What's Better Than Money

across the desk to me.

I was already braced as I looked at the photograph. It was Ed Vasari all right: there was no mistaking him.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t know him.’

Keary reached across the desk, picked up the photograph, returned it to the envelope and the envelope back into his pocket. His heavy jaws revolved on the gum as he continued to stare at me.

‘Then why did he have your name and address in the car?’

‘I wouldn’t know. Maybe the owner of the car knows me. Who is he?’

‘He doesn’t know you. We have already asked him.’

‘Then I can’t help you, sergeant.’

He crossed one thick leg over the other, his jaws moving slowly and rhythmically on the gum.

‘You’re building a bridge, aren’t you?’ he asked, unexpectedly. ‘You had your picture in Life this week?’

‘Yes. What has that to do with it?’

‘Maybe Mandon got your name from the magazine. Was your address mentioned?’

‘No.’

He shifted his bulk in the chair, frowning.

‘Quite a mystery, isn’t it? I don’t like mysteries. They make a report untidy. You have no idea why Mandon should have had your name and address in his car?’

‘None at all.’

He chewed for a moment or so, then shrugging his heavy shoulders he climbed to his feet.

‘There must be some explanation, Mr. Halliday. You think about it. Maybe you’ll remember something. If you do, give me a call. We want this guy, and we’re going to get him. There may be a hook-up between you and him you have forgotten.’

‘No chance of that,’ I said, getting up. ‘I don’t know him and I’ve never seen him.’

‘Well, okay. Thanks for your time.’ He started towards the door, then paused. ‘Quite a bridge you’re building.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is that right it’ll cost six million bucks?’

‘Yes.’

He stared at me, his small eyes probing again.

‘Pretty nice going, if you can get it,’ he said. ‘Well, so long, Mr. Halliday.’

He nodded and went away.

I felt cold sweat on my face as I watched the door close silently after him.

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