Росс Макдональд - Meet Me at the Morgue

“Yes. Kerry Snow.”

“What happened to him?”

“He’s the one Fred ran down in February. These pictures were taken after his death.”

“He’s dead?”

“Your husband killed him. Did they know each other well?”

“I don’t think so. I hardly knew him at all. He came to our flat in Dago once or twice. Fred liked to be hospitable to the younger men. But that was way back in forty-five.”

“Has Fred been seeing him since then?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about Arthur Lemp?”

She answered, after a pause: “I never heard of him.”

“You’re sure?”

“Why should I be? You told me if I tell what I know, I go free.”

“One more question, Mrs. Miner. There’s a possibility that Fred took the boy into the desert. Where would he be likely to go in the desert?”

“I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry. Fred always hated the desert, it bothers his sinuses. When Mr. and Mrs. Johnson went to the desert, they always left Fred behind, after the first time.”

“Is that what they did in February?”

“Yes. Mrs. Johnson did the driving.”

“Speaking of Mrs. Johnson, how well did Fred know her?”

“She was a good friend of his, she always has been.”

“Did they see much of each other before Fred went to work for her?”

“Naturally they did. She was in charge of his ward in the Navy hospital. He was laid up with his back there for nearly a year.”

“Did they meet outside the hospital?”

“Not that I know of. Fred didn’t get out much, except for a few weekends towards the end.” She thrust her gray face forward between the bars. “I know what you’re hinting at. It isn’t true. Fred never messed with any other woman, let alone Mrs. Johnson. What are you trying to get at, anyway?”

I said I didn’t know, and asked the matron to let me out of there.

Forest was questioning Molly in Sam Dressen’s office. Their voices came low and monotonous through the closed door:

“Can you prove that you were in bed all morning?”

“There wasn’t anybody sitting there watching me.”

“Sleeping in is hardly an alibi.”

“It’s no crime.”

“Stabbing a man to death with an icepick is.”

“I don’t even own an icepick.”

I knocked on the door and handed Sam his photographs. Neither Forest nor Molly looked at me. They were absorbed in their question-and-answer game.

I had seen and heard enough of the girl for one night. She was my responsibility, in a sense. In a deeper sense, there was nothing I could do for her. Her life was running swiftly by its own momentum, streaking across the midnight like a falling star.

“Take good care of her, Sam,” I said out of a sense of inadequacy. Go and catch a falling star.

“The wife will look after her.”

“Tell Forest I’m waiting for him.”

Someone had abandoned a local newspaper on the bench at the end of the corridor. It carried no story on the kidnapping or the murder. One of the front-page items interested me, however. My matron had succumbed to her kleptomania once again. Out on bail, she had walked into a department store and stolen two bathing-suits, size nine.

I leaned my head back against the wall and lapsed into a coma approximating sleep. Forest’s quick footsteps aroused me. He sat down on the bench, looking as sharp and well groomed as he had that afternoon, but just a little white around the mouth.

“You’ve been doing some nice work, Cross. I had my doubts about your wild-goosing off by yourself, but you seem to have an instinct.”

“I know the local people. That always helps. Sam Dressen there, for example, is getting a little old and slow, but he’ll die trying.”

“I told him to get some rest. How did you happen to turn up the girl?”

“That story can wait. You talked to Bourke?”

“I did. What’s your opinion of him?”

“A sharp operator, but cautious.”

“You don’t think he could be the mastermind behind all this?”

“Not Bourke. He was too ready with his information, and it checked. I think Arthur Lemp plotted the kidnapping himself.” From my inside pocket, I produced the penciled envelope containing Lemp’s birth certificate. “This seems to be proof of it.”

Forest read the “timetable” aloud, punctuating the reading with an exclamatory whistle. “Miner’s definitely in it then. What’s this about taking the boy to the desert?”

“I can’t add anything to that. There’s a lot of desert in California.”

Forest thought in silence for a minute, biting the inside of his upper lip. “Lemp plotted the kidnapping, it would seem. He didn’t plot his own murder.”

“That seems to be a reasonable working-hypothesis.”

Forest smiled, rather grimly. “And it isn’t likely that Miner killed him. His assignment was to dispose of the boy. Certainly he’d get out of town before the ransom letter was delivered. A third member of the gang is indicated.”

“Or nonmember. Lemp was a very small-time criminal, until today. A big-time criminal, or an organized mob, may have got wind of his plan and decided to pluck the reward.”

Forest said, musingly: “Murder Incorporated favored the icepick m.o. But then, a number of private individuals have, too. Icepicks are too convenient. What do you think of the Fawn girl as a possibility? She was in a position, or could have been, to know what was going on.”

“It’s possible she did it. Not very probable, though. If she had fifty thousand dollars cached somewhere, she wouldn’t sit around and wait to be picked up.”

“If she was smart.”

“She isn’t. In her world, everyone’s either a victim or a victimizer. She’s a victim.”

“Worms can turn, littler fleas have littler fleas, and all that. She had reason to hate this Lemp, I understand, which gives her a double motive.”

“Frankly, I’m more interested in her husband – her ex-husband – Kerry Snow. I’ve established a connection between him and Miner. They served on the same Navy vessel during the war, and Snow and Miner were friendly acquaintances. I got that out of Mrs. Miner just now. So long as there was no connection, Miner could claim it was a hit-run accident. Not any more.”

“I had a feeling,” Forest said. “What ship were they on?”

“The Eureka Bay . Kerry Snow was ship’s photographer.”

“Damn my eyes!” He struck himself sharply on the scalp with his clenched fist, but in such a way as not to disturb the part. “I should have remembered the name of that ship from your report on Miner. We’ve got a record on Snow, you see. As soon as we ascertained his name, I teletyped Washington. Our Los Angeles office arrested him in January 1946. We turned him over to the Naval authorities as a deserter. They found him guilty on a desertion charge, and another charge of theft of Navy property. He served six years and four months in Portsmouth, and was released last spring.”

“Molly told me some of that.”

“Do you know who gave us the information that led to his arrest in 1946?”

“She mentioned a red-headed woman–”

“No, sir. Snow’s Los Angeles address was provided to us by Lieutenant (j.g.) Lawrence Seifel, then attached to the Eleventh Naval District in San Diego.”

“Are you certain?”

“There’s no mistake. His name is on file in the Los Angeles office. We keep fairly thorough records on our cases,” he said a little combatively. “What do you know about Seifel?”

“Not too much. He seems to be very intelligent, and very nervous. I should say, for the record, you haven’t seen him at his best today, he’s having private troubles of some kind. You did see him?”

“Naturally, as soon as his name turned up.”