D. Champion - Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 30, No. 2 — July 1947)

“As I remember Byerly,” I said, “this isn’t too good a likeness. It’s probably an old picture.”

Mac was listening in. and he nodded. “That’s the way Ed used to look, though. He seemed to put on a lot of wrinkles, lately.”

My lack of sleep was getting to me now. I said: “I think we’ll give this business a rest tonight. I’ve had enough for one day.”

Jack said: “If you won’t want me, I think I’ll give the blonde a ring. I’d like to look at something that’ll take that picture of Mary Byerly out of my mind.”

“I won’t need you.” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning. And Jack, remember to be careful. You’re the number one witness — don’t forget that.”

He promised he would, and left. I worried about him. I knew what an easy, fearless sort of gent he was, and how lightly he valued his life.

Mac said: “I wouldn’t want to be him. That guy could very easy be victim number two, from witness number one.”

“In our business, you never know,” I said. And, because I was tired and not too sharp: “We live with the constant shadow.”

Mac was staring at me when I walked out.

In the room I call home, I pulled the bed out of the wall. I took a shower first and listened to the radio a while, but Morpheus kept calling. I hit the hay early.

In the only dream I remember, I was in a sort of circus procession made up of baby elephants with smiling faces. All of them cast big elephant shadows, and I couldn’t figure out quite why.

The sun was high when I woke. It was still damp out, but the sun was there, working. I put some coffee on to boil before taking another shower.

Down at the office, I opened all the windows wide to get what breeze I could. When I turned, after opening the last one, I saw the girl standing in the doorway.

A tall, dark and serious girl, dressed plainly. A handsome girl, despite the plainness of her dress and hair-do. She said: “You’re Mr. Jones?”

I nodded, and indicated the customer’s chair.

She took it, and said: “My name is Ella Hamilton. I worked for Doctor Randolph.” She paused. “I read about Mr. Byerly in the paper.”

I said: “You’re not Dr. Randolph’s receptionist, are you?”

She shook her head. “I worked for him at that place up in the country. I was his nurse up there, and general assistant.”

I could only stare at her. She hadn’t looked, to me, like a girl who’d stray outside the law.

Some of my disbelief must have shown, for she said: “Would you come over here, please?”

It could have been a trap, but her hands were empty, her purse on my desk. I came over to stand close to her.

Her hands were above her head now, and then she pulled the hair above her ears high. “See,” she said.

I could see the fine, hair-like scars there. “I see,” I said.

Her smile was dim. “I owed Dr. Randolph a lot. I’m just trying to justify myself, I suppose, but before Dr. Randolph did that, I never appeared in public without a veil. Do you believe, now, that I worked for the doctor up there?”

“I believe you.”

“Yesterday, around noon,” she went on, “this Mr. Byerly drove into the yard up there. I didn’t know what to do. I was frightened, but he seemed harmless enough. He told me he’d been looking for that place for a long time. He seemed to be — gloating. He looked everything over and asked if I was expecting the doctor.”

“Around noon?” I interrupted. “That’s right. He didn’t leave until one o’clock.”

I said: “But then, he couldn’t have—”

She nodded. “That’s why I’m here. I couldn’t go to the police. You can understand that?”

I admitted I could.

“But I saw his picture in the paper, and they seemed so sure he was the man. I couldn’t just stand by, knowing what I did.”

I asked: “Where were you yesterday afternoon, when I was up there?”

“As soon as Mr. Byerly left, I left. I wanted to warn the doctor. When I got to town, I learned what had happened. I couldn’t go back to the hospital after that.” Her voice shook. “It’s not a nice thing to say, I know, but in a way, I’m glad he’s dead. I’m free of that, now.”

I said quietly: “A time will come, probably, when you’ll have to tell all this to the police, when you’ll have to sign a statement to all this.”

She nodded. “I suppose so. But—” She shrugged.

I said: “I’ll try to make a deal for you.”

She reached for her purse, but I shook my head. “There’ll be no charge for that. If I accepted money for that, Yd be making the deal, not you. Can you understand ethics as involved as that?”

The dim smile again. “I think I can. I’ve had some personal experience with involved, with twisted ethics. There was this gratitude, this loyalty, you see, on one side, and still—”

“I understand,” I said. “It might take some talking to make the police understand, however. But I might manage it.”

She gave me her address and telephone number.

Then I asked: “Dr. Randolph was a strange man, wasn’t he? Had he ever displayed any thanatophobia before?”

She looked at me blankly.

“Irrational fear of death,” I explained.

“Oh, yes. He was quite morbid about it. He hated death and feared it. He talked of it, often. You aren’t the first detective he’d hired.”

After she’d left, I contemplated calling headquarters. But I decided against it. If they found Byerly, he might have some good information. If they continued to look for Byerly, the real murderer would feel safe, and might — just might — make a mistake.

I phoned Jack Carmichael, and told him: “I want you to stick with Alex Randolph all day, Jack. At least, until midnight. I want to know every place he goes in that time. I’ll get it from you tomorrow.”

He said: “I can probably pick him up at the house, this time of the day.”

“Right. If you need me, and I’m not at the office, leave the message with Mac. That blonde give you a rough time last night?”

“Ah, Chief,” he said, “it’s not that late. And she’s a lady.”

“O.K.,” I said. “It’s still early enough to get in a full day’s work. And be very, very careful. You’re a valuable man right now.”

I hung up, feeling like a tough employer. Well, Byerly had finally found what he wanted, what he’d probably been looking for for a long time. That’s why he hung around the doctor, to get something with more financial potentialities than the doctor’s conscience and a threatened malpractice suit. He’d found it — too late.

I thought of Ella Hamilton, and hoped I’d be able to do something for her. The longer I delayed telling the police what she’d told me, the less I could do for her. Withholding information from the law isn’t the brightest thing in the world to do.

Doc Enright phoned and wanted to know, would I be at the game tonight? I said I thought I would. Unless something came up.

He asked: “What’s new on the Dr. Randolph business, Jonesy?”

“Just some rumors,” I kidded him. “I hear half the medicos in town are going to be mixed up in that mess, before it’s finished.”

There was a silence. Then: “You’re kidding, Jonesy.”

“No more than usual,” I told him. “Bring a lot of money, tonight. I’ve revenge due me, and I mean to get it.”

“Huh,” he said, and hung up.

It was right after that the silly rhyme began running through my mind. Nothing that made sense, but it sounded like it was trying to. The pattern was forming.

I wondered about Byerly, where he was now. If he wasn’t guilty of murder, he was guilty of blackmail, and the police would have the story on that by now. He had reason enough to hide.