“Yes, sir. It looks like it was going to rain all night.”
Kells said: “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
The night clerk came out of the telephone operator’s compartment.
Kells leaned on the desk. He said, “Your Mister Dillon is in ten-sixteen. He had an accident. There’s another man in there whom Fenner will file charges against. Have the house dick hold him till Fenner gets back.”
He started to go, paused, said over his shoulder: “Maybe you’ll find another one trying to get in or out of the court. Probably not.”
He went out and walked up Ivar to Yucca, west on Yucca the short block to Cahuenga. The rain had become a gentle mist for the moment; it was warm, and occasional thunder drummed over the hills to the north. He went into an apartment house on the corner and asked the night man if Mr Beery was in.
“He went out about ten minutes ago.” The night man thought he might be in the drugstore across the street.
Beery was crouched over a cup of coffee at the soda fountain. Kells sat down beside him and ordered a glass of water, washed down two aspirin tablets. He said: “If you want to come along with me, you might get some more material for your memoirs.”
Beery put a dime on the counter and they went out, over to Wilcox. They went into the Wilcox entrance of the Lido, upstairs to the fourth floor and around through a long corridor to number four-thirty-two.
Granquist opened the door. Her face was so drained of color that her mouth looked bloody in contrast to her skin. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes were wide, burning. She held her arms stiffly at her sides.
There was a man lying on his face half in, half out of the bathroom. His arms were doubled up under his body.
Beery walked past Granquist, slowly across the room to a table. He turned his head slowly as he walked, kept his eyes on the man on the floor. He took off his hat and put it on the table.
Kells closed the door quietly and stood with his back against it.
Granquist stared at him without change of expression.
Beery glanced at them.
Kells smiled a little. He said: “This isn’t what I meant, Shep — maybe it’s better.”
Beery went to the man on the floor, squatted and turned the head sidewise.
Granquist swallowed. She said: “Gerry, I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.”
Beery spoke softly, without looking up: “Bellmann.”
Kells locked the door. He looked at the floor, then he went to the table and reached under it with his foot, kicked an automatic out into the light.
Granquist walked unsteadily to a chair. She sat down and stared vacantly at Beery bending over the body. She said in a hollow, monotonous voice: “He was like that when I came in. I stopped downstairs and then I came up in the elevator and he was like that when I came in — just a minute ago.”
Kells didn’t look at her. He took out a handkerchief and picked up the automatic and held it to his nose. He held it carefully by the handkerchief and snapped the magazine out of the grip, said: “Two.”
Beery stood up.
Kells laughed suddenly. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. He sat down and put the automatic on the table, wiped his eyes with the handkerchief.
“Goddamn!” he said brokenly. “Goddamn, it’s beautiful!”
Granquist stared at Kells and then she leaned back in the chair and her eyes were very frightened. She said: “I didn’t do it.” She leaned back hard in the chair and closed her eyes tightly. She said, “I didn’t do it,” over and over again.
Kells’ laughter finally wore itself out. He wiped his eyes with the handkerchief and then he looked up at Beery. “Well,” he said, “why the hell don’t you get on the phone? You’ve got the scoop of the season.”
He leaned back and smiled at the ceiling, improvised headlines: “Boss Bellmann Bumped Off by Beauty. Pillar of Church Meets Maker. Politician — let’s see — Politician Plugged as Prowler by Light Lady.”
He stood up and crossed quickly to Beery, emphasized his words with a long white finger against Beery’s chest. “Here’s a pip! Reformer Foiled in Rape. Killer says: ‘I shot to save my honor, the priceless inheritance of American Womanhood.’”
Beery went to the telephone. He said: “We’ve been a Bellmann paper — I’ll have to talk to the Old Man.”
“You goddamned idiot! No paper can afford to soft-pedal a thing like this. Can’t you see that without an editorial?” Beery nodded in a faraway way, dialed a number. He asked for a Mister Crane, and when Crane had answered, said: “This is Beery. Bellmann has been shot by a jane, in her apartment, in Hollywood... Uh-huh, very dead.”
He grinned up at Kells, listened to an evident explosion at the other end of the line. “We’ll have to give it everything, Mister Crane,” he went on. “It’s open and shut — there isn’t any out... Okay, switch me to Thompson — I’ll give it to him.”
Granquist got up and went unsteadily to the door. She put her hand on the knob and then seemed to remember that the door was locked. She looked at the key but didn’t touch it. She turned and went into the dinette, took a nearly empty bottle out of the cupboard and came back and sat down.
Beery asked: “What’s your name, sister?”
Granquist was trying to get the cork out of the bottle. She didn’t say anything or look up.
Kells said: “Granquist.” He looked at her for a moment, then went over to the window, turned his head slightly towards Beery: “Miss Granquist.”
Beery said, “Hello, Tom,” spoke into the telephone in a low, even monotone.
Kells turned from the window and crossed slowly to Granquist. He sat down on the arm of her chair and took the bottle out of her hands and took out the cork. He got up and went into the dinette and poured the whiskey into a glass and brought it back to her. He sat down again on the arm of the chair. “Don’t take it so big, baby,” he said very softly and quietly. “You’ve got a perfect case. The jury’ll give you roses and a vote of thanks on the ‘for honor’ angle — and it’s the swellest thing that could happen for Fenner’s machine — it’s the difference between Bellmann’s administration and a brand-new one.”
“I didn’t do it, Gerry.” She looked up at him and her eyes were dull, hurt. “I didn’t do it! I left the snaps and stuff in the office downstairs when I went out — the bag was a gag...”
Kells said: “I knew they weren’t in the bag — you left it in the chair when you went into the bathroom.”
She nodded. She wasn’t listening to him. She had things to say. “I ran back here when I left Fenner’s. I picked up the stuff at the office — had to wait till the manager got the combination to the safe out of his apartment. Then I came up here to wait for you.”
She drank, put the glass on the floor. She turned, inclined her head toward Bellmann. “He was like that — he must have come here for the pictures — he’d been through my things...”
Kells said: “Never mind, baby — it’s a setup.”
“I didn’t do it!” She beat her fist on the arm of the chair. Her eyes were suddenly wild.
Kells stood up.
Beery finished his report, hung up the receiver. He said: “Now I better call the station.”
“Wait a minute.” Kells looked down at Granquist and his face was white, hard. “Listen!” he emphasized the word with one violent finger. “You be nice. You play this the way I say and you’ll be out in a month, with the managers throwing vaudeville contracts at you. Maybe I can even get you out on bail.”
He turned abruptly and went to the door, turned the key. “Or” — he jerked his head towards the door, looked at the little watch on the inside of his wrist — “there’s a Frisco bus out Cahuenga in about six minutes. You can make it — and ruin your case.”