She put a hand to the uncombed hair and waited for me to contradict her. I grinned.
“Let’s put it this way, you’re not entirely ready for any handout stills right this minute.”
She made a face, then chuckled ruefully.
“You’re not so bad. You gotta sense of humor. This I like. Now, what is it you want to know? Got a cigaret?”
I fumbled for my Old Favorites and she leaned over to get a light. The robe fell partly open, but she didn’t bother to grab at it. I didn’t get the feeling it was a come-on. It was just that when a girl has danced a few hundred private parties that kind of thing isn’t important any more.
“That’s good.”
She leaned back, inhaling deeply, and studying me at the same time.
“What was that name, Preston? Mark Preston?”
“It was.”
“I heard it some place.”
“Maybe. Look Shiralee—may I call you that?”
“My friends call me Pook.”
“All right then, Pook. I’m looking around to find out who killed this man Brookman.”
She snorted.
“You and everybody else in town. I can’t tell you much.”
“Perhaps not. But I can’t overlook anything, anybody. How well did you know him?”
“I didn’t know him at all,” she denied. “O.K. if they say he was at Hugo’s he was there. But the first I ever heard of him was when the law came banging on the door.”
“I see. Was it a big party?”
“You know Hugo—or do you?”
“I’ve talked with him.”
“He throws these wingdings, people wander in and out the whole time. I guess there was twenty people there, thirty. Maybe more. I’m not so hot at figures.”
I thought I heard a movement from the second door, the one that didn’t lead into the kitchen, which would make it the bedroom.
“But after you saw his picture, did you recognize him then?”
“No, that’s what they kept asking. Now honestly, I’ve been dancing all over the state for nearly two years. One thing I learned a long time ago, never look at their faces. The look on most of ‘em would scare a girl half to death. I can’t help you mister.”
I sipped at the scalding coffee. It was an excuse to listen for any more sounds from the bedroom. Nothing.
“I guess you’re right. Thanks for trying. Keep the ten anyhow, the coffee was worth it.”
She smiled, and I got a quick glimpse of the girl in the photograph. At the door I turned and said clearly.
“By the way, you know a man named McCann?”
No smile now, her face froze and she pointed to the door.
“I can’t help you, I said. Beat it.”
“No, no, honey, that ain’t polite.”
The bedroom door had opened and there stood Legs McCann.
“Well, well,” I muttered. “This is a big surprise, Legs.”
“I can imagine. I thought I knew the voice when you were giving honeybunch the con.”
“That was no con. I need information.”
He advanced into the room.
“You didn’t get your full thirty minutes. Come on back in, and let’s have a little loving talk.”
“Why not?”
I went back and sat down again. Shiralee looked from one to the other fearfully.
“You guys know each other?”
“Sort of,” he replied. “He ain’t a real cop, he’s private.”
I hadn’t seen him in a year or so, but there was no great change in him. He’d be, let’s see, thirty two or three now, and good-looking in a florid way. McCann was always way out in front on two counts, his quick fists and a smooth way with the dames. Judging by appearances, he hadn’t lost any of his old technique, and from the way he moved I’d have said he was still keeping in shape. Legs had been on the muscle for the bookies for years, and I could remember one time it took four policemen to calm him down when he was being pinched. I never knew him to carry a gun, but I noticed today he kept one hand in his pocket.
“You knew I was here,” he accused.
“Wrong. I thought there was an outside chance you could tie in with this somewhere. I just tried the name out on Pook here as a long shot. Sometimes they pay off.”
“H’m.”
He didn’t know whether to believe it or not. Either way it didn’t matter. Here we all were, and the important thing was, what happened next. McCann must have been reading my mind.
“So what happens now?”
“Ah,” I sighed. “That’s a good question. Tell me, did Randall find out about your—ah—involvement here?”
“No,” cut in Pook, “That big dumb flatfoot couldn’t find a kiddy-car in a nursery. All he wanted to do was keep getting an eyeful of me. And I gave him plenty to look at.”
McCann turned on her sharply.
“How many times do you need telling? Randall ain’t dumb. He looks sleepy, and he talks kinda tired sometimes is all. On the murder squad they don’t keep dumb sergeants.”
“He’s right, Pook. Don’t let Randall fool you with that bumpkin routine. Still, he didn’t find out about you?”
I spoke again to McCann. He shook his head.
“Not so far. You gonna tell him?”
There was something wrong with his approach. The McCann I knew was all aggression and bounce, forcing things and people into the shapes he required. Now here he was asking.
“I have too much to do to run police errands,” I told him evenly.
“Of course, if they want you for a couple of axe murders, or like that, it might be different.”
“Nothing like that,” he said indifferently. It was almost as though he didn’t care whether I turned him in or not. “So you found me. What are you going to do about it?”
I wondered how much I ought to trade for whatever he might know.
“I’ll tell you the score, Legs, You know me, and you know it costs plenty to persuade me to work. I’m working.”
“And? Who’s picking up the tab?”
I wagged a forefinger.
“You also know I won’t tell you that,” I admonished. “Let’s say it’s big people.”
“Lots a big people in town,” he shrugged.
“Right. But these are big rough people. Kind of
