‘That’s rather obvious, isn’t it? She was blackmailing me.’
He shifted in his chair.
‘Yeah, that’s the way I figured it. Why was she blackmailing you?’
‘Does that matter? I didn’t kill her, and you know it.’
He chewed some more while he stared at me.
‘You didn’t kill her, although blackmail is a good motive for murder. You didn’t kill her because you couldn’t have killed her. You were right here when she died. I’ve checked that.’
I waited, my breathing hard and fast.
‘If you had told the truth in the first place, Mr. Halliday, you would have saved me a lot of work. You went to Santa Barba to meet this woman?’
‘I went there to find her,’ I said. ‘I was going to ask her for time to pay the next blackmail instalment.
I needed the money to pay for my wife’s operation, but I didn’t find her. I was pressed for time. I tried twice, but each time I failed to find her.’
‘What happened? Did you pay her?’
‘No. She died before I had to pay her.’
‘Pretty convenient for you, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why was she blackmailing you?’
That was something I wasn’t going to tell him.
‘The usual thing – I ran into her, had an association with her, she found out I was married, and threatened to tell my wife.’
He rubbed the end of his fleshy nose, his expression bored.
‘She was asking big money for that kind of blackmail, wasn’t she?’
‘She had me over a barrel. My wife was desperately ill. Any kind of a shock would have been fatal to her.’
He hunched his massive shoulders as he said, ‘You realise, Mr. Halliday, it is a serious business to tell lies in a murder investigation?’
‘Yes, I realise that.’
‘If you had admitted in the first place knowing this woman you would have saved me a hell of a lot of work.’
‘An association with a woman like that is something no one likes to admit to,’ I said.
‘Yeah.’ He scratched the side of his fleshy face. ‘Well, okay, I guess this takes care of it. You don’t have to worry any more about it. I’m not making a report. I’m just tying up the loose ends.’
It was my turn to stare at him. ‘You’re not making a report?’
‘I’m in charge of this investigation.’ He stretched out his long, thick legs. ‘I don’t see any reason to get a guy into trouble because he takes a roll in the hay.’ His fleshy face suddenly relaxed into a grin: it wasn’t a pleasant grin: it was more a leer than a grin. ‘I wanted to be sure you had nothing to do with her death and I’m sure of it.’ The leering grin widened. ‘You can count yourself lucky. I’m retiring at the end of the month. I might not be so soft with you if I wasn’t going out to grass. You might not think it to look at me but I’m nudging sixty and that’s the time for a man to retire.’
There was something about him I disliked. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I was suspicious of him.
He suddenly no longer seemed a cop. He was a man who had done his work, and was now in a vacuum.
I hated having him in my apartment.
‘No, I wouldn’t believe it, sergeant,’ I said. ‘Well, thanks.’
‘We use our discretion in blackmail cases.’ He grinned again. ‘We get plenty of that. Guys making goddam fools of themselves with some whore and then getting into a mess. You’re lucky, Mr. Halliday, that Mandon stopped her mouth.’
‘She was a blackmailer,’ I said. ‘She could have been killed by any of her victims. Have you thought of that?’
‘Mandon killed her. There’s no question about that.’
I very nearly told him about Wilbur, but I didn’t. If I brought Wilbur into it, the story of the Studio robbery and the shooting of the guard would have to come out, and then I would be fixed.
‘Well, thanks again, sergeant.’
He heaved himself to his feet.
‘That’s okay, Mr. Halliday. You’re not going to hear any more about this.’ He looked at me, a half leer, half grin on his face. ‘Of course, if you’re all that grateful, maybe a small donation to the police sports fund might be in order: just a thought, Mr. Halliday, not even a suggestion.’
It was my turn to stare at him.
‘Why, yes, of course.’ I took out my wallet. ‘What would you suggest, sergeant?’
‘Anything you like.’ The small eyes were suddenly greedy. ‘Suppose we say a hundred bucks?’
I gave him twenty five-dollar bills.
‘I’ll send you a receipt. The boys will certainly appreciate this.’ The bills disappeared into his pocket.
‘Thanks, Mr. Halliday.’
I wasn’t that much of a mug.
‘You don’t have to send me a receipt. I would rather not have it.’
The leering grin widened.
‘Just as you like, Mr. Halliday. Well, anyway – thanks.’
I watched him go.
I had been lucky, almost too lucky.
But what if they caught Vasari?
CHAPTER NINE
I
The following afternoon, while I was working in the office, Clara came in to tell me Mr. Terrell was asking to see me.
For a moment or so I couldn’t place the name, then I remembered he was the owner of the cottage on Simeon’s Hill that Sarita had been so anxious to have, and that seemed a long way into the past.
I pushed aside the papers on my desk and told Clara to bring him in.
Terrell was a man around sixty three or four, heavily built and jovial: he looked like a benign, well red bishop.
‘Mr. Halliday,’ he said, as he shook hands, ‘I heard Sarita is coming out of hospital next week. I have a proposition that may interest you.’
I asked him to sit down.
‘What’s the proposition, Mr. Terrell?’
‘The sale of my place has fallen through. The buyer has found something nearer his work. My wife and I are off to Miami at the end of the week. I know Sarita had set her heart on our place. I’m going to suggest you take it over just as it stands at a nominal rent: say twenty dollars a week, until she gets better. Then if you like it, maybe you would reconsider buying it, but that’s up to you. My wife and I are very fond of Sarita, and we think it would
