The fat man glanced for confirmation at Bertha Cool.
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I saw him, and I’ve seen his pictures in the newspaper. It was the same man.’
The fat man started rocking violently back and forth in the chair. Bertha Cool said, ‘The next time I have any information you want, don’t try to get it by beating up one of my operatives. You get better service this way.’
Cunweather said, ‘We didn’t think Mr. Lam was going to be so difficult.’
‘My operatives are all tough,’ Mrs. Cool said. ‘I pick ‘em that way.’
Cunweather said, ‘Let me talk to my wife, Mrs. Cool. I think we can make you a proposition. How about it, m’love? Would you like to step in the other room for a minute?’
‘Go ahead,’ Mrs. Cunweather said. ‘You’re doing fine.’
The chief turned back to Mrs. Cool. ‘We’re interested in hiring your agency for one particular purpose,’ he said. ‘We want to get in touch with Morgan Birks’ sweetie. We want to find out how many safety deposit boxes she rented in her name. We want to find out where they are. We want that information fast.’
‘How much is it worth?’ Mrs. Cool asked.
‘Suppose we say two hundred and fifty dollars for each box you tell us about.’
‘How many are there?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, Mrs. Cool, and that’s a fact. Frankly, I’m not certain there are any, but I have my suspicions. I do indeed.’
‘No soap,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I could make any money at it.’
Cunweather said, ‘Now let’s be reasonable about this, Mrs. Cool. You know where this woman is. You won’t have to waste any time. Morgan Birks is pretty well hidden, and is going to stay pretty well hidden. He’s just a little too smart for the police. He had his sweetie rent some safety deposit boxes. There may be five. There may be two.’
‘And there may not be any,’ Bertha Cool said.
‘There you go again,’ Cunweather chuckled. ‘There’s that unique personality of yours coming to the front. It’s refreshing, but we aren’t getting anywhere, and seconds are slipping through our fingers. Now there’s Lam, a clever boy. He could go to this girl and have the information in no time.’
I said, ‘Count me out.’
Cunweather said, ‘Now, Lam, don’t be like that. You’re a nice boy. You should be more forgiving. After all, what happened tonight was just a matter of business.’
‘Forget Donald,’ Mrs. Cool said. ‘You make terms with me. I’ll take care of Donald.’
‘We might make it three hundred dollars a box,’ Cunweather said.
‘No.’
‘That’s our limit.’
Bertha Cool said, ‘I’ll give you a ring and let you know — after I’ve talked with Sandra.’
‘We’d want your answer now.’
‘You have it.’
Cunweather started rocking back and forth in his chair. Mrs. Cunweather said, ‘Ask her where Morgan Birks is now.’
Cunweather said, ‘Come, come, Mrs. Cool. You’ve received a hundred and sixty-five dollars of my money. You know where Morgan Birks is. I think you should tell us.’
She pursed her lips thoughtfully, and said, ‘That information night not do you any good. Again it might be worth money. I’m not one to give something for nothing.’
The telephone rang while Cunweather was rocking back and forth thinking the thing out. ‘Would you answer it, m’love?’
‘Answer it yourself,’ she said, sitting perfectly still. He sighed, tightened his fingers around the arms of the rocking chair, heaved himself to his feet, and waddled out into the other room. He took the receiver off the hook, and said, in a cautious voice, ‘Yes, what is it?’ After that, he was silent for eight or ten seconds. Then he said, ‘You’re sure? — well, come on out here, and I’ll give you some instructions. There’s a new angle on the case.’
He dropped the receiver into place without saying ‘good-by,’ came waddling back, and beamed at Mrs. Cool. ‘I can well appreciate how you feel, Mrs. Cool,’ he said. Then he turned to his wife and said, ‘Morgan Birks is dead, m’love. A girl named Alma Hunter shot him in Sandra Birks’ apartment early this morning. She shot him in the back, just as he was trying to run from the apartment.’
‘Dead?’ Mrs. Cunweather asked.
‘Like a doornail,’ Cunweather assured her.
‘That,’ she said, ‘makes it different.’
Mrs. Cool said, ‘Come on, Donald.’
I got to my feet. She closed her purse, slid her legs back so that her feet were as far under the chair as she could get them, pushed her hands down against the arms of the chair, and got to her feet.
We started for the door. Cunweather and his wife were whispering. After a second or two, and before we were out of the hallway, Cunweather called, ‘Just a minute, Mrs. Cool. I want to ask you a question.’ He came waddling out into the hallway, and said, ‘Do you know whether Morgan Birks was in room 618 all the time? In other words, was he in there when this mistress of his registered?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘How about it, Donald?’
‘No chance,’ I said, ‘unless she was standing in with the bellboy, and Morgan Birks had been planted there. The clerk rented her 618 as a vacant room. She’d telephoned and asked for two rooms with a connecting bath. She’d been assigned 618 and 620. When she registered, she gave up 620, saying the other party hadn’t—’ I broke off as something came to my mind.
‘Hadn’t what?’ Cunweather asked, interested.
‘Hadn’t shown up. The bellboy took her up to 618. The captain got me the information, and I rented 620.’
‘Who had the bath?’
‘I did.’
‘Then 618 had rented without the bath?’ Cunweather asked me.
I said, ‘I guess so-unless there was another bathroom between 618 and 616.’
Mrs. Cunweather called from the other room, ‘Let her go, William. We’ve got enough information to handle it ourselves.’
The chief said, ‘Well, Mrs. Cool, it’s been most delightful having you drop in. Do come again some time. I’ll remember you. I will for a fact — and don’t hold a grudge, Lam. After all, my boy, you were splendid, and your nose doesn’t look at all bad. I can see from the way you’re walking, your ribs are a bit sore, but you’ll get over it in another twenty-four hours. You—’
He waddled over and held the door open for us.
I walked past him out into the night. He followed me out on the porch. ‘Come, come, Lam,’ he said. ‘Let’s shake hands.’
‘Shake hands with him, Donald,’ she said.
He pushed out his hand. It was like picking a chuck of cold oatmeal out of a pot. He looked in my eyes, and said, ‘You’re still sore, Lam.’
He dropped my hand. ‘Have it your own way,’ he said, and waddled back into the house, slamming the door behind him.
Bertha Cool said, ‘He’s a customer, Donald. We can’t quarrel with customers.’