5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 56: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

56 Il N ATURALLY the cops: took a preju- diced view of the thing right from the start. I couldn’t blame them, either. When I say “cops” I’m speaking mostly of Police Lieutenant Walter Richardson. Rich is a good guy, a hard guy, a guy who would collect evidence against his own mother if he thought she was guil- ty. He knew, as we all knew, that Ron Withersteen wasn’t the type who would be likely to kill himself. Ron had every- thing to live for; money, good health, and a hobby of backing shows that al- ways seemed to turn out smash hits. The Other Man had been pulling ’em into the box office ever since it started. Turning his big, bullet head to one side and staring down at Withersteen’s body, Rich said quietly: “If this is suicide, I’m a Zulu.” He added, loud enough for us all to hear, “Don’t any of you folks try to leave for a while.” It was just a moment after he’d spo- ken that I spotted Vara. She was moving along the darkest side of the room, moving slowly, with that slinky, sinuous walk of hers and with a look of guilt spread over her face. Right ahead of her was a hall that led to the ladies’ room, and I figured that was where she was going. Rich saw her, too. His round blue eyes, protruding slightly from his bright red face seemed to have the range of a wide-angle camera. If you held a book behind Rich’s back, I think he could have read it. “What’s your hurry, Miss Dean?’ he said. It was an embarrassing question to ask any lady under the circumstances, but Rich was never one to worry about the amenities. Murder was his feat. Mur- der, red and raw and ugly. Vara stopped. I didn’t like the look on her face. She had a right to be scared after what had happened, but she didn’t need to look guilty about it. FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE I walked toward her with Rich at my side. You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Everybody there, I guess, remembered her foolish chatter earlier in the evening. My palms were sweaty and the back of my neck felt stiff. I opened my mouth to say something, but Rich got ahead of me. “Stay out of this, Nick.” I didn’t plan to stay out of it, not by a long shot, but it wasn’t the right mo- ment to interrupt Rich. You don’t grab meat out of a hungry dog’s mouth if you value your mitts. “All I asked, Miss Dean, was what’s your hurry. And, if you don’t mind, let’s see what you have there in your hand.” I could have spanked Vara then. She was supposed to be an actress, maybe not a great star, but an actress. Yet she was hamming as I’d never seen her ham on the stage, trying to keep something hidden behind her back and at the same time pretending that she had nothing. Not only was she hamming, but she had picked the wrong time to do it. Then I saw what was the matter with her. Terror, plain, stark terror had jel- lied her thoughts and made her as awk- ward as a kid on a commencement-day platform. Her face was white, almost as white as Ron’s there on the loveseat. She tried to say something and couldn’t. She made ineffectual gestures with her left arm, then suddenly she took a crazy, erratic dive toward the hall. Rich caught her before she’d run three steps. ARA gave a high-pitched squeal like a pony that’s being whipped. My right fist doubled up, for I wasn’t going to let anybody, not even a homicide dick, man-handle the woman I loved. I was hunting for a soft spot on Rich’s body to go to work on when Vara collapsed. That’s the only way I can describe it. All the squeal and the spunk and the movement went out of her. She leaned against Rich’s big, calloused hand and looked up at him dough-faced. In a low trembling voice that only he and I could Comic oookKks