“Clint,” she said, “that’s the problem. I recognized all of the names.”
THIRTY-FOUR
“Well,” Clint said, “that’s…interesting.”
She was still looking the room over.
“Do you want to go someplace else?” he asked.
“No,” she said, “this is as good as any. I’m sure Hawkins is looking for me frantically.”
“Do you want to tell me about the names on the list?” he asked. “By the way, I just got the word today. Five of them are dead.”
“Oh my God,” she said, “how?”
“Shot in the back.”
“This is crazy.”
“I agree.”
“Who could be doing this?”
“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me that,” Clint said.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Then maybe you can tell me what all these people have in common?”
“All I can see,” she said, “is that, at one time or another, they did business with my husband.”
“How do you know that?”
“We’ve been married for ten years,” she said. “He’s quite a bit older than me, married me when I was nineteen. I recognize all these names from the past ten years.”
“You know that much about your husband’s business?”
“Yes.”
“So then why are you on this list?”
“I can’t tell you that,” she said. “I don’t know.”
“Could it be possible that your husband made this list?”
She sat back in her chair. She was wearing a very sedate-looking suit, probably what women wore in San Francisco when they went shopping.
“If I wasn’t on the list, I’d say it could be possible.”
“But why would he do it?” Clint asked. “Why would your husband want these men killed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would he want you killed?”
“He wouldn’t,” she said firmly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Everything in the marriage is all right?”
“That’s an impertinent question.”
“Sorry,” he said, “but I’m trying to save the lives of the last five people on this list—and that includes you.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why are you interested? How did you get involved?”
He explained the situation to her while they each had another cup of coffee. The remainder of Clint’s excellent breakfast had gone cold on the plate, and the waiter had come to claim it.
“Can I see the papers?” she asked. “The list again, the note?”
“Sure.” Clint handed them over.
She studied both of them very carefully, then dropped them to the table and shook her head.
“Is that your husband’s handwriting?” he asked.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I am sure.”
“Amanda—Mrs. Tolliver—is having people killed something your husband does in his work?”
She glared at him.
“That question is beyond impertinent,” she said. “I think we’re done here.”
As she stood, Clint said, “Amanda, if you’re sure your husband isn’t behind this, then he should be told about it.”
“Do you want to tell him?”
That surprised him.
“I wouldn’t mind—”
“Good. Come to my house tonight. For dinner. You can tell him then.”
“Dinner?”
“Give me something to write on.”
He gave her one of the telegrams he’d received that morning. She hurriedly wrote down her address.
“Be there at seven,” she said, “and wear the suit you wore last night.”
“I appreciate it—”
“If you’re really trying to save lives, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t help you,” she said.
“Especially since one of the lives may be yours,” he reminded her.
“Exactly,” she said. “I’ll see you tonight, Clint.”
He stood.
“Would you like me to get you a cab—”
“The doorman can do it,” she said. “I interrupted your breakfast. Have another. I’ll pay—”
“That’s okay,” Clint said. “I know the owner. He’ll take care of it.”
“Then I’ll see you tonight.”
She left, winding her way between tables.
Only moments after she left, Dirker came walking back in.
“How did that go?” he asked.
“I’m invited to dinner.”
“Tolliver invited you to dinner?”
“Tolliver doesn’t know about it yet.”
“That’ll be interesting. What happened to her bodyguards?”
“She lost them so she could come here.”
“That’s gonna get somebody fired.”
“That’s what I said.”
Dirker waved down the waiter.
“Bring Mr. Adams another steak and eggs.”
“Yessir.”
“A smaller steak this time,” Clint said.
“Ah, what the hell,” Dirker said. “Bring me another one, too.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Since the other four names on the list were covered, it was Clint’s responsibility to keep Amanda Tolliver alive. At dinner he would first have to convince himself that her husband had nothing to do with the list, and then he’d have to convince the man to let him keep his wife alive.
As far as actually investigating any of the deaths, that was being handled by Roper in Denver, and one of his agents—also a detective—in Minnesota. So Clint was basically going to have to sell himself to Tolliver as a bodyguard. And the way Amanda had given Hawkins the slip that morning, maybe that wouldn’t be so hard.
He killed the day in the Lucky Strike, talking with Dirker, doing a little bit of gambling, until it was time for him to go up and put his new suit on again.
“Just as pretty as last night,” Dirker said when Clint came down. “I’ll have the doorman get you a cab. You got a gun on you?”
“Of course I do.”
Dirker looked him up and down.
“That little twenty-five of yours?”
“It’ll do the job.”
“Only in your hands.”
“I’ll see you later.”
As Clint started for the door, Dirker said, “Come and find me when you get back. I want to hear everything.”
Clint nodded and left.
“What’s this?” Ben Tolliver asked as he entered the dining room. “Are we having a guest for dinner?”
“We are,” Amanda said.
“Who?”
“Clint Adams.”
“The man you played poker with last night?” he asked. “The Gunsmith?”
“That’s right.”
“Why is he coming here?” Tolliver demanded. “I thought it was understood that I invite the people who have dinner here.”
“This is different,” she said.
“Oh? Why?”
She stopped fussing with the table setting and turned to face her husband.
“He’s the man I went to see this morning when I gave Hawkins the slip.”
“So it’s his fault Hawkins was fired?”
“I suppose you could look at it that way.”
“And this man, he interests you?”
“He should interest you,” she said.
“And why’s that?”
“He had something to tell me, something that interested me and should interest you.”
“Yes, yes, you said that,” Tolliver pointed out in annoyance. “Spit it out, woman.”
“Someone is planning to kill me.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
“He was sent a list of ten names,” she said. “Nine men and me. The first five men are already dead.”
Tolliver frowned.
“Who’d mak
e such a list?”
“That’s what he’s trying to find out.”
“And so he’s coming here…what? To ask me?”
“To warn us,” she said, “and to see if we know anything that would help him.”
“Help him to do what?”
“Save the lives of the rest of the men on that list,” she said, “and me.”
Tolliver frowned again.
“You want him to save me, don’t you?”
“I’m not convinced that you are in danger,” Tolliver said, “but if you are, I would certainly welcome any help in protecting you.”
“Good,” she said. “He’ll be here at seven. You might want to change for dinner.”
Tolliver walked around the table and took hold of her wrist. He held it tightly—so tightly that she bit her lip.
“But let’s not forget who rules in this house, Amanda,” he said to her. “When we have guests, they’ll be invited by me. Men and women who can do us some good. Is that understood?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He smiled and released her wrist.
“That’s good,” he said. “I’ll go and change for our guest now.”
As he left, she continued to fuss with the table, determined not to rub her wrist.
THIRTY-SIX
The cab stopped in front of the large two-story home on Telegraph Hill. Clint stepped down and paid the driver.
“I don’t envy you, mister,” the man said.
“Why not?”
“Do you know who lives there?”
“I do,” Clint said. “I’m here to have dinner.”
“With them?”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“That’s the Tolliver house. She ain’t bad. Kinda stuck up, but real pretty.”
“And him?”
“Well, he’s a bastard, pure and simple,” the driver said. “Whatever you’re lookin’ to get from him, you ain’t gonna get it.”
“I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”
“You gonna be goin’ back to the hotel after dinner?” the man asked.
“I am.”
“I’ll come back for you. Tell me what time.”
“Dinner’s at seven,” Clint said. “Come back at ten, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure,” the man said. “I’ll be curious to hear what happened, if that’s all right.”
“Don’t see anything wrong with that,” Clint said. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Good luck to you.”
The cab drove off and Clint approached the front door. He knocked, and was surprised when the door was opened by Max, the bodyguard.
“Hello, Max.”
“You think you’re smart,” Max said.
“About what?”
“You got Hawkins fired.”
“Did he get fired?” Clint asked. “Pity. But why is that my fault?”
“Don’t think I don’t know,” Max said. “Come this way.”
Clint entered the house and closed the door behind him. There was a large grandfather clock in the hall that said it was ten minutes to seven.
He followed Max down a hall.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“The boss wants to see you before dinner,” Max said. “In his office.”
“Okay.”
He followed Max the rest of the way in silence. When they came to a wide doorway, Max stepped aside and said, “You can go in.”
“Thanks.”
Max eyed him coldly as he stepped past him.
“Come in, sir,” a man behind a large cherry wood desk said.
He was sixty, maybe more, but an imposing-looking man nevertheless. Broad-shouldered and deep-chested, with a mane of gray hair. He stood behind his desk, but held out his hand. Clint had to go to him to shake. It was a power play right from the beginning.
Clint shook his hand.
“Have a seat, Mr. Adams. I am Ben Tolliver.”
“Yes, sir, I figured that out.”
Tolliver sat behind his desk.
“I won’t offer you anything since we’re about to have dinner, but I thought we should chat for a few minutes before that.”
“Fine.”
Tolliver sat back in his chair.
“My wife tells me you think her life is in danger,” he said. “That you have some sort of…death list.”
“It’s not my list, but it was sent to me.”
“May I see it?”
“Of course.”
Clint took it from his pocket, leaned forward, and held it out to Tolliver—but not far enough. The man had to sit forward to reach it. Two could play power games, no matter how childish they might be.
Tolliver unfolded the list and read it.
“I know all these people.”
“Your wife said she recognized the names. People you’ve done business with in the past?”
Tolliver dropped the list on Clint’s side of the desk. Clint left it there.
“Yes, I’ve done business with these nine men sometime over the course of the past ten years. I don’t know why my wife’s name would be on such a list.”
“Do you know anyone who would want to harm your wife?” Clint asked.
“Harm her, no,” the man said. “But harm me by harming her, of course.”
“And who would that be?”
“A man in my position doesn’t get where he is without making enemies, Mr. Adams,” Tolliver said almost proudly.
“I understand,” Clint said, “but would you have any specific names?”
“Many names,” Tolliver said. “Men—and women—who are waiting for me to trip and fall. You must experience the same thing, a man of your reputation.”
“Yes,” Clint said, “it would be hard for me to make a complete list.”
“So there, you understand.”
“Mr. Tolliver, I just want you to know that I’m available to protect your wife—”
“Just between you and me, Adams,” Tolliver said, “I am very capable of protecting my wife. I suggest we go into the dining room and have dinner. When we’re done, I’ll thank you for your help, but it really won’t be necessary.”
Clint had two thoughts. The first was to get up and leave. The second was to eat the man’s food and listen at the table for anything that might be helpful.
Ben Tolliver was either very confident in his ability protect his wife, or he didn’t want her protected at all. If that was the case, there was a strong chance that he had something to do with makeup of that list, if he hadn’t written it out himself.
THIRTY-SEVEN
When Tolliver walked Clint into the dining room, Amanda looked surprised.
“You’re here!” she said to Clint.
“Yes,” Clint said, “Max was nice enough to introduce me to your husband as soon as I arrived.”
She gave her husband a long look. Max was standing at the door of the room with his hands folded in front of him.
“We’re ready for dinner, my love,” Tolliver said. “Why don’t you tell our guest where you’d like him to sit?”
Tolliver sat at the head of the table. With his wife sitting at his left, she asked Clint to sit at the man’s right, directly across from her.
“Oh, Amanda,” Tolliver said before they all actually sat, “I neglected to tell you we’ll be having another guest for dinner.”
She stared at him.
“Oh? Who?”
“A friend of mine,” Tolliver said. He looked at Clint. “I hope you don’t mind?”
“It’s not my place to mind,” Clint said. “It’s your home.”
“Exactly,” Tolliver said. “My dear? Another place setting?”
At that point there was a knock at the door.
“Max?” Tolliver said.
“Yes, sir.”
Amanda gave Clint a helpless look. Rather than be seated, they all waited for the fourth member of their dinner par
ty.
Max reappeared, leading a well-dressed man in his early forties. Not only was he well dressed, but Clint noticed he was well heeled, wearing a well-oiled holster with a well-cared-for Colt in it.
“Ah, Perry,” Tolliver said, “glad you could make it.”
“I appreciated the invitation, Mr. Tolliver,” the man said.
“May I present my wife, Amanda?”
“Ma’am,” the man said with a slight bow.
“And this is our other dinner guest, Mr. Clint Adams. This is my good friend Perry Silver,” Tolliver said.
“Adams,” the man said. “I’ve heard of you.”
Clint inclined his head and said, “I’ve heard nothing of you.”
Silver smiled.
“That suits me just fine.”
“Shall we sit and eat?” Tolliver asked.
Clint thought the man looked incredibly pleased with himself.
And the attitude increased all through dinner.
* * *
It was never made clear throughout the meal how Ben Tolliver knew Silver, or what it was that Perry Silver did for a living. The conversation, rather than being helpful, was hopelessly innocuous.
Amanda kept looking across the table at Clint, and he could see that she was worried. Her husband was acting as if Clint’s death list did not even exist.
After dinner Tolliver invited the men into the study for some brandy. Clint agreed, thinking perhaps something would be said once they were out of Amanda’s earshot.
In the study, with brandy snifters in their hands, Tolliver got to the point.
“Adams, I want you to know that Perry here will be taking over the job of my wife’s security. He’s not only replacing Hawkins, but Max will be working directly under his supervision.”
“I see.”
“It’s what I do,” Silver said to Clint. “I…take care of people.”
“Taking care of people” had more than one meaning to Clint.
“So you see,” Tolliver said, “while I appreciate your offer to protect her, I have everything covered.” He indicated Perry Silver. “I have the best money can buy.”
“I’m sure you do,” Clint said.
Tolliver put his brandy snifter down and gave Clint a long look.
“I’d appreciate it, from, this point forward, if you would not see or speak to my wife again. I hope you understand.”
“I understand the words,” Clint said.
“That’s all I need,” Tolliver said. He looked at the big bodyguard standing by the door. “Max? Would you show Mr. Adams to the door?”
The Death List Page 9
