Derisively Hooper said, “And I thought you were going to be a tough baby. Not so blamed smart for a city slicker after all, are you?”
“Apparently not,” said Merlini. “I should know better than to leave my trunk compartment unlocked, even when it’s empty.” He turned to the Captain. “Find anything else?”
Schafer regarded him darkly. “This is plenty, isn’t it?”
“That depends on the point of view. If you think this proves I’m the murderer, then it’s quite a bit. Otherwise not.”
Hooper’s snort was pure disgust.
The Captain asked, “You aren’t going to tell me it means anything else?”
“Afraid I am,” said Merlini. “I’ve been dealt a cold hand. And I’d like to know just how many jokers there are in the deck.”
“So that’s going to be your angle, is it?” Schafer said truculently. “Yes, I’ve got more — a damn sight more than I need. The missing photo of the auto smash for one thing, and a couple of suitcases and a hat box full of clothes. The side-show manager says they’re the Headless Lady’s. There’s also a .32 Smith and Wesson automatic.”
“Oh?” Merlini said interestedly. “One shot fired, I suppose? And no fingerprints.”
“I don’t know about the prints yet. You were probably careful about that. The gun’s fully loaded and, offhand, it doesn’t look as if it had been fired lately. You either cleaned it or used another.” Schafer took a forward step toward Merlini. “You haven’t got the chance of a snowball in hell, so why don’t you spill it? Leibowitz and a dozen more like him couldn’t get you out from under this rap.”
“Did you ever hear that one about appearances being deceptive, Captain?” Merlini smiled a bit wryly. “Someone seems to have given me a good dose of my own medicine. Was there any identification on the body or clothing that tells us who the Headless Lady was?”
Schafer looked at him silently for a moment. Then he said, “You’re a cool one, all right. Yes, there are clothing labels from a couple of New York shops. Classy ones. We’ll have her name in a couple of hours. That’ll give me your motive. Palmer, put the cuffs on him. We’ll go into town and have this out.”
Palmer slipped a bright steel bracelet around Merlini’s right wrist, pulled the ratchet tight, and locked it. The other cuff he snapped on his own arm. Merlini, thoughtfully surveying the objects at his feet, the open trunk compartment, and the car hardly seemed to be aware of the action.
“Do me a favor, Captain,” he asked. “Dust my car for prints — around the compartment lid there. I doubt if you’ll find any but mine. The person who’s responsible for this isn’t likely to trip up over anything as primary as fingerprints. Just the same, it’s high time he turned in at least one error. His batting average is way too high to last. Even a tight-wire walker takes a tumble once in awhile.”
I had just decided it was time I put my oar in when O’Halloran beat me to it, and with the same idea.
“Captain,” he said, “don’t you think this is all a little too obvious?”
Schafer scowled at him nervously as if the thought had crossed his mind and, though not acceptable, was still a nuisance, “I’ll ask you one,” he replied. “Why’d he slice her head off?”
“Well—” O’Halloran began uncertainly.
“It wasn’t to keep us from identifying her. He’d have ditched the clothes. Even cutting out the labels would have been lots simpler and a helluva lot less gruesome. I know the answer too — he’s off his chump. Not enough that he can duck the chair, but just nuts enough to keep a body in the wrong place. They do things like that.”
“I think you’re wrong there,” O’Halloran said. “And, crazy or not, I’ve got a hunch that if he committed a murder you wouldn’t find evidence by the bushel like this. You got enough exhibits here to outfit a complete crime museum. Besides, he wasn’t even on the show when the Major had his accident. Or are you figuring someone else for that?”
“No. He’ll do.”
I did come to bat then, indignantly. “He was with me in Albany 80 miles away Monday night. I told you that.”
“Yeah, I know,” Schafer said obstinately. “And the two of you were holed up all day working on some manuscript — so you say. You’re his only witness. That’s why you’re coming along to the station house, too.”
“Charged with what?” I asked, trying to make it sound confident and having to fake most of it.
“Nothing — yet. You’re being held as a material witness. There’ll be a charge quick enough — as soon as I get a confession. If you’d like to talk now, it’ll save a lot of wear and tear and maybe draw you a couple of years less. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do. How about it?”
Before I could reply that in that case I guessed I’d have to take the full stretch, Merlini spoke. “Mind explaining how I removed the head with that sword when I was in the cookhouse all the time it was missing?”
“I been waiting for that,” Hooper snapped instantly. “You weren’t! You could’ve swiped the sword. That Swede left the side-show tent a few minutes ahead of you. Maybe you didn’t have time to use it, but that don’t mean a damn thing. You had already cut her up — with something else. You’re playing the sword for an alibi, but it limps like hell!” His voice rose, as he demanded, “What did you do with the head?”
Merlini’s poker face only increased the Chief’s irritation, and his calm, unruffled voice added still more fuel to the fire. “When you get your teeth into the seat of someone’s pants you hang on like grim death, don’t you, Hooper? Very commendable trait. But if I knew where the head was, I wouldn’t have a worry in the world. When you do find it, you really will have a case.”
“We’ve got one now,” Hooper growled. Then, noticing the crowd that was rapidly collecting around us, he stooped quickly and drew the cover over the body again. “Let’s take them in, Schafer,” he added. “This is no place to chew the fat.”
Schafer nodded and ordered, “Palmer, frisk Merlini and get his car key. Give it to the Chief. He’ll see to bringing in the body, and the other stuff and the car. Stevens—”
Merlini turned quickly and said, “O’Halloran, you had a story up your sleeve back there. I’d like to hear—”
“Forget it,” Schafer commanded sharply. “You’re under arrest if you didn’t know it. I’ll look after O’Halloran. He’s coming, too. I think he’s got more story than he gave me this afternoon, and I’m still checking his credentials. Get going, Palmer. Stevens, take Harte and come with O’Halloran in his car. Robbins, you go with them. Chief, have some of your men stick around here and keep an eye on this circus. It doesn’t move until I say so, and nobody with it leaves the lot.”
As Trooper Palmer started off with Merlini at his side, the latter did something that I think would have convinced the Chief and the Captain more than ever, had they heard it, that he was completely loco. He looked straight ahead at nothing and, as if talking to himself, said in a quick low voice:
“Cop a heap, Farmer, and case the can. I’ll light a rag!”
Palmer gave him a puzzled, apprehensive look. Then, as one of the flashlights sent its beam across the crowd that was moving back to let them pass, I saw the faintest ghost of a smile flicker briefly across Farmer’s lean face. Promptly, unobtrusively, he edged backward among the others and vanished.
I gathered that the maestro was not going to be caught short without a trick up his sleeve; this was obviously a bit of off-stage preparation. I decided that, once out of the Captain’s clutches, I had better query Columbia University as to whether their Romance Language Department offered a seminar in advanced Grifter’s Argot, and, if so, what the prerequisites were. Foreign languages have always been my bète noire (except for a few residual phrases like that one); but if Merlini was going to make a habit of consorting with underworld folk, it was obvious that I would have to go back and get more education. Cop a heap and case the can — I’ll light a rag might just as well have been idiomatic Sanskrit. It was nearly as clear as mud.