“And who was in charge of it?” I asked.
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“When the police came, didn’t they notice that a slipper was missing?”
“When the police came there was no slipper missing. You must remember that Dr. Almore was back at his home, in response to Lavery’s call, before the police were called. All we know about the missing shoe is from Talley himself. He might have taken the unworn shoe from the house. The side door was unlocked. The maids were asleep. The objection to that is that he wouldn’t have been likely to know there was an unworn slipper to take. I wouldn’t put it past him to think of it. He’s a sharp sneaky little devil. But I can’t fix the necessary knowledge on him.”
We sat there and looked at each other, thinking about it.
“Unless,” Webber said slowly, “we can suppose that this nurse of Almore’s was involved with Talley in a scheme to put the bite on Almore. It’s possible. There are things in favor of it. There are more things against it. What reason have you for claiming that the girl drowned up in the mountains was this nurse?”
“Two reasons, neither one conclusive separately, but pretty powerful taken together. A tough guy who looked and acted like Deganno was up there a few weeks ago showing a photograph of Mildred Haviland that looked something like Muriel Chess. Different hair and eyebrows and so on, but a fair resemblance. Nobody helped him much. He called himself De Soto and said he was a Los Angeles cop. There isn’t any Los Angeles cop named De Soto. When Muriel Chess heard about it, she looked scared. If it was Degarmo, that’s easily established. The other reason is that a golden anklet with a heart on it was hidden in a box of powdered sugar in the Chess cabin. It was found after her death, after her husband had been arrested. On the back of the heart was engraved:
“It could have been some other Al and some other Mildred,” Webber said.
“You don’t really believe that, captain.”
He leaned forward and made a hole in the air with his forefinger. “What do you want to make of all this exactly?”
“I want to make it that Kingsley’s wife didn’t shoot Lavery. That his death had something to do with the Almore business. And with Mildred Haviland. And possibly with Dr. Almore. I want to make it that Kingsley’s wife disappeared because something happened that gave her a bad fright, that she may or may not have guilty knowledge, but that she hasn’t murdered anybody. There’s five hundred dollars in it for me, if I can determine that. It’s legitimate to try.”
He nodded. “Certainly it is. And I’m the man that would help you, if I could see any grounds for it. We haven’t found the woman, but the time has been very short. But I can’t help you put something on one of my boys.”
I said: “I heard you call Degarmo Al. But I was thinking of Almore. His name’s Albert.”
Webber looked at his thumb. “But he was never married to the girl,” he said quietly. “Degarmo was. I can tell you she led him a pretty dance. A lot of what seems bad in him is the result of it.”
I sat very still. After a moment I said: “I’m beginning to see things I didn’t know existed. What kind of a girl was she?”.
“Smart, smooth and no good. She had a way with men. She could make them crawl over her shoes. The big boob would tear your head off right now, if you said anything against her. She divorced him, but that didn’t end it for him.”
“Does he know she is dead?”
Webber sat quiet for a long moment before he said: “Not from anything he has said. But how could he help it, if it’s the same girl?”
“He never found her in the mountains—so far as we know.”
I stood up and leaned down on the desk. “Look, captain, you’re not kidding me, are you?”
“No. Not one damn bit. Some men are like that and some women can make them like it. If you think Degarmo went up there looking for her because he wanted to hurt her, you’re as wet as a bar towel.”
“I never quite thought that,” I said. “It would be possible, provided Degarmo knew the country up there pretty well. Whoever murdered the girl did.”
“This is all between us,” he said. “I’d like you to keep it that way.”
I nodded, but I didn’t promise him. I said goodnight again and left. He looked after me as I went down the room. He looked hurt and sad.
The Chrysler was in the police lot at the side of the building with the keys in the ignition and none of the fenders smashed. Cooney hadn’t made good on his threat. I drove back to Hollywood and went up to my apartment in the Bristol. It was late, almost midnight.
The green and ivory hallway was empty of all sound except that a telephone bell was ringing in one of the apartments. It rang insistently and got louder as I came near to my door. I unlocked the door. It was my telephone.
I walked across the room in darkness to where the phone stood on the ledge of an oak desk against the side wall. It must have rung at least ten times before I got to it.
I lifted it out of the cradle and answered, and it was Derace Kingsley on the line.
His voice sounded tight and brittle and strained. “Good Lord, where in hell have you been?” he snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
“All right. I’m here now,” I said. “What is it?”
“I’ve heard from her.”
I held the telephone very tight and drew my breath in slowly and let it out slowly. “Go ahead,” I said.
“I’m not far away. I’ll be over there in five or six minutes. Be prepared to move.” He hung up.
