What`s Better Than Money

CHAPTER EIGHT

I

The next two days were days of hard work and tension. I was continually expecting either Rima to telephone or the Los Angeles police to walk in and arrest me. At least, Sarita was making excellent progress: the only bright spot in those two days.

Then on Thursday morning, as Ted Weston and I were preparing to go down to the bridge site, Clara came in to tell me Detective Sergeant Keary was here again to see me.

I told Weston to go on ahead, and I would follow as soon as I could. When he had gone, I told Clara to show Keary in.

I sat at my desk, tense and aware that my heart was beating too fast.

Keary came in.

As he closed the door, I said, ‘I can’t give you long, sergeant. I’m due at the bridge site. What is it this time?’

But he was a man no one could hustle. He settled his bulk in the armchair and pushed his hat to the back of his head. He then produced a pack of chewing gum and began to unwrap it.

‘This guy Mandon,’ he said. ‘We now learn he went under another name: Ed Vasari. Ever heard of that name, Mr. Halliday?’

I shook my head.

‘No. That name means nothing to me either.’

‘We’re still puzzled why your name and address should have been in his car, Mr. Halliday. We think even if you don’t know Mandon, he must have known you at some time or the other. We found out where he has been hiding: a small bungalow in Santa Barba. In the bungalow we found a copy of Life with your photograph in it. The photograph was ringed around in pencil. That, and the fact your name and address was in his car, suggests he either knew you or was interested in you, and we want to know why.’ He paused in his chewing to stare at me. ‘What do you think?’

‘It puzzles me as much as it puzzles you,’ I said.

‘You are sure you have never seen this man? Do you want another look at his photograph?’

‘It’s not necessary. I have never seen him before.’ He scratched his ear and frowned.

‘Like I said: a mystery. We don’t like mysteries, Mr. Halliday.’

I didn’t say anything.

‘Have you ever heard of a woman who calls herself Rima Marshall?’

Well, here it is, I thought. I was expecting the question but in spite of that I felt a sudden cold shrinking inside me.

I looked straight at him as I said, ‘No. I don’t know her either. Who is she?’

‘Mandon’s girl friend,’ Keary said. ‘They lived together in this bungalow.’

He chewed some more, his small eyes fixed in a blank stare at the ceiling.

After a long pause, I said sharply, ‘I told you I’m busy, sergeant. Is there anything else?’

He turned his head and his eyes locked with mine.

‘This woman has been murdered.’

My heart skipped a beat and then began to race. I know I changed colour.

‘Murdered?’ I managed to say. ‘Who has been murdered?’

The hard, probing eyes made a slight advance into my defences.

‘Rima Marshall. We showed Mandon’s photograph around and yesterday evening we found a woman who had been doing the cleaning. Imagine a punk like Mandon having a woman to do his cleaning! She recognised him. She told us about this Rima Marshall, and she gave us the address of the bungalow Mandon had been using for his hideout. We went there. Mandon had blown, but we found the woman.’

He shifted the gum around in his mouth. ‘Not one of the nicest looking corpses I have seen. She had been hacked to death with a knife. The Medical Officer told us she had thirty-three stab wounds: ten of them could have been fatal. On the table was this copy of Life with your photograph ringed around in pencil.’

I sat motionless, my hands in tight fists out of sight under the desk. So Wilbur had found her! And I was responsible! I felt cold sweat break out on my face.

‘We have a pretty sensational case on our hands,’ Keary went on. ‘We’re now wondering if she left this paper with your name and address on it in the car. She might have known you at one time or the other. Her name means nothing to you?’

‘No.’

He took an envelope from his pocket. From the envelope he took out a photograph and laid it on the desk.

‘Maybe you might recognise her.’

I looked at the photograph and then turned quickly away.

It was a horrible photograph.

Rima lay in a pool of blood on the floor. She was naked. Her body had been horribly cut, stabbed and mutilated.

‘You don’t recognise her?’ Keary asked in his tough cop voice.

‘No! I don’t know her! I don’t know Mandon! Is that clear?’ I said. ‘I can’t help you! Now will you please get out of here and let me get on with my work?’

But he wasn’t a man to be bullied. He settled himself more firmly in his chair as he said, ‘This is a murder case, Mr. Halliday. It’s your bad luck that in some way you are connected with it. Have you ever been to Santa Barba?’

I very nearly said I hadn’t, but realised in time that I might easily have been recognised in the town, and to deny being there could get me into serious trouble.

‘Yes, I have,’ I said. ‘What of it?’

He was all cop now, leaning forward, his chin thrust out.

‘When was that?’

‘A couple of weeks ago.’

‘Can you get it nearer than that?’

‘I was there on May 21st and again on June 15th.’

He looked slightly disappointed.

‘Yeah. We’ve already checked. You stayed at the Shore Hotel.’

I waited, thankful I hadn’t been caught in a lie.

‘Can you explain, Mr. Halliday,’ he went on, ‘why a man in your position should stay at a joint like the Shore Hotel? Any particular reason?’

‘I just don’t happen to be fussy where I stay,’ I said. ‘It was the first hotel I came to so I stayed there.’

‘Why did you go to Santa Barba?’

‘Why all these questions? What business is it of yours where I stay and why?’

‘This is a murder case,’ he said. ‘I ask the questions: you answer them.’

Shrugging, I said, ‘I had a lot of figures to prepare. I couldn’t get any peace here what with the telephone and the contractors disturbing me so I went to Santa Barba. I thought the change of air would do me good.’

Keary rubbed the end of his fleshy nose with the back of his hand.

‘What made you book in under the name of Masters?’

I was ready for that one. My mind was now working a shade faster than his.

‘When you have a photograph in Life, sergeant, you acquire a certain amount of notoriety. I was anxious not to be disturbed by the Press so I booked in under my mother’s maiden name.’