Black Mask (Vol. 29, No. 3 — January 1947)

Chapter Three Corpses, Corpses, Pretty Little Corpses

I trotted out to my car, feeling I’d been had. What kind of routine was this? Only one thing was clear to me. I could see now why Clark wanted a murderer found — before his letter turned up. But why hadn’t he told me about it? I wondered what I would do, if it developed my client had killed his ex-wife.

It looked as though the best move I could make in Clark’s interest would be in the direction of finding the letter before the police did. So I drove to the Outpost and added housebreaking to a growing list of minor crimes I have committed in the line of duty. It was a good night for it.

Like most hillside homes, Maxine’s was built upside down, the bedrooms being below the main floor. I found a back window unlocked and eased into what must have been a guest room — it was unfurnished. I explored until my flashlight found a room with a bed in it. That had to be the one I was looking for.

If she’d kept the letter at all, I reasoned, it would probably be somewhere around her bedroom — a dressing table drawer, or a hat box, anything she could stuff old letters in.

I wasn’t being particularly cautious, which makes a sucker out of my intuition. It cost me a lump on the head. When I stepped into Maxine’s bedroom, someone took a swipe at my skull. Fortunately, it was a glancing blow, but just the same it knocked me across the room. I hit the bed and kept going. There was room for me under the bed, and that’s where I got. Like the other man in a boudoir comedy.

For several minutes, the only thing I heard was the numb throbbing of my head. Then my chum moved. He came over to the bed to see if there was anything left of me. A board creaked by my hand.

It was my turn to get cute. Lunging out, I got both of his feet and heaved. He came down fighting, but I was on top. I hated to see him quit — I can’t slug an unconscious man.

I tossed him across the bed and felt around the room for my flash. When I illuminated his face, I was ashamed of myself. I had made an awful mess of what must have been a simply dreamy profile. The Wally Burke fan club would boycott me.

I lit a cigarette and sat down beside him to wait. Smearing glamor-pants hadn’t stopped my head from throbbing, but it made it endurable. While he was out, I went through his clothes and satisfied myself that he was unarmed.

His flashlight was on the floor. My head had put a dent in it — just call me Iron Skull Fowler.

He came to with a classic: “Where am I?”

I grabbed his collar and jerked him to the edge of the bed. He was comically terrified.

“What’s the idea of slugging me when I came in here?” I demanded.

“I... I didn’t know it was you.”

“You’re a little nervous, aren’t you? Who were you expecting?”

“No one. That’s why I...”

“Skip it. You’re just lucky you haven’t got a murder to answer for. Or doesn’t that make any difference to you?”

I had my flashlight in his face. He wasn’t having anything to say about my last question, so I asked him another: “Suppose you tell me what you were doing here. What did you want?”

He clammed.

“Now it couldn’t be,” I said, “that you were after Maxine’s diary?”

He didn’t comment, but I felt him stiffen inside his coat. I shook him. “No, you wouldn’t want the truth of the Zolta affair aired — even after all this time. It wouldn’t do to let a diary brand you as a murderer.”

He tried to squirm out. “That’s a lie! There isn’t anything like that in Maxine’s diary.”

“That’s what you think, buddy. I know better.”

“But there couldn’t be. She wasn’t within a mile of the accident,”

“Right,” I acknowledged, “but she had binoculars, didn’t she? She saw the whole thing.”

I shook him once more for luck, then let him wilt back on the bed, moaning it wasn’t true. I got disgusted. We weren’t getting anywhere.

“All right, shut up!” I told him. “If it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll admit I was lying about the diary. There isn’t a word in it about the Zolta accident. That’s what makes me think she saw you shoot him. She wouldn’t skip the whole thing unless she was protecting someone.”

I told him to relax, while I took a look around. We were leaving there together.

There wasn’t a word or a whimper out of him while I searched for Clark’s letter. If it was there, I satisfied myself, it would only be found by taking the house apart, plank at a time.

I took Burke out to his car, and handed him his flashlight. “Next time,” I advised, “pick a guy with a thin skull, and then start running like hell.”

My romp with “Kid” Burke had put an edge on my appetite. So I cleaned up at my apartment, then went down to Tip’s and put away a steak and some french fries.

Except for a headache, I was as good as new and ready to tackle Mr. Clark. I thought it Was time I heard about that letter from him, I called and got the office to come up.