"You take it easy, hon, I'll tell the rest." Pickering lit a fresh cigarette; he looked very angry. "The bastard. I'll tell you how the lyrics went, Lieutenant, if you haven't already guessed. He didn't know quite how it was with us, if you get me. He had it figured that Marian was the hell of a lot more interested in my bank account than in me, and that I could be scared off if I heard all this. As a matter of fact, I knew-she'd told me. He didn't want money-"
"He wanted the nice send-off with a big producer," said Mendoza. "That figures. A heaven-sent opportunity for him, our stage-struck glamour boy! No wonder he went to all the trouble-which, I agree, is likely-of stealing those negatives and getting Shorter put away. And he was thinking ahead too, probably. If you weren't impressed enough to whisk out a contract right away, after you were married he could always do it the hard way, bring pressure to bear on the grounds that you couldn't stand the publicity."
"Ah, that damned little-! Yes, I suppose. Well, anyway, Marian had sense enough to call me, after putting him off on a plea of making up her mind, and I took over from there. He thought he had her scared, had us just where he wanted us.” Pickering laughed, short and ugly. "Money isn't everything, but it sure as hell helps. I hired a couple of the best private detectives in town"-he named the agency-"and we wired Marian's place but good. We really set up the trap-me and two other witnesses in the bedroom, and the tape recorder. He came over swell." He grinned. "One qualification he had for the business, nice clear-cut voice and good diction. We'd coached Marian, of course, and she slipped him enough leading questions that we got the whole layout, his whole plan, in detail. Beautiful. And then she did a little acting and gave in, said she'd do whatever he wanted-only of course we didn't tape that. My God, I'm giving myself away-but you can see the spot we were in, only way to handle it-and besides he'd made me damn mad. I wanted to cuff him down good, so he'd stay that way."
"Very nice, very nice," purred Mendoza. "It's deplorable of me, Mr. Pickering, but I don't think I'll be vindictive enough-or honest enough-to turn you in for all these little legal misdemeanors. I'd probably have done much the same thing myself. I suppose you saw him on Friday, the next day. It was, I assume, on Thursday when you sprung the trap."
"That's right. I saw him Friday morning, as soon as we had legal statements drawn up by the witnesses and so on. We'd set it up-she'd told him to come by about eleven and she'd introduce us, give him a good send-off. And, brother, we did. Marian wasn't there. I told him what we had on him and just how I felt about it, and that, by God, I enjoyed. I told him first, as far as his damn fool ambition for the movies was concerned, he was dead before he started, right now, because in the inconceivable case that anybody ever hired him to sweep a stage I could and would see he got fired-I could blacklist him in this town, in that line, and he knew it. I told him I wouldn't lose one damn thing but a little of my upright reputation if he gave those negs to the Examiner tomorrow, and that sacrifice I wouldn't mind, it was just on Marian's account I'd prefer the whole thing kept private. I always had a kind of admiration for that old bird-was it the Duke of Wellington?-who said Publish and be damned. And I told him I'd take great pleasure in charging him publicly with attempted extortion, and putting in all this nice clear evidence to prove it. And, let's face it, money talks-even to the law. I could have arranged for a trial like that to be held in camera, and protected ourselves that way while he got it in the neck. At that point he began to back down fast, said he'd never dream of doing anything with those negs to embarrass Marian. O.K., fine, says I, and just to guarantee that, we're going with you right now to get them and if you get out of town within twenty-four hours, I'll keep still, I won't lay the charge. But I'll check, and if you're still here, brother, you get everything the law can hand you-and if some damn fool jury lets you off, I've got the money to put you behind a dozen eightballs, other ways. I don't need to tell you he didn't like it-that's an understatement, when he saw I wasn't going to back up a sixteenth of an inch from that stand, he called me every name in the book. But he had to go along, he couldn't do anything else-unless he wanted to get slapped in jail besides losing out everywhere else."
She gave a little half-tearful laugh. "He didn't know much about Toby, you see, or he'd never have started all this."
"That I believe," grinned Mendoza. "So you all took a ride out to 267th Street."
"We did. I went with him in his Porsche, and the detectives trailed us. And the hell of a squalid little hole it was, wasn't it? We didn't waste any time-he got the negs and gave them to me, and I identified them as the ones we were after and the whole dozen of them, and burned them right there-"
"In a big glass ashtray. Mmh. He had them in a brown manila envelope in the bottom of his laundry bag, and he emptied the whole bag out on the bed to get them for you."
"He did," said Pickering. "What's more, there was-"
"Yes, I know, a second envelope. I know all about that one. But not a third?"
"Not that I saw, no."
Mendoza leaned back, looking thoughtful. "Motives. Yes, I wonder. Well, and so now we know why Mr. Twelvetrees was clearing out in a hurry.”
"That was bluff," admitted Pickering. "I'd got no way of checking to see if he really left town. But I would-and he knew it-have come back to see if he'd left that place, and I knew where he worked, this damn fool cult, that Temple-and I'd have gone there to check. Hounded him a little, anyway."
"Sure, sure. That he knew too, and I see how his mind worked on it. He had to cut his losses. What time was this?"
"We got out there about a quarter of one, and it couldn't have been much after one when we left, we didn't linger at it, as I say. No, I didn't give a damn where he went or what he did, once those negs were burned. Matter of fact, I didn't try to do any checking, but he might have thought I would-like all that kind he was a coward when you backed him against a wall. He was so mad at me he'd've liked to kill me, but he didn't have the guts, even with a gun there to his hand. And what the hell he wanted with that-I mean, that wasn't his line, the direct action. Maybe it made him feel big and dangerous… I couldn't tell you the make and model, a pistol of some kind, it was in one of the drawers of the bureau. I saw it when he yanked the drawer open to get a handkerchief-he had a sneezing-spell… Yes, I think I'd know it again." Pickering laughed contemptuously. "Oh, he'd've liked to see me drawn and quartered, and he had about fifteen years on me too, if I had a better reach-but he never lifted a hand. You know what he did? It was the damndest thing. He came out of that apartment with us when we left, and went over to the carport on the other side of the building. And just as we were pulling out of that court, he came out with a trowel or a fork or something and started to dig around that funny-looking shrub planted in a tub there. Going at it in a kind of blind fury-as if he had to dig at something, if it was only a shrub."
Mendoza laughed. "Yes-and so that answers another little question. I've heard it said that gardening's a very relaxing occupation in cases of nervous tension. Maybe his doctor recommended it."