everything I’d ever done, checked my accident, went into my files and questioned my clients. A very thorough job. I had no objections, but I got awfully tired.
And I wasn’t the only one who went through the mill. Tom Trent had his little session, although somebody swung enough weight to keep it out of the papers. Harry Bannock and Daisy were called in, too, but both of them stuck to their. story. They’d just been doing me a favor.
Which was all I expected. I saw them at the inquest, and everybody testified all over again. There was nothing to go on, and that’s why they let me out after the inquest.
That gave me twenty-four hours to prepare for the funeral, twenty-four hours to rest up, get myself straightened out.
I rested, but not too much. First of all, I had to read the papers and catch up on the case. Everybody was doing it; everybody wanted to know who killed Polly Foster. Everybody except the guy who did it.
I wondered about him. Was he reading about the case, too? And was he reading
“Of course you will.” Harry Bannock told me that, when I finally drove out to his place to see him. “Mark, I know what it’s been like these past days for you.”
“No, you don’t,” I said. “Nobody’ll ever know.”
“Well, I can guess. And I appreciate it. Here.”
He pulled out a roll.
“Never mind that. It’s not necessary.”
“Of course it is. I want you to have it.”
“Yes,” Daisy Bannock added. “Please take it. You were swell, keeping Harry’s name under cover and all.”
I pocketed the bills. “Maybe it will help some after all,” I said. “With this killing, they can’t just walk away from the Ryan tie-up. They may find the murderer, clear your boy. I hope so.”
“So do I.” Harry sighed. “I haven’t dared go near the See-More outfit since the news broke, though.”
“It shouldn’t be too long. The whole Department’ll be out on this.”
“Not enough.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to keep on, too.”
“Now wait, you don’t need me. You’ve got what you wanted, the authorities are interested again.”
“That’s not what I wanted. I wanted Ryan’s killer. I wanted his name cleared. And the authorities may not do the job. But you can.”
“Me?” I laughed. “Know what I was going to do the night Polly Foster died? I was going to call you up and resign. Because I didn’t get anywhere. I goofed the works. I’m no investigator, Harry.”
“I’m betting you turn up the murderer.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s interested in you, now. Whoever he is, he knows you’ve been talking to people involved in the case. Chances are, you’ll hear from him one way or another.”
I smiled at Daisy. “What a coffin salesman your husband is,” I said. “Certainly knows how to make a deal sound attractive.” Then I turned to Harry. “It’s no use. I want out of this.”
“He’s right,” Daisy said. “Mark’s already done more than anyone could expect in covering up for you. You can’t ask him to run any more risks.”
“I’m not asking him to. He’s in this thing whether he likes it or not, as far as the murderer is concerned. So it doesn’t matter if he chooses to cooperate. The killer will keep an eye on him, either way. And all I’m asking him to do is keep an eye out for the killer—in case he runs across a clue.”
I tapped my eye-patch. “From now on, this is the only eye I’m keeping out for anybody.”
“Suit yourself. But I intend to go right on paying you, because I know if you turn anything up, you’ll tell me.” Bannock chewed his cigar. “Seems to me, you’d be anxious to do what you could to get this thing solved. The sooner the murderer is behind bars, the sooner you’ll be safe. Until then—”
“One more crack and I’ll probably pack up and leave town,” I told him. “Besides, what makes you so sure it’s the same party?”
“The police think so. The papers think so. And what other motive would he have?”
“I’m not so sure,” I said.
“You aren’t?” Daisy cupped her chin with one hand. “What makes you say that?”
“He’s just saying that to be contrary,” Bannock grunted.
“You keep quiet! I want to hear Mark’s ideas. So far he’s made sense.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Well, here’s my guess. And it’s just a guess. You know how Ryan was killed. Take the way he was shot, add the reefer butts, and you’ve got something a little bit special. Whoever murdered him must have really hated the guy. Went a little whacky, too, on the weed.
“But Polly Foster’s death was different. This was just pure, cold-blooded, premeditated murder in the first degree. Somebody wanted her silenced, and did the job, and did it quickly and efficiently. You were at the inquest; you heard the theories. Whoever killed her could have been there when I called. Or seen us together at the restaurant. Maybe I was on the list, too—if the killer could have found me at home in the apartment. But the chances are, it was someone who came to call on her; someone who knew her, knew her house, sneaked in and caught her while she was phoning. Waited until she hung up, and then—”
“Did Trent have an alibi?”
“I thought of that. And I asked Thompson. He was home, with his sister, all night. Double checked. Don’t worry, I asked about everybody, including you two.”
“That was smart.” Bannock grinned. “We get a clean bill of health?”
“I know you were playing cards with the Shermans, yes.” I grinned back. “By the way, you satisfied with my story, or do you think
“One thing more,” I said. “Maybe it’s a minor point, maybe not. Whoever killed her might not have gone there with that purpose in mind. He carried a gun, yes, but that could have been intended merely for effect—when he threatened her about keeping silent. Let’s say it was that way. Somebody saw us at Chasen’s, or she told somebody about meeting me before she kept the date, and that was enough of a tip-off. The killer went there to warn her about talking too much.
“Suppose he wasn’t sure she’d be alone, though. Suppose he thought I might be there with her, or somebody else. Then he might take a sneak around to look through the window. Let’s say it was when she was phoning me.
“The window was unlocked. He might have opened it and heard—heard enough for him to come inside the moment she hung up. And then...”
“Sounds logical,” Daisy said. “Doesn’t it, dear?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to think who could possibly be involved.”
“I’m willing to play my hunches,” I murmured. “And my hunches say it has to be a friend of Polly Foster’s. Somebody close to her.”
“Then your job is clear,” Bannock said. “Start working on her friends.”
“Just like that, eh?” I scowled. “What should I do, run an ad and call a meeting?”
“No need for that. You’ll see them all tomorrow afternoon at her funeral.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Bannock put down his cigar. “Please, Mark! You know how important this is to me. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t.”
“All right,” I answered. “I’ll go to the funeral. Unless something happens to interfere.”
“Such as what?” Daisy asked.
“Such as another killing.” I smiled. “In that case, I’ll probably be going to my own funeral instead.”
You can talk about Zanuck. You can talk about Dore Schary, Ford, Capra, Mervyn LeRoy, all the rest of them.
