“All right, partner then. Why the hell didn’t you call me when you came in?”
“I was busy.”
“Well, you’re going to be busy. You’re in a hell of a mess. Get over here.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
I said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Bertha said, “You’ll see me now or you’ll wish the hell you had. Frank Sellers is over here and the only thing that’s keeping you out of the hoosegow right now is the fact that Frank is my friend. Of all the damn fools, trying to cut corners with the cops. I don’t know why the hell I should worry about you. I should let you get thrown in the can. It might do you some good.”
“Put Sellers on the phone,” I said.
Bertha said, “You’d better come over.”
“Put him on the phone.”
I heard Bertha say, “He wants to talk with you.”
A moment later, Sellers’ voice rumbled into the telephone.
I said, “Listen, Frank, I’m all in. I don’t want to go round and round with Bertha over some trivial technicality. Now suppose you tell me what’s the beef.”
Sellers said, “You know what the beef is, and don’t pull any of that innocent stuff with me, or I’ll push your teeth down your throat. I’m sticking my neck all the way out to protect Bertha in the thing, and it may break me at that.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Of all the damn, dumb places to plant the murder weapon, that was it.”
“What murder weapon?”
“The hand ax, dope.”
“And where am I supposed to have planted it?” I asked.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Sellers said.
“I’m kidding on the square.”
“Don’t be a sap,” Sellers told me, “you’re in so deep now, the only way you can get out is by coming absolutely clean. If you don’t do that, you’re going to take a little ride with me, and you’re both going to lose your licenses. Now then, how soon can you get over here?”
“Exactly five minutes,” I said, and hung up the telephone.
Bertha’s apartment was on the fifth floor. My knees were weak as I stepped out of the elevator. I suddenly realized I was tired. It seemed like a mile to Bertha’s door. I pushed the button.
Bertha opened the door.
The smoky aroma of good Scotch whisky tingled my nostrils. I looked past Bertha and saw Frank Sellers sitting in his shirt sleeves, his feet elevated on a stool, a glass in his hand. He was frowning into the glass and looked as worried as a big cop can look.
“Well, come in,” Bertha snapped at me. “Don’t stand there staring at me.”
I walked in.
Bertha, in a loose fitting house dress, said, “My God, you’ve done some dangerous things in your time, but this is the first time you’ve ever gone plumb dumb on me. Of all the boob things to do. I suppose it was the legs.”
“What legs?” Frank Sellers asked.
Bertha said, “When this guy gets around a girl with looks and legs, he loses all sense of perspective.”
Sellers said mournfully, “That explains it then.”
“That doesn’t explain a damn thing,” I told him. “You should know by this time that if you listen to her, you’ll wind up behind the eight ball.”
Sellers tried to grin. It was a grimace.
Bertha said, “Don’t try to kid me out of it because you can’t make it stick.”
Sellers said, “I hate to do it to you, Donald, but you’ve led with your chin. You’re going on the carpet, and you’re probably going to lose your license. I may be able to keep Bertha out of it, but you’re in. And you’re in bad.”
“Wait until you hear what he says,” Bertha snapped at Sellers. “Don’t go pushing your weight around on Donald.”
Sellers said somewhat sullenly, “I’m not pushing any weight around, I’m telling the boy, that’s all.”
“Well, you don’t need to tell him,” Bertha said, bristling with belligerency. “He’s got more brains than you’ll have if you live to be a thousand.”
Sellers started to say something, then changed his mind and sipped his drink.
Bertha’s eyes were suddenly solicitous. “You’re white as a sheet, lover, what’s the matter. You aren’t letting this get you down, are you?”
I shook my head.
Bertha said, “You were supposed to take it easy. You told me that yourself. You — have you had dinner?”
Her question caught me by surprise. I thought back, trying to remember what I’d done with my time and then said, “No. Come to think of it, I haven’t.”
Bertha said, “That’s just like you, coming home half sick with your system full of tropical bugs and your resistance run down, under orders to avoid excitement and take it easy, and you go stir up a murder case and then go without your dinner.”
Bertha glowered at the two of us, then said, “Now, damn it, I suppose I’ve got to cook something for you.”
“There’s a place down the street,” I told her, “that’s still open. I’ll see what the law has to say, and go down there.”
“That joint!” Bertha snorted, and moved out toward the kitchen, her big body flowing along with a smooth grace inside of the loose house dress.
Sellers said, “Where did you get the hand ax, Donald?”
“Shut up,” Bertha snapped, turning to glare over her shoulder at him. “You’re not going to bullyrag the boy on an empty stomach. Have a drink of Scotch, lover, and come out here in the kitchen.”
I took a drink and went out to the kitchen. Sellers tagged along.
Bertha broke eggs into a bowl, dumped sliced bacon into a frying pan, shoved a pot of coffee on the stove, moving with an unhurried, ponderous efficiency that was deceptive because it didn’t seem she was moving fast.
Frank Sellers sat down in the little breakfast nook and put his drink on the table in front of him. He fished a fresh cigar out of his pocket and said, “Where did you get the hand ax?”
“What hand ax?”
Bertha said, “They’ve found the ax in the agency car, lover. The handle had been sawed off so it was only eight and a half inches long and the sawing wasn’t a neat job. It had been sawed part way through on one side, then turned around and sawed some more on the other side.
Sellers looked at my face. I met his eyes, shook my head and said, “It’s a new one on me, Frank.”
“Tell him how it happened you found it, Frank,” Bertha said. “I believe the little bastard’s telling the truth.”
Sellers said, “The police aren’t so dumb, you know.”
“I know.”
“Well,” Sellers said, “we went out to see Archie Stanberry. He was all broken up with grief, but he’d learned about the killing before we’d got there and...”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“The way he acted,” Sellers said. “He was putting on an act that he’d rehearsed. He was all suave smiles when he greeted us, and wanted to know what he could do. We asked him a few questions and he was just too sweet and innocent. Then we told him and he was knocked for a loop — but it was acting. You could tell that. He made the mistake most people do of putting it on just a little too thick. Nothing you could prove in court, but something you could tell, just the same.”
I nodded.
“Okay,” Sellers said. “We pretended to take the guy at face value, told him a few things, then went out and tapped his telephone line and put a couple of shadows on the job to see who called on him.”
Again I nodded.
“You showed up in the agency car. You went inside and the boys thought it might be a good plan to give your car the once over, just to make sure about the registration certificate and all that. They didn’t recognize you, and they didn’t recognize the car. Remember, you’ve been out of circulation for a while.”