The Lieutenant explained about the rushes and the stains they left on any cloth, but Hazelton had stopped listening long before Greer finished.
“There’s one point that’s clear, Mr. Hazelton,” Greer raised his voice enough to penetrate the old man’s concentration. “Boyd spent last night in a cell, so whoever murdered your daughter, it wasn’t him for sure.”
His mouth opened and closed a couple of times sound-84
lessly, then he slumped back suddenly into his chair with his eyes closed.
Sylvia went across to him quickly and checked his pulse.
“He’s all right, I think,” she said after a few seconds. “It was the strain and nervous shock—he fainted. But he’ll be all right.”
“I guess there’s no reason for us to stay any longer,” Greer said. “None of you are to leave this house until I give you permission—is that clear?”
“Now, wait a minute, Lieutenant,” Houston said evenly. “You can’t go around issuing orders like—”
“Nobody!” Greer repeated coldly. “And that includes you, Houston. If you want to find out the hard way, just try and leave.”
He walked toward the door quickly, “I want a man patroling the outside of the house, and another man on the gate,” he said to Karnak. “Twenty-four hours a day.” “I’ll fix it, Lieutenant,” Karnak told him.
“Boyd!” Greer was already halfway out the door. “You’ve got a cell waiting for you—I wouldn’t want it to get lonely!”
Sometime around three in the afternoon, when I was stretched out on the bunk, half-asleep, Greer came into my cell.
I sat up on the bunk and yawned. “Welcome to my humble abode, Lieutenant,” I said politely. “Of course, it’s kind of small right now, but I’m building on the unit principle. Come back in ten years time and I’ll have a whole jail of my own.”
He lit a cigarette and stared at the wall a foot above my head for a few seconds.
“Your alibi checks out,” he said suddenly. “You’re in the clear on the Philip Hazelton killing.”
“That’s one rap less I’ve been framed for,” I said.
“I’ve been thinking,” Greer said slowly. “That Pete— he’s one energetic guy—smart, too.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like he goes walking around three in the morning just in time to be an eye-witness to a hit-and-run death,” he said. “The perfect witness who does everything right. Then he goes looking for Clemmie Hazelton’s body and finds it right there in the center of the lake where nobody thought of looking. I figure he’s too smart to be a handyman.”
“He’s too smart—period,” I said.
He blew a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “I got a check on Tolvar, too. He nearly lost his license five or six times over the last four years, but they couldn’t get enough positive evidence. Shakedowns, intimidation of witnesses, faked divorce, even the good old badger-game. Tolvar was out to make a buck and didn’t care how he made it—if there’d been any money in it, I wouldn’t mind betting he’d have turned honest!” “Any other good news, Lieutenant?” I asked him. He looked at me for what seemed a long time before he answered.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “That story of yours is just crazy enough to be true. I’ve had all the books concerned with that trust account subpoenaed and they’re being worked over right now.”
“Great!” I said. “You keep going like this, Lieutenant, and I’ll maybe end up with only fifteen years in the pen.” Greer dropped the butt of his cigarette on the floor and trod it out with immense deliberation.
“You owe me five bucks,” he said.
“Huh?”
“I put up your bail,” he said shortly.
I stared at him for a moment. “I never knew you had a sense of humor, Lieutenant,” I said finally.
“I don’t! I figured you should get bail and for once they listened to me. I said one dollar, but they figure inflation’s caught up in Providence.”
I got to my feet slowly. “You’re not kidding me?”
86
“You stay here any longer, we’ll start charging you rent,” he said.
“I’m on my way,” I told him happily.
“Not yet,” he said coldly. “Some facts first, Boyd.’* “I’m listening.”
“If you try to leave town, I’ll throw the book at you,” he said fiercely. “I’ve stuck my neck out so far to swing this, that one flick of the fingers will cut it clean in half! You don’t forget that, not for one single second.”
“I promise,” I said. “Private eye’s honor!”
He sucked his teeth derisively. “They’re all lying,” he said, “every one of them out on that farm. Not one of them will tell the truth. Why, do you figure, that is?” “Some can’t afford to, and some are too scared,” I said.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “So we won’t get anywhere asking questions and getting the same old lies back as answers. I figure we need a catalyst—you know what that is?” “Sure,” I said. “It’s halfway between a cat and a kitten.”
“So maybe I am out of my mind to do this,” he muttered. “So you’re the catalyst, Boyd. I figure to drop you right in the middle of them and see what happens.” “Maybe I’ll get my head blown off—or wind up face down in the lake?” I said.
“Think of the legal fees you’ll save,” he grunted. “I got the medical report on Clemmie Hazelton. She died of drowning all right, the lungs were full of water. But there was a small contusion on the back of her head. Looks like she was slugged first, then carried down to the lake and tossed in.” He shrugged his shoulders, shrugging off responsibility for the world and its sins at the same time. “Maybe somebody held her head under the water long enough to make sure?”
“It makes a great cure for insomnia, just to think about it,” I said. “How do I catalyst this deal?”
“That’s your problem,” he said. “I already put up the bail.”
“How about my car?” I asked hopefully.
Greer shook his head. “That stays right here—as evidence. That hit-and-run rap is still waiting for you; the only way you’ll ever beat it is to prove your self-defense story. Don’t think of taking it easy when you get out of here, Boyd, you don’t have the time.”
“I dig,” I said. “You’re a nice guy, Lieutenant, I think; I just wish I had a little more faith, that’s all.”
“I want to clean up a double murder, that’s all,” he said irritably. “Morals are for juries—me, I keep the books neat and up to date.”
“I’ll try to dig up a couple of new entries for you,” I told him. “This playing catalyst is going to be tough enough— but do I have to play cops and catalysts, too?”
“What the hell are you—uh, I get it.” He grunted a couple of times while he thought it over. “I guess not. I’ll have the stake-out on the house lifted right away.” “Don’t forget the guy on the gate,” I prodded.
“Him, too,” Greer said. “You got anything special in mind? No—don’t tell me, I got enough troubles, already!” “O.K.,” I said. “So long, Lieutenant.”
He let me get past him into the corridor, then his right hand clamped painfully onto my elbow.
“I knew it had to be a pipe dream,” I said. “So you’re just a sadist, huh?”
“There’s one little thing you forgot,” he said. “Fix it, and you can get the hell out of here as fast as you like.” “What little thing was that?”
He extended his hand, palm up, under my nose. “Five bucks,” he said coldly. “Remember?”
I RUSHED OUT INTO THE WONDERFUL FREE AIR IN THE
street. On the way back to the hotel I stopped at a car 88
rental agency, produced the right credit card, and drove the rest of the way in a convertible.
Back in my hotel room I put a call through to the office and spoke with Fran Jordan. I gave her a quick rundown on what had happened since I got into Providence.