the fire stairs. That would take three trips. Not too much for you. Then you could drive his car out of the garage. You probably knew the night man was a doper and that he wouldn’t talk, if he knew you knew. This was in the small hours of the night. Of course the garage man lied about the time. Then you could drive the car as near as possible to where Mitchell’s body was, and dump him into it, and drive off to Los Penasquitos Canyon.”
Brandon laughed bitterly. “So I am in Los Penasquitos Canyon with a car and a dead man and nine suitcases. How do I get out of there?”
“Helicopter.”
“Who’s going to fly it?”
“You. They don’t check much on helicopters yet, but they soon will, because they are getting more and more numerous. You could have one brought to you in Los Penasquitos Canyon, having arranged in advance, and you could have had someone come along to pick up the pilot. A man in your position can do almost anything, Brandon.”
“And then what?”
“You loaded Mitchell’s body and his suitcases into the helicopter and flew out to sea and set the helicopter hovering close to the water, and then you could dump the body and the suitcases, and drift on back to wherever the helicopter came from. A nice clean well-organized job.”
Brandon laughed raucously—too raucously. The laugh had a forced sound.
“You think I’d actually be idiot enough to do all this for a girl I had only just met?”
“Uh-uh. Think again, Brandon. You did it for you. You forget Goble. Goble came from Kansas City. Didn’t you?”
“What if I did?”
“Nothing. End of the line. But Goble didn’t come out here for the ride. And he wasn’t looking for Mitchell, unless he already knew him, and between them, they figured they had a gold mine. You were the gold mine. But Mitchell got dead and Goble tried to go it alone, and he was a mouse fighting with a tiger. But would you want to explain how Mitchell fell off your terrace? Would you want an investigation of your background? What so obvious as for the polices to think you had thrown Mitchell over the wall? And even if they couldn’t prove it, where would you be in Esmeralda from then on?”
He walked slowly to the far end of the terrace and back. He stood in front of me, his expression completely blank.
“I could have you killed, Marlowe. But in some strange way in the years I have lived here, I don’t seem to be that kind of guy any more. So you have me licked. I don’t have any defense, except to have you killed. Mitchell was the lowest kind of man, a blackmailer of women. You could be right all along the line, but I wouldn’t regret it. And it’s just possible, believe me, just possible that I too went out on a limb for Betty Mayfield. I don’t expect you to believe it, but it is possible. Now, let’s deal. How much?”
“How much for what?”
“For not going to the cops.”
“I already told you how much. Nothing. I just wanted to know what happened. Was I approximately right?”
“Dead right, Marlowe. Right on the nose. They may get me for it yet.”
“Maybe. Well, I’ll take myself out of your hair now. Like I said—I want to get back to Los Angeles. Somebody might offer me a cheap job. I have to live, or do I?”
“Would you shake hands with me?”
“No. You hired a gun. That puts you out of the class of people I shake hands with. I might be dead today, if I hadn’t had a hunch.”
“I didn’t mean him to kill anyone.”
“You hired him. Goodbye.”
27
I got out of the elevator and Javonen seemed to be waiting for me. “Come into the bar,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”
We went into the bar, which was very quiet at that hour. We sat at a corner table. Javonen said quietly: “You think I’m a bastard, don’t you?”
“No. You have a job. I have a job. Mine annoyed you. You didn’t trust me. That doesn’t make you a bastard.”
“I try to protect the hotel. Who do you try to protect?”
“I never know. Often, when I do know, I don’t know how. I just fumble around and make a nuisance of myself. Often I’m pretty inadequate.”
“So I heard—from Captain Alessandro. If it’s not too personal, how much do you make on a job like this?”
“Well, this was a little out of the usual line, Major. As a matter of fact, I didn’t make anything.”
“The hotel will pay you five thousand dollars—for protecting its interests.”
“The hotel, meaning Mr. Clark Brandon.”
“I suppose. He’s the boss.”
“It has a sweet sound—five thousand dollars. A very sweet sound. I’ll listen to it on my way back to Los Angeles.” I stood up.
“Where do I send the check, Marlowe?”
