Lawrence Block - Masters of Noir - Volume 1

“We’re getting there.”

“I hope you do. Thanks for giving me your time, Celia.” He walked off across the terrace.

When he was gone, Celia Ambler sat up. She pulled her halter up a bit, but it didn’t do any good. She continued to bulge lushly over it. She was a full-bodied fine-looking woman who, you’d think, would make a man want to stay home more than her husband had.

“More questions, Gus?” she asked.

“A few. When your husband didn’t come home night before last, why didn’t you report it to the police? Weren’t you worried?”

“I didn’t know he wasn’t home until a policeman came and told me he had been found dead in his car.”

“That was around nine in the morning.”

“I assumed he was in his room asleep. You see, we had separate bedrooms.”

“Uh-huh. There’s the penalty of being rich.”

“Not necessarily, but in our case that was the way we preferred it.”

“You didn’t get along, eh?”

“Gus, you’re not suspecting me?” She seemed to be amused at the notion.

I didn’t tell her I knew who’d killed him. There was no point until I could prove it. I said, “I’m merely trying to get things straight, that’s all. What do you know about Holly Laird?”

“She’s a competent actress.”

“I mean Holly Laird and your husband.”

“Oh.” Her fingers trailed along a bare, sun-baked thigh. “I really have no idea. As a matter of fact, I understand that she and Bill Burnett are very much in love with each other.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I suppose it doesn’t, if you want to be cynical. It’s no secret that John had a penchant for sweet young girls. Holly would have filled the bill.”

“And you didn’t care?”

Her tan shoulders shrugged. “John and I had an understanding. We each lived our own life. I didn’t question him and he didn’t question me.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “Does that shock you, Gus?”

“What’s the difference if it shocks me or doesn’t? I just want the truth.”

“Well, I didn’t kill him. In a detached sort of way, I was rather fond of him.”

“Yeah. Fond of being the wife of a rich man.”

“Why, Gus, I didn’t think you cared,” she said brightly. “We haven’t seen each other in so many years, and even in high school we never went out together. Don’t tell me you’ve been carrying the torch for me?”

So that was what she was, a teaser, even with a cop she had never known well. Me, I’d never had a thought for her.

I growled, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Shouldn’t I?” She got off the chaise longue and ran her hands sensuously over her half-naked body. “Look at me, Gus. Don’t you think I have a right to flatter myself?”

“All right, you’ve got a body.”

She was standing close to me; she made me uneasy. “Now about your husband’s other girl friends?”

“I can’t answer. I told you I hadn’t been interested. But you, Gus — do you know I had a crush on you in high school? You didn’t give me a tumble. You were the big football hero, so strong, so virile-looking. You still are, you know, only more manly.”

And she kissed me.

There under the hot sun, wearing next to nothing, and more likely than not with the servants watching from the house, she pressed herself against me and kissed me.

It was a long time since I’d been kissed like that by any woman. It felt good, to my mouth, to my body, to my hands, but at the same time it made me sick to my stomach. Her husband wasn’t dead two days, and here she was. And if he had been alive, she wouldn’t have acted any differently. They’d had an understanding, she’d said. And I didn’t think she went for me in particular. Almost any man would have done who appealed to her at all.

The bitch! Like Martha. Like Holly Laird. Like every goddamn woman.

I tore her arms from around me and shoved her so hard she fell back against the chaise longue and sat down on it. I said, “I’d like to wring the necks of every one of you,” and strode off without a backward glance at her.

I hadn’t any more questions, and those I’d asked hadn’t gotten me anywhere. I was shaking all over as I climbed into my car.

Back at headquarters, I learned that Detective Lou Fox had found a witness. He had been assigned to question everybody in Holly Laird’s building, in front of which the murder had taken place, and he had come up with a teen-aged girl named Ann Danderman. He left off typing up his report to tell me about it.

“This kid lives a couple of floors below Holly Laird. Seventeen. Real pretty. She was out on a date and the guy brought her home around eleven. Her folks had told her to be home by eleven-thirty, so of course they hung around necking in the doorway for half an hour. There’s a street lamp close by and she could see a car parked at the curb and Holly Laird sitting in it with a man. She knew Holly well by sight, being a fan of hers. She didn’t know Ambler and didn’t see him clearly, but it must have been him.”

“Were they making love?”

“You mean Holly and Ambler in the car? The girl says no. Just talking. At eleven-thirty sharp Ann went upstairs. The two in the car were still talking.”

“Is that all she saw?”

“It’s something. We got them spotted out there from eleven to at least eleven-thirty.”

“Does the Skipper know about this?”

“I told him first thing I got back,” Lou Fox said. “By the way, he said send you in as soon as you showed up. He’s sore at you.”

I went down the hall to the Skipper’s office. A captain has an easy life. He was tilted back in his swivel-chair, cleaning his fingernails.

“This time you’ve gone too far,” he said as soon as I had the door closed behind me. “A dozen witnesses saw you beat up Burnett in the street.”

“He had a gun in his pocket. Did you want me to give him a chance to plug me first?”

“They say you slashed him with his gun after you’d taken it away.”

“So I got a little excited. Wouldn’t you be if somebody was out to shoot you down?”

The Skipper leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. He had a beak like an eagle’s and small, dark eyes that could bore right through you. He said, “If somebody slapped around the girl I loved, I think maybe I’d lose my head too and grab a gun and go after the guy.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“He told me that’s what you did this morning to Holly Laird.”

“He’s nuts.” I drew on my cigar. “Did you ask her?”

The Skipper lost some of his fire and I knew it was all right. “I spoke to her on the phone.”

“And?”

“She says you didn’t touch her. But I don’t know. Something screwy about this. The way you sometimes act I wouldn’t put it past you to...” He sighed. “What gets into you every now and then, Gus?”

“She says I didn’t touch her,” I reminded him gently.

“Lucky for you she does. You’re a good man, Gus, the best I’ve got, but I’m getting fed up with some of your stunts.” He picked up his nailfile. “Did you hear about Lou’s witness?”

“Yeah. Holly Laird said Ambler dropped her off at her house and drove away. Now we find out they were sitting outside in his car at least half an hour. I’ve been telling you she lied, and this proves it. They talked and talked and then she stabbed him.”

“There’s something else. This knocks hell out of the alibis of the others in the cast.”

“I see what you mean.”

“Like this,” the Skipper said. “Holly and Ambler left the theater twenty minutes before the play ended. The curtain came down at eleven-twelve. It’s no more than five minutes from the theater to where they were sitting in the car. Burnett went there and saw them together. He was crazy jealous. He had a knife.”