David Latta - Sand on the Gumshoe - a century of Australian crime writing

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Detective and mystery stories, Australian.

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‘A permanent tableau of death!’ He was obviously very pleased with himself. ‘There are the three dope-peddlers – Mollo, Ivy and Katherine – dead! There also, lying on the floor, is the brilliant private detective who discovered the dope-ring and shot it out with them. Unfortunately he was killed for his valour!’

Mollo looked at him icily. ‘If you’ve quite finished grandstanding,’ he said, ‘let’s get it over with!’

‘Why not?’ Cielli agreed. ‘Gatt, I think you had better come with us. Another gun will be useful.’

‘Of course,’ Gatt muttered. He mopped his face again. I had a feeling that the fat one wasn’t made of steel underneath. Underneath the fat was only more fat.

‘There is the question of cars,’ Cielli said. ‘I’ve still got Kaufman’s car downstairs. I think we might give him the pleasure of driving it for the last time. You travel with him, Gatt, and Tyson and Ivy can travel in the back. Mollo can drive his own car and I’ll take Katherine with me.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘All right,’ he said crisply, ‘let’s go!’

Gatt sat beside me, his gun thrust into my ribs. I saw Mollo’s car move away and I followed it slowly. I came to the turn-off into the carnival ground. I pressed the accelerator gently and the needle went up to the forty-five mark. For a moment they didn’t notice it because the pick-up was smooth. Then I swung around the corner into the lane between the tents and I put my foot flat down. The needle crept up to sixty and climbed rapidly.

‘Hey!’ Gatt rammed me in the ribs with his gun. ‘Slow down!’

I kept going. ‘Slow down,’ Tyson yelled from the back seat, ‘or I’ll plug you!’

‘You do that,’ I yelled back at him, ‘and you won’t have a driver!’

Mollo had parked slightly to one side and I blessed him for it. Gatt was yelling with fear. I saw something flash in the air above me and I threw up a hand to ward off the blow. The butt of Tyson’s automatic hit my elbow, numbing the whole arm.

Then we were almost on top of the tent. To hell with the insurance! I swung the wheel hard over so that the car leaped straight towards the tent. I let go of the steering wheel with both hands and ducked under the dashboard, flattening myself against the floor of the car. At the last moment I turned the ignition off.

There was a rending, splintering crash and I heard one agonised shout from Gatt. Then my head thudded against the handbrake and I didn’t know anything about anything for a while.

I put one hand up to my head and it came away wet. I levered myself in a sitting position and looked around. Gatt had disappeared completely. The front seat was pressing against me and it took me a couple of minutes to push it back far enough to get out the door.

I edged myself along to the rear of the car and looked in one of the back windows. Ivy was huddled on the floor, the spare tyre on top of her. The position of her body made it impossible for her to be alive.

Tyson had disappeared entirely, along with Gatt, but his gun was still there, half-embedded in the upholstery of the front seat. I dug it out. Then I left the car and ploughed through the canvas on the stage trying to find my way out. I found Gatt on the way, he was dead. Further on was Tyson, trying to get up.

I hobbled on to where the canvas lay in heavy folds. I lay on my side and started burrowing into it. The further I burrowed, the heavier and darker was the canvas. I began to panic, thinking I’d suffocate under the weight. I burrowed even more desperately. Then, when I was ready to give up, I was suddenly out in the cool night air on the other side.

It took me a little while to get used to the light. Then I could make out the figures – three of them. Cielli standing there, his bulk looming against the sky. Katherine, limp and motionless on the ground. Mollo, on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him.

‘Well!’ Cielli cackled. ‘Here he is! The man who planned a different ending!’

‘Where’s Ivy?’ Mollo drew in a shuddering breath ‘Where’s Ivy?’

‘Dead,’ I told him.

Cielli cackled again. ‘The others?’ he asked.

‘Gatt went through the windscreen’ I said, ‘Tyson’s under the canvas – he’s alive.’ I fumbled for Tyson’s gun, then I saw the blue object in Cielli’s hand.

‘You have a mastermind, Kaufman,’ Cielli said. ‘This is death on a grand scale!’

‘It includes you, Cielli,’ I told him. ‘It includes you!’ I tried to get to my feet, but I couldn’t make it. I started dragging myself along.

‘That’s it,’ he said, ‘come closer so that I’ll make sure I don’t miss!’

The distance between us came down to six feet, then five, then four. ‘This is it, Kaufman!’ Cielli cried exultantly. There was the sound of a shot and the moment before it sounded, a dark shadow came in between me and Cielli. Mollo had flung himself in front of Cielli.

Cielli brought the gun up again but before he could fire a second shot I had Tyson’s gun out, then I pulled the trigger. Cielli crashed to the ground. I passed out again.

When I started taking an interest again, all I could see were bandages. On the fourth day they thought I was well enough to make a statement and a lieutenant came in with the district attorney for company. The district attorney looked a little embarrassed.

‘Must apologise, Kaufman,’ he said gruffly. ‘You were quite right, of course. But there it is – I get so many people wanting me to investigate this or that and I’m responsible for the way public money is spent. I mean, I can’t just…’

‘Sure,’ I said.

The lieutenant took the opportunity while the district attorney was trying to sort himself out. ‘Okay, Kaufman, give me the story,’ he said, and held his notebook ready. I gave it to him.

The next visitor was Dusberg who cheered me up quite a lot. He gave me a cheque for two thousand bucks and I don’t know of anything more cheering. The carnival was finished, cleared off the lot and he was already starting to divide it up into lots for sale.

The days dragged by. One by one the bandages came off and stayed off. I still didn’t dare ask. I was frightened they’d tell me. Frightened they’d look at me sorrowfully and say, ‘Why, didn’t you know? She died that night. She was dead by the time you had crawled from under the canvas.’ That’s what I was frightened they’d say.

Then came the day. The day I left the hospital. I couldn’t wait for the day to go. I paced up and down the apartment, more nervous than a kitten. Around seven I put on my tuxedo and all the trimmings. Even if she was dead, then this would be a sort of private funeral, I thought.

The house lights went out, the single spot beamed on and there, in the centre of it, was Katherine. She did her act as before. I sat there and felt I could have sat there forever and been happy just watching her. Then the final on-off of the lights and she was gone.

I ran… past the protesting waiters and bandsmen, past the shocked wardrobe mistress, until I found her room. I didn’t bother to knock. I just burst in and then we were in each other’s arms.

‘Why didn’t you come and see me when I was in hospital?’ I asked her when we came up for air. ‘Why didn’t you even let me know you were alive?’

She turned her face away. ‘I didn’t know whether you were interested – I didn’t even know if you cared!’ she told me.

‘Honey!’ I pulled her back into my arms. ‘I nearly went crazy just thinking about you. I didn’t know whether you were dead when I got through that canvas. Nobody told me, nobody mentioned you – and I thought that was probably because you were dead!’

‘You poor darling!’ she whispered.

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