Erle Gardner: Turn on the Heat

“Sure,” I said. “We’re old buddies.”

She said dubiously, “Well, come in.”

I said, “This is Bertha Cool, Mrs. Lintig.”

Bertha Cool flashed her diamonds, and Mrs. Lintig smiled all over her face. “So pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cool. Won’t you come in?”

We went in. I closed the door and noticed there was a spring lock that clicked into position. I said, “I don’t know the details. I understand the Santa Carlotta paper is to publish it the same time we do.”

“And who was it sent you?” she asked.

“Why, John,” I said. “John Harbet. He said you knew all about it.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “You’ll excuse me if I’m a little cautious. Here’s the story. I think you know the first part of it, how my husband ran away and left me absolutely destitute.”

“Didn’t you get some property?” I asked.

She snapped her fingers and said, “A mere sop! I didn’t get enough money out of it to keep me for two years. It’s been twenty-one years since he ran away with that hussy. I’ve been searching for him, trying to find him. The other day I located him, and where do you think he was?”

“Santa Carlotta?” I asked.

She said, “Is that a good guess or did John tell you?”

“It’s more than a good guess,” I said.

“Well, he’s in Santa Carlotta, all right, under the name of Dr. Charles Loring Alftmont. He’s living shamelessly and openly with that Carter girl, and they have the crust to pose in the community as man and wife, but the most startling thing of all is he’s running for mayor. Can you imagine that?”

I gave a low whistle.

She said, “Now, I don’t want to be vindictive, but I certainly am not going to have this creature dropping a mantle of respectability over her scarlet shoulders, and then adding insult to injury by becoming the Mrs. Mayor of Santa Carlotta. I think my husband will withdraw from the campaign on the eve of election. If he does, you understand the story isn’t to be published.”

I said, “I understand. John told me all about that. I promised to hold it until I got a release.”

She said, “Of course, you can play up the local angle.”

I said, “That’s fine. That’ll make a nice story. Now, about this Evaline Harris who came up to Oakview, and was subsequently murdered. I understand she was doing some work for you, trying to find out about your husband.”

The woman’s face became a cold mask of suspicion. “John didn’t tell you that,” she said.

“Why, yes,” I said. “That is, not in so many words, but he dropped some remarks which led me to believe that was the case.”

She said, “What did you say your name was? I’ve forgotten.”

“Lam,” I said. “Donald Lam.”

She said, with growing suspicion in her eyes, “John never mentioned to me that he had a friend on the newspaper in Oakview.”

I laughed and said, “He didn’t know where I was until just the other day. I’ve known John for years.”

She reached a decision and said, “Well, John certainly didn’t tell you anything about that Harris girl because he didn’t know anything to tell. I never saw her in my life.”

“You’re certain of that??” I asked.

“Yes, yes,” she said. “Why not?”

I said, “That’s funny. Because she worked as an entertainer at the Blue Cave, and you were employed there as hostess.”

She caught her breath.

I said, “I’m trying to get this straight for our paper. I don’t want to make any mistake and publish something that doesn’t click.”

Her eyes narrowed. She said, “You’re lying to me. You don’t know John Harbet.”

I laughed easily and said, “Any time you think I don’t! John and I are just like that.” I held up two fingers.

In a low, hoarse voice she said, “You get out of here! Both of you!”

I drew up a chair and sat down, nodded to Bertha Cool, and said, “Have a chair.”

The woman said, “I said for you to get out of here.”

I said, “Sit down and keep your shirt on. We’re going to ask you some questions.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

I said, “We’re detectives.”

She sat down as though the strength had oozed out of her knees. She looked at me with a face that was filled with despair.

I said, “It’s been rather a long, tedious trail, Flo, but we’ve unraveled most of it. You roomed with Amelia up in San Francisco. You found out all about her life history, and after she married Wilmen, you got possession of her papers, probably out of a trunk she’d left with you, or you may have stolen them. Anyway, you got them.”

“That’s a lie,” she said.

I said, “Recently, the political ring that was controlling Santa Carlotta wanted to find Mrs. Lintig. There was money in it. You were approached. You couldn’t find Amelia Lintig; perhaps because she’s dead, perhaps because she’s moved out of the state. But you convinced them you could do a good job of impersonation. You knew all about her background.

“You had certain things on which you wanted to check. You were pretty close to Evaline Harris who was working in the night spot where you were hostess. You arranged to send her up to Oakview and have her make the investigations. Particularly you wanted her to pick up all of the photographs of Amelia Lintig that could be found.”

“You’re absolutely crazy,” she said.

I said, “Now we go on from there. Evaline Harris came back with the photographs all right, but she also had an overpowering curiosity. She was a chiseler, and she was greedy. Her trunk had been smashed in shipment. She knew you’d never consent to having her make a claim for damages because you didn’t want anyone to trace her, but, without consulting you, she went ahead and made the claim. You found out she’d been traced. That caused a lot of trouble.

“John Harbet was giving you instructions. You were going to him for advice. He knew all about Evaline Harris. When he first started looking for Amelia, the trail led to you. While he was giving you the once-over, he hung around the Blue Cave. He was friendly with Evaline. He worked with her, coaching her and giving her instructions on what she was to do in Oakview.”

She said, in a dull, mechanical voice, “That’s a lie.”

“No, it isn’t a lie. It’s the truth. It can be proved. Now then, when Evaline Harris left that back trail by putting in a claim with the railroad company for her damaged trunk, Harbet blew up. That was when Evaline Harris tried to cut herself in on the deal. She wanted some coin to keep from talking — and that’s why she was found strangled in bed. Now then, Flo Danzer, it’s your move.”

She came towards me. “Damn you, get out of here, or I’ll claw your eyes out. I’ll scratch your face. I’ll—”

Bertha Cool’s big arm swung around like a pile driver. She caught a fistful of Flo’s hair, jerked her head back, and said, “Shut up, or I’ll knock your teeth down your throat. Sit down in that chair and stay there. That’s better.”

Bertha Cool relaxed her hold on the woman’s hair.

For a moment they glowered at each other, Bertha Cool towering over the woman in the chair. Then Bertha said, “I can be just as tough as you are. You’ve had a background which gives you a strong stomach, but you haven’t seen anything yet. I’m really hard.”

Flo Danzer said, “It’s a damn lie, but it makes a good story. I suppose it’s a shakedown. What do you want?”

Bertha Cool said, “Don’t go near Santa Carlotta. Don’t have anything—”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “That Santa Carlotta business is out anyhow. We’d show her up for an impostor within five minutes after she made the claim. What we want right now is to clean up this murder.”