There’d be a devil of a mess in tomorrow’s papers, too, but I wasn’t worried about that. I had my own mess to consider.
Thompson considered it for me in the car going down. “So you couldn’t take my advice, eh?” he mused. “Had to get that story. Well, you’ve got one now, all right. And I just hope for your sake that it holds up.”
“It’ll hold,” I said.
“How come you’re living in a hotel?” he asked me. “Give up the apartment?”
“Neighbors. Objected to my typing late at night. Got a few rush assignments I had to get out in a hurry, so I decided to take a room for a week or so.”
“Why not use your office?”
“They lock the building at nine.”
“Couldn’t you get a key?”
“Never thought of it. There’s no law against moving into a hotel, is there?”
“All depends.”
“On what?”
“On what the boys turn up in your room.”
“They won’t find anything.”
“They’ll try, though.”
“Damn!” I said.
“What’s wrong now?”
“Just happened to remember. I left half a pint of good liquor up there.”
“This isn’t funny, Clayburn. We’re inclined to take our murders seriously, you know. And knocking off a name like Polly Foster is a very serious matter. Which reminds me. That autograph on the menu—what did you say was the name of the girl you were getting it for?”
“I didn’t say. I don’t know her name. She works in Bannock’s office. Harry Bannock, the agent.”
“Heard of him. But how come she knew about your date with Foster?”
“I told you. I went to Bannock because he’s got an in with the studio. Asked him to get me a pass. Instead, he arranged this dinner date. I got to kidding with his girl, and promised her an autograph.”
“I see.”
“You can ask Bannock if you like.”
“Thanks.” Thompson nodded. “I was planning on doing just that. With or without your permission.”
“Look,” I said. “I’m trying to be nice, you know. I haven’t made any trouble.”
“Oh, you haven’t, eh? You just blew the lid off the Ryan case all over again, and piled a new killing on top of it. And you haven’t made any trouble.”
“You think the two cases tie together, too, then?”
“I’m not thinking out loud right now,” Thompson said. “Let’s get this over with, first.”
We got it over with.
There’s no sense dragging anybody else along on that part of the trip. It was bad enough for me, what with statements and questioning and more statements, and a call to Joe Fileen, my attorney. Coffee, cigarettes, and then another quiz show.
They held me forty-eight hours. No, fifty-eight, counting the first night. I saw everybody and his brother, including the little guy at the liquor store who sold me the pint. And the man on the desk at the hotel, who—believe it or not— remembered me leaving to go out to Polly Foster’s place.
So that gave me an alibi, of a sort. Except that I could have gone out there and shot her, then phoned immediately. She hadn’t been dead long enough for the coroner to establish any exact time for the murder.
But they couldn’t find a gun, and they couldn’t find a motive. They looked. I don’t know where they searched for the gun, but I know where they pried for a motive. Right inside my skull, that’s where. Working in batteries, in relays.
I’m not complaining. Thompson was my friend, and the rest of them were doing a job, a job they had to do, with the pressure bearing down on them from the D.A.’s office and the newspapers and public opinion.
There was plenty of the latter around, although I didn’t see any papers until after the second day. Headline stuff, this Polly Foster slaying. Headline, front page, feature story, even editorial stuff. And me, right in the middle. In the middle of the yarn, in the middle of a ring of fugitives from Dragnet.
They were looking for a candidate for the Grand Jury, and they were looking hard. They dragged up everything I’d ever done, checked my accident, went into my files and questioned my clients. A very thorough job. I had no objections, but I got awfully tired.
And I wasn’t the only one who went through the mill. Tom Trent had his little session, although somebody swung enough weight to keep it out of the papers. Harry Bannock and Daisy were called in, too, but both of them stuck to their. story. They’d just been doing me a favor.
Which was all I expected. I saw them at the inquest, and everybody testified all over again. There was nothing to go on, and that’s why they let me out after the inquest.
That gave me twenty-four hours to prepare for the funeral, twenty-four hours to rest up, get myself straightened out.
I rested, but not too much. First of all, I had to read the papers and catch up on the case. Everybody was doing it; everybody wanted to know who killed Polly Foster. Everybody except the guy who did it.
I wondered about him. Was he reading about the case, too? And was he reading my name? Was he going to start calling up at the hotel now? Maybe I’d better move out. Maybe I’d better not attend that funeral after all.
“Of course you will.” Harry Bannock told me that, when I finally drove out to his place to see him. “Mark, I know what it’s been like these past days for you.”
“No, you don’t,” I said. “Nobody’ll ever know.”
“Well, I can guess. And I appreciate it. Here.”
He pulled out a roll.
“Never mind that. It’s not necessary.”
“Of course it is. I want you to have it.”
“Yes,” Daisy Bannock added. “Please take it. You were swell, keeping Harry’s name under cover and all.”
I pocketed the bills. “Maybe it will help some after all,” I said. “With this killing, they can’t just walk away from the Ryan tie-up. They may find the murderer, clear your boy. I hope so.”
“So do I.” Harry sighed. “I haven’t dared go near the See-More outfit since the news broke, though.”
“It shouldn’t be too long. The whole Department’ll be out on this.”
“Not enough.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to keep on, too.”
“Now wait, you don’t need me. You’ve got what you wanted, the authorities are interested again.”
“That’s not what I wanted. I wanted Ryan’s killer. I wanted his name cleared. And the authorities may not do the job. But you can.”
“Me?” I laughed. “Know what I was going to do the night Polly Foster died? I was going to call you up and resign. Because I didn’t get anywhere. I goofed the works. I’m no investigator, Harry.”
“I’m betting you turn up the murderer.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s interested in you, now. Whoever he is, he knows you’ve been talking to people involved in the case. Chances are, you’ll hear from him one way or another.”
I smiled at Daisy. “What a coffin salesman your husband is,” I said. “Certainly knows how to make a deal sound attractive.” Then I turned to Harry. “It’s no use. I want out of this.”
“He’s right,” Daisy said. “Mark’s already done more than anyone could expect in covering up for you. You can’t ask him to run any more risks.”
“I’m not asking him to. He’s in this thing whether he likes it or not, as far as the murderer is concerned. So it doesn’t matter if he chooses to cooperate. The killer will keep an eye on him, either way. And all I’m asking him to do is keep an eye out for the killer—in case he runs across a clue.”
I tapped my eye-patch. “From now on, this is the only eye I’m keeping out for anybody.”