anything. Whether he was stoned or drunk or
sober, he still slipped and fell."
"What about the rest of the room? Was there any
indication that somebody had been there with him, before or after?"
Wattle shook his head. "He was alone. His
suitcase was open on the bed."
"As if he were packing?"
"Or unpacking," Wattle said.
"How come the maid didn't come into the room
before Monday morning?"
"Dover left a message at the desk on Friday when
he checked in that he didn't want any maid service or phone calls
until he said different. Since he was a regular at the Belle Vista,
they went along with it. The only reason the Mex maid went into the
room on Monday was because somebody complained to the management
about the stink."
"Did he say why he didn't want any calls?"
"Nope. Just wanted to be alone, I guess."
I turned to Jack. "You buy that?"
He looked at me uncertainly. "I don't know. It's
possible."
"You don't have any idea what Dover was doing
between Friday night and Sunday morning, do you?" I asked
Wattle.
He shook his head again. "The desk clerk checked
him in on Friday at five-thirty P.M. Dover had dinner in his room.
Left the tray outside his door. Then went for a drive in a rented
car. He must have come back after twelve, because the kid who works
the Belle Vista lot had already taken off for the night. The night
clerk claims she didn't see him come back in. But she was on break
between twelve-thirty and twelve-forty-five. Anyway, the car was
parked in the lot on Saturday and stayed there all day. It was in the
lot on Sunday, too. And on Monday, when the body was found."
"Did you check the odometer?"
"Yep. Nothing special. Sixty miles."
"Did anybody see him on Saturday?"
"Nope. But then nobody was looking for him,
either. He didn't eat in the hotel, so it's probable that he went
out. But we have no idea where or whether someone was with him. All
we know is that he didn't take the rental car."
"How about phone calls?"
"He made a few local ones on Friday night. And
one long distance one to Cincinnati."
"That would have been to his mother," I
said.
I stared at the half-eaten shrimp on Jack's plate.
"What's the matter, Harry?" Moon said. "There isn't
very much to go on, Jack."
"It was an accident," Wattle said. "That's
what I've been telling you."
9
Before Wattle left, he turned to Jack and said, "You
footin' the bill?"
"For what?" Jack said.
Wattle tilted his head and gave Moon a long, hard
look. "For what do you think, Shorty?"
Jack paled. "I thought this had all been
arranged."
Wattle shook his head. "You're not going to try
to stiff me, are you? Man, I'd hate it if you tried that."
Jack glanced at me and I said, "Pay the man."
"How much?" he said to Wattle.
"A hundred ought to cover it. If you want more,
it'll cost more. And in cash. I don't take Visa."
"I don't know if I have that much on me."
Wattle sighed heavily and patted Moon on the wrist.
"C'mon, Shorty. Don't make me mad. It just isn't worth it."
"Take it easy," I said to Wattle. "I'll
pay the bill."
Wattle lifted his hand from Jack's wrist. I got a
hundred out of my wallet and handed it to him. He folded the money up
with one hand and tucked it in his shirt pocket.
"There," he said with a tight little smile.
"Didn't hurt a bit. No hard feelings?"
"None," I said.
He looked at Jack. "No hard feelings, big guy?"
Jack managed to force out a "No."
"That's just swell," Seymour Wattle said.
"I like doing business with people who like me." He got up,
patted his shirt pocket, and gave us a Boy Scout salute. "See
you around, fellas."
He strode out of the bar. Jack watched him with
hatred. "Forget it, Jack," I said to him.
"Fucking asshole," he said.
"He's just a jerk cop."
"Yeah?" Moon's face had turned red. "I
guess you think I should have socked him."
"I think you should have paid him a hundred
dollars." "He's the kind of guy you're used to dealing
with, isn't he?" Moon said.
"Do you mean, he's my kind of guy, Jack?"
"I don't
sober, he still slipped and fell."
"What about the rest of the room? Was there any
indication that somebody had been there with him, before or after?"
Wattle shook his head. "He was alone. His
suitcase was open on the bed."
"As if he were packing?"
"Or unpacking," Wattle said.
"How come the maid didn't come into the room
before Monday morning?"
"Dover left a message at the desk on Friday when
he checked in that he didn't want any maid service or phone calls
until he said different. Since he was a regular at the Belle Vista,
they went along with it. The only reason the Mex maid went into the
room on Monday was because somebody complained to the management
about the stink."
"Did he say why he didn't want any calls?"
"Nope. Just wanted to be alone, I guess."
I turned to Jack. "You buy that?"
He looked at me uncertainly. "I don't know. It's
possible."
"You don't have any idea what Dover was doing
between Friday night and Sunday morning, do you?" I asked
Wattle.
He shook his head again. "The desk clerk checked
him in on Friday at five-thirty P.M. Dover had dinner in his room.
Left the tray outside his door. Then went for a drive in a rented
car. He must have come back after twelve, because the kid who works
the Belle Vista lot had already taken off for the night. The night
clerk claims she didn't see him come back in. But she was on break
between twelve-thirty and twelve-forty-five. Anyway, the car was
parked in the lot on Saturday and stayed there all day. It was in the
lot on Sunday, too. And on Monday, when the body was found."
"Did you check the odometer?"
"Yep. Nothing special. Sixty miles."
"Did anybody see him on Saturday?"
"Nope. But then nobody was looking for him,
either. He didn't eat in the hotel, so it's probable that he went
out. But we have no idea where or whether someone was with him. All
we know is that he didn't take the rental car."
"How about phone calls?"
"He made a few local ones on Friday night. And
one long distance one to Cincinnati."
"That would have been to his mother," I
said.
I stared at the half-eaten shrimp on Jack's plate.
"What's the matter, Harry?" Moon said. "There isn't
very much to go on, Jack."
"It was an accident," Wattle said. "That's
what I've been telling you."
9
Before Wattle left, he turned to Jack and said, "You
footin' the bill?"
"For what?" Jack said.
Wattle tilted his head and gave Moon a long, hard
look. "For what do you think, Shorty?"
Jack paled. "I thought this had all been
arranged."
Wattle shook his head. "You're not going to try
to stiff me, are you? Man, I'd hate it if you tried that."
Jack glanced at me and I said, "Pay the man."
"How much?" he said to Wattle.
"A hundred ought to cover it. If you want more,
it'll cost more. And in cash. I don't take Visa."
"I don't know if I have that much on me."
Wattle sighed heavily and patted Moon on the wrist.
"C'mon, Shorty. Don't make me mad. It just isn't worth it."
"Take it easy," I said to Wattle. "I'll
pay the bill."
Wattle lifted his hand from Jack's wrist. I got a
hundred out of my wallet and handed it to him. He folded the money up
with one hand and tucked it in his shirt pocket.
"There," he said with a tight little smile.
"Didn't hurt a bit. No hard feelings?"
"None," I said.
He looked at Jack. "No hard feelings, big guy?"
Jack managed to force out a "No."
"That's just swell," Seymour Wattle said.
"I like doing business with people who like me." He got up,
patted his shirt pocket, and gave us a Boy Scout salute. "See
you around, fellas."
He strode out of the bar. Jack watched him with
hatred. "Forget it, Jack," I said to him.
"Fucking asshole," he said.
"He's just a jerk cop."
"Yeah?" Moon's face had turned red. "I
guess you think I should have socked him."
"I think you should have paid him a hundred
dollars." "He's the kind of guy you're used to dealing
with, isn't he?" Moon said.
"Do you mean, he's my kind of guy, Jack?"
"I don't
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