“For a lousy magazine story, huh?”
“It’s a living.”
“Living?” He came around from behind the desk. “You talk about a living, after what’s happened to me? I’m going to tell you something, Clayburn. These killings cost me some of my top talent. I lost more than a million bucks so far. How long you think I can afford to sit still and watch this kind of stuff go on?
“You think I’m blind or something? I know what’s happening. It’s a conspiracy, that’s what it is. You think you fool me? Maybe the cops believe that cockeyed story of yours about how you’re out trying to write a yarn for the magazines. But I know better.
“It’s a frame, isn’t it? I was right, wasn’t I? Somebody’s behind all this; somebody’s out to ruin me. And you know who. Because you’re working for them!”
“That’s not so.”
“I say it is.” He bent over me, shaking. “And I know what you really come for. You want a deal, is that it? Well, go ahead. I’ll play ball. Tell me how much you want to lay off. But you got to promise to give me the names. I want to know who it is that’s trying to knife me.”
“You’ve got it all wrong. Nobody’s out to get you, Mr. Kolmar.”
“Quit stalling and tell me how much.”
“I don’t want your money. I just want these murders to stop.”
He grunted again, turned away. I stood up.
“Where you think you’re going?”
“Away,” I said. “If you can’t help me, I’ll just have to find someone who can.”
“You aren’t going anywhere.”
He said it as if he meant it, and when he turned again I saw that he did. Because he had the gun in his hand once more.
“You think I’m gonna let you walk out of here just like that?” he muttered. “Not me. Not until I get the truth. Not until you tell me who you’re working for, what they think they’re trying to do to me.”
“Honestly, Mr. Kolmar—”
“Honestly, he says. Honestly! There ain’t no such thing in this business. I know. For days now I been thinking about it, sitting there in my office and trying to figure it out. What’s happening in the industry? Why are they out to get me— me? I’m just an independent; why pick on me? Killing Foster, killing Trent. Wrecking my schedule. Trying to bankrupt me. They’re all against me.” He was shaking and the sweat poured down, rolling into his eyes and making him blink. But he held the gun, held it steady.
“I couldn’t work today, Clayburn. I sat there and felt like I was going to blow my top. I had to come home. Something must of told me to do it. Because you’re here now, and you’re staying until you talk.”
“But I don’t know anything about it, I swear it.”
“Swear! Go ahead and swear. But make it fast. I give you ten seconds, Clayburn, ten seconds to talk, or I shoot.”
“You’re crazy!”
“So I’m crazy. What difference does it make? They kill your people, wreck your pictures, take away your business. You think I care what happens now? I just want to know who did it, that’s all. And unless you tell me...”
I sighed. “You win. But you better not let Thompson see you with that gun.”
“Thompson? That dick?”
“Just drove up,” I said. “See him coming up to the porch now.” I nodded toward the window. Kolmar turned his head.
“Where?”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy jumping him. I got my hand on the wrist holding the gun, and then I shoved my knee against his elbow. The gun dropped. Kolmar growled and made a grab at my neck. I knocked his hand down.
Then I picked up the gun. “Sorry,” I said. “There’s been enough shooting around here. Sit down and cool off, Mr. Kolmar. I know how you feel, but try to understand this—I don’t know who killed your people. But I intend to help the police find out. And if I do hear something, I’ll tell you without asking.”
He slumped into a chair, swimming in sweat. “Give me that gun,” he wheezed.
“No. I’m taking it with me. You don’t need a gun, Mr. Kolmar.”
“Yes I do. Give it to me.”
I didn’t answer, just started to walk out.
“You’d better,” he panted. “I’ll send Dean after you. He’d like that.”
“Better not, you’ve lost enough employees already.”
There was no answer to that one.
I left him sitting there, staring and sweating.
The sun was going down when I got outside. The Hillman-Minx still stood there, but I didn’t see Joe Dean around. And I didn’t try to look for him.
I put the gun in the glove compartment and drove back to town. A long drive, but I’d made it before. And once again, it was dark when I arrived. It was almost six-thirty when I hit downtown.
Time to eat; but first a stop at the office. Maybe I could call Bannock from there. Maybe I’d find some mail waiting for me.
I didn’t call Bannock, and there was no mail. Something else waited for me. A visitor, standing there in the dim light of the hall.
I came around the top step before I saw the figure, and then I wished I’d brought the gun. The figure wheeled, and I caught sight of a white face and wide eyes.
“You!”
“That’s right,” I said. “How are you, Miss Trent?”
Chapter Thirteen
“I’ve been waiting over an hour,” she said. “When they let me out down at the station, I came right over here.”
“Let’s go inside, shall we?” I unlocked the door.
“Is it—safe?”
I looked at her. “Do you mean am I going to murder you?”
She blushed. “N-no. The police told you what I said, didn’t they? I’m sorry about that, really I am. I was so hysterical, I wasn’t thinking.”
“Understandable. Forget it.”
“Then when I heard you’d been beat up, I felt awful for suspecting you. That’s what I was thinking about now when I asked if it was safe. I mean, nobody’s following you?”
“Not that I know of. What about yourself?”
“I don’t think so. They let me go.”
“So I heard.” I pushed the door open, switched on the light. “Just want to see if I’ve got any important mail. We needn’t stay here.”
I picked up the pile of letters the postman had shoved under the door. It was all routine stuff, as near as I could see. No need to open any of it now.
“Suppose we go somewhere and eat?” I suggested. “I’m starved.”
She nodded. We went downstairs and hit the first restaurant across the street. Apparently she was hungry, too. We didn’t do much talking until after the roast beef arrived.
Then I told her about what had happened since I saw her at the Foster funeral, up to and including my recent interview with Kolmar and his chauffeur.
Her eyes went wide. “They lied to you,” she said. “I know they were lying.”
“How’s that?”
“Dean does have a brother. He isn’t his twin, but he looks like it. I’ve seen him, when I went to visit Tom on location at the ranch.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. His name is Andy. Do you think—?”
“That Kolmar hired him and the other mug to beat me up? Yes, it sounds probable.”
“Then maybe he’s the murderer.”
“I won’t rule it out, no. But I’m inclined to doubt it. What he told me makes sense—dollars and cents. He’s got too much dough tied up in his company to bump off his players. At least he’d wait until their picture roles were completed. And there’s no apparent motive.” I paused. “Did Kolmar ever quarrel with your brother over anything?”
“No. I don’t believe so.”
“You see? As I say, there’s no apparent motive. Unless one turns up, we’ll have to rule Kolmar out.”