I said, ‘I wanted the car. I still want the car. I think it’s a good car. I’ll give him sixteen hundred and seventy-two dollars for it. I made a mistake and drew on the wrong account. That’s all.’
‘And you’ll let the rest of it go?’ the sheriff asked.
‘I didn’t say that.’
The deputy district attorney said to the automobile man, ‘Don’t do a damn thing until you get a written release from him.’
‘All right,’ I surrendered, ‘draw up the written release, and pass the cigars.’
The deputy district attorney typed out the release. I read it carefully. All charges against me were dropped. I agreed not to make any claims against the automobile people, and gave them a complete release of any cause of action I might have against them growing out of the arrest. I said to the deputy district attorney, ‘I want you and the sheriff to sign it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because,’ I said, ‘I don’t know much about the procedure here, and I don’t want to waive my rights and then have something else happen. This just says the automobile people withdraw their charges. How do I know but what you might have a grand jury file against me?’
‘Baloney,’ the deputy district attorney said.
‘All right, if it’s baloney go ahead and sign. If you don’t, I don’t.’
Everybody signed. I folded the agreement and put it in my pocket. The deputy district attorney gave me a blank check on the Bank of Commerce, and made it out for the price of the automobile. We all shook hands. The automobile man went back to his office. The deputy sheriff said, ‘God, it was hot coming across that desert!’
I got up and started pacing the floor, scowling.
The sheriff looked at me and said, ‘What’s the matter, Smith?’
I said, ‘I’ve got something on my mind.’
There was silence in the room. The two officers and the deputy district attorney were watching me with speculative eyes as I paced the floor.
‘What is it?’ the sheriff asked. ‘Maybe we can help you.’
‘I killed a man,’ I said.
You could have heard a pin drop.
The deputy district attorney broke the silence. ‘What was it you did, Smith?’ he asked.
‘Killed a man,’ I said, ‘and my name isn’t Smith. It’s Lam, Donald Lam.’
‘Say,’ the sheriff said, ‘you’re too full of tricks to suit me.’
‘It isn’t a trick,’ I said. ‘I came here to take the name of Smith and begin all over again. It wasn’t an alias. I just wanted to start life all over, but I guess you can’t do that not when you have a man’s soul on your conscience.’
‘Who did you kill?’ the sheriff asked.
‘A man by the name of Morgan Birks. You may have read about him. I killed the guy.’
I saw glances fly around the table the way a ball team snaps the ball around the infield in between plays. The sheriff said in a kindly tone, ‘Maybe it would make you feel better if you told us all about it, Lam. How did it happen?’
‘I had a job,’ I said, ‘as a detective, working for a woman named Bertha Cool. Morgan Birks had a wife. Her name was Sandra, and she had a friend staying with her, Alma Hunter, a girl who’s a little bit of all right.
‘Well, I was hired to serve papers on Morgan Birks, but I saw someone had been choking Alma Hunter. I asked her about it and she said someone had been in her bedroom. She’d woke up just when he’d clamped down on her throat, and she managed to kick him loose. She was frightened to death.
‘She was a good kid, and I started to fall for her. We staged a little necking party in an automobile and I thought she was just what the doctor ordered. I’d have gone to hell for her. Then she told me about this choking business. I didn’t want her to stay there in the apartment alone. I put it up to her that I was going to sneak in and spend the night standing guard in the closet. She said I couldn’t do that because Sandra Birks slept in the same room. So I told her I was going to come and stay until Sandra got in.
‘Well, I went up there, and we talked for a while, and then I saw Sandra was going to be late so I told her to switch out the light and get into bed and I’d wait. I went over and sat down in the closet. I had this gun with me. I tried to keep awake, but I guess I dozed off a bit. I woke up some time in the night and heard Alma Hunter give a little scream. I had a flashlight, and I switched it on. A man was bending over the bed, feeling for her throat. When the flashlight hit him, he turned and started to run. I was pretty much excited. I pulled the trigger, and he went down for the count. I threw the gun on the floor and ran out the door into the corridor. Alma Hunter jumped out of bed and came running after me. The wind slammed the door shut. There was a spring lock on it. She couldn’t get back in to get her clothes. She said she’d hide until Sandra came in. We decided there was no use making a squawk to the police. We figured Sandra would help cover the thing up some way. Alma said she’d protect me. So I beat it.
‘Then I found that she was eying to take the rap for me, and I figured she could get away with it on account of self-defense; but the last I heard, things didn’t look so hot.’
The sheriff said, ‘Sit down, Lam. Sit down, and take it easy. Now don’t get all worked up about it. After all, you’re going to feel a lot better when you’ve told us all about it. Now, where did you get the gun?’
‘That,’ I said, ‘is something else.’
‘I know it is, Donald, but if you’re going to tell the story, you’d better tell the whole story. It isn’t going to do any good just to get half of it off your mind. Think of how much better you’ll sleep tonight if you come clean and give us the whole thing.’
‘Bill Cunweather gave me the gun,’ I said.
‘And who’s Bill Cunweather?’
‘I used to know him back East.’
‘Where back East?’
‘Kansas City.’
In the silence that followed, I heard the deputy district attorney take a deep breath.
‘Where did you last see Cunweather?’ he asked.
‘He has a place out on Willoughby Drive.’
‘Do you remember the number?’
‘Nine hundred and seven, I think it is. He’s got his whole mob with him.’
‘Who’s in the mob?’
‘Oh, everybody,’ I said. ‘Fred, and all the rest of them.’
‘And he gave you the gun?’
‘Yes, when I decided to sit up in the room with Alma, I knew that I was going to need some sort of protection. I’m not big enough to protect any girl with my fists. I tried to get Mrs. Cool to give me a gun, and she laughed at me. So I went out to Cunweather. I told him the spot I was in, and he said, “Hell, Donald, you know where I stand. You can have anything I’ve got.” ’
‘Where did Cunweather get the gun?’ the deputy district attorney asked.
‘His wife was there,’ I said. ‘He calls her the little woman. He told her to — say, come to think of it, I guess I hadn’t better tell you anything about Cunweather. What difference does it make where I got the gun?’
‘You knew Cunweather in Kansas City?’
‘Sure.’
‘What did he do there?’
I narrowed my eyes, and said, ‘I told you we weren’t going to talk about Cunweather. I’m talking about me and about Morgan Birks. I guess you know all about it, or you can find out by getting in touch with the people in California.’
‘We know all about it,’ the deputy sheriff said. ‘The newspapers have been full of it. The girl was supposed to have shot him.’
I said, ‘Yes, I know. She was taking the responsibility. I shouldn’t have let her do it.’
‘We’re pretty much interested in this gun,’ the sheriff said.
‘Why?’