“No, but he knew about it. He saw me pass some to Dick Ryan.”
“Ryan was one of your customers?”
“No. He only bought once. Said he was getting it for a friend.”
“How did he know you could supply him?”
“I asked, but he wouldn’t tell me. He could have heard talk, though. I had a lot of customers in the industry.”
“You’re sure Ryan wasn’t a viper?”
“Positive.”
I nodded. That’s what I’d started out to clear up, a long time ago. That’s what I’d wanted: a plain statement clearing Ryan of addiction, from somebody who knew.
But I felt no satisfaction in hearing it now. Even if I could get her to put it in writing, that wouldn’t help. Too much had happened since I began my search, too many murders.
“All right,” I said. “So he bought some for a friend. Who was it? Polly Foster?”
“No.”
“Didn’t she use tea?”
“Sometimes. But she knew where to get it. Right from me.”
“What about Trent?”
“He dealt with me, too. And Ryan wouldn’t be buying for him.”
“Well, somebody was smoking at Ryan’s trailer. You were all there that night.”
“Nobody took anything when I was around.”
“Kolmar?”
“I don’t know about Kolmar.”
“Joe Dean works for him now.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, either. I told you I haven’t seen Joe since.”
“But you left Ryan’s trailer with Dean the night of the murder. You spent the rest of the night with him in a motel, didn’t you?”
“Yes. The little rat! He was always after me, and when he caught me slipping the stuff to Ryan, he made me promise to go with him or else he’d squeal.”
“That’s how it was, eh?”
“That’s how it was.” She scowled. “In the morning I kicked him out and told him to go peddle his papers. I haven’t seen the little fink since, and I don’t want to.”
“But you’re sure Ryan didn’t take weed. And you’re sure Dean didn’t kill him.”
“Positive. Somebody else must have come to Ryan’s trailer after we left. Somebody he expected, somebody who liked kicks.”
“So Polly Foster said.”
“She did?” Estrellita Juarez clenched her fists.
“I talked to her the night she died. In fact, I found her body. You must have read about that. She told me over the phone that she’d gone back to the trailer later that evening. She’d seen someone there. Whether or not she could identify the party, I don’t know. But if she could, somebody made sure of getting to her before I did. So maybe your idea is right. Why didn’t you tell the police about it when Ryan died?”
“Why get into trouble? Let them do their own figuring.”
“Even if they suspect you? That doesn’t make sense.” I sat down and leaned forward. “Because they do suspect you, now. This business of disappearing after Polly Foster’s death looks mighty suspicious. Everybody else showed for questioning and gave an alibi. Everybody but you. Why?”
“I got my orders to lay low. Changed my territory on me; I don’t work the studios any more.”
“You’re sure it isn’t because you know who killed Polly Foster?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“Then why did you phone Tom Trent and warn him to get out of town?”
“I—I was worried. I liked Tom. He was on the stuff, sure, and I used to get it for him. Then I was told to hide out here and that cut off his supply. From something he said to me after Ryan got killed, I got a hunch he might know who did it. I think he must have gone back that night, just like Polly Foster. Maybe he just guessed. But I figured he knew, and after Polly Foster died, I was scared for him. I called him up and told him maybe he’d better get out of town for a while. We figured maybe he’d be safe then.”
“We?”
“I mean, I figured.”
“Uh-uh. You were told to warn him, weren’t you?”
“You’re getting me all confused.”
“You’re confused plenty, if you ask me. You’re shielding somebody who’s put you on the spot.”
“I’m not on the spot.”
“Yes you are.” I talked right into her face. “Whoever this party is, he’s got you right where he wants you, the perfect suspect. You disappear the minute Foster gets murdered. You call Trent the night before he’s killed. Somebody came out to his place in a car and bumped him off—couldn’t that be you? The cops think so. They know about that call.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell them. Tell them when they come for you.”
“Nobody knows where I am. I’m safe. Unless you double cross me.”
“I’m not going to double cross you,” I answered. “I don’t have to. Because you’re not safe here. I found you in fifteen minutes. I used my head, and an old City Directory. Got your apartment number from that tea peddler downstairs. She sold you out for twenty bucks. I’ll bet you another twenty the police will be knocking on your door before tomorrow morning.”
“I won’t be here,” she said. “I’m getting out of town.”
“Suit yourself. But you’re a sucker if you keep on trying to protect somebody who’d line you up for a rap like this. Who is it, this guy you’re running for?”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
“Suppose you tell me his name?”
“No. I couldn’t do that—”
“Give you my word. I won’t say anything about it for twenty-four hours. You’ve got time to clear out of here.”
“I couldn’t.” She dug her fingers into the arm of the sofa. “He’d come after me.”
“I doubt that. Because if you ask me, he won’t have a chance. The police will grab him right away. Don’t you see? This guy’s the killer.”
Her fingers stopped clawing.
“Haven’t you figured that yet? It has to be that way. I’m not playing brilliant; it’s just simple elimination. He’s the only one left who’s linked to all three of the victims: Ryan, Foster and Trent.”
She stared at the wall behind me.
“Come on,” I said. “Is it Kolmar?”
“No.”
“Tell me his name.” I reached over and shook her. “Don’t be a fool. Do you want to end up like the others did?”
Estrellita Juarez stared.
“All right,” she said, tonelessly. “It isn’t Kolmar. The name is Hastings. Edward Hastings. He works for—”
She wasn’t staring at the wall any more. I realized that now. She was staring at the door, because it was opening, fast. I turned in my seat, my hand searching for the gun Bannock had given me. I felt the butt in my fingers, started to tug it out as I tried to get up.
I never got the gun out, never reached my feet.
Joe Dean came in right behind my chair. “Here’s what I owe you,” he said.
What he owed me was something hard, something that cracked down to split my skull and leave me sprawling on a floor that went spinning and spinning around. It was like one of those outfits you ride in the Fun House of an amusement park, where centrifugal force finally throws you off to the edge. It was throwing me off now.
I hit the edge and dropped into darkness.
Chapter Fifteen
The rungs were slippery, but I kept climbing. That was the only way to get out of the darkness again. I had to keep on climbing. It took years.
Then I was up, back on the floor, lying there with my face pressed into the rug. My mouth was open and I wheezed.
The rug tasted awful, so I rolled over. Still the same taste. It wasn’t the rug after all; it was something else. Something that clung to my mouth no matter how I turned my head. A gag.