‘That’s the only possible explanation to account for the facts.. Cunweather was watching the hotel and apparently making a good job of it. He’s absolutely certain Morgan Birks never went into that hotel. He wouldn’t be mistaken. He was fooled. Dr. Holoman is in on the play. We were taken for a ride. The whole thing was a frame-up. I thought that Durke girl was too damned easy. She went directly to the Perkins Hotel and never looked back. The skids were all greased for us. I telephoned Sandra where I was. Sandra and Bleatie insisted on coming up, very much against my wishes. From there on, the play was all blue-printed. Bleatie pretended to work up a blood pressure and have a hemorrhage. Dr. Holoman took him into the bathroom. As soon as he got in the bathroom, and closed the door to my room, Sally Durke opened the bathroom door of her room. Bleatie changed his clothes, took off his nose bandages, came in,, and lay down on the bed. That elaborate combination of splints and tape to protect his broken nose was really a mask to conceal his appearance. The adhesive tape plastered over his forehead and cheekbones pulled his eyes out of shape. Bleatie had black hair that was parted in the middle and combed down on each side, but there was a bald spot on top of his head. Now, no man on earth with thick black hair in front would part it in the middle and comb it down the sides and leave a bald spot staring naked and unadorned from the top of his head. Morgan Birks had black hair and a bald spot. He combed his hair straight back.’
Bertha Cool’s eyes narrowed. ‘That would account for them being so worked up when you stayed away so long. They were having a hard time keeping that bathroom business going. But how about the blood on the towels and things?’
‘It wasn’t blood. It was mercurochrome or some stain the doctor had fixed up to resemble blood. Lord, I don’t know all the details. I’m giving you the big play. It could have been done that way. Everything fits together when you figure it like that. There’s no other way things do figure. There’s no other way it could have been done.
‘Bleatie went into the bathroom, took off his nose business, and became Morgan Birks. He went into 618 and waited until I’d served him. As soon as we went out of 618, he jumped off the bed, went back into the bathroom, changed the parting of his hair, changed back into his bloodstained clothes, had his nose guard taped back into place, and became Bleatie again. Then it was a cinch for him to add the finishing touch. Standing in the bathroom, he was able to impersonate Morgan Birks as calling from 618, and Bleatie as answering from the bathroom. Bleatie’s voice was distinguished from Morgan’s because it sounded as though Bleatie was talking with a clothespin over his nose. And that bandage business made a perfect disguise. In that way he was able to come to the hotel and leave it right under the noses of the gang that was looking for him. That’s the way he’s been able to dodge the police. He’s been at the place where they least expected him, living in his own apartment with his own little wife. She’s covering him up in order to get that divorce. That’s why he’s so sore at Holoman.’
‘Being sore at Holoman doesn’t fit in,’ she said. ‘The doctor must be in on it with him. He must be a confederate.’
‘Sure, he’s in with Birks, but only on this one play. Birks didn’t get Holoman. Sandra did. Holoman is Sandra’s friend. Morgan and Sandra came to a parting of the ways. Morgan told her about his mistress, and she admitted having a lover. They fixed up the divorce business. They needed a doctor to fix up the disguise. Sandra’s lover was called in.’
The taxi driver drew up in front of the Stillwater Apartments.
‘How much is the meter, Donald, darling?’ she asked.
‘Four dollars and fifteen cents.’
She handed the cab driver a five-dollar bill. ‘Give me seventy-five cents,’ she said, ‘and keep the rest: He gave her a fifty-cent piece and a quarter.
She turned to me. ‘Donald,’ she said, ‘you’re a darling. You’re the fair-haired boy child. This job takes brains, and you’ve got them!’ She put her arm around my shoulders and said, ‘Donald, I could love you for this. You figured the thing out, and here is where Bertha Cool goes to town. I’ll make a cleanup on this, you darling! —and you owe ninety-five cents on this taxi meter, Donald. I’ll take it out of your salary.’
She stood on the sidewalk, fished a notebook out of her purse, and marked three dollars and thirty cents in her expense account under taxis. Then she turned the page, and marked down D. L., advance on taxi meter, ninety-five cents.
I said, ‘Thanks for your praise, Mrs. Cool. Some day I’ll try to think of an idea that will cost me an even dollar.’
She closed her notebook, dropped it into her purse, smiled at the cab driver, and said to me, ‘None of your lip; Donald.’ As soon as the cab driver had pulled away from the curb, she grabbed my arm and swung me around. ‘All right, Donald, darling, let’s go. We’ll cash in on this.’
‘Going to Sandra?’ I asked.
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘To Dr. Holoman. We’ll make him jump through hoops.’
Chapter 10
IT WAS getting daylight. Somewhere over behind the wall of gray, toneless buildings was a streak of dawn-colored sky. Colorless gray light filtered into the street. Buildings seemed shadowy and unreal, but bulked high against the sky.
We walked three blocks before we found a cruising cab. While Bertha Cool was getting in, I said to the cab driver, ‘Get us to the nearest place where we can find a telephone directory.’
He tried to run us to the Union Depot, but Bertha Cool spotted an all night restaurant and said to me, ‘Slide back that glass, Donald, dear, and let me talk to that son of a bitch.’
I slid back the glass.
‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ she asked the driver. ‘Turn around and go back to that restaurant. When I say the nearest phone, I mean the nearest’
The driver mumbled something about having to watch for traffic and swung the car. Bertha said to me, ‘Look under the classified lists, Donald. Find a Holoman who’s a doctor. And remember this cab is costing me waiting tune-don’t take all day.’
‘I don’t think he’s a full-fledged doctor yet. He won’t have an office. I’ll have to call the hospitals. I’ll need some dimes.’
She sighed, dug four dimes out of her purse and said, ‘For God’s sake, Donald, get some action. I can’t charge this as an expense. This is a gamble. I’m using my money.’
I took the coins, went in and started calling hospitals. The second one was the Shelly Foundation Hospital. The girl said they had an Archie Holoman serving as an interne.
I thanked her, hung up and told the scowling taxi driver to take us to the Shelley Foundation Hospital and climbed back in beside Bertha Cool.
It was a short run, and the cab driver made it fast. Mrs. Cool said, ‘He probably isn’t on duty now, Donald. Get his home address-unless he happens to be living at the hospital. I’ll wait here.’
I ran up the marble stairs and into the hospital. It was rapidly growing lighter. The freshness of dawn in the air made the interior of the hospital seem steeped with the exudations of sickness and death. A tired-eyed nurse, sitting behind a desk, looked up at me. Daylight streaming through an easterly window, mingled with the lamp light on her face, made it gray and pasty.
‘A Dr. Archie Holoman has a position here as interne?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I want very much to see him, please.’
‘He’s on duty. Just a moment, I think I can get him on the telephone. What is your name, please?’
‘Lam,’ I said. ‘Donald Lam.’
‘Does he know you?’
‘Yes.’
The nurse went over and spoke to the switchboard operator. Then after a minute or two motioned to a phone booth, and said, ‘You can talk with him in there if you wish, Mr. Lam, or here at the desk.’
I choose the booth. I knew I had to be careful with my approach. I didn’t want him to think I was bluffing. I figured it would be best to let him know I was wise to the play all the way through.
‘D
onald Lam, Doctor. I wanted to talk to you about exactly what happened when those papers were served on Mr. Birks this afternoon. And I wanted to check your diagnosis on a brokennose case. I wonder if you’d mind coming down for a moment. Mrs. Cool is here in the cab.’
‘What’s the name?’ he asked.
‘Lam. Donald Lam. You know, the investigator.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t place you, Mr. Lam.’
I said patiently, ‘You remember when you were patching up Bleatie’s broken nose out at Sandra’s apartment?’
‘I’m quite certain you’re mistaken,’ he said. ‘You’ve confused me with someone else. I’m not practising as yet.’
So that was it. He was afraid to have the hospital know he’d been handling any medical work.
‘Pardon me,’ I said. ‘I guess I made a mistake there. However, Doctor, I’d like to talk with you for a moment. Is it possible for you to come down? We couldn’t talk here,’ I added hastily, as he hesitated. ‘Mrs. Cool’s outside in the taxicab. We could talk out there.’
‘I’ll come down,’ he said, ‘to find out what the devil this is all about.’
I thanked him, hung up the receiver, and walked out to stand in the lobby, looking through the plate glass windows into the freshness of early morning. After a few minutes, I heard the elevator descend and turned to greet Dr. Holoman. It wasn’t he. A young man stepped from the elevator, walked across to the nurse’s desk. I turned back to look out of the window. After a moment, I heard the sound of low-voiced conversation. The young man walked across to stand just behind me.
I turned.
‘You wanted to see me?’ he asked.
‘No, I’m waiting for Dr. Holoman.’
‘But I’m Dr. Holoman.’
I said, ‘I guess you’re right, Doctor, there’s been a mistake. I want Dr. Archie Holoman.’
‘But I am Dr. Archie Holoman.’
I looked him over. He was somewhere in the late twenties, or perhaps had just turned thirty. He was an earnest, sincere-looking chap, with a pallid face, high cheekbones, smoldering black eyes, and dark, wavy hair. I said, ‘Would you mind stepping out to the taxicab with me? I’d like to have you explain to Mrs. Cool that you’re not the Dr. Holoman she’s looking for.’
I could see he was suspicious. He glanced over at the nurse, then out to where the taxicab was standing at the curb. Then he looked me over, evidently figured he could handle me if he had to, said curtly, ‘Very well,’ and accompanied me out to the door of the taxicab. I said, ‘Mrs. Cool, this is Dr. Holoman, Dr. Archie Holoman.’
She looked him over and said, ‘The hell it is!’
After a moment, he said lamely, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cool. Was there something I could do?’
‘Not a damn thing,’ she said. ‘Hop in, Donald.’
‘Thank you very much, Doctor,’ I told him.
He looked at me then with the growing conviction that we were both crazy. I hopped into the car. Mrs. Cool gave the driver Sandra’s address, and the cab jerked into motion, leaving Dr. Holoman standing there at the curb looking at us with the expression of a man who has reached for a purse on April First, only to find it jerked out from under his fingers.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘the plot thickens.’
‘Thickens, hell,’ she said. ‘It’s like gravy that’s had too much flour dumped in it. It’s full of lumps. Are you sure that was Dr. Holoman?’
‘He said he was, and the hospital said he was.’
She fumbled around in her purse, and said,. ‘Donald, I’m out of cigarettes.’
I gave her one out of my fast-diminishing store, and took one myself.
We shared the same match. She said, ‘Damned clever, Donald, my boy, damned clever. They needed an authentic background. They couldn’t get a real doctor to do the dirty work, so they stole an interne’s identity and background. If we’d ever wanted to check back on Dr. Holoman, we’d have found his record, date, graduation, present location, and all of that. There wasn’t one chance in fifty we’d have gone to Dr. Holoman at the hospital.’
‘That,’ I said, ‘brings up the question: Who was the chap masquerading as Dr. Holoman?’
‘Her boy friend, probably,’ she said. ‘Where there’s so much smoke, there’s apt to be some fire.’
We rode for a while in silence. She turned to me, and said, ‘Now listen, Donald. Don’t be a damn fool about this.’
‘Meaning what?’ I asked.
‘You’re just about half in love with that Hunter woman.’
‘Make it two-thirds,’ I said, ‘if you’re going in for fractions.’
‘All right. Call it two-thirds. Hell, I don’t care. Call it a hundred per cent. She’s in a jam. You’re going to try and save her. Now don’t get excited. Keep your shirt on, and look at the facts. She lied to you about the shooting.’
I said, ‘I’m not certain that she did.’
‘No,’ Mrs. Cool observed dryly, ‘you wouldn’t be.’
There was another interval of silence.
‘You had some plan?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
‘What is it?’
She said, ‘We’ll pin the killing on Bleatie.’
‘Not so hot,’ I objected. ‘We’ve just established that there isn’t any Bleatie.’
‘That makes it swell,’ she said. ‘It gives the police a hard nut to crack. The way the thing stands now, there were two persons —Bleatie and Morgan Birks. We are the only outsiders who know Morgan Birks and Bleatie were the same people. Morgan Birks is dead. Therefore Bleatie is dead too. No one knows Bleatie is dead. They can’t ever prove it because they can’t ever find his body. We pin everything on Bleatie—if she pays us enough.
‘Now, you walk in there and spill what you know, and everyone says, “That’s right. Clever of the boy, but we were right on the verge of reasoning it out ourselves. Another half hour and we’d have had it.” But we go in there and start asking where Bleatie is, and pretty quick some damn flatfoot gets the idea Bleatie’s guilty of murder. Play it that way and you’ve got something.’
‘But how could any flatfoot figure Bleatie’d killed anyone when Alma Hunter admits she raised the gun and pulled the trigger?’
‘That’s where our ingenuity comes in,’ she said. ‘If Sandra wants us to clear Alma Hunter of the charge, and I think she does, and pays enough for it, and I hope she will, we drag Bleatie into it by the ears. Alma Hunter was hysterical. She was excited. She doesn’t know what happened. She heard a shot, and she thought it came from the gun she was holding in her hand. Really it didn’t. It was fired by Bleatie, who was in the room.’
‘What was he doing in her room?’ I asked.
‘Looking at her etchings.’
‘And Alma didn’t know he was there?’
‘No.’
‘And Alma didn’t shoot at all?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘But suppose it’s her gun that’s on the floor?’
‘No, it wasn’t her gun. She screamed, dropped her gun and ran. Bleatie picked up her gun, left the gun with which the killing had been done, and walked out into the night.’
‘That,’ I said, ‘is a pretty tall order.’
‘We can make it sound plausible.’
‘I don’t think I like your way,’ I said. ‘I think I like mine. What’s more, the police won’t like yours.’
‘The police have hands, ears, eyes, legs, noses, and mouths just the same as we do. They can gather the facts and draw conclusions just the same as we can. It isn’t up to us to prove that girl innocent. It’s up to the police to show that she’s guilty. If we can account for the circumstances by some other explanation which doesn’t leave any loose threads dangling, that’s all we need to offer to a jury. That’s the law.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘that’s not an exact statement of the law, but it’s close enough.’
‘Now then,’ she demanded, ‘Do you want to get Alma Hunter out of this or not?’
<
br /> ‘Yes.’
‘All right then. Keep your mouth shut, and let Auntie Bertha do the talking.’
The cab pulled up in front of Sandra’s apartment house. A police guard was stationed in the lobby. Apparently the few early morning stragglers had no inkling of what had happened. There was no outward indication of a homicide.
Bertha Cool paid off the cab and barged up the apartment house. The officer said, ‘Just a moment. Do you live here?’
‘No.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To call on Sandra Birks.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Bertha Cool, head of the Cool Detective Agency. This is one of my operatives.’
‘What do you want?’
‘To see Sandra Birks.’
‘What do you want to see her about?’
‘I don’t know. She wants to see me. What’s the matter? Is she under arrest?’
‘No, not under arrest’
‘It’s her apartment, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, go on up,’ he said.
‘Thanks. I intend to,’ Mrs. Cool announced.
I tried to be polite about the door, but she beat me to it, grabbed the knob and flung the heavy door back as though it had been made of cardboard. She strode on in, and I came along in her wake. We took the elevator to the fourth floor. Sandra Birks flung open the door as I tapped gently on the panels.
‘It took you long enough to get here.’
Bertha Cool said, ‘We didn’t want to run into the police.’
‘There’s a guard downstairs.’
‘I know.’
‘Did he try to stop you?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you get by?’
‘Walked by.’
‘You told him you were a detective?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would he let anyone in who wasn’t a detective?’
The Bigger They Come Page 14
