A Fair - Cut Thin to Win

Sellers clamped down on his cigar so hard that I thought he was going to bite it in two.

“Well, we don’t seem to be getting anyplace,” the deputy district attorney said. “If Mr. Lam intends to file application for a writ of habeas corpus and the evidence isn’t any stronger than it appears at the present time, I would suggest this man be turned loose.”

“The evidence isn’t strong because he’s damned well seen to it that the key evidence is missing,” Sellers said.

“Well,” the deputy district attorney assured him, “as soon as you’ve established that point by proper evidence, Sergeant, you will have redress against him in California.”

“You’re damned right I’ll have redress against him in California.”

“Under the circumstances,” Essex said, “I see no reason why my client should be longer detained.”

He got up, nodded to me and said, “Come on, Lam.”

I got up and followed him to the door. As I walked past Sellers I thought he was going to grab me and physically restrain me, but he controlled himself, sitting there glowering and chomping on the soggy cigar butt.

We walked out.

“How did you get here?” I asked Essex.

“Chartered planes.”

I said, “Somebody must be putting up money in this case.”

“Your assumption,” he said, “is certainly logical.”

“Lots of money,” I went on.

“I wouldn’t get in this position otherwise.”

“You’re representing me?”

He said, “Let’s get in the car before I answer that question.”

He led the way to his rented car; then he rolled up the windows, turned to me and said, “Yes, I’m representing you just as long as you continue to be loyal to your clients.”

“I know who those clients are now,” I said.

“I understand you do.”

“Where’s Mrs. Chester?” I said. “If they find her, it’s going to be—”

“For your private, confidential information,” he said, “Mrs. Chester is due to land in Mexico City at six o’clock tomorrow morning. Within three hours of the time she lands, she’s going to be at an isolated resort in the country.”

“Will she stay put?” I asked.

“Long enough.”

“Who’s the mysterious witness that is trying to put Phyllis’ automobile in Denver four hours before the accident in Los Angeles?”

He regarded me searchingly for a long time. Then he said, “Lam, my client tells me you know enough so I am going to take you entirely into my confidence.”

“That’s always advisable,” I told him.

He said, “The person who is making all the trouble in this case, as you probably realize, is Mrs. Alting L. Badger.”

“And why is she making all this trouble?”

“Because,” he said, “she wants a settlement of two million five hundred thousand dollars.”

“How much is she going to get?”

“One hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Is Badger that well fixed?” I asked.

He smiled and said, “I’m not prepared to discuss my client’s exact worth; but, as a man who knows his way around, you can see the risks I’m taking in this case, and I can assure you that I am not a cheap attorney.”

“All right,” I said, “while we’re putting it on the line, I’m taking risks and, if I play ball, I’m not going to be a cheap detective.”

“Nobody wants you to.”

“What’s your definition of cheap?” I asked.

“What’s yours?”

I said, “I’d expect quite a bonus.”

He looked at me. “Look. Lam, you’re supposed to be brainy. I think you are. You’ve played your cards pretty smooth. If you can squeeze us out of this one, you can just about name your own figure.”

“But I have to keep quiet?”

“Hell,” he said, “you have to keep quiet for your own sake. What’s going to happen if Sergeant Sellers gets hold of Mrs. Harvey W. Chester?”

“All she can say is that I told her I had a client that wanted to buy up the claim that she had against some unknown driver.”

“That would have worked all right at the time,” he said, “but your subsequent actions in locating the identity of the various interested parties would look like hell in front of a jury.”

I thought that over.

“Particularly with Sellers manipulating the evidence and offering Mrs. Chester complete immunity if she’d give testimony that would result in your conviction and in forfeiting your license.”

“I can see your point,” I said.

“All right,” he told me, “you’re going to the airport and get out of Colorado as quickly as possible.”

“California?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Hell, no,” he said. “California is bad business for you at the present time. Here’s a credit card made out in your name. Go to Las Vegas; get anything you want, including a reasonable supply of cash for gambling so you don’t get bored. Telephone my office and tell my secretary where you are. You don’t need to tell her any names, just say, ‘Tell Mr. Essex that I’m at such-and-such an address.’ ”

“What about my partner, Bertha Cool?”

Essex was thoughtful. “Your partner, Mrs. Cool, is, I understand, in a rather hostile mood. I think it might be better not to let her know where you could be reached.”

I said, “My confidential secretary is Elsie Brand. She’s been with me for a long time and you can trust her all the way. After I communicate with you, see that she knows where I am.”

“She won’t communicate with Mrs. Cool?” he asked.

“Hell, no!” I said.

“All right,” he told me, “I think we’d better get to the airport. You only have half an hour before your plane leaves.”

I got aboard the plane among the first passengers and seated myself next to a window.

A woman seated herself next to me.

I didn’t think much of it at the time, but after I fastened my seat belt and looked around, I noticed that there were still quite a few vacant window seats. It was a flight where seats had not been assigned and, things being what they were, I gave my seat companion a sidelong glance.

She was somewhere around thirty-five to forty, and she’d spent lots of money trying to look five years younger than she was. She was as well groomed as soft leather, but there was a certain hardness about her that showed through the grooming.

I wondered if Sellers had planted a stooge.

I surreptitiously looked her over a second time and decided she wasn’t a policewoman, and no private detective could afford to dress like that, so I decided she had some particular reason for wanting that seat and stretched out and relaxed.

The plane gunned into action, took off down the runway, hesitated for a few seconds, then roared into speed.

My woman companion closed her eyes.

The plane lifted off the ground, zoomed sharply upward; then the pilot throttled the motors down.

She said, “I’m always nervous during take-off.”

I knew then that it wasn’t an accident, so I smiled a vague smile and wondered if someone was going to pick up my trail at Las Vegas and if I’d be shadowed twenty-four hours a day.

Ordinarily, police aren’t in a position to do that kind of shadowing except on the most important cases, and unless Sellers had tapped a till, he didn’t have money enough to keep me under that kind of surveillance.

I checked my impressions by playing hard to get — not upstage, particularly, but preoccupied with my thoughts.

I felt her eyes on my profile.

After a moment, she said, “You have the most interesting hands I’ve seen in a long time — I hope you don’t think me forward.”

“What about my hands?” I asked.

She laughed and said, “I’m one of those women who tell fortunes — not professionally, of course, just as private readings for my close friends... The hands show character.”