Росс Макдональд - The Name is Archer

“Thank you.”

“Not at all.”

I called the hotel switchboard and asked for Harlan.

“Who is speaking, please?” the operator yodeled.

“Lister. Leonard Lister.”

“One moment, Mr. Lister, I’ll ring Mr. Harlan’s room. He’s expecting you.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll just go up. What was the number again?”

“Three-fourteen, sir.”

I took the elevator to the third floor. The elevator boy noticed my face, opened his mouth to comment, caught my eye, and shut his mouth without speaking. Harlan’s room was at the front of the hotel, in a good location. I knocked.

“Is that you, Leonard?”

“Uh-huh.”

Harlan opened the door, and I crowded through. He raised his fists together in front of his chest, like a woman. Looking at me as if he hated me, he said:

“Come in, Mr. Archer.”

“I’m in.”

“Sit down then. I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting to see you again. So soon,” he added. “There hasn’t been any trouble?”

“No trouble. Just the same routine murder.”

“But it was an accident–”

“Maybe the fall downstairs was an accident. I don’t think that fall killed her. There are thumbprints on her throat.”

“But this is all news to me. Do sit down, Mr. Archer, won’t you?”

“I’ll stand. In the second place, your sister wrote a prayer in the dust in that house. She was alive when Lister took her there. In the third place, you just bought tickets to Chicago, and you’re expecting another visit from Lister. Aren’t you getting pretty cozy with him?”

“He’s my brother-in-law, after all.” His voice was bland.

“And you’re very fond of him, eh?”

“Leonard has his points.”

He sat down in an armchair by the window. Past his narrow cormorant skull I could see the sky and the sea, wide and candid, flecked with the white purity of sails. I spent too much of my time trying to question liars in rented rooms.

“I think he’s your partner in crime. You both stand to gain by your sister’s death. From what I’ve seen of the two of you, you’re capable of murdering for gain.”

“You’ve changed your mind about Lister, eh?”

“Not as much as you have.”

Harlan made his hands flop in the air. “My dear good fellow, you couldn’t possibly be further wrong. Even apart from the money I’ve paid you, I do earnestly hope for your sake that you won’t act on your ridiculous theory. In the first place,” he mimicked me, “if I were in league with Lister, I wouldn’t have sought your help yesterday, would I?”

“You must have had a reason. I don’t see it, though.”

“I came to you in all sincerity. But now I know more about the situation. I tell you in all sincerity that if Lister had killed my sister I’d hunt him down to the ends of the earth. You don’t know me.”

“What about the plane tickets?”

“You’ve made a mistake. I bought no tickets, and if I had it’s no concern of yours. Look here.” He showed me the return half of a round-trip ticket between Los Angeles and Chicago. “You see, I’m flying home to Chicago tomorrow, by myself.”

“Mission accomplished?”

“Deuce take you!” They were the strongest words I’d heard him use. He rose and came towards me. “Get out of my room now. I’m sick of the sight of you.”

“I’m staying.”

“I’ll call the house detective.”

“Hell, call the police.”

He went to the room telephone and lifted the receiver. I stood and watched his bluff fade into nothing. He put the receiver down. I sat in the armchair he had vacated, and he went into the bathroom. I heard him in there retching. He had meant it literally when he said I made him sick.

The phone rang after a while, and I answered it. A woman’s voice said: “Reggie? I’m calling from a drugstore. May we come to your room? Leonard thinks it would be safer.”

“Naturally,” I said in a higher voice than my own.

“Did you get the tickets?”

“Absolutely.”

The bathroom door had opened. Harlan flung himself on my back. I hung up carefully before I turned on him. He fought with his nails and his teeth. I had to quiet him the hard way, with my left fist. I dragged him into the bathroom and shut the door on him.

Then I sat on the bed and looked at the telephone. Lister had a woman with him, and she knew Harlan. She knew Harlan well enough to call him Reggie, and Reggie had bought plane tickets for her and Lister. With a wrench that shook me down to my heels, the entire case turned over in my head and lodged at a crazy angle. Over its tilted edge, I saw Dolphine’s moon-dead face, and the faceless face of the woman who had left him.

I found his name again in the directory. His telephone rang six times, and then his voice came dimly over the wires:

“Jack Dolphine speaking.”

I said bluntly, to keep him from hanging up: “Mrs. Dolphine has left you, I understand.”

“What’s that? Who is this?”

“The private cop you talked to this morning, about the Lister case. It’s turned into a murder case.”

“Murder? How does Stella come into it?”

“That’s the question, Mr. Dolphine. Is she there?”

There was a long silence, ending in a “No,” that was almost as soft as silence.

“When did she leave?”

“I told you. Last night. Anyway she was gone when I got up this morning.” Self-pity or some other emotion rose audibly in his throat. “This murder, you don’t mean Stella?” The emotion choked him.

“Pull yourself together. Did your wife really leave with Lister?”

“Far as I know. Did he kill her? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“I’m not trying to tell you anything. I have a corpse on my hands. You should be able to identify it.”

“You put the arm on Lister?” He sounded very eager.

“Not yet. I’m going to shortly.”

“Don’t let him go, whatever you do. He’s a dangerous man. He killed her, I know he killed her.”

He was choking up again. I said sharply:

“How do you know?”

“He threatened to. I heard them talking before he went east, a couple of weeks ago. They were quarreling back and forth in his studio, yelling at each other like wild animals. She wanted to marry him, divorce me and go off with him. He said he was going to marry another woman, a woman he really loved. She said she wouldn’t let him. And he told her if she interfered, he’d strangle her with his hands.”

“Will you swear to that?”

“I’ll swear to it. It’s the truth.” His voice dropped. “Did he strangle her?”

“A woman’s dead. I don’t know who she is, until I get her identified. I’m in Santa Monica, at the Oceano Hotel. Can you come here now?”

“I guess so. I know where it is. Is Stella there?”

There was a flurry of footsteps in the hall.

“Maybe she soon will be. Make it as quick as you can, and come right up. I’m in room three-fourteen.”

Somebody knocked on the hall door. I hung up, took my revolver out, and carried it to the door, which I swung wide. Lister was surprised to see me. His eyes bulged in their white rings. His right hand started a movement, which the woman beside him interrupted. She wrapped both arms around his arm, and hung her weight on him:

“Please, Leonard, no more violence. I couldn’t bear any more violence.”

But there had been violence, and she had borne it. Its marks were on her face. One of her eyes had been blackened, one cheek was ridged diagonally with deep scratches. Otherwise she was a handsome woman of thirty or so, tall and slender-hipped in a tailored suit. A new-looking hat sat smartly on her dark head. But her single usable eye was glaring in desperation: