“Shut your yap,” he said, “or I’ll shut it for you.”
“Button yours, muscle-man. You’ll lay a hand on me once too often.”
“You’re fired.”
“I already quit.”
They were a charming couple. I was on the point of tearing myself away when a bellboy popped out of the darkness, like a gnome in uniform.
“A gentleman to see you, Mr. Illman.”
The gentleman was a brown-faced young Highway Patrolman, who stepped forward rather diffidently into the light. “Sorry to trouble you, sir. Our San Diego office asked me to contact you as soon as possible.”
Frieda looked from me to him, and began to gravitate in his direction. Illman got up heavily and stepped between them.
“What is it?”
The patrolman unfolded a teletype flimsy and held it up to the light. “Are you the owner of a blue Buick convertible, last year’s model?” He read off the license number.
“It was mine,” Illman said. “It belongs to my ex-wife now. Did she forget to change the registration?”
“Evidently she did, Mr. Illman. In fact, she seems to’ve forgotten the car entirely. She left it in a parking space above the public beach in La Jolla. It’s been sitting there for the last week, until we hauled it in. Where can I get in touch with Mrs. Illman?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her for some time.”
The patrolman’s face lengthened and turned grim. “You mean she’s dropped out of sight?”
“Out of my sight, at least. Why?”
“I hate to have to say this, Mr. Illman. There’s a considerable quantity of blood on the front seat of the Buick, according to this report. They haven’t determined yet if it’s human blood, but it raises the suspicion of foul play.”
“Good heavens! It’s what we’ve been afraid of, isn’t it, Archer?” His voice was thick as corn syrup with phony emotion. “You and Clare were right after all.”
“Right about what, Mr. Illman?” The patrolman looked slightly puzzled.
“About poor Ethel,” he said. “I’ve been discussing her disappearance with Mr. Archer here. Mr. Archer is a private detective, and I was just about to engage his services to make a search for Ethel.” He turned to me with a painful smile pulling his mouth to one side. “How much did you say you wanted in advance? Five hundred?”
“Make it two. That will buy my services for four days. It doesn’t buy anything else, though.”
“I understand that, Mr. Archer. I’m sincerely interested in finding Ethel for a variety of reasons, as you know.”
He was a suave old fox. I almost laughed in his face. But I played along with him. I liked the idea of using his money to hang him, if possible.
“Yeah. This is a tragic occurrence for you.”
He took a silver money clip shaped like a dollar sign out of his bathrobe pocket. I wondered if he didn’t trust his room-mate. Two bills changed hands. After a further exchange of information, the patrolman went away.
“Well,” Illman said. “It looks like a pretty serious business. If you think I had anything to do with it, you’re off your rocker.”
“Speaking of rockers, you said your wife was crazy. What kind of crazy?”
“I was her husband, not her analyst. I wouldn’t know.”
“Did she need an analyst?”
“Sometimes I thought so. One week she’d be flying, full of big plans to make money. Then she’d go into a black mood and talk about killing herself.” He shrugged. “It ran in her family.”
“This could be an afterthought on your part.”
His face reddened.
I turned to Frieda, who looked as if the news had sobered her. “Who was this fellow you saw at Ethel’s house last week?”
“I dunno. She called him Owen, I think. Maybe it was his first name, maybe it was his last name. She didn’t introduce us.” She said it as if she felt cheated.
“Describe him?”
“Sure. A big guy, over six feet, wide in the shoulders, narrow in the beam. A smooth hunk of male. And young,” with a malicious glance at Illman. “Black hair, and he had all of it, dreamy dark eyes, a cute little hairline moustache. I tabbed him for a gin-mill cowboy from Vegas, but he could be a movie star if I was a producer.”
“Thank God you’re not,” Illman said.
“What made you think she’d taken up with him?”
“The way he moved around the house, like he owned it. He poured himself a drink while I was there. And he was in his shirtsleeves. A real sharp dresser, though. Custom-made stuff.”
“You have a good eye.”
“For men, she has,” Illman said.
“Lay off me,” she said in a hard voice, with no trace of the Martini drawl. “Or I’ll really walk out on you, and then where will you be?”
“Right where I am now. Sitting pretty.”
“That’s what you think.”
I interrupted their communion. “Do you know anything about this Owen character, Illman?”
“Not a thing. He’s probably some jerk she picked up in Nevada while she was sweating out the divorce.”
“Have you been to San Diego recently?”
“Not for months.”
“That’s true,” Frieda said. “I’ve been keeping close track of Teddy. I have to. Incidentally, it’s getting late and I’m hungry. Go and put on some clothes, darling. You’re prettier with clothes on.”
“More than I’d say for you,” he leered.
I left them and drove back to West Hollywood. The night-blooming girls and their escorts had begun to appear on the Strip. Gusts of music came from the doors that opened for them. But when I turned off Sunset, the streets were deserted, emptied by the television curfew.
All the lights were on in the redwood house on the hillside. I parked in the driveway and knocked on the front door. The draperies over the window beside it were pulled to one side, then fell back into place. A thin voice drifted out to me.
“Is that you, Mr. Archer?”
I said that it was. Clare opened the door inch by inch. Her face was almost haggard.
“I’m so relieved to see you.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“A man was watching the house. He was sitting there at the curb in a long black car. It looked like an undertaker’s car. And it had a Nevada license.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It lighted up when he drove away. I saw it through the window. He left only a couple of minutes ago.”
“Did you get a look at his face?”
“I’m afraid not. I didn’t go out. I was petrified. He shone a searchlight on the window.”
“Take it easy. There are plenty of big black cars in town, and quite a few Nevada licenses. He was probably looking for some other address.”
“No. I had a – a kind of fatal feeling when I saw him. I just know that he’s connected in some way with Ethel’s disappearance. I’m scared.”
She leaned against the door, breathing quickly. She looked very young and vulnerable. I said:
“What am I going to do with you, kid? I can’t leave you here alone.”
“Are you going away?”
“I have to. I saw Edward. While I was there, he had a visitor from the HP. They found your sister’s car abandoned near San Diego.” I didn’t mention the blood. She had enough on her mind.
“Edward killed her!” she cried. “I knew it.”
“That I doubt. She may not even be dead. I’m going to San Diego to find out.”
“Take me along, won’t you?”
“It wouldn’t be good for your reputation. Besides, you’d be in the way.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I promise. I have friends in San Diego. Just let me drive down there with you, and I can stay with them.”