of the room and two unopened suitcases next to the far wall. Tim Tucker was lying on the floor in the center of the room, next to the sleeping bag. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t seeing anything.
I went out and through the kitchen to the back door. Dennis was standing next to a tall eucalyptus tree. “Get to a phone as quick as you can and call the police. Tucker is in here. He’s dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
D ENNIS AND I WERE sitting in Lieutenant Slade’s office when a uniformed officer came in to tell him there was no identification on Tucker, no driver’s license, no credit cards, no wallet, nothing. The cause of death appeared to be poison but the medical examiner had not confirmed it yet. The officers had found an almost-empty pint bottle of whiskey in the room. It was being analyzed now.
Slade said, “We already have identification. Let me know as soon as you have confirmation.”
The officer nodded and left. Slade looked at me. “Sergeant Hovde told me you and Tucker had a fracas at some bar in Venice.”
“We did. Lars was with me when it happened. We were working together. Did he tell you that?”
“Don’t be insolent, Mr. Callahan.”
“I won’t if you won’t. We phoned you to report a murder, not to confess. I hope you are giving this murder more attention than you did Mike Gregory’s.”
He glared at me and turned to Dennis. “You work for Arden, don’t you?”
Dennis nodded.
“We don’t always get full cooperation from your office.”
Dennis nodded again. “My boss has this strange theory that cooperation should be a two-way street.”
Silence in the room.
I asked, “May I phone my attorney now?”
“Why?”
“So we can get the hell out of here.”
“You’re not being held and you’re not being charged. I assumed you’d want to wait for the report on the poison.”
The uniformed man came in before I could answer. The whiskey, he told Slade, had been analyzed. It had been laced with arsenic.
When he left, Slade said, “Okay, you two can go now. But stay available.”
Outside, Dennis said, “No wallet? Does that mean no two thousand dollars? I’ll bet both of the cops who showed up are richer than they were when they got there.”
“Easy, Dennis! The guy who aced Tucker probably took it. Let’s stop in at Bay’s house and give him the word.”
A gardener was spraying the rosebushes in front of Bay’s house when we came up the driveway.
Dennis said, “Do you think he’s using arsenic?”
I didn’t answer. I had the feeling that his first choice for the man he wanted most to be put away was Turhan Bay. The kid was more on a mission than a hunt. He sat in the car; I went to the door.
When Bay opened it, he asked, “Trouble?”
I nodded. “Your cousin is dead.”
“Dear God! What happened?”
I told him the whole story.
He said, “I can understand about the driver’s license. He probably didn’t have one. He had his license taken away from him several times in Chicago for drunk driving. But the money—?”
“Anyone who can kill can also steal,” I said. “I didn’t tell the police about the money you gave him.”
“Thank you for that,” he said. He took a deep breath. “That crazy man. He always resented me for some strange reason. I could never understand why. I posted bail for him twice in Chicago. Thank you for stopping by.”
In the car, as we drove off, Dennis said, “Do you remember what you told me at the beach, that Tucker would not be an asset to the mob?”
“I do.”
“Maybe Gillete had the same thought. Getting rid of Tucker would make Gillete more acceptable. Firing him wouldn’t be enough. Tucker could fink on him.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed.
“This case,” he said, “is getting a little heavy for me. And my wife is getting nervous.”
“Do you want out?”
“Not yet. But from now on, I’m carrying a gun. I’ve also got a nine millimeter Italian Galanti semiautomatic that holds twelve rounds if
I went out and through the kitchen to the back door. Dennis was standing next to a tall eucalyptus tree. “Get to a phone as quick as you can and call the police. Tucker is in here. He’s dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
D ENNIS AND I WERE sitting in Lieutenant Slade’s office when a uniformed officer came in to tell him there was no identification on Tucker, no driver’s license, no credit cards, no wallet, nothing. The cause of death appeared to be poison but the medical examiner had not confirmed it yet. The officers had found an almost-empty pint bottle of whiskey in the room. It was being analyzed now.
Slade said, “We already have identification. Let me know as soon as you have confirmation.”
The officer nodded and left. Slade looked at me. “Sergeant Hovde told me you and Tucker had a fracas at some bar in Venice.”
“We did. Lars was with me when it happened. We were working together. Did he tell you that?”
“Don’t be insolent, Mr. Callahan.”
“I won’t if you won’t. We phoned you to report a murder, not to confess. I hope you are giving this murder more attention than you did Mike Gregory’s.”
He glared at me and turned to Dennis. “You work for Arden, don’t you?”
Dennis nodded.
“We don’t always get full cooperation from your office.”
Dennis nodded again. “My boss has this strange theory that cooperation should be a two-way street.”
Silence in the room.
I asked, “May I phone my attorney now?”
“Why?”
“So we can get the hell out of here.”
“You’re not being held and you’re not being charged. I assumed you’d want to wait for the report on the poison.”
The uniformed man came in before I could answer. The whiskey, he told Slade, had been analyzed. It had been laced with arsenic.
When he left, Slade said, “Okay, you two can go now. But stay available.”
Outside, Dennis said, “No wallet? Does that mean no two thousand dollars? I’ll bet both of the cops who showed up are richer than they were when they got there.”
“Easy, Dennis! The guy who aced Tucker probably took it. Let’s stop in at Bay’s house and give him the word.”
A gardener was spraying the rosebushes in front of Bay’s house when we came up the driveway.
Dennis said, “Do you think he’s using arsenic?”
I didn’t answer. I had the feeling that his first choice for the man he wanted most to be put away was Turhan Bay. The kid was more on a mission than a hunt. He sat in the car; I went to the door.
When Bay opened it, he asked, “Trouble?”
I nodded. “Your cousin is dead.”
“Dear God! What happened?”
I told him the whole story.
He said, “I can understand about the driver’s license. He probably didn’t have one. He had his license taken away from him several times in Chicago for drunk driving. But the money—?”
“Anyone who can kill can also steal,” I said. “I didn’t tell the police about the money you gave him.”
“Thank you for that,” he said. He took a deep breath. “That crazy man. He always resented me for some strange reason. I could never understand why. I posted bail for him twice in Chicago. Thank you for stopping by.”
In the car, as we drove off, Dennis said, “Do you remember what you told me at the beach, that Tucker would not be an asset to the mob?”
“I do.”
“Maybe Gillete had the same thought. Getting rid of Tucker would make Gillete more acceptable. Firing him wouldn’t be enough. Tucker could fink on him.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed.
“This case,” he said, “is getting a little heavy for me. And my wife is getting nervous.”
“Do you want out?”
“Not yet. But from now on, I’m carrying a gun. I’ve also got a nine millimeter Italian Galanti semiautomatic that holds twelve rounds if
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