“Mrs. Coon,” he said, “gave you a job yesterday.”
“The job was yesterday. She gave it to me the day before.”
“Picking up her husband and a woman in the Normandy Lounge, and following them wherever they went.”
“That was the job.”
“She says you lost them.”
“I didn’t lose them. They lost me. No matter, though. The result was the same.”
“Whichever way, it’s too bad. You might have seen something interesting.”
“I doubt it. You can’t just invade privacy for something entertaining to look at.”
“True. I’m glad you recognize your limitations, Percy. But murder, however entertaining, has no right to privacy.”
“Murder!” I thought for a second that he was merely making an academic observation, but I should have known better. Brady wasn’t given to them. “Are you telling me that he killed her?”
“Not he her. She him.”
“Damn it, Brady, that doesn’t figure. She was blackmailing him. Why the devil should she eliminate her source of income?”
“I’ve been asking myself that. There are a few good answers, when you stop to think about it. The best one, for my money, is based on the old chestnut that the worm sometimes turns. Say he’d decided to come clean, at whatever cost to himself, and to see that she got what was coming to her. It’s not hard to find a motive there.”
“If that were true, why did he meet her? Why didn’t he call in the cops and be done with it once and for all?”
“Maybe he didn’t make up his mind until the last minute. Worms do a lot of squirming on the hook, you know.”
“Sure. So she shot him. Just like that. She had a gun in her purse, of course. Nothing odd in that. All women carry them.”
“Not all. Some. Especially the ones who play around with blackmail. I wish you wouldn’t indulge in sarcasm, Percy. It doesn’t suit you. Besides, who said he was shot?”
“Didn’t you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I guess I might as well confess. I’ve read about murderers giving themselves away like this, but I never thought it would happen to me. The guilty knowledge was just too much for me.”
“Oh, come off, Percy. It was a natural enough assumption. It’s pretty obvious that she couldn’t poison him in an automobile, and it would have taken an Amazon to choke him to death. He wasn’t any muscle man, but he could at least have fought off a woman.”
“She could have stabbed him or cracked his skull.”
“Maybe. But she didn’t. She was carrying a .25 caliber gun, and she shot him with it—in the back of the head.”
“That’s crazy. What kind of man turns his back on a blackmailer?”
“He was careless, I guess. Why worry about figuring these things out, when you only have to ask. As soon as we find the woman, that is.”
“You haven’t found her yet?”
“We don’t even know her full name, or what she looks like. That’s where you come in. Mrs. Coon says you can give us a description.”
“That I can, and you couldn’t be shot in the head by a choicer piece. Fairly tall. Custom built. None of your assembly line jobs. Pale blond hair, almost shoulder length. When I saw her, she was wearing a dark red suit with a skirt that showed off her legs, and they deserved it.”
“Chassis can be disguised. Hair can be cut and dyed. It would be helpful if you had spent more time looking at her face.”
“Have you been in the Normandy Lounge lately? I can tell you that it’s just a little lighter than a cave. I tried to get a good look at her face, even in the mirror behind the bar, but all I can tell you is that it went well with the rest of her.”
“You followed them, didn’t you? It must have been lighter outside.”
“As you say, I followed them. They were ahead, and I was behind. Would you care for an accurate and detailed description of her stern?”
“No thanks. I wouldn’t want you to go poetic on me.” Brady reached for his hat and slapped it on his head, a seasoned veteran of many a year. If the reference is ambiguous, take your choice. “Thanks for trying, Percy. Next time I’ve got a few minutes to waste, I’ll look you up.”
“Wait a minute, Brady. So maybe I blew the job. We all have our bad days. At least you can fill me in on what I missed. From what you said, I assume that Coon was shot in the car that he was driving.”
“You assume right. It was parked on a dead-end road northeast of town. They’d apparently stopped there to wind up their business, whatever it was. Well, she wound it up, all right. Permanently. He was found early this morning, behind the wheel, with a hole in his head, slumped over against the door. It’s really a county job, but we’re lending a hand. Chances are, most of the investigation will have to be done in the city.”
“Any leads at all on the woman?”
“Why, sure. You just gave us a couple. She’s got blond hair and pretty legs.”
After which rather caustic remark, he heaved himself afoot and took himself off. I turned a hundred eighty degrees in my chair, looked into the alley, and wondered if it wouldn’t be a good idea to jump out the window. With my luck, however, I would probably suffer no more than bruises and abrasions.
I’ll not deny that I was feeling better. Somehow or other, my own fault or not, Benedict Coon III and his blonde charmer had spotted old Percy and played him for a chump, and Percy was hurt. He wanted to try again and do better.
Benedict was out of it, of course. He was lying in the morgue with a hole in his head. My job was done, or not done, and there was nothing left to do. Unless, perhaps, Dulce Coon would care to have me earn my fee by trying to find the elusive charmer who had killed her husband. That
