“You give up?” I asked.
“If she’s got Mrs. Chester,” Essex said, “we might just as well throw in the towel.”
“All right,” I told him, “call up your client, tell him to get under cover and not to do any talking.”
“I’ll come to Las Vegas at once,” he assured me, “and—”
“And you’ll be arrested if you do,” I told him. “Minerva’s lawyer has got political power here. She picked the best.”
“What should I do?” he asked.
“From the way you sound, I think you’d better take a vacation,” I told him. “You sound all run down. Evidently you’re not accustomed to having the roof fall in on you. You’d better be unavailable for comment.”
“And you’re going to get out, too?”
“Hell, no,” I told him, “I’m in the stew. I’m going to stay here and face the music. There’s just one chance in a hundred I can salvage something.”
“If you can salvage anything, you can write your own ticket,” he said. “My Lord, I had no idea anything like this could happen — I suppose I’m in it now.”
“You’re in it now,” I told him.
“We’ll buy her off,” Essex said, after a moment, with a note of hope in his voice. “After all, it’s a question of money and with our careers at stake—”
“How much money has your client got?” I asked.
“Plenty.”
“And is he willing to give every cent of it to Minerva?”
“Good heavens, it wouldn’t be that bad. Even if she could prove infidelity, it—”
“She isn’t monkeying with infidelity now,” I interrupted. “She’s playing with murder.”
“Well,” said Essex after a moment, “my client has got himself into this. I did the best I could for him. If he gets caught, he’s going to have to pay. He gambled, and if he loses, that’s a chance he has to take.”
“How much money have you got?” I asked.
“Me?” he asked. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Don’t underestimate Minerva,” I said.
“Why... why you can’t mean—”
“Look up your statutes on murder,” I said. “See what the law says about an accessory after the fact.”
It took a moment for that to sink in.
“Oh, my God,” he said.
I hung up the telephone.
Chapter 17
I drove to my hotel and put in a long distance call to Homicide Bureau in Los Angeles. I said it was important that I reach Sergeant Frank Sellers at once with a hot tip. I finally got a night number where I could reach him.
Sellers had evidently been asleep. He was grouchy when he came to the phone.
“Hello, Frank,” I said. “This is your friend, Donald.”
“Why you... you... you’ve got a crust!... Friend! Why you pint-sized bastard—”
“Take it easy, Sergeant,” I said. “How would you like to talk with Mrs. Harvey W. Chester, the woman who was the victim in that hit-and-run case?”
“What the hell are you trying to do?” he roared into the telephone. “Ringing me up at this hour to give me a razz—”
“She’s here in Las Vegas,” I said. “If you can get over here right away, I’ll put you in touch with her.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Where are you?”
“Las Vegas.”
“And she’s there?”
“That’s what I said.”
“What gives you this sudden change of heart?”
“It isn’t a change of heart,” I said. “I’ve always been on the side of law and order, but my motives have been twisted and misinterpreted. I will admit that a couple of smart guys tried to use me. They gave me a double cross but—”
“Where are you?”
I gave him the name of the hotel.
“Wait right there,” he said. “If this is a double cross, so help me, I’ll beat you to a pulp and throw the pulp into a sausage grinder.”
“Have I ever given you a double cross yet?” I asked.
He hesitated a moment. “Well, you’ve tried damned hard.”
“No, I haven’t,” I said. “I’ve tried to protect my clients but whenever I’ve given you a tip it’s been on the up-and-up.”
“All right,” he said, “I’m going to play along.”
“Don’t tell anybody about this conversation,” I warned. “Just get over here.”
After he had hung up, I called Bertha Cool.
Bertha hates night telephone calls.
“Hello, hello, hello,” she said testily. “You don’t need to ring in my ear just because you got me up out of a sound sleep.”
“This is Donald, Bertha,” I said. “Grab the first plane for Las Vegas, and I mean the first plane. Get over here. I’ve just finished talking with Frank Sellers. He’ll probably get here before you can get a plane, but get here as soon as you can.”
“Las Vegas? What the hell are you doing in Las Vegas?”
“Trying to save you embarrassment,” I told her. “You’d better get here so you can take charge personally. I think this may call for your technique.”
“Well, I’m not coming,” she said. “I’m not going to break my neck traipsing around the country trying to pull you out of jams. You went in this on your own. I told you it was your baby and you could change the diapers. Now change them.”
“All right,” I told her. “It’s my baby, but it’s sitting in your lap.”
“The partnership is dissolved,” she said. “You told me that yourself.”
Then I told her, “I’ll put this fifty thousand fee in my own pocket. Right?”
“What fee?”
“The fifty thousand fee.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Not me,” I told her.
“Where did you say you were?”
I gave her the name of the hotel.
She hesitated a moment, then grunted, “All right, I’ll be there but this had better be good.”
“It’s going to be good,” I told her, “very good indeed.”
I hung up the phone, rolled into bed and couldn’t sleep.
Sergeant Sellers must have chartered a plane. He was pounding on the door before daylight.
“All right, Pint Size,” he said, when I let him in, “what’s this about Mrs. Harvey W. Chester?”
“Want to see her?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s go.”
I put him in my rented car and we drove down to the drab little bungalow that Mrs. Chester had rented.
We pounded on the door.
For a moment I had a feeling of panic. Then I heard someone moving around on the inside and after a moment the door was opened.
“Hello, Mrs. Chester,” I said. “This is Sergeant Sellers of the Los Angeles police force. He’s been looking for you.”
“Looking for me?” she said, wide-eyed with well-simulated surprise.
“That’s right.”
“You were involved in a hit-and-run case in Los Angeles,” Sellers said.
“Oh,” she remarked, looking from Sellers to me.
“We’re coming in,” Sellers said. “We want to talk with you.”
“I’m... I’m not dressed.”
“You’ve got a robe on,” Sellers said, “that’s good enough for us. This isn’t a beauty contest. This is investigating a hit-and-run case.”
Sellers pushed his way into the apartment. I followed him.
It was the same little two-room apartment with the same drab sitting room, only this time a wall bed had been let down. There was a glimpse of a kitchenette past the bed.
Sellers seated himself in the most comfortable chair in the place. I took a seat on the edge of the bed.
Mrs. Chester stood there looking from one to the other of us.
“All right,” Sellers said, “tell me about it.”