The Cheim Manuscript (The Shell Scott Mysteries)

by Richard S. Prather

  I’ll give you one guess.

  He didn’t need to give me three. Luddy was sprung, and — at least temporarily — free as a bird.

  Samson said, Clarence Ludlow walked out of here ten minutes ago, saying, Gawdamn, if you wasn’t fuzz we could be buddies, Captain, sir, and grinning like those guys in fairs you throw baseballs at. He sighed. Well, hell, I’ll call Slattery in Beverly Hills again, see what he thinks about this mess, get a report on what they find.

  Ask him to check whether the officers who interrogated Pine noticed if he was carrying a package, will you? Or if they saw one in the car.

  Yeah. I kind of planned to do that.

  Sorry, Captain. OK, call Slattery, fine, but arent you going to put out a local on Pine? And maybe an APB? The crumb might skip town.

  Not quite yet, Shell. Even if we do put out a call on him itll take time to get a warrant issued — we don’t want any loopholes in the loopholes. And need I remind you, the scene of the crime is in Beverly Hills?

  I know where I am, I’m in Beverly Hills. But, Sam —

  Look, well be on it. Go home and dream of girls. I realize Pines just as much aware of that on-the-street interrogation as we are, and if he did the job on Jellicoe he might try to skip town.

  What do you mean, if he did it?

  I mean if.

  Well, who the hell else could have —

  Only one of maybe ten thousand guys. Shell, you may realize where you are, at this instant, but you do not yet seem aware that your gleaming intuition is not what we, here, consider infallible evidence, an impetus sufficient to set in motion several tons of legal machinery.

  But, Sam —

  As for Pine, well, weve got to check him out. Maybe he was with that TV babe, like he said.

  That, I expect, quite soon, to know.

  Shell, goddammit, you let the police handle —

  Pleasant dreams, I said, and hung up.

  I made another call. To Gideon Cheim.

  Cheim, Shell Scott, I said when he answered. I’m working for you starting now. Assuming you still want me to.

  Yes, I do. Of course I do. What — whats happened?

  Quite a lot. Same deal we talked over when I saw you? I get the blackmailer off your back, and recover from him your manuscript and the — ah — incidentals accompanying it — though of course I cant promise to commit any felonies for you — and I can name my own price?

  A short silence, then, Yes. Within . . . reason. Whats happened? Have you found Jellicoe?

  Yeah. But you don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s dead.

  Cheim let out a strange squawk. Dead? Oh, God in heaven. Dead? Are you —

  Yeah, dead. Murdered. Not long ago, either.

  Murdered? This is terrible. God, what an awful thing. But the — my manuscript. Do you know —

  Jellicoe had it. He doesnt any longer. Whoever beat hell out of him, and killed him, has it now.

  Cheim started to kind of squawk and bleat and sputter, but I kept on. Listen close, Cheim. I think Jellicoe may be dead right now because, from the beginning and in the middle, and clear up to here, you’ve been telling me some fancy fairy tales about that manuscript of yours. If so, I owe you nothing. To put it more bluntly. I think Jellicoe might still be alive if youd told me the truth from the beginning.

  That’s preposterous. Don’t be an ass.

  Anything more to tell me now, Cheim? Any little bits you might have left out before?

  Dammit, I’ve told you everything. There’s nothing more to tell.

  OK, I said, I’ll do the job for you — if I can. But its going to cost you.

  I do not care what it costs me. But I don’t understand. If it wasn’t Jellicoe who tried to blackmail me —

  I hung up. Let him worry about it. If he worried long enough, he might even try telling me the truth next time.

  Of course, by now I knew the truth. At least, I thought I did. Enough of it, anyway.

  For the second time I pressed the arrowhead at the Cree Lodge, then banged on the door itself. In a few seconds a light went on inside and I could hear footsteps padding softly over the carpet. Then Sylvias voice. Who is it?

  Shell Scott. Open up, I’m in a hurry.

  She opened the door partway and looked out at me.

  I pushed on the door, not violently, but firmly, and she stepped back. I went inside, slammed the door shut.

  Sylvia had obviously been asleep, and was blinking her eyes slowly. At any rate, she was dressed for bed, wearing the top half of a pair of pink pajamas. Thin pajamas. You could see through them. Well, almost. They werent transparent; nearly opaque would be a better phrase. Like, say, a quarter of an inch of strawberry Jell-O. I didn’t pay any attention to that, though. Not much, anyway. At least, I tried not to.

  I looked at Sylvias half-lidded green eyes and said flatly, Was Vic Pine here tonight?

  She kept blinking. Why . . . yes. How did you know?

  When was he here?

  From — oh — about nine oclock till a little after eleven last night. What time is it now?

  Never mind that. Just don’t lie to me, Sylvia.

  Shell, what an awful thing to say! Its . . . true, he was here. The words seemed to come out with some difficulty. Why? What difference does it make to you?

  I just don’t think he was here at all. At least, not when you say he was.

  She moistened her lips. Its funny, some policemen asked me the same thing. If Victor was here, I mean. Naturally, I told them yes —

  Naturally, if that’s what he told you to tell them. How did you meet a crumb, a hood, like Vic Pine?

  I met him one night when I was out with Warren.

  Warren Barr?

  Yes, we double-dated with Victor and another girl, a dance at some club. Anyway, Victor kept calling me after that, and I went out with him once. Just once.

  Once was enough with that slob, huh?

  It certainly was — She stopped.

  Until tonight, huh? Tonight of all nights.

  Sylvia seemed to be getting a bit angry. What is this, Shell? You act like a damned bear just came out of hibernation. You didn’t act like this the last time we talked.

  Put a coat on, I said. Were going for a short walk. I guess well have to do this the hard way. I shook my head. I apologize in advance, Sylvia, if I’m wrong. But there just isn’t a lot of time to waste.

  She frowned, started to speak, but then turned and went into the bedroom, came back wearing an almost white mink coat with a hem that reached below her knees, and pink slippers. If a man didn’t know what was beneath the mink, shed have looked ready for an expensive night on the town. That, of course, was a far cry from what she was going to get.

  I took her hand, pulled her out the front door and headed for the Iroquois Lodge.

  On the way I said, If you’re telling the truth, you’re going to hate my guts. And with reason. But if Pine was not with you, dear, I’m going to show you where he really was, what he was doing — and why he wanted you to cover for him, alibi him. I’m going to complete your education about Victor.

  Do you have to walk so fast? You’re hurting my arm.

  Sorry about your arm. But I’m in a hurry.

  I was. It didn’t seem likely the police had arrived yet, but I could hear sirens. More than one, the rising and falling wail of one blending in eerie harmony, and then discordantly, with the other.

  At the Iroquois I walked inside, pulling Sylvia along, then in the living room let go of her hand and went ahead of her to the bedroom, saying, Follow me.

  By the time she stepped through the bedroom door Id stopped by the chair in which Jellicoe’s battered and ugly body slumped limply.

  Sylvia saw him and her mouth opened, her eyes opened wide. She made a little sound, as if she were trying to scream but had no breath in her lungs. She came almost to a stop, took one more slow step and stood very still.

  I wound my fingers in Jellicoe’s hair and pulled his head up, turned
it so his face was toward her.

  Unless Victor really was with you, sweetheart, I said coldly, this is where he was. And this is what he was doing. Its my guess it took him quite a while. I paused. Now, do you still want to stick to that story —

  She fell like a rag doll.

  16

  Sylvia Ardent crumpled like a puppet with the strings cut. Her eyes rolled up and her face got very pale and she went straight down in a heap, rolled silently onto her back.

  I let go of Jellicoe’s head and it flopped over, wiggled a little and was still. No more still than Sylvia — except that she was still breathing. I hadnt meant to send her flat out into a sudden faint, but I had deliberately set out to shock her. It seemed clear Id succeeded.

  I picked her up, carried her back to her own suite, laid her on the bed. Before I got there shed started to come out of it, mumbling something. In another minute she was able to sit up, but her eyes were still somewhat blank from shock.

  I didn’t wait for them to get bright and normal again, either. I said, OK, was Vic Pine here tonight or wasn’t he?

  She swung her head from side to side, very slowly. No, she said unsteadily. He wasn’t here at all. I didn’t think it would be so awfully wrong if I just said . . .

  She closed her eyes for a few seconds. Her lips looked dry. But then she went on, her voice a little stronger. I got a phone call from Victor about eleven-thirty, I think it was. Maybe a little later. She glanced at the clock near the bed. It was a few minutes short of two-thirty in the morning now.

  About three hours ago, she went on. He said he’d been here at the Ranch with a married woman whose husband is out of town. When he left, the police stopped him — something about a stolen car. Victor laughed about it, said he felt ridiculous confessing his sins to me. But the husband already had an idea of what was going on, and Victor couldn’t afford to give the police her name. So he told the police he’d been with me. I’m not married, wed dated that one time before, and wed both be protecting the womans reputation. . . .

  I imagine he made his tale sound pretty slick.

  He really did. I never doubted him for a second. She sighed. Its true I went out with him that once, Shell. But I didn’t know who — what — he was then.

  You mean, that he was a hood?

  Yes. I didn’t find out about that until later. She paused again, looked at my eyes. Shell, do you really think he did . . . that to Wilfred?

  I do. Incidentally, I’ve been hunting Jellicoe myself since early yesterday morning and never got a lead to him. Have you any idea how Pine found out he was here at the Ranch?

  She shook her head. I certainly didn’t tell him.

  That rang a little oddly on my ears. I said slowly, Would it be a logical conclusion that you knew Wilfred was here?

  Well, I did and I didn’t. I mean, I thought maybe he was, but not until late yesterday afternoon — It was just an accident that I saw him then. If it was Wilfred . . . Well, now I know it must have been.

  It made sense to me as soon as she said it. Indian Ranch was isolated enough to be a quiet, reasonably safe hideout for Gordon Mannering, the Waltermittying Jellicoe, but also close to the LA-Hollywood hub of his current escapade. Perhaps important to him, too, he would have been close to Sylvia Ardent.

  I got out a cigarette, lit it. Tell me about that, I said casually.

  It was about an hour before sunset, maybe six-thirty. I was coming back from dinner in the hotel and I saw — I mean, I thought I saw — Wilfred going into the Iroquois. I wasn’t sure, really; it was just a glimpse as he went inside. It looked like him, but I thought it was crazy. Why would Wilfred be staying here?

  You didn’t tell Victor about, maybe, seeing Jellicoe.

  No. Why should I?

  Has Victor been here to see you in the last few days? Or has he asked you any questions about Jellicoe?

  No, I haven’t seen Victor for months. And I haven’t even mentioned that damned Wilfred — She cut it off, undoubtedly remembering her last, recent view of Wilfred. I haven’t talked about him to anyone except you. She stopped suddenly, pressed her lips firmly together, a little frown furrow between her eyes. That is, except to you and Warren.

  I said, very slowly, By Warren, I assume you must mean Warren Barr?

  Yes.

  When did you talk to him?

  Last night. About seven oclock. I didn’t even know he was coming; he just rang the bell and I opened the door and there he was.

  What did he want?

  He asked me about that . . . date I had with Wilfred. He wasn’t happy about it. And Warren can get mighty unhappy. She looked at me accusingly. You told him, didn’t you?

  Yes, I did. That was before wed met, and I was curious to know what his reaction would be.

  I paused, thinking. But there were a number of things whirling around inside my skull, including a vague uneasiness I couldn’t pin down. It had something to do with Vic Pine, and Sylvia, and Vics alibi. . . . But it stayed nebulous, wouldn’t get solid.

  Did you tell Warren about seeing Jellicoe here at Indian Ranch last night?

  Well, yes. That is, he asked me if I knew where Wilfred was, and I said I thought maybe Id seen him, but wasn’t sure. I just hoped if he was around he wouldn’t try to bother me anymore.

  Did you, by any chance, tell Barr about the rest of it?

  Not the — not everything I told you yesterday. I just told Warren that Wilfred had learned something about me that I couldn’t afford to have told around, and he’d apparently had the hots for me for a long time, and threatened to really go ahead and spill it all over town unless I went out on the date with him, and . . . the rest of it. She swallowed. I didn’t think I was doing anything so terrible when I told him. I certainly didn’t imagine . . . She let it trail off.

  Of course not, I said. You couldn’t have known what was going on. But I don’t suppose your telling Barr about Jellicoe’s winning ways made sweet Warren any happier.

  No. But he wasn’t a whole bunch happy to start out with.

  I’ll bet not. And he’s rather a violent man, isn’t he?

  Sylvia didn’t say anything to that.

  About that call from Pine, I said. Wasn’t Zena Tabur supposed to be here tonight? Was she with you when he called?

  No. That one word was sort of like a whole frigid paragraph, and her entire tone and expression seemed to become less . . . well, less. She left around eleven, maybe half an hour before Victor phoned me. Sylvia paused, gazing levelly at me. I would suppose she went home then, wouldn’t you. Shell?

  Me? How would I know? I haven’t the faintest idea where she went. Why would I — Listen, I just thought of something. You knew damn well I was killing myself looking for Jellicoe —

  Killing yourself? Two words, cold and sharp as icicles.

  — and, ah . . . I had it there for a minute. Yeah, I got it. If you thought youd seen Jellicoe here, why in hell didn’t you get in touch with me, let me know? Yeah, how about that?

  I simply couldn’t believe it was really Wilfred in the first place. It just didn’t make sense. But I tried to let you know anyway — right after Warren left I phoned you twice. But I couldn’t get you.

  Id given the Mobile phone number to Gideon Cheim, but not to Sylvia. Should have given you my car-phone number, I mumbled. Sort of overlooked it when I was here, somehow.

  She went right on, a bit cool, as though she had a tiny refrigerator packed in ice in her throat. You werent in your office, and there wasn’t any answer at your apartment —

  That’s fine, that’s a good girl. At least you tried —

  Then just before eight Zena came over, Sylvia went on determinedly, and we had so much to talk about that — well — you just slipped my mind. And I didn’t even think of calling you anymore.

  Well, you tried, I’ll say that for you. Good girl, goo —

  Quit calling me a good girl.

  Yes, maam. Well . . .

  I got up, thanked her, and we walked i
nto the front room.

  That vague uneasiness was still with me, but it wasn’t until the next minute that I pinned it, or at least part of it, down. I told Sylvia that undoubtedly police officers would soon be here to ask some of the same questions I had, and probably a lot more, so there was little point in her going back to bed for the moment.

  And then it struck me.

  In fact, they will not only ask you some questions, Sylvia, one or two may want to stay here all night.

  She said, coolly, Are you making a crack —

  I mean, near here. Let me explain.

  Youd better.

  We know Vic Pine got you to cover for him in case the police called to check, which they did. But he was questioned merely about a stolen Rolls, and the alibi was just a stall.

  She looked puzzled. Well, all right, now that I understand whats happened, I’ll simply tell the police everything, the truth — just as I’ve told you.

  You don’t get it. Look at this mess from Pines point of view. If we assume he killed Jellicoe, we also have to assume he expected to get away with it. He couldn’t have anticipated being stopped by the law, identified and placed so near Indian Ranch. Quite simply, he needed you alive and willing to support his story only so be could buy time. Even when questioned, he must have figured he’d have several hours grace, probably until a maid went into Jellicoe’s suite. From then on its not a missing Rolls but murder, and he doesnt need you alive anymore — in fact, just the opposite — because you can blow his alibi all to hell. In which case Victor would have immense difficulty explaining what he was doing at Indian Ranch —

  The puzzled expression on her lovely features had been replaced by growing alarm. You don’t mean — you cant mean he’d kill me.

  Vic is not a very bright lad — and he is more than a little nuts at times. Want me to take you back for a look at Wilfred again? If he did that, and a dozen other little jollies I could tell you about, do you believe he’d think twice about killing a gal who can prove he lied to the law?

  I thought the dear was going to faint again. But she didn’t.

  I said, Don’t worry about it — now. It wont happen. I’ll make sure some officers keep an eye on your lodge, as well as several eyes out for Pine.