“Do you think I’d be sitting here now if I could answer that one?”
“Then how do you know?”
“Did a little checking. In the first place, it wasn’t Trent’s gun. We found a list, complete inventory of his stuff, with the permits and purchase dates. He was a careful, methodical guy when it came to his hobby. No such gun was listed. He wouldn’t go in for an ordinary thirty-two pistol anyway.” Thompson lit a cigarette. “Also, he wasn’t killed standing up. He was killed lying down, on the floor. The bullet went through.”
“Neither of those things rule out suicide,” I said.
“That’s right.” Thompson blew smoke at my telephone. “But it seems mighty funny for a guy to lie down before he shoots himself in the chest that way. Mighty funny for him to buy or borrow a strange gun when he has a small arsenal on hand. Mighty funny for him to register every weapon he owns, and then file all the identification off the pistol he uses to kill himself with.”
“Circumstantial evidence.”
“So’s the rest. Guy named Keasler driving past about the time of the shooting, near as we can establish it. Said he saw a car pulling away from Trent’s place. Not out of the driveway; it was parked under the trees adjoining the property.”
I nodded. “I remember the spot. You could put a car in there, back from the road, and nobody would notice it at night, unless they were looking for it.”
“Right. We found marks there, too.”
“Tire tracks?”
Thompson groaned. “No. It’s never that simple when I get a case. This fellow Keasler didn’t jot down the license number for me, either. Just saw a big black car pull away. A big black car just like a hundred thousand other cars in town. But that’s enough for a lead.”
“What about the butler, and Miss Trent?”
“They’re clean.”
“And that phone call?”
Thompson waved his cigarette. “Who knows?” He reached out and found an ashtray. “I didn’t come here to make an official report. I came to find out if you had any basis for your suspicion about this being murder.”
“No basis at all. I was serious about the monogram, though. Trent was a pretty conceited character.”
“He was a pretty worried character, too. I talked to his sister.”
“What’d she say?”
Thompson grinned. “She didn’t know about your little caper last night. She suggested maybe you killed him.”
“Why, the—”
The grin never left his face. “So come clean, Clayburn. She doesn’t exactly seem to trust you. Why trust her? You saw her yesterday afternoon. What did she tell you?”
“I already gave my story.”
“Sure. But I’m not convinced you gave us all you know. What did she say about Trent? Why did she come to you in the first place?”
“She was worried about him. He’d been drinking too much.”
“Since when are you supposed to be interested in that? You the new head of Alcoholics Anonymous?”
I shook my head. “She came to me because she knew I’d seen Trent. Wondered if there was some connection.”
“Was there?”
“No.”
“All right, boy.” Thompson stood up. “If that’s the way you want it.”
“That’s the way it is.” I walked him to the door. “Don’t worry, if I turn up anything, I’ll let you know.”
He stopped grinning. “You’d better not try,” he remarked. “You’ve turned up more than enough already. Clayburn, this whole business smells. Everywhere you go, there’s murder. If I ever find out you’ve been holding out on us, I’ll—”
“Put a tail on me if you like,” I answered. “Just to save you the trouble for the moment, I’ll tell you where I’m going right now. Over to Harry Bannock’s office, to discuss the case. Is it all right if I mention it’s murder? Or must I wait until the afternoon papers scoop me?”
“Suit yourself.” He opened the door. “But please, I’m not fooling. Keep out of this mess. Everything I told you at the first goes double now. This is big. And we don’t want it to get any bigger. Unless you’re shilling for some undertaker’s union.”
“I’m not shilling for anybody.”
“Good. Just keep your nose clean, Clayburn. If you don’t, somebody’s going to be patting it with a spade.”
Chapter Twelve
I drove over to Bannock’s office.
He had a new receptionist. Could be that the other girl quit when she knew she wouldn’t be getting Polly Foster’s autograph.
I gave my name and asked for Harry.
“Mr. Bannock has left for the day.”
“Home?”
“He didn’t say.’”
I didn’t offer this girl any autograph-collecting services. I went out, got in the car, and drove to Bannock’s place. The sun was shining over Laurel Canyon, but I wasn’t in the mood for Nature appreciation.
There was too much to think about. Tom Trent was dead, and Hamilton Brackett was probably getting ready to declare another dividend to his stockholders on the strength of it. There was a notion—maybe Hamilton Brackett was the killer, on the loose, out drumming up business.
But why would he pick on Apex Studio players? I wondered about that. I wondered how Abe Kolmar must feel, losing his talent right and left. I wondered a lot about Kolmar, wondered so much I nearly ran into a coupe as it turned out of Bannock’s driveway. It wasn’t Bannock’s car, though.
I turned in, parked, and went up the walk. The door opened before I had a chance to knock or ring, and I smelled that old familiar perfume.
“Hello,” said Daisy.
“Is Harry home?”
“No. Why, were you expecting him?” She looked puzzled.
“Well, I talked to him this morning about getting together. Then I took a run over to the office, and they said he’d left for the day.”
“He didn’t tell me anything about it.” Daisy frowned. “Come on in, Mark.”
I followed her into the front room. “Fix you something?”
“No, thanks.”
“Mind if I have one, then? I’ve got the jumps.”
“Getting you down, eh?”
“Can’t you tell by looking at me? I’m a fright.”
That was her opinion. To me she looked good. I’d thought I wasn’t in the mood for nature appreciation, but that was before I saw Daisy. Today she was wearing white sateen lounging pajamas, and when she sat down on the sofa, drink in hand, and started to lounge...
“Mark, where do you think Harry went?”
“How should I know? Some studio, probably. You know how he operates.”
“I know how he used to operate. Before all this started.” She must have had the jumps after all. The drink disappeared before my eye, and she was on her feet already, mixing another. “But now he doesn’t even call and let me know where to reach him. I never know what time he’s coming home.”
“Maybe the police are questioning him about Trent’s death.”
The liquor slopped over the edge of her glass “I—I never thought of that.”
“Where was he when it happened, anyway?”
She mopped up the tabletop. “Why—home, home with me. That is, he came home. He’d gone out earlier in the evening to see some client, down near Pacific Palisades.”
“But he was here most of the evening?”
“Of course.” She began to work on that second drink. “Mark, you keep asking questions about Harry, almost as if you didn’t trust him.”
“Do you?”
She bit her lip. “Of course. He’s my husband.”
“I know. I keep reminding myself about that.”
Daisy smiled. “Do you?”
I nodded. “Yeah. But that’s not what I came here to talk about.”
“Why not?”
For a minute I didn’t think I was hearing straight. Apparently she realized this, because she stood up and walked over to where I was sitting. And then she put her drink down very carefully, and lowered herself into my lap.