“Resent and be damned,” Bertha said, “but if you think you’re going to pull that line of stuff with a professional investigator, you’re crazy as hell.”
“What do you mean?” Josephine asked.
“This business about the poor little girl supporting her mother and trying to get along as best she can,” Bertha said. “Take a look at this dump, it costs money. No two girls can afford this on the type of money you make — particularly if they’re supporting invalid mothers.
“Where the hell is Melita’s bedroom?”
Josephine was speechless, she simply gestured toward a door.
“Then this one must be yours?” Bertha said.
“That’s right.”
Bertha started walking toward Josephine’s bedroom.
“Here, you, come out of there!” Josephine said.
Bertha kept right on walking.
Josephine ran and grabbed Bertha and tugged.
Bertha gave a sidearm swipe and sent Josephine spinning across the apartment.
Bertha walked in through the open door, started looking through closets.
“Who do these men’s clothes belong to?” Bertha asked.
“You... you... you get out of here I’m going to call the police.”
Bertha tossed a couple of men’s suits out on the bed, looked in the inside breast pockets for a tailor’s label, picked a shirt from a drawer and noted the neat letter C embroidered on the breast pocket.
“You must think a lot of that guy,” Bertha said.
“That’s my cousin,” Josephine said defiantly. “He left some things here while he was gone on a trip.”
Bertha Cool prowled around the bedroom, then walked back into the living room, went into the other bedroom, prowled around, came back and said, “What the hell’s the idea?”
“What idea?”
“Stealing X-rays.”
“She wasn’t stealing X-rays!” Josephine said. “I tell you it’s that supervisor.”
“This Doon girl got a boy friend?” Bertha asked.
“No, absolutely not!”
“Baloney,” Bertha said.
She came walking back and said to me, “She’s being subsidized in a big way.”
Josephine said, “I don’t know what redress I have in a matter of this kind, but I’m certainly going to see my lawyer. I think I can have your license revoked. You have no right to come in here and make an unauthorized search.”
Bertha said, “That’s right, dearie. You go ahead and complain to the authorities and will find out who this mysterious cousin of yours is and— Let’s see if he has a wife.”
Bertha walked over to the bed and began an expert appraisal of the suits of clothes.
“Here’s a cleaning tag,” she said. “Donald, take this number down. C436128.
“Well,” Bertha said, turning toward the door, “I guess that’s all we can do here. These babes are pretty well set up.”
Josephine started to cry.
“You can’t use that evidence,” she said. “You simply can’t. That cleaning tag, that—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Bertha said soothingly, “your cousin— Well, we won’t make any fuss about things unless you start making a fuss.”
Bertha pushed her way over to the door.
I followed her out.
In the hall, I said, “Good heavens, Bertha, you took chances that time. You had no right going into that bedroom.”
“Forget it,” Bertha said. “These women hypnotize you. I can tell a phony as far as I can see one.”
“Phonies are sometimes the ones that file the big lawsuits,” I said,
“I know,” Bertha said, “but those girls are vulnerable. They’ve got a racket. What kind of a babe is this Melita Doon?”
We crowded into the elevator and I said, “She’s rather a subdued choir girl who doesn’t use any sex.”
“Baloney,” Bertha said. “She either uses sex or she’s selling X-ray pictures like mad. Her clothes may look simple and virtuous to you, but those were pretty damned good rags hanging in that closet.
“And don’t think for a minute that Josephine is calling on her boyfriend to support a double apartment that will keep Melita in style just because she likes company.”
We rattled down to the ground floor. Bertha pounded her way out to the car, squeezed in, slammed the door shut so that it all but broke the glass and said, “My God, Donald, you shouldn’t have wasted all my time. You should have been able to spot that setup as phoney the minute you saw it.
“Sick mother!
“Sick mother, my fanny!”
I drove Bertha to her apartment, then went on out to Breckinridge’s house.
I parked the car in the wide driveway, leaving room for other cars to get past, and went up the steps to the front door.
Breckinridge had the door open before I had a chance to get my finger on the bell button.
“Come in, Donald,” he said cordially. “I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.”
“So I understood,” I said, “but I thought you had relieved us of all responsibility in the case, so I didn’t bother to check—”
“I made a big mistake, Donald,” he said, “and I’m going to be the first to acknowledge it.”
I followed him into the living room. “All right,” I said, “what’s cooking?”
“I have received a report from Arizona,” he said.
“You sent an agent down?” I asked.
“I didn’t,” he said. “I received a telephone call and as a result of that call I felt certain that it would be worse than useless to send any agent out to try and effect a settlement at this time.”
“How come?”
“Well, to begin with I am afraid that after a person works a clever scheme once or twice it doesn’t pay to try to work it after that.”
I waited for him to go on.
“Sit down, Lam. Make yourself comfortable. Would you care for a little Scotch and soda, or a little bourbon and Seven-up?”
“I’m fine,” I told him. “We may not have much time to talk frankly, so we’d better go into things while the going is good.”
“Yes, indeed,” Breckinridge said, “that’s very good logic.
“Well, here’s the situation, Lam. This idea of a fake contest has worked like a charm in two cases that have gone to court and in three cases that we settled. It didn’t work quite as well when our operatives became intimate— I told you about that.
“But it was a fine idea. We let the claimant feel that he had won a contest which entitled him to two weeks’ free vacation at the Butte Valley Guest Ranch. He would go there and when he saw the setup, he would start entering into the life. As you know, life at a guest ranch is hardly conducive to the type of rest an invalid would need.
“In no time at all, we’d have pictures of the claimant swinging golf clubs, diving into the pool, making eyes at some of the impressionable young women who were always around, and sometimes our representative there, Dolores Ferrol, would have him so completely gaga that he would be trying to stand on his head if she even indicated she’d like to see him try.
“But those cases that went to court betrayed us. Melvin evidently found out about our fake contest, our connection at the Butte Valley Guest Ranch and all the rest of it.
“So A. B. Melvin shows up all loaded for bear.”
“When?”
“This morning. But I think that he had been planning to trap us. I think Bruno and he have been working hand and glove all the time.”
“So what’s the score now?”
“Melvin is at the guest ranch. He’s found out about the murder charge against Foley Chester.”
“How did that happen?”
“Simplest thing in the world,” Breckinridge said. “When Melvin got in on the case, he wanted to get a line on Chester. He knew, of course, he was dealing with an insurance company but he wanted to find out about Chester.