Эд Макбейн - The April Robin Murders

Handsome handed William Willis the cream and said, “But it’s nicer to have you as our guest.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Bingo said. “So drink your coffee, and then let’s us all go looking for what you came here to find.”

“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Believe me, I’m telling the truth. It just seems to me that there must be something—” He paused. “I never was able to get into the house before. There was the caretaker guarding it. Last night I thought I could break in. I had no idea you would be here. I thought the house would be empty. That I could get in and dig around and look around—” He paused. “I don’t know what I expected to find, or where I expected to find it. Believe me, believe me, it was just that I wanted to search the house, by myself.”

Bingo said gently, “The police have done everything but tear down the walls.”

William Willis said, “I loved my sister very much.” He lifted his head and suddenly he didn’t look quite as tired, quite as defeated. “She was beautiful. She could have gone a long way in show business, if she hadn’t married that horrible, really horrible man for his money. She did, and it was a terrible mistake.” He stopped himself suddenly and said, “Look, I can’t possibly tell you all about it right now. Only it wasn’t just because of Julien Lattimer’s money. She was very frail, very delicate, her heart wasn’t too good. This Julien Lattimer offered her what seemed to be a snug harbor, a secure refuge. She didn’t realize—” He paused, bit his lip, and said, “She was an artist, a real artist. She did a slack-wire act—” His eyes suddenly looked into faraway and unseen places, as though he were seeing his little sister perform on the stage. For just an instant, Bingo could see her too, a dream image as April Robin was a dream image, frail, delicate, lovely, floating over space on a slack wire—

Bingo brought himself back to this earth and this day with a jolting effort. “Look, pal,” he said. “If we’re going to be friends, let’s you answer me just one or two quick questions. Do you know anyone named Courtney Budlong?”

William Willis brought himself back to earth, too. He looked a little bewildered and said, “No.”

“Do you know a Mr. Chester Baxter? A Mr. Charlie Browne?”

William Willis had never heard of them, either.

“Clifford Bradbury?” Bingo asked.

William Willis shook his head and didn’t even bother to say no. Bingo realized he was running out of questions. Not only that, but he wasn’t getting any answers.

“Mr. Willis,” Bingo said deprecatingly, “I’m what you might call sort of a fan of wire acts, and I don’t remember any Lois Willis.”

William Willis looked at him wearily and said, “Her name wasn’t Willis. I thought I told you, she was my stepsister. Her name was Lois DeLee.”

There was a little silence, and then Handsome said, “Oh.” Then there was a longer silence.

Bingo had a gross of questions to ask now. The question was, which one to ask first. He was turning them over in his mind when the doorbell rang with a grimly authoritative sound.

It was Perroni and Hendenfelder. They looked as though they’d been awake all night, too.

Perroni flashed his hard and professional smile and said, “Well. You’re up and dressed early this morning.”

Bingo cast desperately around for an answer and finally said, “We got up at dawn to watch the sunrise.”

“You couldn’t have picked a better time for it,” Perroni said. He looked at William Willis and said, “What are you doing here?”

William Willis looked helpless. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out of it.

“We’re businessmen,” Bingo said indignantly. “Mr. Willis trains birds and rents out reptiles. We’re just talking over some future deals.” Why he should cover up for William Willis, he didn’t know, but it seemed to be the thing to do at the time.

Perroni looked as though he believed William Willis had been there on a business deal, and also that flying saucers landed on a regular schedule at Giant Rock, but he didn’t make an issue of it.

“We brought you a little news,” Hendenfelder said. “That’s why we’re here so early. About Chester Baxter.”

“He’s dead,” Perroni said, making it obvious that he didn’t like to waste time.

“Found in an alley in Ocean Park, with his throat cut,” Hendenfelder said.

“And,” Perroni added grimly, “where were you boys all last night, and can you prove it?”

Bingo didn’t answer. He sank down on the davenport and whispered, “The poor little guy!”

“Well!” Perroni said. “So he was a friend of yours?”

Bingo didn’t answer that, either. He was thinking of Chester Baxter, a con man and not a very successful one, but with great plans for his future. Maybe if he’d succeeded in his mission it would have brought him the stake he had obviously needed so badly. Enough to take him back to San Diego and the rich widow. Maybe everything would have turned out fine. Little Chester Baxter had left the house, not so long ago, with a gleam in his eye and high hopes in his heart. And then, in an alley in Ocean Park — Bingo felt his stomach tilt a little.

Little Chester Baxter had been a man of honor, in his profession and according to his lights, and someone had cut his throat.

Bingo didn’t want to talk to Perroni, he didn’t want to talk to anybody. He just wanted to get away by himself and think things over. To his relief, Perroni turned his morose gaze on William Willis.

“All right, Willie, what are you doing here? Looking for your sister? We’ll find her first.”

William Willis moistened his lips. “It’s like these gentlemen said. I came over here to talk picture business.”

“Birds,” Handsome said helpfully. “Birds and reptiles.”

Perroni ignored him and went on coldly, “You sure pick a funny time of day for a business visit.”

“I get up very early every day,” William Willis said, his voice a little shaky. “That’s the way I am.”

“Sure,” Hendenfelder said amiably. “That’s the way you are because that’s the way you are.”

William Willis smiled at him wanly. “It’s what you might call a — well, like a—”

“Just a personal foible,” Hendenfelder said. “We know. This is Hollywood. Everybody’s got their little foibles.”

Perroni looked as though he wished Hendenfelder had smothered in his cradle, and said, “We’ll skip that. We can check why you’re here. Tell me, Willie—”

“Just because my sister was involved in a murder,” William Willis said, with sudden and incredible dignity, “just because she is suspected of a murder of which she is entirely innocent, there is no reason to call me Willie.” He lifted his chin another half inch and said, “My name is William Willis.” Even Perroni was put back on his heels for a moment or so.

“All right, Mister Willis,” the sad-eyed detective said icily, “did you know Chester Baxter?”

“I never heard of a Chester Baxter.” The look on his face dared Perroni, the whole police department, or anyone in the wide world to prove otherwise.

“And if I may be so rude as to ask,” Perroni said, “where were you last night and what were you doing?”

William Willis’ stare returned icicle for icicle. “I was in Bakersfield until one o’clock,” he said. “With my birds. Doing a benefit performance for a homeless dog shelter.”

Perroni nodded to Hendenfelder. “Check,” he said. Hendenfelder went into the kitchen to telephone.

Bingo reached for a cigarette. His hands were trembling, but only a little. He wanted to tell somebody about everything. About the deal with Chester Baxter. About Lois Lattimer’s name being DeLee. About Courtney Budlong having murdered Pearl Durzy. But he didn’t want to tell Perroni. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to tell Hendenfelder. He wished he were back in New York, twenty blocks from home, without carfare, and in the middle of a blizzard.