Sellers said, “I tell you the guy squared a hit-and-run charge.”
“What hit-and-run charge?”
“You know damned well what hit-and-run charge!” Sellers said.
“I’m beginning to think this may have been a frame-up, this whole business,” Essex said. “Somebody certainly has it in for my client, Phyllis Eldon. You can see for yourselves, gentlemen, these Denver detectives swear they have a witness, whose name they’re not prepared to disclose, who saw her automobile here in Denver, Colorado, at the time of the Canby death — a death which the authorities here believe is a murder.
“On the other hand, Sergeant Sellers says he has two witnesses who definitely swear that automobile was in Los Angeles within an interval of four hours.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Sellers said. “They don’t identify that automobile.”
“I thought you just said they did.”
“Well, I say that that’s the automobile that struck down this Mrs. Chester.”
“No one got the license number?”
“Well, they got the time of the accident. They saw her hit and we know what automobile did the hitting. We’ve got perfect circumstantial evidence that would result in a conviction in front of any jury in the world.”
“Providing you had a complaining witness,” Essex said.
Sellers turned to glower at me. “Thanks to this little pint-sized bastard,” he said, “we’ve got no complaining witness at the moment, but we’re going to get her.
“When we get her and she tells her story, it’s just going to be too bad for Pint Size, here.”
“My client’s name,” Essex said, with dignity, “is Donald Lam. If you expect any courtesies in connection with failure to file suit for malicious prosecution and unlawful arrest, you had better be a little more courteous in turn.”
Sellers clamped down on his cigar so hard that I thought he was going to bite it in two.
“Well, we don’t seem to be getting anyplace,” the deputy district attorney said. “If Mr. Lam intends to file application for a writ of habeas corpus and the evidence isn’t any stronger than it appears at the present time, I would suggest this man be turned loose.”
“The evidence isn’t strong because he’s damned well seen to it that the key evidence is missing,” Sellers said.
“Well,” the deputy district attorney assured him, “as soon as you’ve established that point by proper evidence, Sergeant, you will have redress against him in California.”
“You’re damned right I’ll have redress against him in California.”
“Under the circumstances,” Essex said, “I see no reason why my client should be longer detained.”
He got up, nodded to me and said, “Come on, Lam.”
I got up and followed him to the door. As I walked past Sellers I thought he was going to grab me and physically restrain me, but he controlled himself, sitting there glowering and chomping on the soggy cigar butt.
We walked out.
“How did you get here?” I asked Essex.
“Chartered planes.”
I said, “Somebody must be putting up money in this case.”
“Your assumption,” he said, “is certainly logical.”
“Lots of money,” I went on.
“I wouldn’t get in this position otherwise.”
“You’re representing me?”
He said, “Let’s get in the car before I answer that question.”
He led the way to his rented car; then he rolled up the windows, turned to me and said, “Yes, I’m representing you just as long as you continue to be loyal to your clients.”
“I know who those clients are now,” I said.
“I understand you do.”
“Where’s Mrs. Chester?” I said. “If they find her, it’s going to be—”
“For your private, confidential information,” he said, “Mrs. Chester is due to land in Mexico City at six o’clock tomorrow morning. Within three hours of the time she lands, she’s going to be at an isolated resort in the country.”
“Will she stay put?” I asked.
“Long enough.”
“Who’s the mysterious witness that is trying to put Phyllis’ automobile in Denver four hours before the accident in Los Angeles?”
He regarded me searchingly for a long time. Then he said, “Lam, my client tells me you know enough so I am going to take you entirely into my confidence.”
“That’s always advisable,” I told him.
He said, “The person who is making all the trouble in this case, as you probably realize, is Mrs. Alting L. Badger.”
“And why is she making all this trouble?”
“Because,” he said, “she wants a settlement of two million five hundred thousand dollars.”
“How much is she going to get?”
“One hundred and fifty thousand.”
“Is Badger that well fixed?” I asked.
He smiled and said, “I’m not prepared to discuss my client’s exact worth; but, as a man who knows his way around, you can see the risks I’m taking in this case, and I can assure you that I am not a cheap attorney.”
“All right,” I said, “while we’re putting it on the line, I’m taking risks and, if I play ball, I’m not going to be a cheap detective.”
“Nobody wants you to.”
“What’s your definition of cheap?” I asked.
“What’s yours?”
I said, “I’d expect quite a bonus.”
He looked at me. “Look. Lam, you’re supposed to be brainy. I think you are. You’ve played your cards pretty smooth. If you can squeeze us out of this one, you can just about name your own figure.”
“But I have to keep quiet?”
“Hell,” he said, “you have to keep quiet for your own sake. What’s going to happen if Sergeant Sellers gets hold of Mrs. Harvey W. Chester?”
“All she can say is that I told her I had a client that wanted to buy up the claim that she had against some unknown driver.”
“That would have worked all right at the time,” he said, “but your subsequent actions in locating the identity of the various interested parties would look like hell in front of a jury.”
I thought that over.
“Particularly with Sellers manipulating the evidence and offering Mrs. Chester complete immunity if she’d give testimony that would result in your conviction and in forfeiting your license.”
“I can see your point,” I said.
“All right,” he told me, “you’re going to the airport and get out of Colorado as quickly as possible.”
“California?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“Hell, no,” he said. “California is bad business for you at the present time. Here’s a credit card made out in your name. Go to Las Vegas; get anything you want, including a reasonable supply of cash for gambling so you don’t get bored. Telephone my office and tell my secretary where you are. You don’t need to tell her any names, just say, ‘Tell Mr. Essex that I’m at such-and-such an address.’ ”
“What about my partner, Bertha Cool?”
Essex was thoughtful. “Your partner, Mrs. Cool, is, I understand, in a rather hostile mood. I think it might be better not to let her know where you could be reached.”
I said, “My confidential secretary is Elsie Brand. She’s been with me for a long time and you can trust her all the way. After I communicate with you, see that she knows where I am.”
“She won’t communicate with Mrs. Cool?” he asked.
“Hell, no!” I said.
“All right,” he told me, “I think we’d better get to the airport. You only have half an hour before your plane leaves.”
Chapter 13
I got aboard the plane among the first passengers and seated myself next to a window.
A woman seated herself next to me.