Come Die with Me (20 page)

Dave shook his head. “Pete, the first time you came here to see her, I told you it was wrong. She’s never been anything but trouble for us, never. When we were in the army and away from her and Ma, it was wonderful, wasn’t it? Just the two of us. And then, when we came out, you had to get mixed up with her trashy friends, her dirty troubles. And here we are, up to our necks again.”

“No,” Pete said. “Don’t go noble on us, Dave. Don’t do anything foolish. He hasn’t got a damned thing. Who’d believe a lousy private eye?”

Dave smiled. “The police. I came up the back road and I saw the Department car down there.” He looked at me. “They’ve had the house bugged all the time, haven’t they? They’ve been listening.”

“I guess so,” I said.

Pete stared at Selina.

“I had nothing to do with it,” she said quietly. “Believe me. I was gone for about two hours this afternoon. If they wired the house, it must have been then.”

Pete stood up. He looked at my crutch and said to Dave. “I’ll take the gun now.”

“I haven’t got it on me,” Dave said. “I don’t like guns.”

Pete looked at the crutch again and said, “And Callahan doesn’t usually carry one.” He started for the door.

Both Dave and Selina watched me, waited for me to make a move. My .38 was in the shoulder holster, but I didn’t reach for it. Officer Caroline would be waiting, right outside the front door.

I said, “I promised I’d keep Selina’s name out of it and I will.”

“I don’t give a hoot if you do or not,” Dave said. “Pete is the only relative I ever gave a damn about.”

In Trask’s office Pascal said, “The young one, Dave, he’s cooperative as hell. He even told us where to find the gun. What’s with him?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe jealousy? Pete was kind of his god and Selina was always an outsider. Then, when Pete began to take such an interest in his sister, after all those years, maybe Dave went over the edge. …”

I shrugged.

He said, “We’ve got that jacket of Pete’s from his closet, with the blood stains, but that never stands up except for clearing a man.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. He’s being tough.”

Detective Caroline came in, smiling. “He’s starting to talk self-defense now.”

Pascal stared. “Who is? Dave.”

Caroline said, “Naw. The older one, Peter. We told him we had him cold with those fingerprints in the kitchen, the bloody prints, and he started screaming self-defense. …”

“There were no fingerprints,” Pascal said.

Caroline was still smiling. “We knew that, didn’t we, Sergeant? But Petroff didn’t, and that’s what counts. You’d better come and get this.” He went out.

Pascal stood up.

I said, “Hell, he practically admitted everything to me, and you guys had a tape on it, didn’t you?”

Pascal nodded. “But that’s not admissible evidence, buddy. We need the statement.” He turned toward the door. “Coming along?”

“No,” I said. “Who’s going to drive me home? I haven’t got my car here.”

“Miss Bonnet will take you home, natch,” Pascal said. “I phoned her half an hour ago. We can’t be hauling a big load like you around at the taxpayer’s expense.” He waved. “Thanks, Brock. And thanks again for that statement you gave the reporters.”

He went out and I got my crutch and limped along down the corridor to the front door. The night was getting cold and all my aches were aching.

I went out and stood on the sidewalk, looking up toward Wilshire, watching the steady flow of traffic going both ways up there. A car town, a traffic town, a murder, mug and money town. I was sick of it tonight.

And then Jan’s Chev turned off and came down Purdue Street, its lights picking me up where I stood there all alone. They weren’t all mugs. There were some good ones.

And there was always Jan. I waved and waited.

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copyright © 1959 by William Campbell Gault

cover design by Jason Gabbert

978-1-4532-7344-9

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