A. Fair - Spill the Jackpot

“It’s your story,” Kleinsmidt said. “Even the way you tell it, it’s full of holes. If I tried to put it across, it would rise up and hit me on the chin.”

“Okay, it’s your funeral.”

“It may be my funeral,” he said, “but you’re going to be the chief mourner. Come on.”

I said to Bertha, “You can address my mail care of Lieutenant Kleinsmidt.”

“Like hell I will,” Bertha said, getting to her feet. “Who the devil do you think you are?” she demanded, glaring at Kleinsmidt. “You aren’t going to get away with this. I guess they’ve got lawyers in this town.”

Kleinsmidt said, “Sure they have. You go right ahead and get ’em. Mr. Lam is coming with me.”

Kleinsmidt took my arm. “Let’s go quietly,” he said.

We went quietly. Bertha Cool was standing in the doorway, saying uncomplimentary things to Kleinsmidt. He didn’t pay any attention to her.

As we walked through the lobby, Kleinsmidt said, “I’m sorry, Lam. I hate to do this, but that story just doesn’t hold water. Why don’t you think up a good one?”

“Okay by me. Don’t overlook Bertha, though. She won’t take this lying down. Later on, when you have a chance to think things over, Lieutenant, this is going to be your embarrassing moment. You can write a prize-winning letter on it.”

“I know,” he said, “you’re a plausible cuss, but if you talked me out of this, I’d never hear the last of it.”

He took me down to headquarters. He didn’t put me in a cell, but left me in an office with an officer standing guard. Around noon, Chief Laster came in.

The chief said, “Bill Kleinsmidt has been talking with me.”

“That’s good.”

“And Mrs. Cool is waiting in the other room with a lawyer and a writ of habeas corpus.”

“Bertha’s a two-fisted individual. She makes her compromise with a club.”

He said, “That theory of yours doesn’t sound as crazy to me as it did to Bill Kleinsmidt.”

“It’s just a theory,” I told him.

“You evidently had some evidence on which to base it.”

“Nothing I’d care to discuss.”

“But you had some?”

“No. It was just an idea.”

He said, “I’d like to know just what gave it to you.”

“Oh, just an idea.”

He shook his head. “You had something more to tie to than just an idea. Did the girl tell you something?”

I raised my eyebrows, said with exaggerated surprise, “Why? Does she know anything?”

“That’s not answering my question. Did she tell you something?”

“I’m certain I couldn’t remember. We talked about a lot of things. You know how it is, Chief, when you’re with a girl for several days.”

“And nights,” he said.

I didn’t say anything.

He pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, pulled it way out, then released it, and let it slide back. After a while, he said, “You’re a queer one.”

“What’s the matter now?”

He said, “After Bill told me about that theory of yours, I went out and went over the premises inch by inch. We covered the stairs, taking each stair at a time. We found half a dozen drops of blood.”

“Did you indeed?”

He said, “That knocks Endicott’s alibi into a cocked hat.”

“Have you asked him about it?”

“We can’t. He’s skipped.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. He went to Reno with you last night, and that’s the last anyone has seen of him.”

“Didn’t he take the San Francisco plane?”

“No.”

“What does Whitewell say?”

“Whitewell is saying a lot. I talked with him over the telephone. He’s having auditors in.”

I said, “Well, that’s all very interesting, but I’d advise you not to keep Bertha Cool waiting. She’s capable of sudden, unexpected action.”

The chief got up with a sigh. “I wish you’d tell me what evidence you had to go on. It would help a lot.”

“I’m sorry. It was just a theory of mine.”

“You certainly had some sort of a tip.”

“I don’t see how you arrive at that conclusion. It seems to me it’s a perfectly fair and logical deduction from the evidence. Just because a body is found in a certain place doesn’t necessarily mean that the crime was committed there.”

“When are you leaving Las Vegas?” he asked.

“As soon as I can get a plane out, and I’m not going to talk with any newspaper reporters, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re the one who solved the crime.”

He shifted his eyes and said, “Oh, I don’t care anything about that .”

“Well, I’m just telling you in case you did.”

My telephone rang two minutes after the alarm went off. I picked up the receiver. It was Bertha on the other end of the line. “Are you awake, lover?”

“I am now.”

“Bertha didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“What is it?”

“Mr. Whitewell called up. Apparently, he’s stuck for about forty thousand dollars on the shortage.”

“Too bad.”

“He’s asked me to meet him at my office at eight o’clock so he can make a complete settlement.”

“Why so early?”

“He’s going to have to go to San Francisco on the ten o’clock plane.”

“I see.”

“And I wanted to call you up to be sure I had all your expenses — that trip of yours to Reno, and all those incidentals.”

“I made an account, itemized it, and put it in an envelope on your desk. You’ll find it there.”

“All right, that’s fine.”

“If you want to talk with me,” I said, “you can call me at the Golden Motto. I’m going there for breakfast.”

“All right, lover.”

“You had breakfast?” I asked.

She said, “I’m only taking fruit juice for breakfast these days. I just can’t seem to get my appetite back.”

“All right, I’ll be in the office after breakfast.”

I hung up the phone, took a shower, shaved, dressed leisurely, and walked down to the Golden Motto.

The woman who ran the joint was looking rather groggy.

“Good morning,” I said as I walked on through to the back room and took a seat at my favorite table.

The waitress came for my order. “Ham and, easy over,” I said. “What’s the matter with the madam?”

She laughed. “She’s having a fit. Don’t worry, she’ll be around to tell you about it. Tomato juice?”

“A double tomato juice with a shot of Worcestershire. Bertha Cool may call for me. If she does—”

“Okay, I’ll tell her you’re here. I — here she comes now.”

I looked up as Bertha Cool came marching through the door with that determined, bulldog set to her chin, her eyes glinting.

I got up and did the honors, seating her on the other side of the table.

Bertha heaved a sigh which seemed to come from her boot tops, smiled at the waitress, and said, “I have a hell of a disposition when my stomach’s empty. Makes me feel like snapping somebody’s head off. Bring me a double order of oatmeal, ham and eggs easy over, a big pot of coffee, and see that there’s plenty of cream.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cool.”

The waitress moved silently toward the kitchen. “Congratulations,” I said to Bertha.

“On what?”

“You seem to have got your appetite back.”

She gave a snort. “That old fool,” she said.

“Who?”

“Arthur Whitewell.”

“What did he do?”

“Tried handing me a lot of bull about how attractive I was.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I didn’t mind it,” she said. “In fact, I suppose I lapped some of it up, while it was just social, but when the damn fool tried to spread it on thick in order to wheedle me into making a low charge for our services, I saw through the old buzzard right away. I guess I’ve been a little foolish, lover. I guess a woman likes to hear those things, and if business hadn’t entered into it, I might never have realized what a hypocrite he was.”