'That I did,' said Elger. He put the icebag down on the couch beside him, stood up, and stretched. And Mendoza watched him, fascinated. Art Hackett was the hell of a big one, and it would take quite a lot of man to handle him. Maybe this was the man. Elger, naked except for the shorts, was quite something to see. He must be almost six-five, and he had a torso like the ads in the back pages of True Detective: You too can build muscular power. He might tip the scales at two-fifty, and all of it bone and muscle. Thick mat of hair on his chest, hairy legs. He had a square-jawed, nondescript face, shrewd blue eyes that right now were bloodshot and not quite focusing. 'That I did,' he said, and yawned widely.
'Oh, Cliff,' she said, pouting. 'I was mad at you about that idiotic Warren female. I didn't really think you'd- But when you got plastered at the Andersons' party you were pawing her like mad, and I- You know I wouldn't've-'
'Damn right,” said Elger. 'That Goddamned little would-be charmer, twisting his damn mustache at you-'
He broke off, looked at Mendoza again. 'Of course,' he said seriously, 'your type's always useful for villains. Funny thing, seventy-four per cent of all heavies always have mustaches. I made a graph on it once. It's damn funny, because a lot of females go for them. I'll bet you do right well with the females, cop or no cop.'
'So I used to,' said Mendoza. 'Some straight answers, please, Mr. Elger. You thought-or knew-your wife was, shall we say, dating Dr. Nestor on the side. You had a fight with him-'
'I only met him twice,' said Ruth Elger defensively, plaintively. 'I wouldn't have- But Cliff-”
'Suspected it,' said Elger laconically. 'Knew it was just to spite me. Didn't think it'd do any harm to teach him a lesson. Fight? Good God, man, him and me? I found 'em in Mike De Angelo's bar together, and sure I gave him a black eye. Pleasure. That's all. I hit him once and Ruthie and I left. What the hell? Ruthie said she was sorry, and I said I was sorry about the Warren girl-not that I'm admitting anything-and that was that. What the hell are the cops sniffing around for?' He eyed Mendoza interestedly and patted his crop of dark curly hair. 'I'm feeling better, Ruthie.'
'Oh, God, I wish I was,' she said.
'Did a Sergeant Hackett of my office come to see you on Friday night?”
Elger turned away and sat down again. Mendoza couldn't see his eyes, read his expression. 'Never heard of him. Was he supposed to? What about?'
'Where were you on Friday evening?'
'Where were we?' ruminated Elger. 'Friday. What happened to Thursday? Oh, I remember, I had lunch with that guy from New York-that won't come to anything- and we had dinner at Sardi's. Friday. Friday, I spent mostly with Jeffie, coaxing him to sign that Stoner contract. God, that man. Why do I stay in this business? Thinks he can ask half a million guarantee because he's made one picture and sends the teens. Maybe he can, eventually. I was beat. And we were meeting the studio lawyers yesterday-was yesterday Saturday? I've got a dim recollection- Yeah, so I came straight home. Didn't I, Ruthie?'
'Friday,' she said vaguely. 'Yes, that's right. You said you needed a quiet night for once, on account of the lawyers next day. We had dinner here and didn't go anywhere.'
'You were both here alone all that evening. And Sergeant Hackett didn't come to see you?'
'Nope, never heard the name. Why?' Elger cocked his head at Mendoza. 'Now I look at you a second time- Knight Productions is doing a rehash of the Joaquin Murrieta thing, and you're just the type. You ever done any acting?'
'Only,' said Mendoza, 'in the line of duty, Mr. Elger. You were both home alone all Friday evening and no one came to see you.'
'I said so,' said Elger. He stood up again, towering over Mendoza, suddenly motionless, hands on hips. The only man Mendoza had run across in quite a while who would be capable of putting Art Hackett down and out.
'What's it all about?' he asked.
'Oh, God, I feel awful,' said the woman.
NINE
When he got to Federico's out on North Broadway he called the hospital. He was passed around a little, until an annoyed nurse told him that the patient's condition was unchanged, and while they realized that people were concerned, it would be helpful if they'd refrain from calling in more than once an hour. There had been four calls in the last twenty minutes, she said crossly.
Mendoza deduced with no difficulty men going off duty for lunch and taking the chance to call in. He didn't apologize, but thanked her. He went on into the restaurant, found Palliser at a table alone, and joined him.
'Hospital says no change,' said Palliser. 'They still won't say yes or no.'
'I know. Who'd you get, the nurse?'
'No,' said Palliser. He looked very tired and grave; he spoke deliberately, looking at his cigarette. 'I got a chatty young intern who's very interested in the case. He said that at this stage there's no way to be certain that even if he lives he won't have some permanent brain damage.'
Mendoza didn't say anything to that. There wasn't anything to say. The tall Jamaican waiter came up and he said, 'Bring me a drink, Adam. A double rye.”
'Scotch and water,' said Palliser.
Adam didn't remonstrate with Mendoza for drinking in the middle of the day; he said softly, 'Yes, sir. We were all mighty sorry to hear about Sergeant Hackett's accident, Lieutenant. They know yet whether he'll get better?'
'Not yet,' said Mendoza.
Adam shook his head. 'I'll do some earnest praying for him, Lieutenant. I'll fetch your drinks.'
Mendoza took Nestor's appointment book out of his breast pocket and laid it on the table. 'Last Wednesday morning,' he said, 'the call came in on Nestor, and you and Art went over to look at it. While Art talked to the wife you looked around the office, as the Prints boys finished with things. You looked at this appointment book. Carefully?'
'Well, I looked at the last filled-in page to see if his Tuesday evening appointment was listed, to give us a lead. It wasn't. Then I just riffled through it.'
'Look at it again, please.' Adam brought their drinks; Mendoza swallowed rye and lit a cigarette.
After a minute Palliser said, 'Somebody's added a good deal to this, I think. As I remember it, it hadn't much written in it-big gaps on the few pages that had anything on them.”
' Soy del mismo parecer,' said Mendoza, and swallowed more rye. 'And right under Art's nose too. He had the glimmering of an idea about it, and once I'd thought over what he'd written down in his notebook, I had more than a glimmering… Small steak as usual, Adam. You'd better have a substantial lunch, John, we've got an afternoon's work ahead of us.'
'Same for me, medium. What are we going to do?'
'Try to break down the Corliss woman. After I went through that office I thought any finesse would be wasted. I called Jimmy-Scarne and Bert will meet us at her place with a search warrant. I'm not gambling that we'll find anything, but you never know.”
'And what did you see in your crystal ball about her?' asked Palliser.
'Where the money was coming from,' said Mendoza.
'And she's a very levelheaded, cool, shrewd female, is the Corliss woman, and something to tackle. The way she took that gamble-my God. And nearly brought it off too, because Art hadn't seen through it all the way… That, I'll lay you any money, was a very high-class abortion mill, and I'll bet Nestor was getting some fancy prices.'
'For God's sake,' said Palliser. 'How do you make that out? Any evidence?'
'A little, maybe. Short way round if we can induce Corliss to talk, but on that I'm not taking any bets… Details later. What did you find out on the legacy?'
'Nothing, because there's nothing to find out. Nestor never had a legacy in California. But I've been back into his bank records, and it makes a funny kind of picture. About the time he told his wife he had that legacy he paid in five thousand bucks in cash-'
