Say Yes to Murder - Todhunter Ballard (book club recommendations .TXT) 📗

been more surprised if Shakespeare had suddenly entered the apartment, but he hid whatever nervousness he felt with a grin.

“Hello, Floyd. The world is certainly democratic now. You never know when you’ll run into a cop.”

Detective Captain Floyd Spellman grunted. His surprise at seeing Lennox was so obvious it was comical. “So you’re the body?”

“Body?” said Lennox, and managed to raise his eyebrows. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but hardly a corpse as yet. Why? Are you looking for one?”

The second man was Stobert. He had a long narrow face with a bulging forehead so that his eyebrows sheltered the pockets of his eyes like coral reefs guarding the entrance to a lagoon.

He snickered loudly. “Little early to start your night work, isn’t it, Bill?”

Lennox said with dignity: “I don’t work by a time clock, Stobert. I’ve graduated into the executive class. Find the boys a drink, can you, honey?”

The girl looked startled, then moved to a small barrette and produced glasses and a bottle. “We’re out of soda. You forgot to bring some.” She had picked up the cue neatly—too neatly, Lennox thought, for he had seen the quick glance which passed between the homicide men.

It would be all over town tomorrow. William Lennox had a new girl. If you want to publicize anything tell a policeman.

He said: “Plain water will do,” and she went into the kitchenette.

Lennox motioned Spellman to a seat. Stobert had already taken one unasked. “What’s this about a body?” Lennox asked idly.

Spellman removed his hat for the first time since entering the apartment and wiped his forehead with a gaily colored handkerchief.

Lennox looked at it and said: “My, my.”

“From my wife’s aunt.” Spellman sounded apologetic. “That’s a hell of a thing to blow your nose on.”

The girl came back with a water carafe and some ice, and Lennox fixed the drinks.

“What about this body?” he repeated his question.

Spellman said: “Must be some mistake. Woman called in half an hour ago and said a man had been murdered up here. We’ll have to look around.”

Lennox caught the girl’s eyes and looked quickly away. “Must be a friend checking up on me.” He winked at Spellman.

The detective captain said: “I shouldn’t be doing this in working, hours,” and drained the glass. “Have a look around, Stobert.”

Stobert went into the bedroom. After a few minutes they heard the faint sound of a flushing toilet. Spellman looked away, trying not to be embarrassed. Stobert reappeared.

“Nothing here. We’d better check the other apartments on the floor. Maybe they got the number wrong.”

Spellman apologized, and went out.

The girl said tensely: “Of all the stupid….”

Lennox shook his head. “You’re making the mistake he expects everyone to. That isn’t stupidity. It’s an act. If they come smarter than he is I don’t want to meet them.”

She smiled. “Anyhow the lipstick on your cheek looks convincing and they’ve gone.”

He was talking to himself. “I hope none of the other tenants saw us carry out that case. If they did, Floyd will probably be back.”

But Spellman did not come back. Lennox waited twenty minutes to be sure, then he told her: “Forget it ever happened, and get out of town.”

3.

There was no police car before the building, and he breathed easier. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find Spellman waiting for him outside. He went around the corner, pulled out the car keys he had rescued from Leon Heyworth’s pocket, and let himself into the Cadillac sedan. He was taking a chance in moving the car, but he dared not leave it where it was.

He went up Nichols Canyon rather than Laurel, since he was less likely to pass anyone he knew, and followed the curves of Mulholland around to the rear of Heyworth’s place.

Below the property was a narrow fire-break road, used only by the rangers. A car might be hidden there for ages. He stopped the Cadillac behind a screen of bushes, wiped the wheel clean, and started down the path on foot.

It was a longer walk than he had taken for ages. The reflected sun still reddened the western sky, and at a long distance Catalina made a dark shape in the even sea. Lennox enjoyed himself on the walk. I should, he thought, exercise with regularity. It stimulates the brain.

But why stimulate something which you so seldom use? You certainly did not use it this afternoon. He found that he was speaking aloud, and laughed shortly to himself. The walk had given him a joy in living which he had not experienced in months. It had seemed so smart to move the body, so simple. But he realized that he stood a good chance of landing in the middle of a mess which was not of his own making, and he was swearing to himself as he paid off his cab in front of Sardi’s and went into the restaurant.

The waiter brought him a Scotch out of long experience, brought him three more, and he had just finished the last one when Nancy Hobbs paused beside his booth. Her voice was squeaky with excitement. “Bill! Leon Heyworth’s been murdered.”

“Yes,” he said without thinking. “I know.”

“You know…” the girl’s surprise was an obvious thing. It Bat like an unbecoming mask. “You know, but how?”

He’d been caught up by his straying, unguarded thoughts. It angered him that he should make such a slip. “I… I saw the headlines.”

She sat down facing him, slowly, as if her legs were no longer capable of bearing up her weight. “It’s not in the papers, Bill. No one knows it, no one but Heyworth’s houseboy. He found the body not fifteen minutes ago and called my boy. They’re friends. He didn’t know what to do. I told him to call the police, then I came hunting you.” Her eyes looked like deep brown pools of thought, worried, uncertain, ready to be hurt.

He said: “Wait, honey. I may know about it, but I didn’t kill him.” Nancy Hobbs breathed deeply. “Bill… I… who did kill him? How did you know that he was dead?”

He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. I knew that he was dead, that’s all.”

Suddenly she was remembering their luncheon conversation. “Was it that Jeffries girl?”

“No,” he said, and he hoped that he was telling the truth. “Come on, eat something. I’ll order.”

“I couldn’t eat.”

Lennox looked at the girl in concern. “You could double for a ghost. Get this chop inside of you and smile, then we’ll get out of here.”

She managed to eat a little of the chop and played with the salad. Watching her he thought, This is what happens to my friends. She’s worried about me. She oughtn’t to be here. She belongs a long way away where life is real. She should be married with a home and kids. But suddenly he knew that he didn’t want her married. She was his pal, the only person he could run to, the only escape which the whole town offered. Life, he thought, as they rose and moved slowly toward the door, is so damned complicated.

Outside they paused to look up and down the crowded sidewalk. This wasn’t Hollywood. This was any main street of any village of America. Hollywood wasn’t a town at all, it was a state of mind.

Nancy said: “Bill, aren’t you going to tell me about Heyworth?”

He hesitated. He hadn’t intended to tell anyone. He said: “There isn’t much to the story. I went up to see the Jeffries girl and Heyworth was there—under the bed.”

He heard Nancy catch her breath. “Under her bed? You mean he was dead then?”

Lennox nodded. “He’d been that way for several hours. The kid claimed she wasn’t there when it happened. She told me she spent the night at a friend’s house. I believed her, so I called Jake and had him take the body home.”

“Bill, you fool! You didn’t.”

He said defensively: “But I did. Why not?”

“Don’t you know that made you an accessory?”

He moved his shoulders beneath the soft brown topcoat. “I’ve been worse.”

“But to take a chance for a girl you don’t even know…. What’s she look like?”

He felt his ears get red. “Just like any other girl. My God, you aren’t jealous?”

“You ape,” she said. “I’ve always been jealous.”

He said: “No. What the hell difference does it make to Spellman whether the body is in Jeffries’ apartment or in Heyworth’s own garden? They never solve a Hollywood murder, anyway. All they hope for is a lot of space on page one. And I’m not going to have Mary Morris crucified to make a Roman holiday for the Los Angeles police department.”

She said in a changed voice: “I’d forgotten about her.”

“I haven’t,” Lennox said. “She’s swell. I saw her play in the jerk town where I was born. After I went to Chi I met her, and I knew her well for three or four years. She never did a dirty thing in her life. She’s worked hard and played the cards from the top of the deck, and she’s not going to be dragged into this, mess if they toss me in Folsom and throw the key away.”

Nancy was no longer arguing. “You’re a fraud,” she told him. “And to think you fooled me for years.”

The softness went out of his voice. “Don’t let it throw you. Just because I’d give Mary a break is no reason why I’d play a sucker role for anyone else. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

The house in which Nancy had established herself was not far from the apartment on Franklin where Heyworth had met his death. Lennox waited until the girl had gone inside, then he gave the driver Jean Jeffries’ address.

4.

Nothing was altered in the white and gold room, and again he had the feeling that it was for show—not for living. He wondered how long the girl had occupied the suite. Usually people managed to inject part of their personality into a home, even a furnished apartment.

But there was nothing here—no photographs, no magazines tossed carelessly about. He came in and put his hat and coat across the end of the divan. Now that he had come, he was at a loss for something to say.

“They found the body,” he told her. “I think everything will be all right as long as we keep our mouths shut.”

Her eyes fluttered nervously. “You really think so? Or are you saying that to make me feel easier?”

“I really mean it. Jake won’t talk. Certainly I won’t. And you?”

“But what about Kitty Foster?” she asked. “She knew I was with Leon.”

Lennox swore under his breath. He’d forgotten about Kitty Foster. “I’ll bet,” he said softly, “that it was she who tipped off the police this afternoon.” He pondered over this, frowning, considering what this might mean.

The knock startled him and he looked up quickly. “Expecting company?”

She said: “No,” rather hastily. “I think it’s the apartment manager. I complained about one of the faucets in the bath.”

She went to the door and returned, trailed by a tall thin man. The top of his head was almost bald, while his chin and upper lip were shielded by mustaches and a pointed beard. It was as if he were battling nature. Since he could obviously not grow an allotted amount of hair on his head, he had compromised on his chin. He looked perhaps sixty, but his eyes were younger.

He smiled when the girl introduced him. “Mr. Boren,” she said. “He’s the owner of the building. This is Mr. Lennox.”

Boren said in an eager voice: “Not Mr. William Lennox