“You’d known Ryan since the old days, when he was your husband’s client. He was also your lover. Harry never suspected that, did he?
“Any more than he suspected you had the reefer habit. Or that Hastings was your source of supply. No wonder you went to the clinic he worked at instead of to a hospital. Am I right so far?”
She didn’t answer.
I went on. “Ryan was drunk when you got to his trailer. You started to smoke. There was a quarrel, a serious quarrel. Something set you off. The gun was there, and you used it. Then you went back to the hospital. Hastings covered up for you with an alibi after Ryan’s body was discovered. And for a while everything was all right.
“Then Harry bought those films, and he hired me to try and clear Ryan’s name. You were against that from the start. You called your friend Hastings, had him phone me and Harry with a warning. Hastings even paid a visit to my place when I was out.
“That didn’t stop us. Hastings also supplied Polly Foster with reefers, and one of his runners—Estrellita Juarez— knew Tom Trent. He contacted Foster and Trent right away, told them not to talk to anyone.
“But Polly Foster was frightened. She’d come back to the trailer later that night, evidently, and seen you. I don’t think she actually recognized you, but she knew a woman had been there. She wanted to find out if anyone had actually spotted her, so she came to see me.
“You learned that from Harry. He told you he’d made an appointment for me. So Polly Foster was killed.”
Daisy breathed hard, but she was smiling now. “Ridiculous! How could I have killed her? Ask the police—they know Harry and I were with the Shermans at their house all evening.”
“Sure. You didn’t kill Polly Foster. Your friend Hastings did that little job for you. I’ll bet when the police check back they’ll find he had a night off. He went to her place and heard her phoning me; then he came in and shot her.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“Two reasons. The first is, he couldn’t afford to have his reefer racket exposed. Must have made a nice piece of change off his big shot clients, and maybe he worked a little blackmail on the side. Reason enough for silencing Foster, but I think he had a better one. I think by this time he’d taken Ryan’s place with you.”
“Why, you—” Her voice quivered with indignant protest.
“No show, Daisy. You’re a little late with that innocence act. You forget, after Polly Foster’s death, that you offered me the same privileges if I’d lay off.”
“Rave on,” she said. “I suppose I also hired those thugs to beat you up out in the dunes.”
“No, I don’t think so. You might have, but I’m inclined to suspect Kolmar of that little deal. He was beginning to get paranoid delusions of persecution by this time, seeing his people get killed. Maybe he passed the word to Joe Dean that he’d like to know what I was up to in the case. And Dean told his brother to come after me with this other hood.
“Anyway, it didn’t work. Foster was dead, your friend Hastings told Estrellita Juarez to hide out, but I was still on the case. And I told Harry I meant to interview Tom Trent again about the murder of Ryan.
“He had several hours unaccounted for on the night of Ryan’s death, and you couldn’t be sure he didn’t know something. You had to act fast.
“Estrellita Juarez knew he was in danger and called to warn him. Then he got another call—from you. I don’t know what you told him; maybe you said you knew who the killer was and wanted his advice about going to the police. Anyway, you got him to do what you wanted—to meet him off the roadway alongside his property.
“While Harry was in Pacific Palisades, you drove over to Trent’s place and waited for him to come out. He climbed in the car with you. You shot him, dragged his body to the garage, tried to make it look like suicide. Then you drove off. Somebody saw the car, but didn’t pay any particular attention to it. That was the riskiest deal of all, but you were panicky.
“I don’t think you wanted to kill Trent, Daisy. I think by this time Hastings was forcing you, threatening to expose you, threatening to cut off your supply of muggles, making you go through with his plans and help protect him.
“He told you I had to be dealt with next. You promised you’d make Harry take me off the investigation. And Harry promised.
“Only I didn’t get off the case. I went to see Kolmar, he sent the police out after me because I took his gun, and then I told Harry I wanted another twenty-four hours to work in. I told him not to let you know about it.
“But he did, didn’t he? You wormed it out of him this noon, Daisy, isn’t that it? And you knew I’d be looking for Estrellita Juarez or Joe Dean, because they were the only suspects left on my list. If I found either of them, the trail would lead straight to Hastings and to you.
“I think you called Joe Dean and warned him this noon. Right after you told Harry you had a headache and didn’t want to go to the funeral. That would take care of me, you figured, if Dean found me.
“But there was still Hastings. Hastings, who knew the whole story, who had you under his thumb as long as he could threaten to talk. You decided to silence him. You went to the clinic—it wasn’t the first time you sneaked into his room when he was off duty—and surprised him...with a slug in the head. Then you came back here, and I called.
“Sarah’s gone and Harry’s at the office. I wonder what you had planned for me, Daisy? Surely you must have made some plans about me, in case it turned out that I knew the truth.”
She stood up again. “I was going to shoot you,” she said. “Shoot you and tell Harry you were the killer, that you’d come to me and confessed, tried to get me to run away with you. That you were an addict yourself.”
“You don’t think he’d have gone for such a whacky yarn, do you?”
“Why not?” She shrugged. “I was going to use the gun I’d used on Hastings, and say I had gotten it away from you during a struggle.”
“Where’s the gun, Daisy?”
“In the drawer.” She started to turn away.
“Don’t go any nearer,” I warned her. “I’ll shoot if you do. I mean it.”
She smiled at me over her shoulder.
I grinned back. “That’s the only thing you didn’t know about, Daisy. Harry forgot to tell you he gave me this gun of his when I saw him this noon.”
She shook her head. “He told me, all right.” She turned away again, walked over to the desk, reached for the drawer.
“Stop!” I snapped. “One more step and I—”
“Go ahead.”
She didn’t even look around. She took the step. She opened the drawer.
I could feel the sweat run down my arm, run down my hand, wet the finger that was pressing against the trigger. I had to press it, there was no other way. In another second she’d have a gun of her own. She’d killed before; she’d kill again. It was self-defense, it was the only way.
I sighted carefully and pulled the trigger.
She took the gun out of the drawer and pointed it at me.
I pulled the trigger again.
“Keep trying,” she said. “It won’t work. I fixed Harry’s gun a couple of days ago. Just in case.”
Her smile was broader now. “Smart operator, aren’t you? So smart you never even bothered to check a borrowed gun. Well, I’ve checked this one. So drop that and get your hands up. Fast.”
I did what she said.
“Sit down,” she told me. “Right there, where I can see you.”
I sat down, staring at the useless weapon on the floor. She was right. I’d never even looked at the gun, just took Harry’s word for it that it was loaded and set. No wonder Joe Dean hadn’t bothered to lift it from me when he knocked me out. It was useless.
It was useless, and I was useless. Everything I’d done was useless, now. She held the upper hand. And her gun was in it.
“You dumb jerk,” she said. “I could have taken you any time I wanted since you came in this room. But I thought I’d wait and hear what you knew, find out if you’d spilled to anybody else. You haven’t, so that makes it perfect.”
“Then I was right about the killings.”
