«He’s a friend of my brother-in-law. He’s a private dick from L.A. Let’s see —» Kincaid gripped desperately in his pocket for my card. He didn’t even remember my name.
The chief said sharply: «What’s that? A private detective? What’s your business here?»
«I didn’t say I was here on business,» I told him.
«Glad to hear it,» he said. «Very glad to hear it. Good night.» He opened the door and went out quickly and snapped it shut behind him.
«Chief Anders — one swell guy,» Kincaid said loudly. «They don’t come any better.» He was looking at me like a scared rabbit.
«They never have,» I said just as loudly. «In Bay City.»
I thought for a moment he was going to faint, but he didn’t. We went out in the front of the city hall and got into my car and drove away.
I stopped the car on Altair Street across the way from the residence of Dr. Leland Austrian. The night was windless and there was a little fog under the moon. A faint pleasant smell of brackish water and kelp came up the side of the bluff from the beach. Small riding lights pinpointed the yacht harbor and the shimmering lines of three piers. Quite far out to sea a bigmasted fishing barge had lights strung between its masts and from the mastheads down to the bow and stern. Other things than fishing probably happened on it.
Altair Street in that block was a dead-end, cut off by a tall, ornamental iron fence that walled a big estate. The houses were on the inland side of the street only, on eighty- or hundredfoot lots, well spaced. On the seaward side there was a narrow sidewalk and a low wall, beyond which the bluff dropped almost straight down.
Dolly Kincaid was pressed back into the corner of the seat, the red tip of a cigarette glowing at intervals in front of his small blurred face. The Austrian house was dark except for a small light over the embrasure in which the front door was set. It was stucco, with a wall across the front yard, iron gates, the garage outside the wall. A cement walk went from a side door of the garage to a side door of the house. There was a bronze plate set into the wall beside the gates and I knew it would read Leland M. Austrian, M.D.
«All right,» I said. «Now what was the matter with the Austrian case?»
«Nothing was the matter with it,» Kincaid said slowly. «Except you’re going to get me in a jam.»
«Why?»
«Somebody must have heard you mention Austrian’s address over that mike. That’s why Chief Anders came in to look at you.»
«De Spain might have figured me for a dick — just on looks. He might have tipped him off.»
«No. De Spain hates the chief’s guts. Hell, he was a detective lieutenant up to a week ago. Anders don’t want the Austrian case monkeyed with. He wouldn’t let us write it up.»
«Swell press you got in Bay City.»
«We got a swell climate — and the press is a bunch of stooges.»
«Okay,» I said. «You got a brother-in-law who’s a homicide dick in the sheriff’s office. All the L.A. papers but one are strong for the sheriff. This town is where he lives, though, and like a lot of other guys he don’t keep his own yard clean. So you’re scared, huh?»
Dolly Kincaid threw his cigarette out of the window. I watched it fall in a small red arc and lie faintly pink on the narrow sidewalk. I leaned forward and pressed on the starter button. «Excuse it, please,» I said. «I won’t bother you any more.»
I meshed the gears and the car crawled forward a couple of yards before Kincaid leaned over and jerked the parking brake on. «I’m not yellow,» he said sharply. «What do you wanta know?»
I cut the motor again and leaned back with my hands on the wheel. «First off, why did Matson lose his licence. He’s my client.»
«Oh — Matson. They said he tried to put the bite on Dr. Austrian. And they not only took his licence, they run him out of town. A couple of guys with guns shoved him into a car one night and roughed him around and told him to skip the burg or else. He reported it down at headquarters and you could have heard them laugh for blocks. But I don’t think it was cops.»
«Do you know anybody called Big Chin?»
Dolly Kincaid thought. «No. The mayor’s driver, a goof called Moss Lorenz, has a chin you could balance a piano on. But I never heard him called Big Chin. He used to work for Vance Conned. Ever hear of Conned?»
«I’m all caught up on that angle,» I said. «Then if this Conned wanted to bump somebody off that was bothering him, and especially somebody that had made a little trouble here in Bay City, this Lorenz would be just the guy. Because the mayor would have to cover for him — up to a point, anyway.»
Dolly Kincaid said, «Bump who off?» and his voice was suddenly thick and tense.
«They didn’t only run Matson out of town,» I told him. «They traced him to an apartment house in L.A. and some guy called Big Chin gave him the works. Matson must have been working still on whatever it was he was working on.»
«Geez,» Dolly Kincaid whispered. «I didn’t get a word on that.»
«The L.A. cops neither — when I left. Did you know Matson?»
«A little. Not well.»
«Would you call him honest?»
«Well, as honest as — well, yeah, I guess he was all right. Geez, bumped off, huh?»
«As honest as a private dick usually is?» I said.
He giggled, from sudden strain and nervousness and shock — very little from amusement. A car turned into the end of the street and stopped by the curb and its lights went out. Nobody got out.
«How about Dr. Austrian,» I said. «Where was he when his wife was murdered?»
Dolly Kincaid jumped. «Jeepers, who said she was murdered?» he gasped.
«I think Matson was trying to say so. But he was trying to get paid for not saying it even harder than he was trying to say it. Either way would have got him disliked, but his way got him chilled with a piece of lead pipe. My hunch is that Conned would have that done because he would not like to have anybody make the pay sign at him, except in the way of legitimate graft. But on the other hand it would be a little better for Conned’s club to have Dr. Austrian murder his wife than for her to do a Dutch on account of losing all her dough at Conned’s roulette tables. Maybe not a lot better, but some better. So I can’t figure why Conned would have Matson bumped off for talking about murder. I figure he could have been talking about something else as well.»
«Does all this figuring ever get you anywhere?» Dolly Kincaid asked politely.
«No. It’s just something to do while I’m patting the cold cream into my face at night. Now about this lab man that made the blood sample. Who was he?»
Kincaid lit another cigarette and looked down the block at the car that had stopped in front of the end house. Its lights had gone on again now and it was moving forward slowly.
«A guy named Greb,» he said. «He has a small place in the Physicians and Surgeons Building and works for the doctors.»
«Not official, huh?»
«No, but they don’t run to lab men down here. And the undertakers all take turns being coroner for a week, so what the hell. The chief handles it the way he likes.»
«Why would he want to handle it at all?»
«I guess maybe he might get orders from the mayor, who might get a hint from the gambling boys that Vance Conned works for, or from Vance Conned direct. Conned might not like his bosses to know he was mixed up with a dead frill in a way to make a kickback on the club.»
«Right,» I said. «That guy down the block don’t know where he lives.»
The car was still crawling forward along the curb. Its lights were out again, but it was still moving.