upstairs and excused himself for a minute. He came in to the bedroom and said, in a whisper, ‘You’ll have to beat it, darling, the situation has become too complicated. Get back to town and I’ll call you later on.’ Then he gave me a little pat and a kiss and said, ‘Go on downstairs quietly and fade out of the picture.’ ”
“All right, what did you do?”
“I went down the stairs. As I reached the sidewalk I heard a revolver shot from the upstairs bedroom.”
“What did you do?” Bertha Cool asked.
“I hesitated a moment, and then I ran. I ran to the corner and then walked and walked and walked until it seemed I couldn’t walk another step, and finally I caught a bus back to the city.
“I knew... deep down in my heart... I knew what had happened. I knew he was dead.”
Bertha looked at me.
“Write it down,” I said.
We moved her over to a table and gave her paper. She wrote it down.
“Sign it!” I said.
She signed it.
“Date it!” I said.
She dated it.
Bertha Cool and I signed as witnesses.
I said, “Did you realize you were sending an innocent man to the gas chamber?”
“I didn’t know what to do,” she said. “I tried to keep out of it. But you don’t understand what it means to me, Donald. My whole career... I have a good job. I’m a very competent secretary and in this job I’m working up. I’m getting a good salary. The faintest breath of scandal and I’d be out, and... and I’m not young any more. That is, I’m—”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Bertha said. “Don’t tell me you’re not young. Why you’re only about thirty-five. That’s just the right age for a woman to begin living. You know what it’s all about. You know how men think and you know how they work, and if you’re any good at all you know how to drive ’em nuts.
“You make me sick with that all-washed-up line. And don’t ever hand out any more of that best-years-of-your-life crap. That’s the thing that chases men away faster than a smallpox quarantine sign. Quit eating so goddam many sweets, and set your cap for some of these guys. You’re just entering on the best years of your life right now.”