“Just keep your eyes open. Notice who goes in. If you don’t know them, get the license number of the car or the cab they arrive in. If you can’t do that, get a good look at them.”
“OK. I’ll call in when something happens.”
Back in his office, Jefferson Hunter relaxed in his chair, running over in his mind the salient points concerning the death of Corinne Bogart. Acting on impulse, he picked up the telephone and dialed the medical examiner’s number.
“Dr Marshall, this is Jeff Hunter. Could you tell me who performed the autopsy on Corinne Bogart? She was shot with a silver bullet about a—”
“I remember it very well, Mr Hunter. I did the p. m. myself. What did you want to know?”
“I have an investigation on hand that indirectly ties in with Corinne Bogart’s death. I’ve heard various rumors about her running around with a married man, going away with him on business trips, that sort of thing.”
“Absolutely untrue. The police were given the same story in an anonymous letter. I believe someone advanced the theory that the girl committed suicide. There was absolutely nothing to it. The girl was straight as a die. She led a normal, wholesome life.”
“I see. Thanks, doctor.”
The phone rang as soon as it was hung up.
“Jeff, this is Smitty. Guess who just walked into Stevens’ shop?”
“Pamela Bogart.”
“Aw-w! How did you know?”
“A little bird told me. Is she still in the shop?”
“Yes.”
“She and Stevens will have a lot to discuss. Grab a cab and come back here.”
“Jeff,” Smitty demanded, when he entered the office ten minutes later, “do you really think she killed her sister?”
“I’m practically sure of it. The suicide story is an out-and-out fake. I don’t believe anyone on the terrace could have shot Corinne without someone seeing them. I’m betting she was shot from inside the house, probably by Pamela when she was getting the drinks. It has to be that way.”
Smitty shook his head. “I can’t believe a girl like Pamela Bogart would kill anyone, much less her own sister. She’s so little and pretty. I’m sure you’re wrong.”
“I’m not wrong, Smitty. Try to figure out what she could have done with the gun. Say she shot Corinne from the living room, picked up the tray of drinks, and stepped to the door just as her sister fell. That’s not impossible. What could she have done with the gun in the meantime?”
“There wouldn’t be much time. The only thing she could have done with it,” the practical Smitty said, “was to hide it on herself, or drop it in a chair seat – something like that. But she never killed anybody, Jeff.”
“Don’t bet on it. I wonder how long it was between the time of the actual shooting and the time the police began their search for the gun. I should have asked Bill Gaines. Call the chief and ask him, Smitty.”
The door of the office swung inward and Chief Gaines stepped into the room. Jeff and Smitty gasped at the sudden appearance of the man they were about to call. The chief’s face wore a look of grim determination. Without speaking, he walked to the center of the office.
“Speak of the devil!” Jeff recovered himself. “Smitty was just going to phone you, Bill. What’s the matter?”
“Get your hat, Jeff. You, too, Smitty. We’re going downtown. We’ve a few questions for you boys to answer.”
“About what?”
“About murder, Jeff,” the chief answered gravely.
“Whose?”
“John Stevens, a silversmith. You attracted the attention of one of my men when you stopped your yellow car near a fire plug. In criminal investigations, Jeff, never make yourself conspicuous.”
“But—”
“That isn’t all. Stevens was clutching one of your business cards in his hand when he was shot.”
An assistant from the DA’s office waved Jeff and Smitty to chairs, and concluded his conversation with Mike Collins. After the seismologist left, he turned to Jeff.
“You know why you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like an account of your visit to Stevens.”
Quickly, Jeff outlined his call, omitting only the mention of the bullet.
“As I see it,” the assistant summed up, “you called on Stevens in an effort to trace the manufacturer of an article for one of your clients. You admit giving him the card he was holding. The name of your client, and the nature of the article, you refuse to tell me on ethical grounds. Is that your story?”
“That’s it.” Jeff nodded.
“Then why,” the assistant asked him, “did you station your watchdog in a saloon across the street?”
With apparent candor, Jeff answered quickly, “To check on Stevens’ visitors.”
The young man’s eyebrows shot upward. “Were there visitors between the time you two left and the time the body was found?”
Jeff nodded to Smitty. “Tell him, chum.”
“One,” Smitty said reluctantly.
“Who?”
“I’d rather not say. I’m sure she had nothing to do with the killing of Stevens.”
“She? Uh-huh! It’s up to the police to decide whether or not she had anything to do with the killing. Who was it, Mr Smith?”
“I . . . I refuse to say! Ladies’ names—”
The DA’s man smiled grimly. “Maybe you’ll think differently after a stay in jail.”
The little man turned hopeful eyes to his boss. “He can’t do that to me, can he, Jeff? You could get me out on a habeas corpus writ? Won’t I have to be charged with something?”
Jeff grinned. “Don’t worry, you’ll be charged. Probably with being an accessory after the fact, and held without bail. The weather is getting warmer, and I haven’t heard that the jail is air-conditioned.”
Smitty gulped and looked at the assistant. The DA’s man nodded in agreement.
“Don’t be a fool, Smitty,” Jeff warned. “Tell him. It will only be a matter of time before someone else comes forward. She’s too much woman to pass the whole street unnoticed.”
The ringing of the telephone interrupted them. The young assistant picked up the instrument and listened intently. Then he spoke:
“Who? You’d better come right to headquarters, miss. It’s fortunate you called when you did. I have a man in my office now” – he glanced at Smitty – “who saw you enter the shop, and who can identify you.” He hung up the receiver.
“That was Pamela Bogart?” Smitty’s eyes flew open. “She’s coming down here?”
Jeff and the DA’s man exchanged amused glances.
“Mr Smith” – the assistant leaned forward – “was there anyone with Miss Bogart? I should have asked her. What time did she enter the shop? When did she leave?”
“There was no one with her.” Smitty shook his head sadly. “She entered at a minute or two before noon. The whistles were blowing when I left the saloon. I didn’t wait until she came out.”
“Thanks. You two can go, now, Mr Hunter, I’m asking for a ruling on your so-called ethical grounds in refusing to answer. Don’t leave town. I may need to get in touch with you.”
Jeff nodded. “I wouldn’t mind telling you,” he said. “In fact, I’d like to. It’s just a matter of principle. I’ll be glad to hear the result of the ruling, win or lose.”
“You’ll hear. Don’t worry.”
“Another thing, will you tell me what Professor Collins was doing here? I mean, assuming his presence was connected with this case?”
“Yes. Though if you waited, you could read it in the evening papers. Professor Collins found Stevens. The silversmith does quite a bit of work for him, making and repairing scientific instruments.”
“Thanks. Come on, Smitty.”
“Now, where?” Smitty demanded, when they were again in the yellow car.