The cop shot me a hard stare, then stalked over to the Cadillac. He looked at the smashed headlamp.
By now I had pulled myself together and had got the certificate out of my wallet.
I walked over to him.
‘I have a certificate for the damage, officer,’ I said. ‘Lieutenant West gave it to me.’
The cop turned slowly and deliberately and held out his hand, while his small, hard eyes moved over my face. It needed an effort of will to meet those probing eyes, but I did it.
He studied the certificate.
If he checked the licence tag with the number plates I was sunk. There was nothing I could do but stand there and wait, and the next few minutes were about the worst I have lived through.
He looked at the number plates, then again at the certificate, then he pushed his cap to the back of his head and blew out his cheeks.
‘When did you see the Lieutenant?’ he demanded.
‘He was out at Mr. Aitken’s place. I work for Mr. Aitken,’ I said. ‘The Lieutenant cleared Mr. Aitken’s cars and mine.’ I was aware my voice didn’t sound too steady. ‘Sam knows me. He’s handled my car often enough.’
‘How did you do this?’
‘I rammed it into a tree.’
Sam joined us.
‘Mr. Scott was cuddling a girl,’ he said, his face one vast expansive grin. ‘Done it myself when I was his age, but I went clean through a shop window.’
The cop didn’t seem amused. He shoved the certificate at me.
‘I have a mind to take you in,’ he growled, glaring at me.
‘You might have killed someone.’
‘I know. That’s what the Lieutenant said.’ I tried to sound humble. ‘I told him I wouldn’t do it again.’
The cop hesitated. I could see he wanted badly to make something of this, but I felt sure that by mentioning West’s name I would block him off and I was right.
‘You’d better not do it again,’ he said, then turning his back to me he went on to Sam: ‘I thought I’d caught up with that joker who killed O’Brien. I had a report from a driver who had seen this car. Well, okay. I’ll get on,’ and he stalked out of the garage.
When he had driven away, Sam winked at me.
‘You were smart to mention Lieutenant West, otherwise that big-head would have run you in. He’s a guy who looks for trouble.’
I gave him the certificate.
‘You’ll want this.’
‘That’s right.’ Sam put the certificate in his pocket. ‘Can I lend you a car, Mr. Scott?’
‘I’d be glad if you would.’
‘Take the Buick over there. I’ll get the Caddy fixed by Friday. You bring the Buick on your way home and the Caddy’ll be ready for you.’
I thanked him, got in the Buick and drove out on to the highway.
I didn’t feel like returning to my bungalow. The time now was twenty minutes to eleven. I was still feeling pretty shaky from my encounter with the patrol cop and the thought of sitting in my lonely lounge with so much on my mind was something I just couldn’t face up to. So I drove into town.
I parked the Buick and went into a little bar Joe and I used sometimes when we felt a drink might help us get a few new ideas.
The barman, an elderly, fat humorist we called Slim, nodded to me as I came up to the bar.
‘A double Scotch,’ I said, climbing up on the stool.
There were only four men in the bar and they were at the far end, shooting crap.
‘Right away, Mr. Scott,’ Slim said. ‘You’re late tonight.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘still, tomorrow’s Sunday.’
‘That’s a fact: my favourite day.’ He poured the Scotch, dropped ice into the glass and placed it before me. ‘Heard the latest on the hit-and-run case?’
The muscles in my stomach suddenly cramped up.
‘No. What’s new?’
‘On the radio: ten minutes ago. A man and woman were seen driving off the highway and going down the beach road where the cop was killed about the time of the accident. The police are asking them to come forward. They seem to think they might have seen the car that killed O’Brien or maybe they did it themselves.’
I took a long pull at my whisky.
‘Is that right?’ I said, not looking at him.
‘I bet they don’t come forward. A man and woman don’t go down that kind of road to admire the view.’ He winked at me. ‘I bet those two aren’t going to get themselves on the front pages of the papers.’
‘That’s a fact. Well, they’re certainly making an effort to catch the guy who did it,’ I said, trying hard to sound casual.
‘Yeah. Seems a lot of fuss to me. People get killed every second of the day, but when it’s a cop, it’s got to be special.’
I sat and listened to views about the police for several minutes, then I asked him suddenly: ‘Would you know a guy who calls himself Oscar Ross?’
Slim looked surprised.
‘Why, sure. He’s a barman at the Little Tavern nightclub out at Mount Cresta. You know him, Mr. Scott?’
‘No, but someone was saying he was the best barman in town.’ I was careful to keep my face expressionless although this unexpected information had me seething with excitement. ‘I just wondered what was so special about him.’
‘I bet a lady told you that,’ Slim said, his face registering contempt. ‘The best barman in town! That’s rich. Why, he’s just an amateur. The martinis he throws together would make a cat puke. I tell you what he’s got: he’s got looks. I’ll say that for him. The dames go for him in a big way. He really gives them the works when they come into the bar: you know the stuff: the steady stare, looks up and down them, strokes their behinds when he helps them up on the stools. They love it, but he hasn’t any talent as a barman. I wouldn’t have him in this bar, not if he offered to work here for nothing.’
‘The Little Tavern? Isn’t that where Dolores Lane sings?’
‘That’s the joint.’ Slim picked up a cloth and began to polish the bar. ‘You ain’t missed a thing by not going there. She’s nothing to lose sleep over either.’
‘Wasn’t she supposed to be engaged to this cop who was killed?’
Slim scratched the back of his neck and stared blankly at me.
‘Yeah, I believe you’re right, but maybe it’s just a newspaper story. What would a nightclub singer want to marry a cop for?’
I finished my whisky.
‘You’re right. I only believe half of what I read in the newspapers,’ I said as I slid off the stool. ‘Well, I’ve got to be getting home. So long, Slim.’
‘Always glad to have you in here, Mr. Scott. Have a nice weekend.’
I went out to the Buick. Getting in, I lit a cigarette.
By the merest chance I had picked up a piece of information that had to be important. So Ross and Dolores Lane worked at the same nightclub. Dolores had told me she was going to marry O’Brien. As Slim had said why should a nightclub singer hook up with a cop? It didn’t make sense. It certainly deserved to be investigated.
On the spur of the moment, I decided to take a look at the Little Tavern nightclub.
I thumbed the starter, moved the Buick into the evening traffic, and headed out to Mount Cresta.
CHAPTER NINE
I
The Little Tavern nightclub was a typical roadside joint with a circular drive-in, a lot of coloured neon lights, a gaudy doorman and a big parking lot crammed with the less expensive cars.
I found space in one of the rows, cut my engine and turned off my lights.
Then I walked back between the alley of cars to the entrance of the nightclub.
The doorman turned the revolving door for me, touching his cap as he did so.