Erle Gardner - Turn on the Heat

I studied the pictures. “Add twenty years and forty pounds,” I said, “and that’s the woman I saw in Oakview, the one who was registered as Mrs. James C. Lintig.”

Bertha Cool didn’t say anything. She walked over to the kitchenette and brought out a bottle of brandy.

I looked at the date on the seal of the bottle. It said 1875.

Bertha Cool had just finished pouring her third brandy at the end of an hour, when the telephone rang.

She looked at her wrist watch and said, “That’s prompt action. One of the operatives reporting on Harbet.”

She picked up the receiver and said, in that crisp, official voice of hers, “Yes, this is Bertha Cool talking. Go ahead.”

I couldn’t hear what was coming over the wire, but I could see the expression on Bertha Cool’s face. I saw the lips tighten, the eyelids lower. She said, “I don’t do any driving myself. That can be verified.”

There was another long period of silence while Bertha Cool sat listening at the telephone. Light scintillated from the diamonds on the hand that held the receiver. She avoided looking at me. After a while she said, “Now listen, I’ll have to check up on my records to find which operative was driving the car at the time you mention and where the car was in operation. Personally, I think there’s some mistake but... No, I’m not going to the office now. I’m in bed. It wouldn’t do me any good if I went there. I couldn’t find the records. My secretary has charge of those... No, I’m not going to have her disturbed at this hour, and that’s final. It isn’t that important. Nine times out of ten, witnesses who take licence numbers are mistaken... Yes, by ten o’clock in the morning... All right, nine-thirty then. That’s absolutely the earliest... I have several operatives. I have two or three out on a case now... No, I can’t tell you their names or the nature of the case. That’s confidential. I’ll look up my car records in the morning and advise you. I won’t do anything until then.”

She hung up the telephone. Her eyes swung around to rivet on me. They seemed as glittering as her diamonds. “Donald, they’re turning on the heat.”

“What?” I asked.

“Santa Carlotta has telephoned the police here asking for co-operation. They’ve found a witness to a hit-and-run case. The witness has given the licence number of the automobile. It’s the agency car. They looked it up on the registrations.”

I said, “I didn’t think he’d go that far.”

She said, “You’re in a spot, lover. They’ll railroad you sure as hell. Bertha will stick by you and give you what assistance she can, but the case will be tried in Santa Carlotta. It’s a felony. They’ll pack the jury.”

“When,” I asked, “did it happen?”

“Day before yesterday.”

“The agency car was stored in a garage,” I said. I have a signed receipt for the storage.

“The police came. They looked it up. The garage attendant says you came and took the car out after it had been in less than twelve hours, that you were gone with it for about two hours, and then brought it back, that you seemed excited. He doesn’t know you by name, but he’s given a description.”

I said, “The damn crook threatened to do that, but I didn’t think he would.”

“Well,” she said, “he has. He—”

The telephone rang again. Bertha Cool hesitated, then said, “What the hell, lover? I’ve got to answer it.”

She picked up the receiver, and said, “Hello,” cautiously. This time she didn’t give her name.

Her attitude relaxed somewhat as she listened. She picked up a pencil and made notes on a pad of paper. Then she said, “just a minute. Hold the line,” and cupped her hand over the mouthpiece:

She said, “Harbet left headquarters. The operative tailed him to an apartment hotel on Normandie. The name of the apartment hotel is the Key West. Harbet went in. It’s a swanky place with a night clerk on duty who announces callers. Harbet gave the name of Frank Barr. He told the clerk to ring apartment forty-three A. Forty-three A is occupied by an Amelia Lintig who registered as from Oakview, California. What do we do next?”

I said, “Keep him on the line. Let me think. It’s either a preliminary conference or else it’s an official visit. They’re getting ready to turn on the heat all along the line. Election is day after tomorrow. Tell your operative to stay on the job until we get there.”

Bertha Cool said, into the receiver, “Stay on the job until we get there... just a moment.”

She looked up at me and said, “Suppose Harbet comes out before we get there?”

“Let him go,” I said.

Bertha Cool said into the receiver, “Let him go,” and hung up.

I picked up my hat. Bertha Cool struggled into her coat, put on a hat, and then looked at the two glasses of cognac on the table. She picked up one of the glasses, and motioned me towards another.

I said, “It’s a crime to drink that stuff fast.”

Bertha said, “Well, it would be a greater crime to let it go to waste.”

We exchanged glances over the glasses, and drank the smooth, clear, amber liquid.

On the way down, in the elevator, Bertha Cool said, “Every step we take gets us in that much deeper, Donald. We’ve got our necks stuck out pretty damn far.”

“It’s too late now to pull them back in,” I said.

She said, “You’re a brainy little squirt, all right, but the trouble with you is you don’t know when to stop.”

I didn’t argue it. We got a taxi and drove over to where the agency car was parked. We went out to the Normandie address in the agency car. Bertha spotted the operative. He said, “The man I was tailing went out. I followed your instructions and let him go.”

I said, “All right. Stay on the job. If a woman about fifty-five with grey hair, black eyes, and weighing about a hundred and sixty pounds comes out, tail her. Station your partner in the alley. If he sees any woman who answers that description, leave the house, have him tail her.”

“Check,” he said.

His partner said, “I haven’t a car.”

“Take the agency car,” I said. “Park where you can watch the alley. She may come out that way.”

I said to Bertha, “Come on. We’ll go in and phone for a taxicab.”

Bertha looked at me for a moment, then heaved her bulk out of the agency car. I took her arm, and we walked across the street towards the apartment house.

I said, “You go in alone. Turn your grande dame manner on the clerk. Find out when the telephone operators come on duty at the switchboard, and get their names and addresses.”

“He’ll get suspicious,” she said.

“Not if you play it right. You’re trying to check up on your nephew. He has a crush on a girl who works on the switchboard at the Key West Apartments. You want to check up on her. If she’s a good egg, you’ll give him your blessing and not change your will. If she’s a fortune-hunter, you’ll get rough. Flash your diamonds in the clerk’s eyes. Be sure you get all the girls’ home addresses.”

“What’s the idea?” she asked.

I said, “It’s something I have to think over.”

Bertha Cool’s big diaphragm rippled as she heaved a sigh which seemed to come from her boot tops. “God, Donald,” she said, “before you started working for me, I used to get a decent night’s sleep once in a while. Now I couldn’t sleep even if I had the bed and the chance.”

I said, “Your only chance of getting out of this mess is to do what I tell you.”

“That’s what’s got me into it so far.”

I said, “Suit yourself,” and turned my back.

She stood there on the sidewalk, her eyes sparkling with anger. Then she turned without a word and sailed majestically into the lobby of the apartment house. I casually walked past the door and looked in after she’d been gone a minute or two. She was standing at the counter, her hands playing with a fountain pen, her diamonds sending out splashes of light. Bertha had an air of haughty condescension which seemed to be getting across. I hoped she’d remember not to pull any profanity.