sure?”
“He’s got an alibi.”
“But couldn’t he have come back later?”
“The way he was beat up? No. And with all that liquor in him?”
“You’re sure it was just liquor?”
“Of course. What else? He went back to town, and I was mad so I drove back to town myself.”
I nodded. “So I heard. You didn’t by any chance happen to turn around, did you?”
“Why?”
“Well, Ryan said something about expecting company. And it occurs to me that you may have been curious, that you might have sneaked back to take a look at his visitor.”
“Look, I was so damned mad at that louse, I never wanted to see him again. I wouldn’t have cared if somebody blew the top of his head off.”
“Somebody did,” I said, softly. “And that’s not all they did, either.”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“Somebody knew Trent’s gun was in Ryan’s trailer. Maybe you all did. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that someone came there and killed him—killed him in a horrible way, a way that deserves to be punished. I want to see that he gets what’s coming to him, and no matter how you feel about Ryan, I think you do, too.”
“But I don’t know anything,” she murmured.
“I think you do. I think you know, and you were afraid to talk, because your name would be involved. You didn’t want to get mixed up in any scandal. There’s that reefer tie-up in it, I know.”
She drained her glass. “Go on,” she said. “I’m listening.”
“If that’s the way it is, I don’t blame you. But remember this. I’m not a cop. It’s safe to tell me. I can put my information into a story without revealing the sources. And you have my word for that. Wouldn’t you like to see them get the killer?”
Polly Foster set her glass down.
“I’m getting woozy,” she said. “Think I’ll go home.”
“But you haven’t told me—”
“Bright boy. I haven’t, have I? I’m going home.”
“Let me drive you.”
“No. Taxi.”
“Look, don’t rush off. It’s early yet. I promise, I’ll drop the subject.”
“Like hell you will. You’ll just keep pouring drinks into me until you get what you want.” She sighed. “I know the routine. Only usually, when a guy does that he’s after something else.”
“There’s a thought,” I said.
“Skip it. You aren’t even interested, are you? I can tell. And if you pretended to be, it’s only for your goddam story.”
“Please, this is important. Haven’t you ever stopped to think that there’s a murderer running around loose? Maybe it’s someone you know. Surely it’s someone who knows you. It’s dangerous to let—”
“Never mind.” She stood up, accomplishing the act without swaying. “I do a lot of thinking. And all I know is, I’m alive, and I want to stay that way.”
“Sure you won’t let me drive you home?”
“I’ll manage.” She turned, and I came around the table and took her arm.
“One thing more,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“I told you I had another favor to ask you. For a girl, a fan of yours. Will you autograph this menu?”
“Very funny.”
“I mean it.” I took out my pen. “Here.”
“Sorry. No autographs. No answers, either. You aren’t getting anything more out of me, Mr. Clayburn.”
I picked up the menu and wrote on the margin of the cover.
“All right,” I said. “If that’s the way you feel. But take it with you. If you change your mind—about the autograph or anything else—you can call me at the number I wrote down. I’ll be there tonight.”
“Don’t hang by anything until,” Polly Foster said. She favored me with a ravishing smile, and I beamed back at her as we moved toward the door.
I watched her enter the taxi and waved goodbye. She noticed the stares of the couples on the driveway and blew me a kiss for their benefit. But all the while her lips moved, and I knew she was saying something suitable for washing out with soap.
Then she was gone, and I was left
“He’s got an alibi.”
“But couldn’t he have come back later?”
“The way he was beat up? No. And with all that liquor in him?”
“You’re sure it was just liquor?”
“Of course. What else? He went back to town, and I was mad so I drove back to town myself.”
I nodded. “So I heard. You didn’t by any chance happen to turn around, did you?”
“Why?”
“Well, Ryan said something about expecting company. And it occurs to me that you may have been curious, that you might have sneaked back to take a look at his visitor.”
“Look, I was so damned mad at that louse, I never wanted to see him again. I wouldn’t have cared if somebody blew the top of his head off.”
“Somebody did,” I said, softly. “And that’s not all they did, either.”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“Somebody knew Trent’s gun was in Ryan’s trailer. Maybe you all did. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that someone came there and killed him—killed him in a horrible way, a way that deserves to be punished. I want to see that he gets what’s coming to him, and no matter how you feel about Ryan, I think you do, too.”
“But I don’t know anything,” she murmured.
“I think you do. I think you know, and you were afraid to talk, because your name would be involved. You didn’t want to get mixed up in any scandal. There’s that reefer tie-up in it, I know.”
She drained her glass. “Go on,” she said. “I’m listening.”
“If that’s the way it is, I don’t blame you. But remember this. I’m not a cop. It’s safe to tell me. I can put my information into a story without revealing the sources. And you have my word for that. Wouldn’t you like to see them get the killer?”
Polly Foster set her glass down.
“I’m getting woozy,” she said. “Think I’ll go home.”
“But you haven’t told me—”
“Bright boy. I haven’t, have I? I’m going home.”
“Let me drive you.”
“No. Taxi.”
“Look, don’t rush off. It’s early yet. I promise, I’ll drop the subject.”
“Like hell you will. You’ll just keep pouring drinks into me until you get what you want.” She sighed. “I know the routine. Only usually, when a guy does that he’s after something else.”
“There’s a thought,” I said.
“Skip it. You aren’t even interested, are you? I can tell. And if you pretended to be, it’s only for your goddam story.”
“Please, this is important. Haven’t you ever stopped to think that there’s a murderer running around loose? Maybe it’s someone you know. Surely it’s someone who knows you. It’s dangerous to let—”
“Never mind.” She stood up, accomplishing the act without swaying. “I do a lot of thinking. And all I know is, I’m alive, and I want to stay that way.”
“Sure you won’t let me drive you home?”
“I’ll manage.” She turned, and I came around the table and took her arm.
“One thing more,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“I told you I had another favor to ask you. For a girl, a fan of yours. Will you autograph this menu?”
“Very funny.”
“I mean it.” I took out my pen. “Here.”
“Sorry. No autographs. No answers, either. You aren’t getting anything more out of me, Mr. Clayburn.”
I picked up the menu and wrote on the margin of the cover.
“All right,” I said. “If that’s the way you feel. But take it with you. If you change your mind—about the autograph or anything else—you can call me at the number I wrote down. I’ll be there tonight.”
“Don’t hang by anything until,” Polly Foster said. She favored me with a ravishing smile, and I beamed back at her as we moved toward the door.
I watched her enter the taxi and waved goodbye. She noticed the stares of the couples on the driveway and blew me a kiss for their benefit. But all the while her lips moved, and I knew she was saying something suitable for washing out with soap.
Then she was gone, and I was left
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