I caught a glimpse of my face in the rear-view mirror, and concurred. I’d been going on nerve ever since Ferguson’s Boston adventure shocked me out of bed. I leaned my head against the back of the seat and dozed all the way to the hospital.
The nurse in charge at the third-floor station opened her mouth to upbraid me. She closed it again when Wills stepped out of the elevator behind me. I was probably being arrested. I certainly deserved it, her look said.
I opened the drawer of the bedside table and handed him the pillbox. He dumped its contents into his hand, growling over them. “Fragmented. We probably can’t do anything with it.”
“What do you want to do with it?”
“Just hold it in readiness,” he said, “until we get our hands on the gun. Who shot you, Bill, Gaines or the woman?”
“She did.”
“And then she dragged her unconscious sister out and changed clothes with her?”
“Apparently.”
“That’s what I guessed. You thought you were covering up for Mrs. Ferguson. The girl you were actually covering for may turn out to be the most vicious killer of them all. There’s a hole in that piece of skull we found, looks like a bullet hole, spang in the middle of the forehead. She left three people to burn up in that fire, you and the sister and a third party who was probably dead already. Who was the third party, Bill? You must have some idea.”
I remembered the second shot Hilda had fired, just before I knocked myself out on the door frame. I’d assumed it was aimed at me.
“There was no third party, unless he or she was out of sight with the unconscious sister. You may have turned up the victim of an old killing.”
“That’s possible, too.”
Wills went away at last. I undressed with shaking hands. The head nurse came in to fix my bed and give me hell. Dr. Root dropped by and gave me hell. Sally came up in a wheelchair and gave me hell.
Very mild hell. She had the baby with her. I passed out more or less content, wishing my little nameless girl a better fate than some.
chapter 30
FERGUSON HIRED DETECTIVES. The FBI entered the case on the grounds that Gaines and Hilda were in unlawful flight. In two days the various agencies established that the pair had crossed no borders, taken no planes; and were not walking the streets of Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, Salt Lake City, Reno, Las Vegas, Phoenix, Albuquerque, New York, Miami, or Boston.
Dr. Root let me out of the hospital on the afternoon of the third day. I found Ferguson’s check for two thousand dollars waiting in my office mail, and later used it to make a down payment on a house.
That same afternoon I asked Mrs. Weinstein to place a second call to Michael Speare in Beverly Hills. I was remembering things.
Speare hadn’t been in his office all day. His secretary, if that is what she was, finally relinquished his private number. I reached him there at seven o’clock at night.
He greeted me over the wire like a long-lost brother. “Good to hear from you, Bill. I’ve been following your adventures in the newspapers. Greatest thing since Pearl White in
“Thanks. I want to talk to you as soon as possible. Tonight.”
“Go right ahead.”
“In person.”
“What about?”
“Certain phases of my adventures involving you.”
“You mean Holly and this Gaines character? I’ve been thinking maybe I made a mistake about them. They probably weren’t as close as I imagined, you know how it is.”
“I know how it is, Speare. That’s just one of the things we have to discuss.”
He was silent for nearly a minute. Then he said in a chastened tone: “As a matter of fact, I’ve been wanting to talk to you. How’s about coming over for a drink?”
“You come here. I’m not driving yet.”
I told him how to find my office, and he agreed to be there in an hour. Shortly after eight o’clock I heard a racing motor die coughing in the street. Something told me it would be Speare. Through the window I watched him disembark from a low-slung silver car and take off his helmet and goggles.
In the full light of the anteroom I saw that he was a worried man. He had been treating his worry with alcohol, more alcohol than he could have drunk in an hour. When I ushered him into my private office I could smell his breath. He sat down as if he had eggs in his pockets. I shut the door. The sound of it made him jump.
“About those little discrepancies, Bill, you got to understand. I had a lot at stake in Holly’s career. Things have been tough in my business the last five years. And you got to admit I was only telling you what you wanted to hear.”
“Just don’t tell me any more lies.”
His face crumpled and uncrumpled. “Is this room bugged?”
“No.”
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
“That’s not our problem. How well did you know Larry Gaines?”
“You don’t expect me to answer that one, do you? He’s wanted for a list of crimes as long as your arm. I’m not responsible for the morals of people I do business with.”
“You did business with Gaines?”
He caught himself up. “No. He came to me, wanted me to represent him. I didn’t think he had it. Besides, I didn’t like his looks. I wouldn’t touch him.”
“I heard different.”
“Oh?” His webbed eyeballs rolled. “Who from, Bill?”
I left his question hanging. “Why did Gaines pick you out to represent him?”
“It’s a long and sordid story. I don’t mean I did anything out of line. I was only trying to protect my client.”
“Then you don’t have any reason to suppress it. And you might as well tell the truth the first time around. If we have to go around a second time, we’ll do it up the street at the police station.”
“That’s a hell of a way to treat a man, when I came here willingly to co-operate.”
“Then co-operate.”
His eyes, his entire face, even his bald spot, had a fine glaze on them, like well-fired pottery. He rose and took a few steps away from me and then came back. He leaned on the top of my desk. “I came here to co-operate. I’m in a worse bind than you know. The whole thing started early last spring before Holly left me. That sister of hers, the one you’re looking for, ran up some bills in Palm Springs stores, using Holly’s name. I hired a detective to track the sister down. If she got into the papers, it wouldn’t be good. The sister was traveling with Gaines at the time-he was the one who put her up to the con game-and they gave my gumshoe quite a chase, all the way across the country.
“I kept the gumshoe after them because when he found out what they were doing, it looked pretty serious.
“He traced them to San Antonio and dug up a dentist there who’d put crowns on Hilda’s teeth, Hollywood style. The dentist led him to a crooked plastic surgeon who specialized in fugitives from justice. He’d given Hilda a nose bob and some other touches, working from a photograph of Holly. From San Antonio the two of them went to Houston, where she promoted herself a wardrobe. Then on to sucker-land.
“The suckers in Miami weren’t having any, not the respectable ones with the big money. Hilda looked like Holly, but she lacked the class. She had to settle for fringe benefits, using Holly’s name to gamble on. She fell into the hands of a cookie named Salaman-the hood they arrested in L.A. the other day. When my man caught up with her finally, she was living with Salaman, paying off the interest on the money that she owed him. She was still using
