Эд Макбейн - The April Robin Murders

Perroni turned his unhappy gaze on Bingo and said, “And Mister Willis came here, at this early hour, to talk about the picture business?”

Bingo looked him straight in the eye and said, “You don’t think I’d lie to the police, do you?”

“Yes,” Perroni said, and settled that question once and for all.

“Handsome,” Bingo said, in a voice he hoped sounded bored, “call up our lawyer, Mr. Arthur Schlee. Tell him there’s a couple of cops bothering us, for nothing. Tell him if it’s out of his line, to get” — he searched his memory fast — “Jerry Giesler!”

Perroni held up a hand and said, “Any time you are going to need a lawyer, I’ll let you know. Right now, this is only a routine investigation. Me, I don’t care about this Chester Baxter character being murdered.”

“I do,” Bingo said, before he could catch himself.

Hendenfelder had come back from telephoning, and stood in the doorway, listening.

“And just what was this Chester Baxter character to you?” Perroni demanded.

“Nothing,” Bingo said miserably. Chester Baxter had been a crook, a con man, one who picked on wealthy and gullible widows. He thought of the ugly smile he’d seen on Chester Baxter’s mouth at the thought of catching up with the man who called himself Courtney Budlong. But he said, “It’s just that, well, nobody wants to be murdered.” There wasn’t anything else to say.

“That’s why you have a police department,” Perroni said. “But this Chester Baxter character doesn’t count.”

He’d counted very much to Chester Baxter, Bingo thought.

“My particular job is arresting Lois Lattimer for the murder of her husband,” Perroni said doggedly.

“Lois didn’t kill him,” William Willis said.

“And besides,” Bingo said, “he can’t possibly be dead.”

Hendenfelder eased himself into the room and said quietly, “It checks, Perroni. This guy’s bird act did a show last night in Bakersfield, the dog shelter benefit. Drew a big crowd and went over great.” He acknowledged William Willis’ thanks with a nod and a smile and said, “He didn’t get away from Bakersfield until almost one o’clock, so he couldn’t have gotten back here in time to cut Chester Baxter’s throat.” He coughed and said, “Besides which—” and then paused.

Perroni looked coldly at William Willis and said, “All right. Go home.”

William Willis lit a new cigarette and didn’t move. “Stay here, then,” Perroni said. He turned to Bingo and Handsome. “And where were you last night?”

“We weren’t out murdering Chester Baxter,” Bingo said. He was beginning to get mad now. “Handsome, go on and call Mr. Schlee.”

“Forget it,” Perroni said. “I only asked a simple question.”

“We were here,” Bingo said.

“I won’t ask you to prove it now,” Perroni said, in a very tired voice. He thrust his hands in his coat pockets, squared away and said, “Chester Baxter came back here to see you. Twice.”

Bingo started to say, “How do you know?” and then shut his mouth. But Perroni had caught his expression.

“We weren’t watching you, and we weren’t watching him,” he said. “But a guy from the bunco squad was keeping an eye on him. He came back here twice. So he must have had some kind of business with you. He went to a joint on Olympic. The Owl’s Roost. As might have been expected. It’s sort of a hangout for those guys. He bought drinks for a few people. He got confidential with a few people. To the effect that he was on the trail of some really important cash money. Then somehow the guy from the bunco squad lost sight of him around midnight. This morning a guy who lives a couple blocks from there went to take out his garbage, and found him.” He paused, fixed a grim stare on Bingo and said, “Well?”

“It’s a little complicated,” Bingo said. He wished William Willis weren’t present. Uncle Herman had told him, time and time again, “When in doubt, tell the truth.” He said uneasily, “Perhaps if I could talk with you alone—”

“I’m involved in this, too,” William Willis said. “My sister. My sister didn’t cut this man’s throat.”

“Nobody said she did,” Perroni told him, “and shut up.”

“Well,” Bingo said, “well, it’s like this. We wanted to find Mr. Courtney Budlong. I mean, the man who called himself Mr. Courtney Budlong.”

“Naturally,” Hendenfelder said soothingly. “Naturally.”

“And this Mr. Chester Baxter,” Bingo plunged on desperately, “was sure he could find him. He made a — we made a — an arrangement with him. In fact, he said he was sure he could find him last night.”

There was a little silence.

“I guess,” Hendenfelder said at last, and very gently, “your Mr. Courtney Budlong didn’t want to be found.”

Bingo had a sudden vision of Courtney Budlong’s friendly, benevolent face and silvery hair, and said, “No!” before he had time to think. “I mean. What I mean is — Mr. Courtney Budlong wouldn’t murder anybody—” He felt his voice stop dead in his throat.

“That type usually doesn’t,” Hendenfelder said.

“But,” Bingo said, “but he did!” He gulped. He looked at Hendenfelder as he said it. “He killed Pearl Durzy.”

No one said anything. It seemed to Bingo for a moment that he was completely alone in the world and probably at the bottom of a deep, deep well.

“Nice of you to tell us now,” Perroni said at last. “And why didn’t you tell us in the first place?”

He was not only alone in the world, but that world was coming to an abrupt end any minute, Bingo thought. He couldn’t, he daren’t involve Mariposa DeLee in this, since she was busily looking for the man who called himself Courtney Budlong. Yet, on the other hand, there was the chance that Mariposa DeLee could also be found up an alley with her throat cut.

Perroni began prowling around the room, ostentatiously looking under the davenports, behind the doors and in the fireplace. “What are you looking for?” Bingo asked. He was now beginning to wish the world would come to that abrupt end and get it over with.

Perroni stopped his prowling, resumed his stance and said, “I’m looking for the cat that got your tongue.”

William Willis thought that was very funny. Bingo didn’t.

Handsome said suddenly, “We figured out, Bingo and me, that he was the only person who needed to kill her. We were going to call you up and tell you about it, only it was sort of late at night, so we were going to call you up this morning.”

“And,” Bingo said quickly and with a smile, “being from out of town, we figured you were just like ordinary cops, and we didn’t want to disturb you too early. We didn’t know you cops work so hard and so long.”

Perroni didn’t fall for that one. “You should have called me right away if you had any ideas. On the Lattimer case, I’m working twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and no holidays. How did you figure this out, or” — with the nasty smile — “am I being rude?”

“Well, look,” Bingo said. “Mr. Courtney Budlong — maybe we’d better go right on calling him that. It’s not so confusing.” Much less confusing than calling him Charlie Browne, or Clifford Bradbury. “When he showed us the house, this Pearl Durzy was around. She gave him some very dirty looks. And then, after we left—” He thought fast. A lot of details had to be skipped. “Well, I mean. We figured she knew he didn’t have the right to sell the house, and so she went and looked him up and tried to get some of the money, and he brought her back here and killed her.”

He realized right away that it didn’t sound convincing, it didn’t even sound intelligible.