my rest. Not that it’s not going to be dull. A guy can’t do much on the lousy pension they pay you. I got a small house by the sea and a wife and I guess I’ll have to make do. How is the bridge getting along?’
‘It’s all right,’ I said.
‘And your wife?’
‘She’s doing fine.’
He put the chewing gum in his mouth and began to chew.
‘Well, that’s good news.’ He leaned his fat back against the chair back and his small hard eyes examined me speculatively. ‘You down here for any particular reason, Mr. Halliday?’
‘Yes. I’ve come to tell you Mandon didn’t kill Rima Marshall.’
The small eyes widened a trifle.
‘What makes you say that, Mr. Halliday?’
‘She was killed by a man who calls himself Wilbur. He is a drug addict and is out on parole.’
He rubbed the end of his fleshy nose with the back of his hand.
‘What makes you think he killed her?’
I drew is a long, deep breath.
‘I know he did. It was through her he got a twenty year sentence. When he came out on parole, he was looking for her. He was going to kill her, but he couldn’t find her. I told him where she was. He went to the bungalow, found her and killed her. I had already telephoned Vasari, warning him the police were coming for him. When Wilbur arrived, Vasari had already gone.’
Keary picked up a pencil and began to tap with it on the desk. His hard, fleshy face was completely expressionless.
‘Very interesting,’ he said, ‘but I don’t quite follow it. How did you know this guy Wilbur?’
‘It’s a long story,’ I said. ‘Maybe I’d better begin at the beginning.’
He stared at me.
‘Well, okay. I have plenty of time. What’s the story then?’
‘This is a statement, sergeant, that will incriminate me,’ I said. ‘It would save time if you got someone in to take it down.’
He rubbed his jaw, frowning.
‘You sure you want to make a statement, Mr. Halliday?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, okay.’
He pulled open a drawer on the desk and took out a small tape recorder. He put the recorder on the desk, plugged in the microphone which he turned in my direction. He pushed down the starting button and the reels began to revolve.
‘Go right ahead, Mr. Halliday: let’s have this statement of yours.’
I talked to the small microphone. I gave the whole story: how I had first met Rima and had saved her life when Wilbur had attacked her: how she had fingered him to a twenty year sentence. I explained about her talent for singing, about my ambition to become an agent, how I had tried to get her cured, how we had broken into the Pacific Film Studios to steal the money for her cure.
He sat there, breathing heavily, staring down at the dusty top of his desk, listening, his eyes moving from time to time to the slowly revolving reels.
He did look up and stare at me for a brief moment when I came to the shooting of the guard, then he looked down again, his jaws clamping on the gum.
I told the microphone how I had gone home, started my studies again and finally had gone into partnership with Jack Osborn. I explained about the bridge, the photograph in
‘So I decided to kill this woman,’ I said. ‘When I finally found her, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I broke into the bungalow and found the gun that killed the Studio guard.’ I took the gun from my pocket and put it on the desk. ‘This is it.’
Keary leaned forward to peer at the gun, then he grunted and leaned back again.
‘While I was searching for the gun, I found a box of letters. One of the letters was from a woman named Clare Sims…’
‘Yeah, I know about that. I found the letter too and I read it.’
I stiffened, staring at him.
‘If you found the letter, why didn’t you go after Wilbur?’
‘Keep going with your statement, Mr. Halliday. When you read the letter, what did you do?’
‘I went to San Francisco and I found Wilbur. I sent him a note, giving him Rima’s address and I also sent him thirty dollars for the fare down here. I checked. He left San Francisco on the day she died. He came down here and killed her.’
Keary reached out a thick finger and stopped the recorder. Then he opened a drawer in his desk and took out a bulky folder. He opened it and pawed through its contents. He found a sheet of paper and an envelope which he pushed over to me.
‘This the note you wrote him?’
My heart skipped a beat as I recognised my printing. I looked up, staring at Keary.
‘Yes. How did you get hold of it?’
‘It was found at the Anderson hotel, San Francisco,’ Keary said. ‘Wilbur never got it.’
I felt a sudden rush of blood to my face.
‘He never got it? Of course he did! And he acted on it! What are you saying?’
‘He never got it,’ Keary said. ‘This letter arrived on the morning of the 17th. Wilbur was arrested while returning to his hotel on the night of the 16th. He was arrested for carrying drugs, and he went back to complete his sentence. He is in jail right now.’ He picked up his pencil and began to tap on the desk with it again. ‘When I found the letter from Clare Sims, warning the Marshall woman that Wilbur was after her, I checked with Frisco. They told me Wilbur had been arrested. The next morning the hotel handed your letter to the police. They sent it down to us. We didn’t bother further with it as Wilbur not only couldn’t have killed her, but he never got the letter.’
I sat there, staring at him, unable to believe him.
‘Then if he didn’t kill her, who did?’ I said hoarsely.
Keary looked bored.
‘You’re hard to convince, aren’t you? I told you in the first place who killed her – Jinx Mandon. I told you we had enough on him to put him in the gas chamber, and that’s where he’s going. He was cheating with Rima Marshall. He met this singer, Pauline Terry, who was down at Santa Barba, and he fell for her. Rima found out and threatened to give him away to the police unless he gave up the girl. He was ready to go when your telephone call came through. That gave him his excuse to leave her, but she had other ideas. She went for him with a knife. There was a struggle. He went berserk and killed her. That’s his story. We have the knife. We have his blood-stained clothing and we’ve got his confession.’
I continued to stare at him, too shocked to say anything. I had delivered myself into his hands for nothing!
There was a long pause while Keary continued to tap on the desk, then he said, ‘Looks as if you’ve talked yourself into a jam, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes. I was certain Wilbur killed her and it was my responsibility. I couldn’t let Mandon suffer.’
Keary pressed down the rewind button on the tape recorder.
‘Yeah? Why should you have worried about a rat like that?’
He took the tape off the machine and laid it on the desk.
‘That happens to be the way I feel about a situation like this,’ I said quietly.
‘Well, the chances are you’ll beat a first degree murder rap,’ Keary said, ‘but they’ll hang a fifteen year stretch on you. What’s your wife think about it? Did she think it was a good idea to come down here and talk yourself into a fifteen year stretch?’
