Ross MacDonald: Strangers in Town: Three Newly Discovered Mysteries

"Is that why you killed Jerry?"

"He deserved it. Besides, I was afraid they'd open the case again when Carl escaped."

"Did Carl deserve what you did to him?"

"I didn't do it," she said. "It was Sheriff Ostervelt."

"You set him up for Ostervelt. You knew he was here. You knew that Ostervelt was trigger-happy, and stuck on you besides. You brought him up here and sat and let it happen."

"Carl was no great loss to anybody. None of them was."

"They were human beings," I said. "Somebody has to pay for them."

Her face brightened. "I'll pay. I don't have a great deal, but Carl had several insurance policies. I'll go halves with you. Nobody has to know all this. Do they?"

"You've got me wrong. Money won't pay for lives."

"Listen to me," she said rapidly. "Twenty thousand dollars, that's what I'll give you. It's more than half of the insurance money that's coming to me."

"You've got more than that coming to you, Mrs. Heller. A private room made of concrete, without any windows."

She took in my meaning slowly. It hit her like a delayed-action bullet, disorganizing her face. She turned and ran across the living room. When I came out of the kitchenette, she had the black case open, the revolver in her hand like a silver forefinger pointed at my heart. It gleamed in the long shadow that fell across the room from the single window.

I glanced at the window. Ostervelt was there, his elbow propped on the sill. His forty-five roared and spat. Mildred took three steps backwards and slammed against the wall like a body dropped from a height. The blood gushed from her breast. She tried to hold it in with her fists. She said, "Ostie?" in a tone of girlish surprise. Then the rising blood gagged her.

She covered her mouth politely with her hand, and fell down dead. Ostervelt clambered awkwardly through the window. His face was solemn. His eyes were little and hard and dry.

"You didn't have to kill her, Sheriff. You could have shot the revolver out of her hand."

"I know I could."

"I thought you were fond of the girl."

"I was. I heard what you said about the gas chamber. I also heard what she said. It was cleaner this way." He was thoughtful for a minute, listening to the clatter of footsteps on the fire escape. "Anyway, she shouldn't have let me shoot Carl. I don't like that. It wasn't fair to him or to me. It wasn't fair to the law." He looked down at the heavy gun. "What did the crazy fella think he was doing, coming out like that with the knife in his hand?"

"He was cutting bread," I said. "He was going to make himself a peanut butter sandwich."

Ostervelt sighed deeply. Policemen started to come into the room.