Ten more minutes and I was in my hotel room, in bed —and fast asleep. Sure, I know, but that’s what violent exercise can do to any guy—putrify his reasoning capabilities.
I WOKE UP AROUND ELEVEN, LIFTED THE PHONE AND told room service to send up some coffee and two raw eggs; then I called room service beverages and said to send up a double Scotch.
By the time they’d delivered, I was out of bed with a robe draped around my aching muscles. I slid the eggs into the Scotch, closed my eyes and drank the lot down in one gulp. My stomach would’ve yelled “Uncle!” but it had nothing left over for yelling.
I drank some of the coffee quickly and lit a cigarette just as a loud knock sounded on the door. Maybe room service gave a bonus to raw egg and whisky drinkers? I opened the door to find out I was wrong—two tall, hefty characters stood there with cop written all over them.
“Mr. Boyd?” the nearest guy said.
“Sure,” I nodded. “Something wrong?”
“Police,” he said. “You mind if we come in?”
“Help yourself,” I said politely.
They sat down heavily and looked at me while I poured myself another cup of coffee.
“I’m Sergeant Tighe,” the blond one said. “And this is Detective Karnak.”
“You already know me, obviously,” 1 said. “What’s it all about?”
Tighe thumbed through his notebook, quoted my license plates number, and I agreed they did belong to my car.
“Would you account for your movements last night, Mr. Boyd?” he asked in a bored, remote voice.
“I guess so,” I said. “But—” Then I didn’t need to ask him why. It belted me over the head with more force than even Tolvar could have used. Like I said—violent exercise can make a moron out of a guy like me, even!
There was just one thing I’d forgotten last night when I drove away from the farm—that body was still in the trunk!
“You registered at the desk around eight-thirty last night,” Tighe said patiently. “Maybe you’d like to take it from there?”
“I went out to Newport for dinner,” I said. “To the seafood place—Cristy’s. Then I came back into Providence afterward, drove my girl friend home, came back to the hotel. I guess that’s about it.”
“What time did you get back?”
The night clerk had seen me—I’d had to pick up my room key. “Around 4:00 a.m.” I said.
“What time did you leave Newport?”
“Around ten-thirty, I’d say.”
“Five and a half hours driving?” He raised his eyebrows a fraction. “Where does your girl friend live— north of Boston some place?”
I tried a grin. “We were a long time saying good night.”
“Where does she live exactiy?” There was no answering grin.
“On a farm about twenty miles out.” I gave him the name and location.
“What time did you leave her to return to Providence?” 72
“Just after three.”
“It took an hour to drive twenty miles?”
“I was in no hurry.”
“Before—or after it happened?”
“What happened?”
Tighe’s face was stony. “You’re way out of luck, Boyd—there was a witness.”
“To what?”
“You’d better get dressed,” he said. “Come with us. You killed him but I guess you know that already?”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “Push it all you want,” he sighed gently. “Hit-and-run. There was a witness saw it happen, got your number and everything.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I said coldly. “How could a four-day old corpse that’s just been dug up out of the ground be a victim of a hit-and-run?”
Tighe blinked slowly then looked at Karnak who blinked slowly back at him.
“I knew he’d been murdered,” I said. “I called the State troopers and told them where to find the body, but the people who killed him got smart and put Sweet William into another pen.”
“Pen?” Tighe repeated in a hollow voice.
“Pigpen,” I explained.
Tighe looked at Karnak and they went through their blinking routine again.
“This Sweet William character,” Karnak said slowly. “That’s his alias, huh? What’s his real name?”
“That is his real name!” I said. “He’s a boar.”
“I know a lot of guys give me a pain in the neck, too,” Tighe said seriously. “But they still got a surname.” “Cheez!” I muttered. “I’m talking about a pig—bacon on the hoof—a grunting type thing, you know, like ham?” Karnak shrugged his shoulders and retired from the fight.
“Strain,” Tighe said. “Nervous tension builds up and up—and something’s gotta give.”
“O.K.,” I tried again wearily. “Let’s start at the begin ning—right?”
“Right,” he said warily.
“The corpse was a guy called Philip Hazelton and yoi found it in the trunk of my car—right?” I said.
Tighe shook his head slowly. “The corpse belonged t< a guy called Carl Tolvar, a New York private eye, anc we found it on the road about half a mile up from you girl friend’s farm.”
I just stood there, staring at him blankly. If there wa: anything I could say to him, I couldn’t figure out what i was right then.
“You’d better get dressed,” he said. “Make it fas as you can, Boyd, I almost can’t wait to get down to you car again and take a look inside the trunk!”
I had a nasty feeling this just wasn’t going to be mj day.
Tighe and Karaak had gone out on a routine hit-and run assignment and come back with a first-degree homi cide, so then everybody got into the act.
By three that afternoon I’d lost interest—all I wantec was to give my throat a two-months’ vacation. I’d talkec and talked and talked. I figured that when I started, thej thought I was trying to be cute, and by the time I’c finished they were convinced I was candidate for the funny-farm—and maybe they were right. I wasn’t toe sure myself any more.
A Lieutenant called Greer had taken over where Tighe and Kamak left off. He looked like a real good Joe, i pal in need; like Pete would say, a buddy. Then you took another look and saw the cold fire in his eyes and jus? how tight the mask of good fellowship was drawn across his face.
At three in the afternoon, Greer quit asking questions and left, taking Tighe with him. Kamak took over the questions for another hour, but he didn’t come up witt any originals so he finally lost interest. He sent out foi 74
; coffee and let me buy a couple of packs of cigarettes— when the cop gave me the change I almost handed him a dime without thinKing.
By six in the evening, Lieutenant Greer was back,
| alone. Karnak went out happily, leaving me alone with I the Lieutenant. Greer sat opposite me and tilted his hat | onto the back of his head wearily.
[ “All right,” he said. “1*11 give you what I’ve got so far, and you try and think up some more answers, Boyd.”
“A breeze!” I said bitterly. “What are you trying to pull—death by exhaustion, or something?*'
“The body in the trunk of your car did belong to Philip Hazelton,** he said. “We got an identification from the lawyer, Houston, and the father flew in around noon. The doctors say he was stabbed through the left lung, and the corpse had been buried for some time after death. So you were telling the truth about that anyway.** “I’m glad to hear it,” I told him.
“Hazelton was murdered sometime between last Sunday midnight and early Monday afternoon,” he went on, “as near as the doctors can figure it.”
“I was in New York,” I said.
“Can you prove it?”
“Sunday night I played a little poker,” I remembered. “The game broke up kind of late, between three and four. I went back to my apartment to sleep. I got into my office just after nine on Monday morning. My secretary can verify that—there weren’t any visitors that morning but I had three or four phone calls—she’d have them listed, so you could check that also.”