Shakedown (18 page)

Jefferson now, and I was heading toward the ocean. Cooler and the haze heavier. The Culver Boulevard intersection and I was careful to watch for traffic. It would be a hell of a time to crack up. The hills and the faint oil sump tinge in the damp air. Cutting up the grade leading to Vista Del Mar. I didn’t park in the same spot I had night before last. I cut down to a vacant lot about a block past where two other cars were parked.

A car parked alone attracts more attention from the suspicious than a car parked with others. Roland might not know my car, but I wasn’t sure of that and he might come by any route. There were no cars in front of the cottage. There were no houses that had a direct and close view of the cottage. It was now one-fifty-five. It had taken me thirty-five minutes to drive here. There was no possibility that Roland could be here yet.

I walked down openly and went to the side window and peered in. The door to the closet was open in this room, and I could see the clothes hanging there. I went around to the window that had been open last time I was here. It wasn’t unlocked now and neither were any of the others. And both doors had cylinder locks. I went over to the beach side of the house.

There I’d be protected from anybody corning along Vista Del Mar. I’d be out of view of any car coming from any of the possible directions. And there was a close, redwood latticework surrounding the incinerator on three sides. It was covered with ivy, flanked with geranium beds, perfectly designed for my purpose. It even held a box to sit on.

I didn’t smoke, and there was nothing to look at but the ivy and the geraniums. I sat and listened for the sound of the Cadillac. I checked my hole cards, the letter to Willi and the .38. I thought of possible allies, but there was only Josie Gonzales I could be sure of. Rodriguez had been a friend, but no cop can be a complete friend to me. Jean I wasn’t too sure of. Deutscher had never been a friend. Captain McGill, like the rest of his department, was too honest. The best friend I had was my gun.

Two o’clock, two-thirty. No sound but the surf and the steady beat of my heart. An hour and a half since Jean had called, but nothing to worry about—yet. I wanted a smoke, but the smoke would drift over the top of the latticework and I didn’t want that. I sat, staring at the ivy and the geraniums.

Three o’clock, and now I was beginning to worry. Could I have missed the sound of a car approaching? Or could Roland have noticed my Chev and gone right on to some other rendezvous? I was just about ready to step out for a look at the street when I heard the sound of a car.

I waited. It was coming down and my heart beat faster. Then the soft sound of the motor and suddenly it stopped. A few seconds and I heard the sound of a heavy car door being slammed.

Still I waited, shifting my gun from my shoulder holster to my right-hand jacket pocket. Much quieter than the slam of the car door was the closing of the front door of the house. I came out from the lattice cover and walked quietly through the sand to the small porch that served the front door. I didn’t knock. I wanted no warning of my approach. The knob turned in my hand and the door opened.

Roland had a very small alligator grip in his hand, and he was just setting it on the davenport. His back was to me. He hadn’t heard me come in, nor did he hear me close the door quietly behind me.

I said, “I suppose the money’s in the grip?”

He turned swiftly, shock visible in his distinguished face. He stared blankly, but only for seconds.

Then the con in him came to the surface. He smiled. “It is. You had to follow me, did you? You didn’t trust me?”

“I didn’t trust you. I want all of it, Roland.” I took the gun out.

He stared at it and then up at my face. “A gun? You knew I’d bring you your share of the money. Why the gun? You’d shoot me?”

“If you made a false move.”

He nodded, staring at me. “You would, wouldn’t you? That’s what happened to Deutscher, isn’t it? You killed him because you wanted it all, including his share.”

“I didn’t even know he was dead,” I said. “I don’t want any talk now, Roland. Don’t try and bury me in words.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “You killed Deutscher. That’s why he’s missing. He’s probably at home, dead.”

“Leave the grip right there on the davenport,” I said, “and then walk over and stand against that wall with your arms stretched out along the wall.”

A few seconds more he stared, and then he went over to do what I’d told him, never taking his eyes off me. And I didn’t take mine off him as I picked up the grip from the davenport and backed toward the door.

“You’re a fool,” he said. “I never offered you any resistance. I was willing to pay the blackmail. There was no reason for the gun. Didn’t I agree to pay you the blackmail?”

“Shut up,” I said. Blackmail, what kind of talk was that? Had the guy gone off his nut? I said, “I want all this money and I want to be damned sure I get it. That’s why I brought the gun.”

I thought for a second I heard a sound in the kitchen, but there was nobody in sight there. I backed out the door into the open air. I moved fast from there, sheathing the gun as soon as I got onto the porch. Nobody in sight. Lucky, lucky, lucky.… I hurried up the hill.

I came to the crest and saw my car in the lot below, and no sign of anybody, not even suspicious neighbors. I took a deep breath and moved quickly down the slope to the car. I opened the door on the driver’s side and a man straightened up from where he’d been crouching in the seat. He had a gun in his hand and it was pointing at me.

Manny Rodriguez. An unholy smile on his olive face. “The boys could have caught you in the house, Joe, but we were afraid you might shoot with “that gun in your hand. You’re under arrest.”

“Don’t be stupid, Manny,” I said. “What’s the charge?”

“There’ll be a lot of them, before we get through,” he said. “As soon as we find the corpse, there’ll be a suspicion of murder as the top charge.”

Trapped. Framed, but how and
why?
For a second I thought of running. For just a second, until I saw the Department car sliding into the parking space.

Sitting there, in the clink, I tried to figure it. Jean must have tipped off the law, but why? Not a damned bit of it made sense, unless I’d been framed by the Rolands. And they had no reason to frame me.

All the big con trappings had been there: Jean building up suspicion between me and her dad, as the inside man always built up suspicion of the roper in the mark’s mind. They’d been conning Willi and me at the same time, but what had they gained? Con men don’t work for nothing. And this would blow up the Clifford pitch sky-high.

I went back over it, step by step. That I had been framed into doing these things I’d done was clear enough. And I’d been framed by the Rolands. Sitting there, in the stink of insecticide, stale sweat and dust, I realized that I had been a perfect mark, full of larceny, and I had been manipulated all the way. Only a master confidence man could have staged anything this theatrical and foolproof.

And Jean using her body to divert my suspicions, to keep me lulled. Little Phil must have been on their team. Looking at it now, I realized his name should have been the tip-off. That’s a con man’s handle. He was probably a retired master. An old friend of Roland’s probably. I guessed that then, and learned it was true later.

But what did he have to gain, along with the Rolands? He’d lied about Rickett, which would never be proved, but I knew it now. Getting Rickett into a reckless frame of mind so he would have guts enough to do what he wanted to do, kill Target, who was probably milking him.

And then the pattern of it began to come to me. This thing had been staged to satisfy some madman’s lust for justice. All the people who had contrived to kill and defame the memory of Bea Condor were involved in this last case, and they were all in trouble. Or dead. Deutscher, Target, Rickett, Jennings, and yours truly.

But not Josie Gonzales, not yet.

So, it still didn’t figure. I couldn’t see a con man and his tramp of a daughter framing and manipulating people for some stupid ideal of justice. That didn’t add. There wasn’t a dollar in it for them. But what else was there to see?
Think,
I told myself,
you’ve never been in a hotter spot in your life.
I had better count my aces: my next play could be my last.

I wasn’t lost. I’d be damned if I was lost. I had the letter to Willi, which they’d relieved me of. I had the letter they’d find in Deutscher’s apartment. The letter made a beautiful case for me, the letter to Willi. It explained everything.

I took a deep breath and actually smiled. I was ready for the turnkey now. Sure, Roland had set up an elaborate theatrical frame to snare me. But the frame itself was going to clear me with that letter I’d written to Willi Clifford. That gave the letter meaning. And wouldn’t I put Roland and his tramp daughter in the soup with that?

I figured what I’d tell them. How I’d doubted from the beginning that the Nevada Investment Company was a legitimate concern, how I’d investigated and learned they were a confidence ring which included Deutscher. How I pretended to play along in order to get the evidence I needed in a court of law; how I’d written to Willi, but had to rush to save her money and hadn’t had time to mail the letter.

A turnkey didn’t come but Rodriguez did. About seven hours after I’d been picked up. I told him, “I want to speak to McGill as soon as possible.”

“What a coincidence,” he said. “He wants to talk to you too.”

He was smiling, and I asked him, “How’s your jaw?”

“It works. We had to get some material together. That’s why we didn’t get to you sooner. Were you planning a trip, Joe?”

“Mmm-hmmm. But tomorrow will be just as good, get an early start in the morning. Or maybe late tonight, get through the desert while it’s cool.”

“Let’s go,” he said. “The Captain’s waiting.” McGill sat in his office alone, behind the desk. He looked tired and sad and ugly. He nodded to the chair in front of his desk and I took it. Rodriguez stood somewhere behind me. McGill said, “We found Deutscher’s body. We’d overlooked the obvious, hadn’t we, Puma? You gave us the tip when you talked about the house to Roland.”

“Body?” I asked. “Is Deutscher dead?”

Behind me, Rodriguez said, “I’d be glad to get him into a more sensible frame of mind for you, Captain. The guy’s a pathological bar.”

McGill made a weary gesture with his hand. “The Department has never found brutality effective or humane, Sergeant. I don’t want to hear any more about that. We’ve got Joe cold.”

”For what?” I asked.

“Well get to that,” he said. “Let’s hear your story first, Joe.”

I said, “I was merely protecting an innocent girl from a gang of confidence men.”

McGill shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that. Is that what you were trying to prove in that letter to a Miss Clifford?” I nodded.

“Miss Clifford has no complaint to make. “She said you were trying to blackmail the Rolands.”

That’s why Roland had used the word “blackmail” in the showdown. Smooth bastard, knowing the law was listening. I said, “A hundred and forty thousand dollars in blackmail? He would have something to hide, wouldn’t he?”

“There was no money in the grip, Joe. Let’s have your story right from the beginning.”

I gave him the whole deal, leaving out the trip to Deutscher’s, the important trip to Deutscher’s, and framing it all to make it sound as though I’d been thinking of Willi Clifford’s protection throughout.

When I’d finished McGill asked, “What made you think Miss Clifford would have a hundred and forty thousand dollars?”

“Her family’s one of the biggest in America,” I said. “You’ve heard of the Cliffords, back east, haven’t you?”

“I’ve heard of them, but this girl isn’t one of them. She’s just a small contract player, making a hundred and fifty a week, a friend of Miss Roland’s.”

“So I’ve been conned,” I said. “That isn’t something you jail people for, is it?”

“No. You tried to blackmail Little Phil too, didn’t you? Didn’t he give you fifty dollars to lay off him?”

I shook my head. “Not a dime.”

Rodriguez chuckled, and McGill almost smiled as he looked at him. McGill said, “He gave you fifty dollars in marked money, Joe. We’ve picked up most of it. You see, we’ve had a man on you since you left the hospital, a purely precautionary measure.”

Little Phil, one of the team. Sure, the bastard, a con man. I took a deep breath.

McGill reached over and took something from a drawer and put it on the desk. It was the knife I’d killed Deutscher with.

He asked, “Ever see it before, Joe?”

I shook my head.

He said, “It’s been identified as yours. It was seen in a drawer of your bureau the day before Deutscher was killed with it.”

“By whom?” I asked.

“By Josie Gonzales, by Jean Roland. You sure tried to frame poor Josie, didn’t you, having her copy that letter you wrote out for her, taking her dress up to Deutscher’s with you.”

“That’s insane,” I said. “If she wrote a letter, it was no copy of anything I wrote.”

“We have your copy, Joe. She picked it up and put it away after she copied it. Just for insurance, she tells us now. I guess Miss Roland kept in touch with Josie after you’d tried to get her out of town. Miss Roland doesn’t hold anything against Josie. She’s a lamb, she said.”

What a web they’d woven. What a tight, foolproof chain of evidence. But why, why, why?

I said, “I’d be glad to hear the Roland’s version of this mess. You know he’s a con man, don’t you?”

“He was, years ago. He’s been a responsible citizen for years now, though. His daughter is kind of a high flyer, but you can’t have everything.”

I said, “Did they give a reason why I should blackmail them?”

He shrugged. “It’s a bit weak, inasmuch as we know Rickett killed Target. They claim you were trying to blackmail them because you had witnesses who would lie, would claim Roland had been seen going into Target’s just before the murder. They said it scared them because they knew you could pay witnesses to lie.”

“Great,” I said. “And why would Roland go to see Target? What grudge would he have against Target?”