Erle Gardner - Erle Stanley Gardner’s The Case of the Murderer’s Bride and Other Stories

He drove skillfully with his left hand, his right on the back of the seat, the blackjack ready. The glint in his eyes told Peggy he was, as he had said, cold as a cucumber when he was on a business deal.

Slim tooled the car along until they glided to the curb in front of an apartment house a block from Adams and Elmore.

“Just sit still,” Slim cautioned.

The other car parked behind them. Peggy saw Butch escorting Bill Everett, saw that Bill was talking volubly, rapidly, that Butch wasn’t even listening.

A third man came up to address Slim briefly. “I’ll go ahead and make sure the coast is clear,” he said. “Wait for my flash.”

“Okay,” Slim said.

Bill and Butch moved into the apartment house. A light came on in a ground-floor window. The curtain was promptly drawn, shutting off the light.

A few seconds later a flashlight blinked twice.

“Okay, babe,” Slim said. “Let’s go.”

He reached across her. opened the door, and shoved her out. She looked desperately up and down the deserted street.

Slim’s hand moved deftly down her arm, caught her wrist, doubled it back until excruciating pain caused her to take a step forward to ease the pressure.

Slim stepped forward with her. The pressure remained the same.

Peggy tried to scream, but only a little whimpering noise came from behind the adhesive tape. In the end she was all but running, trying to keep just enough ahead of Slim to ease the pressure on her wrist.

She was hurried along a dark corridor. The third man, who had evidently been driving the other car, jerked open a door. Peggy was pushed inside.

Slim tossed her purse at Butch. “Catch,” he said.

Butch opened her purse and examined her driving license and identification.

“Honest, Butch,” Bill said, “this is a new one on me. She made contact and—”

Butch looked up from Peggy’s driving license. “Shut him up, Slim.”

“Okay,” Slim said, moving forward.

Bill said, “No, no, I am on the level with this. She—”

Slim swung the blackjack with the deft wrist motion. The peculiar thunk sounded as though someone had slapped an open palm against a ripe watermelon. Bill turned glassy-eyed, his head dropped forward, he slumped down in the chair, and then, with fear in his eyes he held onto a thin margin of consciousness.

“No, no,” he screamed. “You guys aren’t going to do that to me!”

The peculiar thunk was repeated.

Butch didn’t even glance at Bill. He looked at Peggy and said, “So you’re from the insurance company that has the two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar policy on the Garrison gems.”

Peggy pointed toward the strip of adhesive tape on her lips.

“You don’t need to have that off to nod,” Butch said, his eyes cold.

She remained stiff-necked, defiant. Butch jerked his head, and Slim moved over beside her.

“When I ask questions,” Butch said, “I want you to answer them. Slim plays rough, and he doesn’t have any more feeling about women than a snake. Now, as I get it, you work for the insurance company, and Bill was making a deal with you to turn back the gems provided you could buy him immunity and pay him maybe thirty or forty thousand bucks. Is that the case?”

She shook her head.

“Soften her up, Slim,” Butch said. “She’s lying.”

Slim tapped the back of her neck with the blackjack. It was only a gentle tap, but it sent a sharp pain shooting through Peggy’s brain. She saw a succession of bright flashes in front of her eyes and felt a numbing paralysis that gradually gave place to a dull throbbing ache.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” Butch said.

She took a deep breath, fought back the nauseating headache, then shook her head determinedly.

Slim cocked his wrist and then held it at a sign from Butch, whose slightly puzzled eyes held a glint of admiration. “Damn it,” he said, “the babe’s got nerve!”

Butch turned to regard the unconscious Bill. Then he said, “When he comes back to join us we’ll ask him some questions. I sure had a straight tip that Bill was in on a sellout, and — hell, it has to be true.”

“Want me to take the tape off?” Slim asked.

“Not yet.” Butch said. “We’ve got all night. We—”

There was a peculiar sound at the door of the apartment, a rustling noise as though garments were brushing against it.

Butch looked at Slim who moved toward the door. His right hand streaked for the left lapel of his coat, but the blackjack that was looped around the wrist impeded the motion. The door banged open explosively, hitting the wall.

Detective Fred Nelson, looking over the sights of a .38, sized up the situation. “Okay, you punks,” he said, “that’ll be about all.”

He looked at Peggy, sitting there with the strip of tape across her lips. “I guess this time you were on the up and up,” he said. “You got sore and wouldn’t tell me where Bill Everett was living, but it happened one of the boys had done a routine check job on him because he is an ex-con.

“Now you guys line up against that wall, and keep your hands up. You can spend the night in a cell or on a marble slab, and it don’t make a damn bit of difference to me which it is.”

Peggy sat in Detective Fred Nelson’s office. Police Captain Farwell, whose eyes made no attempt to conceal respectful admiration, sat at one end of the big table. Don Kimberly sat at the other end. Nelson asked the questions.

Peggy felt like a tightrope walker, giving them step-by-step conclusions to get Kimberly off the hook of the murder charge; but she was faced with the necessity of glossing over certain clues that she and Kimberly had suppressed and of minimizing the clues Nelson had overlooked. There was no use in making Nelson look dumb before his superior.

“A woman,” Peggy explained, “naturally notices certain things a man would never see.”

“What things?” Nelson asked.

“Well, for instance, a matter of housekeeping.”

“Go ahead,” the Captain said.

“Well,” Peggy went on, choosing her words carefully, “you have to put yourself in the position of a murderer in order to understand how a murder is committed.”

Captain Farwell glanced at Detective Nelson. “It isn’t going to hurt you to listen to this with both ears.” he said.

Peggy said, “Let’s suppose I wanted to murder Stella Lynn by giving her a drink of poisoned whiskey. I’d have to make certain she drank the whiskey and I didn’t. So I’d poison my bottle of liquor and then go call on Stella so I could get rid of her liquor.

“Now, Stella might be fresh out of whiskey, or she might have a bottle that was half full or she might have a full bottle. She was going out on a date. She wouldn’t want to drink too much, and, of course, I wouldn’t want to drink much because I couldn’t afford to be drunk.”

“So what would you do?” Nelson asked, his eyes still cautious.

“Why,” Peggy said, “I’d make it a point to smash her bottle of whiskey so I’d have a good excuse to go out and get another one to take its place. Then I’d want to be sure Stella was the only one who drank out of that new bottle.”

“Go ahead,” the Captain said.

“Well, if you dropped the bottle on the living-room carpet, or on the kitchen floor, which had linoleum, it might not break, and then your murder plan would be out the window. There was only one place you could drop it — on the bathroom tiles.

“A man would have a lot of trouble working out a scheme by which he could take the bottle of liquor Stella had, carry it into the bathroom, and drop it — without the whole business seeming very strange. But a woman could do it easily.