“That’s right. She used to spend plenty of time with that private eye. And then she cooled, so what’s more logical than he was trying to blackmail her — and she paid off in lead?”
I stared at him. “Did Deutscher tell you that — about Eve and Burns Murphy being intimate?”
Tackett nodded. “Is it a lie?”
“It’s a lead,” I answered. “It’s a pattern.”
“I don’t dig you,” he said.
“Love,” I said. “People kill for hate, lust, profit, anger, bigotry, religious fanaticism — and for love.”
“You mean suicide?”
“I mean murder for love. Who else did you and Deutscher contact as prospective clients?”
He told me and he also told me that Deutscher bragged about his ability to milk a case, to collect fees from more than one client at a time.
And then, as a test, I asked him, “How much did Big Jim Murphy pay you for that information you brought him the night I saw you there?”
“Not a nickel. I just figured he’d be a good man to do a favor for.” He sat lower in his chair, staring moodily out the window at the bright day.
I picked up the phone from the bedside stand and called Homicide. When I got Captain MacDarrel on the wire, I asked, “Has Deutscher been picked up yet?”
“Not yet, Puma. Don’t crowd us.”
“That wasn’t my intention, Captain. I called to tell you I’ve just learned Deutscher had an appointment with Adams the night he died. That wasn’t the story he gave me, that night.”
“I see. And who told you this?”
“One of my informants.”
“Well, keep him or her available.”
“I will, Captain. And I thought I’d let you know I stopped in to see Jim Murphy this morning. He told me he wouldn’t complain if Deutscher was picked up.”
A silence. Then, “Are you implying, Mr. Puma, that Mr. Murphy has some extra-legal influence in the Homicide Section?”
“Nothing of the kind, of course,” I said humbly. “But the mayor made me promise I wouldn’t antagonize Mr. Murphy and I wanted to put his mind at rest.”
“Then phone him and tell him about Mr. Murphy. Keep in touch with us.”
I hung up without saying good-by.
Tackett looked at me suspiciously.
“Clyde,” I asked him, “how would you like to be on the side of the law for a change?”
“I always have been,” he said. “I haven’t any record.”
“I mean actively on the side of the law,” I explained.
“You’re looking for a patsy,” he said.
I nodded. “A sacrificial lamb. It could get you off the hook with the Department. It might even get you your job back at the hotel.”
“I don’t need that crummy job. What’s your angle?”
“You were a witness,” I explained. “You were at Adams’ temple around the time he died. With a little stretch of the imagination, you could imagine you saw the killer.”
“Like hell! All I saw was that woman.”
“But you could lie, couldn’t you, Clyde? Lying wouldn’t be something too far out of your line, would it?”
“Smart guy,” he said. “I won’t be anybody’s sucker.”
“Okay,” I said. “Forget it.” I lighted a cigarette, stood up and went over to look out the window.
“You’re kissing me off,” he said. “I helped, didn’t I?”
“You sure did. So what do I do next?”
“Clear me with the law. Why do you think I’m here?”
“I can’t clear you,” I said earnestly. “Nobody can clear you until the killer’s nailed. I’ll do what I can, but you know I can’t clear you.”
He stared angrily. “So what do I do, go on the lam again?”
“Clyde,” I said quietly, “so help me, I don’t know what your smart move is. I won’t try to con you. The Department is hungry for a suspect they can nail these murders to. I couldn’t be enough of a jerk to turn you in to them.”
His face twisted cynically. “I thought you weren’t going to pressure me. Not much — ”
“All right,” I said patiently, “you tell me what your smart move is.”
He didn’t answer. He huddled in the big red leather chair and stared out the window.
Deke opened the door. “Aren’t you guys hungry? I’ve got some T-bones I could fry.”
I looked at him. “For lunch. T-bones?”
“Why not? I’m no cummy private eye; I eat.”
From his chair, Tackett said grumpily, “I’m hungry. I’m starving.”
“I can eat,” I said. “Got any beer in the place?”
“Four brands,” he said, “all Eastern.”
We had lunch together, the three of us, and a premium Eastern beer and I thought Tackett thawed out a little. Maybe knowing that I had a slightly illegitimate brother made me look less like a cop to him. Deke impressed him, I was sure. Deke’s a free-wheeler, but nobody wheels as high and wide as Deke talks.
We were on the coffee when Tackett said, “Okay, let’s hear your proposition.”
I gave it to him and said, “It would only be a temporary lie. And could make a big hero out of you.”
He paused for a thoughtful moment, and then said, “I’ll go along with it until somebody starts shooting.”
I went into Deke’s bedroom and phoned the Deering house. The maid answered, and I said, “This is Joe Puma, Sarah. What time yesterday did Miss Eve leave there to go to Malibu?”
“I’m not sure, Mr. Puma. It was quite some time before you came here, though.”
“Two hours?”
“At least.”
“And how is Mr. Deering?” I asked.
“He’s better. He’s in that room, watching television, though, and I don’t like to disturb him.”
“All right. Would it be possible for me to talk to you alone somewhere?”
A pause. “Why?”
“I need some information.”
“About Miss Eve?”
“Partly. I’d prefer to ask her but she isn’t very friendly with me at the moment. I’m not asking for information that would hurt any innocent person, Sarah.”
“It wouldn’t matter if she’s innocent or not. I wouldn’t give you any kind of information that would hurt Miss Eve.”
“You won’t talk to me, then?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m off from four to seven. I could meet you somewhere.”
We arranged to meet at a corner about a block from the Deering house. I would take her to see her folks in Santa Monica, thus saving her delay in bus transportation, which is highly erratic in this area. We would talk on the trip.
I helped Deke with the dishes and there was still an hour to kill. I went over to Lippy’s.
He said, “Miss Griffin called about an hour ago. She wants you to call back.”
I phoned her, and she said, “Still friends?”
“I hope so.”
“I was nasty, wasn’t I?”
“No.”
“Joe, he can’t dance as well as you can. Nobody can. Why don’t we go on down to Palm Springs this weekend?”
“If this murder’s cleaned up. And it could be.”
“Work,” she said. “Night and day. Persevere.”
“I certainly will. Be good until then.”
When I came back to the bar, Lippy was shaking his head. “What a way to hold a job!”
“I don’t need the job,” I said. “Big Jim Murphy has taken a liking to me.”
“Oh-ho,” he said. “No wonder Deutscher was in asking for you. You’re freezing him out with Murphy, eh?”
“Deutscher,” I said, “is finished. The Department has the call out for him now. He’s going to be brought in for questioning.”
He stared at me.
I said, “Things have changed since you left the Department, Lippy. They’re cleaning out the trash.”
“Man,” he said, “aren’t you big! And riding
for a fall. You can play an angle or two, Joe, but Deutscher invented ‘em. You take it easy.”
Sarah Jean was waiting on the corner when I got there. She wore a black jersey dress in quiet good taste and she was wearing gloves and a hat.
I unlatched the door on the curb side and she stepped in.
“Have you a cigarette?” she asked, and I handed her my package.
“I wonder,” I said, “if you’ve guessed why I wanted to talk with you.”
“I have a feeling you want to ask about times of absence from the house.”
“That’s right. That’s the pattern.”
She lowered the window on her side and handed me back my package of cigarettes. She blew smoke out the open window. “A Mr. Deutscher phoned after you did. He was looking for you. Do you know him?”
“I know him. Do you?”
She nodded slowly. “He’s been to the house.”
Bit by bit, it added up. I could have saved some time by coming to Sarah Jean earlier. On Veteran, I cut over toward Wilshire.
She said, “I’ve been thinking back and then I checked the newspapers and what you must be thinking is possible. So then I tried to think where my loyalty lay. It wasn’t an easy decision.”
“Did you know Burns Murphy?”
“He had been to the house often. He was a fine man.”
“Now dead,” I said. “Your loyalty belongs to the law, Miss Ramsay.”
“Maybe. It’s a white man’s law.”
“That will change. It takes time.”
“Huh!” she said. “You can turn on Fourteenth Street. I live south of Pico.” A pause, and then, “Naturally!”
Naturally. South of Pico in Santa Monica, where the disenfranchised live, Mexicans and Japanese and Negroes and all the others who got attention only at tax time and campaign time. The sad, stripped citizens who lived on promises and manual labor and a dimming hope.
It was the neatest house on the block but it wasn’t a neat block. By the time I had opened the door to let her out, Sarah had told me all she knew.
I said, “I’ll pick you up in time to get you back by seven.”
She shook her head. “Don’t bother. I’m not going back tonight. I think I’m going to be sick. Good afternoon, Mr. Puma.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Ramsay,” I said. “And thank you.”
20
BACK AT THE APARTMENT, Deke and Tackett were playing gin rummy in the bedroom. Deke said, “I hope you need him. He’s into me for fifty already.”
“I need him,” I said. “I want him to make a phone call right now, and arrange an appointment.”
Tackett looked worried. “Appointment? Face to face? I didn’t promise that.”
Deke took some bills from his wallet and handed them to Tackett. “I don’t want to hear this,” he said. “These kind of shenanigans diminish my great regard for the law.” He went out.
I explained the whole setup to Tackett, playing down the dangerous angles.
When I had finished, he said, “I’m risking my neck. And gaining what?”
“You won’t be risking your neck. You’ll be watched every second. And I’ll cut you in for ten per cent of whatever bonus Big Jim pays me.”
“Ten per cent? That’s big of you.”
I smiled. “You’ll have Big Jim’s undying friendship. You’ll have the loving respect of the Police Department. What more do you want?”
“Twenty per cent,” he said.
“Fifteen,” I said.
“?ll right, all right, all right! What do I say?”
“It’s simple enough. You were at the temple and saw it happen. Now because you were there, you’re under suspicion and because you aren’t a squealer, you’ll have to stay under suspicion. And all you want to do is get out of town. You’ll need five thousand dollars. You’ll pick up the money at that empty lot at nine o’clock sharp.”
“Empty lot? Man, anything can happen in an empty lot.”
“Not this one, Clyde,” I told him tenderly. “Half of the Department will be there.”
“You bastard,” he said, and picked up the phone….
There was a three-quarter moon and the stars were bright. On Sunset, most of the traffic seemed to be heading west, toward the ocean.
Tackett said, “The first act you’re playing alone, huh? You must need the publicity.”
“I’m not playing it alone,” I told him. “You’re with me.”
“And how! You sure the cops will come in for the finale?”
“Of course, Clyde. I phoned them, didn’t I? You heard me phone them.”
“Sure, sure. But you private eyes — If you’re honest, and I’m not saying you aren’t, but if you’re honest, you’re the first I’ve ever met.”
“You don’t get around enough, Clyde,” I soothed him. “Relax, and think like a hero.”
“Like a sucker,” he said. “I’ve been conned.”
As I pulled into the driveway, I said, “Stay low in the car. I’ll drive you over to the lot just before nine o’clock.”
He crouched in the seat and said nothing. For a change.
There was a light over the doorway, but no light visible in the house. He was probably watching TV.
We’d had to clear this with the Beverly Hills Department and I prayed there had been no leak from there. There wasn’t any reason to think there had been, but a leak would mean disaster.
J. D. came to the door. He looked at me for a moment before saying, “Good evening, Mr. Puma. I wish you had phoned first.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Deering. Were you going out?”
“I never leave the house at night. I was planning to go to bed early. That worthless maid is sick and I haven’t had any dinner.” He stepped aside for me to enter.
I followed him to the same little room and he sat in his favorite chair, facing the television screen.
And I realized Deke had pointed the finger early in the case. Look for a killer, he had told me, with a stack of old pulp magazines. This cabinet was that, a new format for the old stories, a stack of old pulp magazines in blonde or provincial, walnut or mahogany.
“Well?” Deering said curtly.
I said quietly, “I’m checking on some inaccuracies, Mr. Deering.”
He seemed to stiffen. “Mine?”
“Yours, among others. You told me one evening that Eve had phoned you from that Santa Monica hotel in the afternoon, informing you she hadn’t gone to Palm Springs.”
“She did phone me from there and tell me that.”
“But not in the afternoon. Later, in the evening, she phoned to tell you that. After you told me she had phoned.”
His glare held mostly hate, but perhaps the fright was there, too. “I don’t follow you.”
“I’ve been wondering why you lied,” I answered.
“I probably didn’t lie. My memory isn’t that good. If I did lie, what makes it important?”
“I think somebody else told you Eve wasn’t in Palm Springs. And that made you wonder why Burns Murphy hadn’t told you. He was still working for you, right up to the time he died, wasn’t he?”
“You’d have to check his records for that. Keep talking, Mr. Puma.”
“Burns was more than half-sold on the cult,” I said, “and in love with your daughter. He was more her friend than yours, that much is definite. And his reports to you were not complete. You learned that when this — uh — Tacker phoned you from the hotel.”
“Tackett,” he corrected me. “Clyde Tackett.”
“Your memory is improving,” I said. “Homicide is looking for Clyde Tackett at this moment, Mr. Deering.”
He said nothing.
“To go back,” I said, “after Tackett gave you that information, you went to see Burns Murphy in his office. And probably learned about him and your daughter.”
“That’s a lie,” he said. “You can’t prove that.”
“We’ll see. Anyway, you watch too many crime shows. And you worked the most tire
d gimmick in the world. You pretended to Burns that you wanted to buy off Jeremiah Adams.”
He said nothing. His eyes never left my face and his breathing was labored.
“You had Burns phone Jeremiah and you were there so you knew Burns didn’t mention your name. You killed Burns and then waited to phone the police, planning to have Adams found there with a dead man, a man he had reason to dislike.”
“Mr. Puma, this is all guessing and it’s all bad. You haven’t a shred of evidence.”
“Tackett,” I continued, “knew where your daughter’s place in Malibu was. And so did Ned Deutscher. Because you told them.”
“That was no secret.”
“Secret enough. An unlisted phone, no name on the mailbox. Deutscher worked for you, didn’t he? He worked for everybody with money in this case.”
“You would have to check his records. Mr. Puma, I haven’t been out of this house more than three times in the past two weeks.”
“You would only have to leave twice,” I said. “And you were gone at the times both murders were committed.”
He stared at me. The room was like a morgue. He finally said, “That black sneak — That’s why she pretended to be sick. I knew she hated me. And she’s going to support your filthy lies.”
“Mr. Deering,” I said calmly, “you’d better get in touch with a lawyer. I’m sure the only reason Tackett is hiding out is because he hopes to blackmail you. I’m sure he saw you at the temple the night Adams was killed. But the police will get to him before he gets to you. You can be sure of that. And then the case against you will be complete.”
“There is no case against me,” he said. “Because I’m innocent. And you will probably lose your license, Mr. Puma.” His eyes went to the electric clock on the TV cabinet. It was now five minutes before nine.
His voice was more tired than bitter. “I’ll see that you never work for Sam Griffin again, Puma. Or anybody else in this town. Now get the hell out of here.”
“Be reasonable,” I said. “So long as Clyde Tackett is around, you’re sunk. Why not come down now and make your statement?”
“Get out. Get out, now.” His glare went from me to the clock and back to me. “Go, this second.”
I went out and over to my car and down the long driveway. When I turned on Sunset, Tackett came up into view from his position on the rear seat.
Sweet Wild Wench Page 14
