A. Fair - The Bigger They Come

Bertha Cool said, ‘You know what I mean, dearie. Your brother murdered your husband,’ and then, as Sandra Birks started to say something, she turned to me and said, ‘Come on, Donald, let’s take a look through the other rooms. I suppose the police have messed things up like hell, but we’ll look around anyway.’

She started walking before she was finished talking. Her huge figure moved slowly and majestically through the door, and I followed along behind.

Sandra Birks was standing in the middle of the floor, her eyes clouded with thought.

‘You talked with Bleatie in the other bedroom, Donald?’ Bertha Cool asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Show me where it is.’

I detoured around her and took the lead. Sandra Birks remained in the bedroom with the twin beds. When I had opened the door to Bleatie’s room, Bertha Cool said, ‘Not that I give a good God damn about what’s in here, Donald, my love, I’m just giving her time to realize the possibilities of the situation.’

‘You think she wants to protect Alma Hunter?’ I asked.

‘Of course, otherwise why did she want to have us on the job?’

‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘she’s already said too much to the police. They must have asked about her brother.’

‘Well, let’s hope it’s nothing she can’t lie out of afterwards,’ Bertha Cool said. ‘She doesn’t impress me as being a particularly wide-open type. She’s secretive and furtive as hell. You ask her what the weather is, and she’ll find some way of avoiding the subject very tactfully, stopping just short of telling you whether it’s raining or sunny, hot or cold — so this is Bleatie’s room. Well, let’s take a look around.’

Bertha Cool started opening bureau drawers, making a quick mental inventory of the contents, and closing them again. Suddenly she swooped down on the interior of a drawer, and pulled out something bulky. ‘Now then,’ she said, ‘what the hell is this?’

‘Looks like a cloth life preserver,’ I said.

‘Straps on the back,’ she mused. ‘I have it, Donald. There was something wrong about Bleatie’s figure. Remember that watermelon stomach he had — not watermelon exactly, sort of a cantaloupe stomach?

‘Well, Morgan Birks didn’t. Morgan Birks was slender. He had a dimple where his stomach should have been. This was the gadget Morgan Birks put on when he wanted to become Bleatie.’

I looked it over. That’s what it was, all right.

Bertha Cool calmly rolled it up and said, ‘See if you can find me a newspaper somewhere, Donald, my love. We’ll just take this God damn thing away with us. It doesn’t need to figure in the case at all.’

There was no newspaper there in the room. I walked out into the living room and met Sandra Birks coming from the other bedroom. ‘Where’s Mrs. Cool?’ she asked.

I indicated the bedroom, and Sandra walked on past me. There was a newspaper on the table, lying on top of the pile of magazines. I picked it up, spread it out so it was flat on the table and then waited for a couple of minutes before I walked back to the bedroom and said, ‘I’ll fix it.’

Bertha Cool and Sandra were facing each other. I heard Mrs. Cool say, ‘Don’t tell me anything, dearie, until you’ve had a chance to think it all out. You’re all nervous and upset. Keep your trap closed until you’ve thought it out carefully, and then we’ll talk about dough.’

‘I’ve thought it out,’ Sandra said.

Mrs. Cool handed me the cloth padding, and said, ‘Wrap it up, Donald. Tie it good and tight, and then bring it back.’

I took plenty of time wrapping the bundle. I made a good job of it. I found some string in a drawer in the kitchenette and put in lots of knots. I’d just finished tying it when imperative knuckles banged on the door and a voice said, ‘Open up.’

I left the package on the table, put my hat over it, and called to Sandra Birks, ‘There’s someone at the door.’

She walked from Bleatie’s room to the door of the apartment. The man on the outside was pounding on the panels again before she had the door open.

Two plain-clothes men pushed into the room. One said, ‘Okay, sister, the jig’s up.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

‘The gun that killed Morgan Birks was the gun that killed Johnny Meyer, and Johnny Meyer, just in case you don’t know it, was the Kansas City detective who had been working on the organized rackets. He was to go before the grand jury and blow the lid off. He never got there. He was last seen alive with a good-looking frail. He was found the next morning with three slugs in his chest. The K. C. police broadcast photomicrographs of the bullets, and warned all police officers to be on the lookout for the gun.

‘Now then, sister, suppose you start talking.’

Sandra Birks stood very straight, very white, and very frightened.

Bertha Cool came out from Bleatie’s bedroom. The second plain-clothes man said to Sandra, ‘Who are these people?’

‘We’re detectives,’ Bertha Cool said.

‘You’re what?’

‘Detectives.’

The man laughed.

Bertha Cool said, ‘Private detectives, investigating this thing at Mrs. Birks’ request.’

‘Get out,’ the officer ordered.

Bertha Cool settled herself complacently in a chair. ‘Throw me out,’ she invited.

I glanced significantly at my hat and the newspaper package on the table. ‘I’ll leave,’ I said.

Bertha Cool caught my eye as I picked up my hat and the newspaper-wrapped package.

‘I’m within my rights,’ she said. ‘If you want to arrest Mrs. Birks, go ahead. If you want to talk with her, go ahead. But I’m here, and I’m going to stay here.’

‘You just think you’re going to stay here,’ the officer roared, pushing toward her belligerently.

Sandra Birks silently held the door open for me. As the two officers converged on Bertha Cool, I slipped out into the corridor. I didn’t dare wait for the elevator. I sprinted for the stairs, and went down them two at a time. I slowed down halfway down the last flight, walked casually across the lobby as though I had a bundle of laundry with me, and gained the sidewalk. The police car was parked in front of the place.

An attendant was commencing to move automobiles out of the apartment house garage and park them at the curb. I picked a prosperous-looking machine on the theory that the owner would be sleeping late, climbed in and sat down, leaving the package on the seat beside me.

Bertha Cool came marching majestically out of the apartment house, looked up and down the street, and then started toward the corner. She didn’t see me in the automobile as she walked past. I let her go. After she’d walked another fifty feet I could pick her up in the rear-view mirror of the automobile. Apparently she was puzzled by my complete disappearance. She stopped twice before she got to the corner, looking around inquiringly. At the corner, she turned left. I couldn’t tell whether she had headed for the better-traveled streets, looking for a taxicab, or whether she was still looking for me. I didn’t dare to turn around. I kept slouched in the seat, glancing in the rear-view mirror occasionally, but keeping my attention focused on the entrance of the apartment house.

After a while the two plain-clothes officers came out. Sandra Birks wasn’t with them. They stood for a moment talking. Then they got in the car and drove away.

I picked up my newspaper package, slid out of the automobile, and walked rapidly toward the apartment house. A big refuse can had been dragged out by the janitor and was placed near the curb. I opened the lid and dropped my package into the can, replaced the lid, and went directly to Sandra Birks’ apartment. She didn’t open the door until I’d knocked twice. She hadn’t been crying, but her eyes were dark and her cheeks seemed to be all caved in. Her mouth looked drawn and hard. She said, ‘You!’