I introduced Pat to Gwen and said he was a good guy and that she should be frank with him. (Since I wasn’t going to be, somebody ought to.) I suggested the little kitchen and Pat thought that was a good idea.
We sat at a table for four. The tabletop was clear, all of the trays and food preparation items either on the counters or the stove. A coffee urn allowed me to provide cups for all three of us. And there was milk and sugar for me.
Pat asked Gwen who knew about today’s bridal shower besides the invited guests. She didn’t really know offhand, but did say she’d made no secret of it. He requested a list of anybody who’d been invited but declined or just didn’t show, and she said she could put that together.
She always looked young to me, but right now she was like a wounded baby bird. A wounded baby bird in a bright yellow dress. Her blonde hair was askew and the big blue eyes were dazed. But she did all right with the questions.
“From where I stood,” she said, looking into nothing, not unlike the way the dead intruder had stared at the floor, “I saw everything. I saw the man come in with a gun, I saw him aim it toward Mr. Hammer’s back, I saw Miss Sterling react and heard her shout a warning and Mr. Hammer went down fast, and then... I saw the rest, too. Terrible. Horrible.”
I thought she might cry, so I had a napkin ready for her to do that into. Which she did.
But Pat was looking at me. “Miss Foster says the guy was pointing his gun at you. At your back. Velda just said he had a gun in his hand.”
I shrugged. “He was pointing it toward those open French doors, where all the people and the loot was. I was just between him and it. Not unnatural for an armed robber to realize a security guy is in the way, and do something about it.”
Somebody came in and it was Borensen, still in the sweater and slacks. Worry had lengthened his face into a woeful mask.
He went to where Gwen sat and stood there with a hand on her shoulder. “Darling, are you...?”
She flew to her feet and into his arms. He comforted her and I gave Pat a look and we both went out, giving them some privacy.
“That’s your client,” Pat said. “Borensen.”
“That’s my client. Borensen.”
“How about him?”
“How about him.”
“I mean... does he have a reason to want you dead?”
“I just met him, Pat. He’s been living in California for twenty years.”
“But he used to be in New York. Maybe you had a run-in back then, something that’s slipped your mind — maybe back in your drinking days, and—”
“Pat, I said I just met him. And he didn’t even come to me first — he went to the Smith-Torrence boys. This is a damn referral! Anyway, why the hell would he disrupt his fiancée’s bridal shower to stage a fake robbery and a real killing?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping maybe you would.”
Borensen came out of the kitchen, alone. He worked up a brave smile. “She’s doing all right. She’s doing better. You’re Captain Chambers?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m sure you have some questions.”
Pat nodded and walked him out through the dining room where his plainclothes guys were going from table to table, writing down information, taking their time. Some of these guys would never get closer to a beautiful woman.
I followed the homicide captain and my client into the living room, where Pat turned to me, with a mild frown. Over by the door, lab boys were still working on the dead guy, who was currently posing for pictures.
“Mike, do you mind?” Pat said. “I’ll just have a private word or two with Mr. Borensen.”
“Sure.”
I found my way to Velda’s quiet corner. I knelt by her chair. “Anything interesting?”
“That was a laundry bag in his waistband, all right. Also, he had a spare nine mil magazine in his vest pocket.”
“Was he expecting a gun fight?”
“If he was taking on Mike Hammer, would that be so crazy?”
She had me there.
When Pat was done with him, Borensen came over to me, shaking his head glumly.
“Nobody is more shocked than I am, Mr. Hammer, that I was right about this. That there was a genuine possibility of a robbery attempt.”
I shrugged. “With over two hundred grand in jewels and gifts on dock, you were right to hire security. You’d have been negligent not to. And in a public place, like a hotel, well...”
His handsome features clenched with concern. “Could this have anything to do with the attempts on your life? Could this be another such attempt, and not really a robbery try at all?”
“It’s possible, Mr. Borensen. And I’m going to find out. And if that’s what this is — an attempt on my life, using the bridal shower as a cover — I will promise you one thing.”
“Yes?”
“You’re getting a refund.”
After a quiet dinner at a neighborhood Italian joint, Velda and I wound up on her couch in front of a crackling fire. The evening was just cold enough to provide an excuse. I was in slacks and my undershirt and she was in a blue terry-cloth robe, cuddled up to me.
Though Velda and I were not living together, our apartments were in the same building — strictly for business convenience, of course, if you’re naive enough to buy that.
“Kitten,” I said, “you are all right, right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Not everybody has my mental make-up.”
“Really?”
“I mean, if killing some bastard bothers you, I understand.”
“Who says you aren’t a sensitive man?”
“Honey, I just mean...”
“I know what you mean.”
She looked lovely in the cradle of my arm, washed with lightly flickering orange and blue from the fireplace glow, eyes shut, but only half-asleep. Maybe she really was bothered, troubled by today’s violence. That was only human. Or so I’ve been told.
She hugged me and buried her face in my chest and when my T-shirt got wet, I realized she was quietly crying.
“Cry your eyes out, baby,” I said. “Make it go away. Just know that guy is no great loss to mankind, just another asshole with a rod who needed killing.”
She started laughing, but she was still crying, too. She looked up at me with a wide smile and her eyes pearled with tears. “You big dumb lug of an Irish son of a bitch.”
I smiled back at her. “Is that what I am?”
“I’m not crying for that creep. I’m crying because... I don’t want to lose you. And everybody in this town but me and Pat wants you dead.”
“I’m not sure about Pat.”
That made her laugh, and then we were hugging, and what happened next on that couch is nobody’s business but ours.
Around ten I was climbing in bed in my shorts when the phone rang on Velda’s nightstand. She frowned over at me. Ten was a little late for anybody to be calling.
“Answer it,” I said.
She did, sitting up; she was in a black sheer thing that could still get her in trouble, no matter what had happened on that couch. My recuperative powers were surprising for a man my age.
“Yes?.. Hello, Pat. Uh, yes, he is here. We were just having a late dinner.” She looked at me wide-eyed and shrugged, as if to say, Is he dumb enough to buy that?
She and I swapped sides of the bed and I took the call.
I said, “Don’t tell me you’re still working, chum.”
“I am. You keep me busy.”
“I’m guessing you wouldn’t be tracking me down if you didn’t have something.”
“I have something, all right. Like a rundown on today’s would-be shooter? I mean, we better keep up with this or we might fall behind.”