5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

24 “I wasn’t at—” I stopped short. This guy was never going to believe me. In the face of all these witnesses, no one else would either. If I persisted in denying their stories, I’d probably be sent to a psychiatric ward. To learn the truth behind this, I had to be free. “Well?” the lieutenant persisted. I said, “Oh hell, I was trying to give the Haven woman a chance to sober up so I could get her story. I promised to act as her lawyer. Perhaps that’s what made me take the blame. Or I might have been so scared after she blew that I figured out that story about self-de- fense. Put it all down to the unusual dopiness of a guy who should have known better. Mrs. Haven called me at Cora’s apartment and told me she’d killed the guy.” “Now,” the lieutenant said, “we’re getting somewhere. I want another statement—the truth this time. After that, it’s up to the assistant D.A. in charge of the case.” They let me go early that evening. They weren’t satisfied, but in the face of the alibi so mysteriously provided for me, they had to let me out. Some mail had accumulated at my office, but there was nothing from Joan Haven, though I hardly expected there would be. I began thinking of Cora Kane, the blonde with the fairy tale, and the more I thought the more it seemed there could be no better place to begin this investigation than with her. The idea appealed to me so strong- ly that I was somewhat annoyed by the man I found wandering around the maze of offices outside my own cubicle. He was an average looking man. You wouldn’t remember him more than five minutes, unless you had good reason. He was dressed in dark clothes, was of average height and weight, mild ap- pearing except around the mouth and eyes. His lips were too thin, his eyes a little too bright. He said, “I’m looking for a lawyer named Craig. I understand he’s a bill collector.” “I’m Craig,” I said. “I collect bills. Look, even if you want to pay up, ’m a little busy, so let it go until tomor- row—”’ @.5 “I owe your clients nothing, Mr. FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE Craig,” he said. “I simply have a bill I wish you to collect for me.” I said, “I thought maybe you were someone I’d written to. Sorry, but I’m still busy—” | STOPPED talking to reflect for an instant. How did this bird know I specialized in collecting bills? I didn’t advertise, I never bragged about it, there was nothing in directories, phone books, or the lobby listing to indicate I collected bills. All of a sudden this very average guy interested me. He said, “I have an attractive propo- sition, Mr. Craig.” He really wanted to hire me. I asked him into the office where he perched himself on the edge of a chair and never took his beady eyes off me. I listened to his brief story. I own certain property which is now, in part, occupied by a pawnbroker who owes me a year’s rent. He refuses to pay and threatens to beat me up every time I make demands on him. He won’t get out and he says he’ll be extremely angry if I take any civil action.” “He sounds like the kind of a guy collecting money from would be a pleas- ure,” I said. “You mentioned a propo- sition.” “He owes me three thousand dollars. You may keep two thousand if you col- lect the money at once.” “That may not be so easy,” I said. “Three grand is a lot of dough.” He smiled thinly. “It so happens that I know he has more than that amount in his safe at this moment, but tomor- row he won’t have. Frankly, the man is what’s known as a fence—a crook. Perhaps with this knowledge you can force him .to pay up.” I didn’t go for the idea at all. It was too pat, too convenient, but I was intrigued enough to pretend I’d fallen for the offer of two grand. I said, “What’s your name and the details of the account?” He gave me a legal looking document. His name was Albert Moore and he had an uptown address. I stuck the paper into my pocket. “You will have to handle this at once, Mr. Craig,” he reminded me. “The pawnshop is open until ten, and it’s al- AMICLOOO Go iS (C@)