Layton sat very still. “How far from the station does Stander live?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes at the most. He lives in Beverly Hills, too.” Hathaway’s eyes were glittering.
Layton pretended not to notice.
“He got to the station at 4 p.m. by his own admission. King had gone on the air at three o’clock and right away announced that he was going to make an important statement at the end of the telecast. With King doing his last show, Stander sure as hell must have been tuned in.”
“You bet!” Hathaway said eagerly. “So he had loads of time to drive over to the station. Maybe purposely timing it so that he got there just at the beginning of the news break. That way there’d be less chance of his being collared by somebody on station business, and—”
“And what?” Layton said when Hathaway hesitated.
“You know and what, Layton.”
“Then why don’t you say it? You think Stander stuck that ice pick into Tutter?”
“I’m not saying that, you are,” Hathaway said quickly. “I’m merely pointing out that he had opportunity, and a lot stronger motive than mine.”
“The strength of motives, Hathaway, is relative. A starving man might kill for a loaf of bread. For you to keep your job was as strong a motive as for Stander to protect his millions.”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Hathaway cried.
“You force me to use lofty language,” Layton murmured. “I’m on the side of truth.”
Hathaway shouted a four-letter word. “You’ve conned me into this, Layton! You want to know something else? Stander had two motives!”
“Oh?” Layton said.
“Tutter beat his time with Lola Arkwright!”
Layton had to work to keep his voice casual. “I didn’t see any sign of a relationship, present or past, in Stander and Lola yesterday. Are you sure you aren’t giving me a typical Hollywood rumor as a fact? Stander’s old enough to be Lola’s father, and then some.”
“Where were you born, Layton, under a mushroom? You expect an experienced old lech like Stander and a professional tramp like Lola to betray themselves under the eyes of a couple of detectives in a mess like this? I know what I’m talking about! Stander was paying her rent before Tutter started his show on KZZX. As a matter of fact, it was Stander who introduced Lola to Tutter. The next thing Stander knew she was working Tutter’s turntable during the show and his bed after it. Our distinguished friend was all broken up about it — don’t ask me why; he must have known all along she was playing him for the usual sucker, who’d leave him the minute someone better came along.”
“Better?” Layton’s brows rose. “Stander’s a multimillionaire. Tutter wasn’t in his class.”
“Yes, better,” Hathaway said viciously. “Right from the start that redhead saw the possibility of steering Tutter into marriage. She couldn’t have married Stander in a thousand years.”
“Because he’s married and has a son older than Lola?”
“No! Because Stander couldn’t marry her, even if he got rid of that wife of his. Stander’s social position means as much to him as his money, and to have made Lola Mrs. Stander would ruin him in that precious ‘set’ of his. Just the same, as his mistress, Lola made him feel young again, and he was pretty much involved emotionally. It was a real crusher to him when King took her away from him. Yes, I’d say Stander had a double motive!”
Layton rose abruptly. Hathaway kept watching him.
“Where does Stander live?”
“On Crescent Drive somewhere. I don’t know the exact address.” Hathaway added bitterly, “I’m not on his social list.”
“How about the Arkwright girl?”
“Hollywood, I think.”
Layton went over to Hathway’s telephone table. He dug out the Beverly Hills book, looked up Stander’s address and phone number, and jotted them down in his notebook. Then he consulted the thick Los Angeles directory. There was no Lola Arkwright listed.
“You sure she lives in Hollywood?”
Hathaway shrugged. “That’s what I’ve always understood.”
Layton replaced the phone books; Sergeant Trimble had the address and telephone number of everyone involved. He went to the door.
“Wait!” George Hathaway said anxiously. “What about me? What happens now?”
“Sit tight,” Layton said; and he left.
11
Layton was driving past an elaborate edifice set back from a corner, all glass and swooping roof — Beverly Hills drive-ins were conceived in the spirit of the Taj Mahal — when the realized that he was hungry. He turned his jalopy into the side street and approached the temple of eats oh the bias. Then he killed his engine and tooted.
The goddess of a carhop who came out with a menu and an attachable tray could hardly conceal her contempt for the underprivileged vehicle. Layton ordered two super hamburgers and a frosted chocolate and settled back to think. The goddess took her time returning to the temple, exhibiting an awesome wiggle in her retreat. Layton did not even notice it.
After thirty seconds he got out of the car and made for the telephone booth inside. He consulted his notebook and dialed Hubert Stander’s number.
A heavy female voice said, “This is Helga, yah? Stander residence.”
“Is Mr Stander in?”
“Mr. Stander is from town out. Who calls him?”
“When do you expect him back?”
“By the airplane he comes back. Tomorrow morning, eleven o’clock. Who calls him?” Helga insisted.
Layton hung up. This was interesting. Trimble had warned Stander, with the others, not to leave town except by permission. Had Stander checked out with the sergeant, or had he violated the order?
Layton left the booth and consulted the Los Angeles directory. Several dozen Trimbles were listed, but no Harry Trimble. He searched for Trimble’s partner, but there was no Ed-something Winterman listed, either. Apparently the local passion for unlisted home telephone numbers extended to the gendarmes.
Layton went back into the booth, called the Police Building, and asked for Homicide.
“Homicide Lieutenant Jackson, yes?”
“Sergeant Trimble around, Lieutenant?”
“Who is this calling?”
“Jim Layton of the Bulletin.”
The weary voice became guarded. “Trimble’s on the day trick.”
“I know,” Layton said. “But he’s a working fool so I thought— How about Ed Winterman?”
“Same deal, Layton. Catch them tomorrow morning. They both pull Sunday duty.”
“Hold it! Don’t hang up on me. You the same Jackson who used to be a sergeant in Robbery?”
The lieutenant’s voice warmed noticeably. “It must be a long time since you hung around the squad room.”
“Maybe too long,” Layton said. “Say, Lieutenant, I can’t find either Trimble or Winterman in the phone book. Unlisted numbers?”
“Yeah. Is this important?”
“It’s about a case they’re working on.”
The lieutenant hesitated. “They’re at a stag party for one of the Homicide boys who’s taking the leap. If it’s something that can’t wait, I’ll ring the party and have one of them call you.”
“No, it’ll keep. What time does Trimble go on duty tomorrow?”
“The day watch begins at eight-thirty. Trimble’s usually early. Try him around eight-fifteen.”
“Thanks,” Layton said, and hung up.
The goddess was waiting for him with the check. He paid her and picked up one of the super hamburgers. “Hey, lovely!” he said in an injured tone. “This superham is super-cold.”