A. Fair: Shills Can't Cash Chips

“How soon?”

“As soon as you get there.”

“Do I get dinner first?” Bertha asked.

“Hell, no,” I said. “You get out there just as fast as you can, and get Elsie out there.”

I hung up the phone and started putting on an act. I’d pretend to drop a coin, then I’d dial a number. I kept that up for nearly ten minutes, pretending to talk and listen.

Chief Dale sat in the car, grinning. When he showed signs of getting restless I went out of the booth.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

“I had several calls.”

“All done?”

“All done, Chief.”

“Well, Donald, I don’t want to be hauled on the carpet for conspiring to protect a felon. You’re wanted for murder. Hold out your wrists.”

I held out my wrists. The chief snapped handcuffs on them. “You’re under arrest,” he said. “You’re my prisoner. And I just want you to know that while you’re my guest in the jail at Colinda, if there’s any damned thing on earth you want, all you’ve got to do is to mention it. You can have special meals, special attention, a telephone in your cell, you can see anybody you want to. You can have anything you want except a dame. That I can’t get for you.”

“Thanks,” I told him.

“Don’t thank me,” he said.

“Are you going to take me down to the jail before you—”

“Before I see Vivian Deshler?” he asked. “Hell, no. Don’t think I’m dumb and don’t be dumb yourself, Lam. I just put those handcuffs on you as a token. You’re my prisoner — and you’re too damned smart to try to escape. You may be innocent of the murder but after you’ve been placed under arrest by an officer, making an escape is a felony and — well, I wouldn’t like that, Donald, and I could be awfully mean if something happened that I didn’t like.”

“I understand,” I told him. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Those handcuffs too tight?”

“No, they’re very comfortable.”

“Okay,” he said. “Here we go.”

We drove out to the Miramar Apartments, and the chief took me up in the elevator with him, handcuffs and all.

We went to Vivian Deshler’s apartment.

The chief pushed his finger against the mother-of-pearl button and held it there until Vivian Deshler opened the door.

Dale pulled back his coat. “This is the police, Miss Deshler. I’m Chief Dale of Colinda, the chief of police.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “What can I do for you, Chief?”

“I want to talk.”

“Come in and sit down, Chief Dale,” she said. “You’re very welcome. I’m going out a little later but...”

The chief moved into the apartment and I followed him.

She saw me then and said, “Well, just a moment. I didn’t know you had a guest.”

“He isn’t my guest,” Chief Dale said. “He’s my prisoner. He’s under arrest for the murder of Carter Holgate.”

“Good heavens,” she said. “He’s under arrest! Why, I knew they were investigating him and—”

“He’s under arrest,” Dale said.

“Donald,” she said, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to rub it in. I— Well, you can understand.”

I said, “It’s quite all right,” and sat down, putting my elbows on my legs so that the bright reading lamp shone down on the manacles on my wrists.

“I’m investigating this accident of yours,” Chief Dale said. “The one where Carter Holgate is supposed to have bumped into the rear of your car and—”

She drew herself up and said, “I am not going to be questioned any more about that accident, Chief Dale. I have talked about it until I’m sick and tired of it. I have a claim against the insurance company, I have now retained an attorney, I have decided to file suit. My attorney has advised me to say nothing about it.”

Dale said patiently, “I understand. That’s looking at it from the standpoint of a civil action. But now I’m looking at it from the standpoint of a criminal action.”

“What do you mean?”

Dale said, “I now have pretty good evidence that Carter Holgate smashed into my car on the evening of the thirteenth of August. He was driving while he was drunk.”

“For heaven’s sake,” she said.

“Now, that accident occurred a little after five-thirty in the evening,” Chief Dale said.

“Well, what do you know!”

“That’s exactly it,” Dale said. “I know so much that I want to know a little more. In fact I want to know quite a little more.”

She was doing some fast thinking.

“That must have been his day for accidents,” she said.

“Now,” Dale said, “I want to know about his accident with you. I want to know about when he hit your car.”

“Well, to be perfectly frank with you, Chief, I’m not certain of the hour. I am of the date but—”

“Was it after dark?”

“No, no. It was in the afternoon. It was— I just can’t go back in my mind right at this time and pinpoint the exact hour.”

I said, “Her friend, Doris Ashley, saw her car about three-thirty or three-forty-five and it had been smashed at that time, so the accident must have taken place before then, Chief.”

Vivian flashed me a look of pure venom.

“That right?” he asked Vivian.

“I wouldn’t know. Anything Doris says — she’s a very truthful girl and quite observing.”

“Now, I’m going to be fair with you, Miss Deshler,” Dale said. “If Holgate hit my car, pushed it into the ditch, then drove on, that would be a crime. That’s a hit-and-run. You understand that?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“And,” Dale went on, “if anybody conspired with him to cover up that crime or help him escape the penalty, that person would be an accessory after the fact and would be guilty of lots of things — not only guilty of the crime as an accessory, but guilty of criminal conspiracy. Do you understand that?”

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

“Yes,” she said after a moment.

“Now under those circumstances,” Dale said, “would you have any statement to make to me, Miss Deshler?”

“I... I know that— Now, wait a minute, let me think... I’m sorry, but would you excuse me for a moment, please? I haven’t been feeling well lately. I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

She got up and vanished through a door in the apartment.

Dale winked at me and then got up and tiptoed to the closed door. He took a little microphone attachment from his pocket, put it up against the door, put earphones in his ears, snapped on a switch and listened.

A grin came over his face as he listened.

He looked at me and winked once more, then kept listening for what must have been two or three minutes.

Suddenly he jerked the earphones out of his ears, detached the device from the door, slipped it into his pocket, tiptoed back to his chair and seated himself.

The door from the bedroom opened. Vivian Deshler said, “I’m sorry to have been so abrupt but I’m having some kind of an intestinal upset and— Well, I hope you don’t think I’m unladylike.”

“Not at all,” Dale said.

“Now, just what was it you wanted to know, Chief?”

“About that accident.”

“Oh, yes. Well, I’ve made a statement to the insurance company. I’ve made statements to the police, I’ve made statements to investigators, I’ve... I’ve just made so many statements I’m sick to death of that accident.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Chief Dale. I was injured in that accident. I had what they call a whiplash injury and I understand that can be very serious, but I’m just so sick and tired of the whole business that I’ve decided to absorb the loss myself. I’m going to withdraw my claim against the insurance company and forget the whole business. I’m going to go away and try to rest. My doctor thinks that complete rest with nothing to worry about may do a great deal to restore me to health.”