The Complete Cases of Stuart Bailey

by Roy Huggins

  I said, “Listen, and don’t get excited. I’m that guy from L.A.” The driver’s head jerked and then stayed where the words had caught it, cocked slightly toward me. “But I didn’t kill anyone, and I didn’t knife a cop. They were booking me on a vagrancy charge, and I bit him with my thirty-eight. I’ve got that thirty-eight in my hand right now, but I don’t intend, to use it.” The driver’s head moved a little then.

  “No,” I went on, “I don’t intend to use it, but I’m asking you to stick your neck out for me anyway. There’s a carload of cops coming up. They may stop you. I’m going to be on the floor. Tell them you just dropped a passenger. If they find me, I’ll say you didn’t know I was here.”

  His head didn’t move.

  The siren was loud now, the red light throwing color into the cab. “It’s up to you,” I said. “You don’t have to do it. I’m putting the thirty-eight away.”

  I slid down onto the floor. This was it. I couldn’t have threatened him. He’d have given me away anyway or he’d have been scared stiff. The cops would have seen it. They’d have searched the cab.

  The police car was next to us now, and the siren gave a final whine, dropped off to a purr, and then silence. Light sprayed into the cab. The cab rolled to a stop.

  A heavy voice said, “No passenger.”

  “Nope. Just dropped two old ladies.”

  “Seen a tall guy lurkin’ around anywhere?”

  “If I do, I’ll tell him you’re lookin’ for him.”

  “Wise guy.”

  A motor roared and left us behind in the midst of silence. I raised up. The driver turned and looked at me. He said, “Brother, I hate cops, but I’ll never know why I did that. Never. Now, get going, will you?”

  “I owe you something for the ride.”

  He put up a hand. “You don’t owe me anything but a quick departure. I’ll never know——” I got out. I heard him say, “Boy!” Then the sound of the motor and a grinding of gears as he rolled away. I breathed. “We’re even, chum. I’ll never know either.”

  I FOUND a Turkish bath not too near the center of town. I put my wallet and the .38 in the locker, gave the attendant a dollar to give my clothes a good brushing, drank a gallon of water, and lay almost drowning in the thick steam. I thought about the day as if it had begun a very long time ago, and yet with a feeling that there was too little time. It could end now. Someone could walk in and say, “Here he is.” And Farr would probably never move a finger to find the blonde. He couldn’t. He had stirred up too much excitement around me. I was his pigeon. But no matter how crawling fear and sudden shock had twisted Dorothy Halloran’s mind to find menace in a shadow or in a Jim Shaftoe, the blonde was real. She had been at the Desert Inn last night, and—for my money—at the Lennox Arms this morning, Yes, and once before . . . The room. It didn’t worry me now. There was some simple explanation . . . And then it came, close and confidential, hollowly in my mind: The missing key, chum. She stole it. She got into the room and removed the girl’s body for some reason of her own. The key, get it? If there was some other way into that room, why would she steal a key? Huh, chum? Sure, there’s a simple explanation. You killed her, chum. And you’re still hanging around Tucson.

  I had suddenly had enough of the steam bath. I got dressed. And in the middle of it, I was talking to myself again. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. I needed food. I would eat. Then I would find the blonde.

  On a dark side street I found a six-stool lunchroom. I ordered steak and made myself wait until I was through with it and on my second cup of coffee before I asked for a paper. The girl tossed me a few pages with grease marks on them. It was the News for that evening, but I had the wrong section. While I was going through it, a short, thick man came in wearing a wrinkled blue suit and a fixed scowl. He sat down two stools away from me and ordered enchiladas and tacos in a ragged voice. I read Pegler for a while. Pegler said that these soldiers who didn’t like officers were all communists. I was surprised. I hadn’t figured there were that many communists in the Army. I asked the girl if there wasn’t more of the paper somewhere.

  She was full-blown and soft, with a white, puffed face that looked like something about to be put in the oven. She brought me the rest of the paper and said, “You know, you can buy these for a nickel.”

  I thought of a couple of neat answers for that, but I just told them to myself. The man with the scowl looked at me across his nose until the girl brought him his food.

  It was on page 1. Los Angeles man escapes arrest. After reporting a murder in which he implicated himself, the suspect, using the names Roark and Bailey, hit Officer Carl Huffschmidt on the back of the head with a piece of lead pipe. Confederates had aided in the escape, and police were holding five men for questioning. Although no body had been found, police were searching for the body of a young San Francisco woman in whose apartment the suspect was known to have spent the night. It was reported by Dr. G.E. Slocum that the woman had failed to keep an appointment with him for four o’clock this afternoon. Bailey, or Roark, was believed to be dangerous, but police declared there was no cause for alarm in Tucson. Evidence gathered by police indicated the escaped man was attempting to make his way back to Los Angeles. Police described Roark as being a fairly tall man, dark hair, about 180 pounds, in his early thirties, and wearing gray flannels.

  I got my check, laid down a little more than enough to cover it, and stood up. The short man said, “Hey, lemme see that paper.” He was looking at me in a way I didn’t like. I told myself that he probably looked at everybody like that. I pushed the paper at him and walked out. It wasn’t a main street, but there were people on it. I got off it, hoping a cruising cab might come by, and knowing they wouldn’t be cruising down dark streets, I turned up another street toward Congress. At Congress I found a friendly shadow to stand in. Cabs went by now and then, but they had people in them. I waited. I could walk out there. No, no, I couldn’t. Walking was bad and it was a long way out to the Desert Inn. People passed me, and now and then hard eyes would look me over. If they were male eyes, the lights would seem suddenly brighter and my ears would sing. After a while the muscles in my back and across my belly and in my arms began to ache.

  And then a cab pulled up at the corner and dropped two girls in black skirts and molded sweaters, and with mouths that were bright red snares.

  I stepped out and said, “Want a passenger?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I got in back, and there was deep comfortable shadow there. The girls had left an odor. It seemed good. I said, “Desert Inn.”

  He drove me there without talk, without looking at me. He took my money and drove away. For all he knew, I was sixty years old and had only one eye in the middle of my head. I felt good. I walked into the lobby and on through as if I paid my fifty dollars every morning at eight. The dining room was closed. There were five elderly people in the lounge. I went to the bar. This part was hard to do. The aching muscles knotted up. I stood in the entry way and looked the place over. They weren’t there. I went back and out through the glass doors into the patio. That way I wouldn’t be beating a path through the lobby. I walked back among the cottages. At the rear I found a stone bench. It was hard and cold, and the ground was uneven, so that the bench tipped back and forth. It reminded me of Captain Farr. I sat and nurtured thoughts that were trail and cold and without comfort. The sky was clear and icy, with stars that hung breathlessly near, and pretty soon I found myself counting them. That kept me busy for a long time. Then I got up and went back into the bar.

  I didn’t see her at first, because I was looking for a couple. But there she eat, in a corner and all alone. I went to the bar. The thin man was on duty, but he had help tonight. I sat at the end of the bar where the help was operating. He was young, red-cheeked, with wispy blond hair that probably got into the drinks regularly. I ordered a Scotch. When he brought it over, I had a dollar bill laid out for him.

  I leered appropriately and said, “See the blo
nde all alone behind me?”

  He peered over my shoulder.“Uh-huh,” he drawled.

  I held out the dollar. “Would you know the lady’s name?”

  “Why?”

  I improved the leer. “Need you ask?”

  He took the dollar, grinned and said, “I’m taking your money on account of all the trouble I’m saving you. She’s married and she’s here with her husband.”

  He went away. I finished the drink and turned around. She was still alone and she had the time-drags-on look of someone waiting for someone else. I walked over and sat down in the comer with her.

  I said, “I’ve been sitting at the bar trying to remember where we’ve met.”

  She smiled. Her teeth had a dry whiteness about them, and she wore her soft blond hair like a golden nubia. “My,” she said, “now I know what happened to that bromide. It came to Tucson for its health. Lived to a ripe old age too.”

  “No,” I smiled.“I think I’ve placed it. Room Three-o-four, the Lennox Arms Apartments.”

  She wasn’t prepared. I had been a man trying to pick her up. And now I was suddenly something else again. Her face broke up. The smile slipped away and there was nothing there but blank eyes and lips that were trying to get back into the smile and couldn’t make it. The fingers of her slender hands groped and found each other and pulled tight until the knuckles showed white.

  “Just who are you?” she croaked.

  “Can’t you guess?”

  “I probably could. But wouldn’t it save time if you just told me?”

  Her mouth was closed now. She was taking hold again and my big gun had already been fired.

  I said, “I know all about the deal with Dorothy, and I’m cutting myself in.”

  Her lower lip sucked in suddenly under her teeth.

  It wasn’t very becoming to her, but she wasn’t thinking about how she looked. She might have been thinking about being sick. The shadows in her cheeks were green. She threw me a glance that she probably thought was innocent cunning, but it didn’t come out that way.

  She said, “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Would you rather I talk to someone else about it?”

  She let go of the lip. It was cherry red and bright. And then it was all over. I was all through. A very ordinary-looking man in a gray suit and hat came into the bar and walked around to the end where the service drinks were set up.

  The tall thin bar keep walked over to him and they talked.

  Fear, or caution, or long experience with them, or the way his eyes went over the people at the bar, told me he was a cop. If I got up now and walked out, he might not see me. I was only five feet from the alcove between bar and lobby.

  I said, “I want to get something. It’ll make it easier for us to bargain. Be right back.” I stood up and walked out. I went up the stairs and started through the lobby. The highhipped man who had been with the blonde the night before was coming from the desk. I walked over to him.

  I said, “Your wife asked me to meet you. She’s gone to another bar.”

  He looked at my lapel, then at my face, then back at my lapel. Maybe he was looking for a fraternity pin. He said, “What is this, a gag?” He raised a hand to his tie. I noticed the hand. It was broad and fat.

  “I hope not. Does she pull gags like that?”

  He glanced at my face again and started to walk on by me. The lobby seemed suddenly as bright as a television set. The desk clerk was staring at us. I put my hand on his arm. Any moment now the man in the gray suit would be coming through. And here I stood in my gray flannels and dark hair and early thirties. And the man with the face you would never remember was going to give me trouble. The face was getting red. I noticed irrelevantly that he was a young man. His hair had probably started to recede in college, and I figured his chin had begun receding even before that. Both processes appeared to be still going on. And we were still standing there in the center of the lobby under the strong lights.

  I said, “Go on in and see for yourself. She’s not in there.” I hadn’t talked loudly, but my voice seemed to echo around the place.

  The man said, “Thanks, I’ll do that.” He went on by me and I watched him disappear into the bar. I didn’t think he’d find his wife in there. She probably went out the other way five seconds after I left. But I didn’t expect high-hips to come back either. I went over and sat in a comer near the front door, out of the way. I heard footsteps on the tile stairs from the bar. The man in the gray suit came into the lobby. He waved at the clerk and said, “Keep ’em open, Harris.” The clerk nodded and said nothing. The man in the gray suit went by me and out the front door. I looked up. The clerk was staring at me roundly. He thought he knew who I was. But he wasn’t having any arrests made. Not at the Desert Inn.

  High-hips came back. He hurried over to me, working his face into a worried frown. “Where’d she go? And who the hell are you?”

  “She’s at a bar downtown. I’ll tell you who I am on the way over. Shall we take your car or mine?” I didn’t have a car. But I didn’t think he’d want to ride in it anyway.

  “We’ll take mine.”

  We went outside. Tamarisks lined the walk, heavy and dark. I suddenly realized the woman would be in the car. She would see us coming. She would have a gun. I fell back a step and took out the .38. I put it in my side pocket with my hand on it. He turned off the sidewalk and started across the moonlit street. There was a gray car at the curb. I couldn’t see if anyone was in it or not. I brought the gun out and held it at my aide. We reached the car. It seemed empty. I went around and got in at the other side. I noticed the car had Arizona license plates. I looked in the back seat. Nothing back there but the cold Arizona climate. We pulled out from the curb and I decided to take a chance.

  I said, “How come the Arizona plates?”

  “It’s a rented car. We came down by plane.”

  “Your wife’s at The Paddock. Know where that is?”

  He shook his head.

  “Drive down to Campbell,” I said, “and turn left.”

  When we were on Campbell, he said, “Now, suppose you tell me how you got into this.” His voice was loose and moist and a little loud, “She was seen going into the Lennox Arms. I guess she figured she needed help.”

  The car suddenly lost speed as his foot froze above the accelerator. Then it picked up again and he said, “And you’re an attorney?”

  “Not exactly.”

  The car came to a stop this time. “I don’t like this one bit,” he whined. “We’re going back. We can call The Paddock.” He started the car and swung it in a screaming U-turn. I lifted the automatic and put the cold barrel against his cheek where he could feel it and see it and smell it. He jerked his head away and stared at the gun. The car began to angle off toward the curb, going fast. I whipped the wheel around and he gripped it and kept the Br car straight. His chin moved, but he didn’t say anything.

  I said, “We’ll go down and take a look at the river bed. It’s nice and private there, probably.”

  He licked his lips and said, “Assault with a deadly weapon and kidnaping. I believe the penalty for kidnaping is life.” His voice didn’t waver.

  I said, “That’s in California.”

  He said, “In Arizona it’s still going to cost you plenty.”

  I said, “Look, Dorothy put the finger on you two before you got to her. So let’s get squared away.”

  His chin caved in and disappeared into his collar. The car wavered a bit on the road, then straightened again and slowly picked up speed.

  Finally, he said, “Where’s Muriel?”

  “Don’t worry about Muriel.

  She’s all right. You’ll be all right, too, if you don’t try to be cagey. There are one or two parts to the story that aren’t clear yet. You’re going to clear them up for me.”

  “Where do you come in?”

  “Turn here. I think it’ll take us down there.” We turned onto Country Club Road. There
was no traffic here, and after a few miles the road ended where the white dry river bed lay. Beyond it the desert was spiked with a million saguaros. I said, “Let’s see how much of the truth you’re willing to tell. Start at the beginning of the story. I know that part. When you start ad-libbing, you ought to be sure it’s in the part I don’t know yet.”

  He turned and leaned against the door and looked at me while a closed-mouth smile swelled his cheeks and put a dimple in one of them. “You know,” he smirked, “I think you’re bluffing.”

  “Maybe. But I’ve got a thirty-eight in my hand, a murder charge hanging over my head, and a nervous tick. I’m also slightly unbalanced, they tell me. So let’s hear the story . . . from the beginning.”

  “What is there to tell? Dorothy left home, and Muriel came after her. Is there something wrong with that?”

  I shook my head. “Already it stinks. But begin at the beginning. Begin when Muriel and Dorothy were ten years old.”

  I was just scattering my shots, being as obscure as I could without seeming to. But I hit something.

  He said, “Oh, you mean Muriel’s dominating Dorothy.” He chuckled. “That’s just Muriel. She dominates me too.”

  We waited. He didn’t go on. I am an economic determinist. Being a private investigator for seven years has made me that way. Where there’s murder that isn’t colored by sudden fury, where there is perfection and care, there is usually also money. Lots of money.

  I said, “Tell me about the dough.”

  He licked his lips. “I probably don’t know any more about it than you do. Their father left most of it in a trust fund for Dorothy, and it’s still there.”

  “Why? Why the trust fund?”

  He waited a long while. I moved the gun up and let him look at it. “Because of Muriel.” He sounded a little bitter. He was getting interested in what he had to say. “Muriel pushed Dorothy around until the old man couldn’t stand it any longer. He called Muriel into his study one day—I’ll never forget it; I was in the library and heard it all—and gave her a terrible tonguelashing for the way she treated Dotty. Nobody ever talked that way to Muriel. No, not to Muriel. She told him off. She gave him two for one. The next day he had a trust drawn up giving almost everything he had to Dorothy. They had the accident about a year later.”