«I think I’m a Toluca County game warden, mister. I think this ain’t deer-hunting time and it ain’t ever deer-hunting time for does.»
Delaguerra lowered his eyes very slowly, looked into the back of his car, bending over to see past the canvas. The body of a young deer lay there on some junk, beside a rifle. The soft eyes of the dead animal, unglazed by death, seemed to look at him with a gentle reproach. There was dried blood on the doe’s slender neck.
Delaguerra straightened, said gently: «That’s damn cute.»
«Got a hunting license?»
«I don’t hunt,» Delaguerra said.
«Wouldn’t help much. I see you got a rifle.»
«I’m a cop.»
«Oh — cop, huh? Would you have a badge?»
«I would.»
Delaguerra reached into his breast pocket, got the badge out, rubbed it on his sleeve, held it in the palm of his hand. The thin game warden stared down at it, licking his lips.
«Detective lieutenant, huh? City police.» His face got distant and lazy. «Okey, Lieutenant. We’ll ride about ten miles downgrade in your heap. I’ll thumb a ride back to mine.»
Delaguerra put the badge away, knocked his pipe out carefully, stamped the embers into the gravel. He replaced the canvas loosely.
«Pinched?» he asked gravely.
«Pinched, Lieutenant.»
«Let’s go.»
He got in under the wheel of the Cadillac. The thin warden went around the other side, got in beside him. Delaguerra started the car, backed around and started off down the smooth concrete of the highway. The valley was a deep haze in the distance. Beyond the haze other peaks were enormous on the skyline. Delaguerra coasted the big car easily, without haste. The two men stared straight before them without speaking.
After a long time Delaguerra said: «I didn’t know they had deer at Puma Lake. That’s as far as I’ve been.»
«There’s a reservation by there, Lieutenant,» the warden said calmly. He stared through the dusty windshield. «Part of the Toluca County Forest — or wouldn’t you know that?»
Delaguerra said: «I guess I wouldn’t know it. I never shot a deer in my life. Police work hasn’t made me that tough.»
The warden grinned, said nothing. The highway went through a saddle, then the drop was on the right side of the highway. Little canyons began to open out into the hills on the left. Some of them had rough roads in them, half overgrown, with wheel tracks.
Delaguerra swung the big car hard and suddenly to the left, shot it into a cleared space of reddish earth and dry grass, slammed the brake on. The car skidded, swayed, ground to a lurching stop.
The warden was flung violently to the right, then forward against the windshield. He cursed, jerked up straight and threw his right hand across his body at the holstered gun.
Delaguerra took hold of a thin, hard wrist and twisted it sharply towards the man’s body. The warden’s face whitened behind the tan. His left hand fumbled at the holster, then relaxed. He spoke in a tight, hurt voice.
«Makin’ it worse, copper. I got a phone tip at Salt Springs. Described your car, said where it was. Said there was a doe carcass in it. I —»
Delaguerra loosed the wrist, snapped the belt holster open and jerked the Colt out of it. He tossed the gun from the car.
«Get out, County! Thumb that ride you spoke of. What’s the matter — can’t you live on your salary any more? You planted it yourself, back at Puma Lake, you goddamn chiseler!»
The warden got out slowly, stood on the ground with his face blank, his jaw loose and slack.
«Tough guy,» he muttered. «You’ll be sorry for this, copper. I’ll swear a complaint.»
Delaguerra slid across the seat, got out of the right-hand door. He stood close to the warden, said very slowly: «Maybe I’m wrong, mister. Maybe you did get a call. Maybe you did.»
He swung the doe’s body out of the car, laid it down on the ground, watching the warden. The thin man didn’t move, didn’t try to get near his gun lying on the grass a dozen feet away. His seaweed eyes were dull, very cold.
Delaguerra got back into the Cadillac, snapped the brake off, started the engine. He backed to the highway. The warden still didn’t make a move.
The Cadillac leaped forward, shot down the grade, out of sight. When it was quite gone the warden picked his gun up and holstered it, dragged the doe behind some bushes, and started to walk back along the highway towards the crest of the grade.
SIX
The girl at the desk in the Kenworthy said: «This man called you three times, Lieutenant, but he wouldn’t give a number. A lady called twice. Wouldn’t leave name or number.»
Delaguerra took three slips of paper from her, read the name «Joey Chill» on them and the various times. He picked up a couple of letters, touched his cap to the desk girl and got into the automatic elevator. He got off at four, walked down a narrow, quiet corridor, unlocked a door. Without switching on any lights he went across to a big french window, opened it wide, stood there looking at the thick dark sky, the flash of neon lights, the stabbing beams of headlamps on Ortega Boulevard, two blocks over.
He lit a cigarette and smoked half of it without moving. His face in the dark was very long, very troubled. Finally he left the window and went into a small bedroom, switched on a table lamp and undressed to the skin. He got under the shower, toweled himself, put on clean linen and went into the kitchenette to mix a drink. He sipped that and smoked another cigarette while he finished dressing. The telephone in the living room rang as he was strapping on his holster.
It was Belle Marr. Her voice was blurred and throaty, as if she had been crying for hours.
«I’m so glad to get you, Sam. I — I didn’t mean the way I talked. I was shocked and confused, absolutely wild inside. You knew that, didn’t you, Sam?»
«Sure, kid,» Delaguerra said. «Think nothing of it. Anyway you were right. I just got back from Puma Lake and I think I was just sent up there to get rid of me.»
«You’re all I have now, Sam. You won’t let them hurt you, will you?»
«Who?»
«You know. I’m no fool, Sam. I know this was all a plot, a vile political plot to get rid of him.»
Delaguerra held the phone very tight. His mouth felt stiff and hard. For a moment he couldn’t speak. Then he said: «It might be just what it looks like, Belle. A quarrel over those pictures. After all Donny had a right to tell a guy like that to get off the ticket. That wasn’t blackmail … And he had a gun in his hand, you know.»
«Come out and see me when you can, Sam.» Her voice lingered with a spent emotion, a note of wistfulness.
He drummed on the desk, hesitated again, said: «Sure. When was anybody at Puma Lake last, at the cabin?»
«I don’t know. I haven’t been there in a year. He went alone. Perhaps he met people there. I don’t know.»
He said something vaguely, after a moment said goodbye and hung up. He stared at the wall over the writing desk. There was a fresh light in his eyes, a hard glint. His whole face was tight, not doubtful any more.
He went back to the bedroom for his coat and straw hat. On the way out he picked up the three telephone slips with the name «Joey Chill» on them, tore them into small pieces and burned the pieces in an ash tray.
SEVEN
Pete Marcus, the big, sandy-haired dick, sat sidewise at a small littered desk in a bare office in which there were two such desks, faced to opposite walls. The other desk was neat and tidy, had a green blotter with an onyx pen set, a small brass calendar and an abalone shell for an ash tray.