her?”
Nunheim moistened his lower lip and looked warily at the bedroom door. “Well,” he said slowly in a cautiously low voice, “of course she was a classy number. I guess I wouldn’t’ve turned it down.”
“But you never tried to make her?”
Nunheim hesitated, then moved his shoulders and said: “You know how it is. A fellow knocking around tries most everything he runs into.”
Guild looked sourly at him. “You’d’ve done better to tell me that in the beginning. Where were you the afternoon she was knocked off?”
The little man jumped as if he had been stuck with a pin. “For Christ’s sake, Lieutenant, you don’t think I had anything to do with that. What would I want to hurt her for?”
“Where were you?”
Nunheim’s loose lips twitched nervously. “What day was she—” He broke off as the bedroom door opened. The big woman came out carrying a suitcase. She had put on street clothes.
“Miriam,” Nunheim said.
She stared at him dully and said: “I don’t like crooks, and even if I did, I wouldn’t like crooks that are stool-pigeons, and if I liked crooks that are stool-pigeons, I still wouldn’t like you.” She turned to the outer door.
Guild, catching Nunheim’s arm to keep him from following the woman, repeated: “Where were you?”
Nunheim called: “Miriam. Don’t go. I’ll behave, I’ll do anything. Don’t go, Miriam.” She went out and shut the door.
“Let me go,” he begged Guild. “Let me bring her back. I can’t get along without her. I’ll bring her right back and tell you anything you want to know. Let me go. I’ve got to have her.”
Guild said: “Nuts. Sit down.” He pushed the little man down in a chair. “We didn’t come here to watch you and that broad dance around a maypole. Where were you the afternoon the girl was killed?”
Nunheim put his hands over his face and began to cry. “Keep on stalling,” Guild said, “and I’m going to slap you silly.” I poured some whisky in a tumbler and gave it to Nunheim.
“Thank you, sir, thank you.” He drank it, coughed, and brought out a dirty handkerchief to wipe his face with. “I can’t remember offhand, Lieutenant,” he whined. “Maybe I was over at Charlie’s shooting pool, maybe I was here. Miriam would remember if you’ll let me go bring her back.”
Guild said: “The hell with Miriam. How’d you like to be thrown in the can on account of not remembering?”
“Just give me a minute. I’ll remember. I’m not stalling, Lieutenant. You know I always come clean with you. I’m just upset now. Look at my wrist.” He held up his right wrist to let us see it was swelling. “Just one minute.” He put his hands over his face again. Guild winked at me and we waited for the little man’s memory to work.
Suddenly he took his hands down from his face and laughed. “Holy hell! It would serve me right if you had pinched me. That’sthe afternoon I was— Wait, I’ll show you.” He went into the bedroom.
After a few minutes Guild called: “Hey, we haven’t got all night. Shake it up.” There was no answer. The bedroom was empty when we went into it and when we opened the bathroom door the bathroom was empty. There was an open window and a fire-escape.
I said nothing, tried to look nothing. Guild pushed his hat back a little from his forehead and said: “I wish he hadn’t done that.” He went to the telephone in the living-room. While he was telephoning, I poked around in drawers and closets, but found nothing. My search was not very thorough and I gave it up as soon as he had finished putting the police machinery in action.
“I guess we’ll find him, all right,” he said. “I got some news. We’ve identified Jorgensen as Rosewater.”
“Who made the identification?”
“I sent a man over to talk to the girl that gave him his alibi, this Olga Fenton, and he finally got it out of her. He says he couldn’t shake her on the alibi, though. I’m going over and have a try
Nunheim moistened his lower lip and looked warily at the bedroom door. “Well,” he said slowly in a cautiously low voice, “of course she was a classy number. I guess I wouldn’t’ve turned it down.”
“But you never tried to make her?”
Nunheim hesitated, then moved his shoulders and said: “You know how it is. A fellow knocking around tries most everything he runs into.”
Guild looked sourly at him. “You’d’ve done better to tell me that in the beginning. Where were you the afternoon she was knocked off?”
The little man jumped as if he had been stuck with a pin. “For Christ’s sake, Lieutenant, you don’t think I had anything to do with that. What would I want to hurt her for?”
“Where were you?”
Nunheim’s loose lips twitched nervously. “What day was she—” He broke off as the bedroom door opened. The big woman came out carrying a suitcase. She had put on street clothes.
“Miriam,” Nunheim said.
She stared at him dully and said: “I don’t like crooks, and even if I did, I wouldn’t like crooks that are stool-pigeons, and if I liked crooks that are stool-pigeons, I still wouldn’t like you.” She turned to the outer door.
Guild, catching Nunheim’s arm to keep him from following the woman, repeated: “Where were you?”
Nunheim called: “Miriam. Don’t go. I’ll behave, I’ll do anything. Don’t go, Miriam.” She went out and shut the door.
“Let me go,” he begged Guild. “Let me bring her back. I can’t get along without her. I’ll bring her right back and tell you anything you want to know. Let me go. I’ve got to have her.”
Guild said: “Nuts. Sit down.” He pushed the little man down in a chair. “We didn’t come here to watch you and that broad dance around a maypole. Where were you the afternoon the girl was killed?”
Nunheim put his hands over his face and began to cry. “Keep on stalling,” Guild said, “and I’m going to slap you silly.” I poured some whisky in a tumbler and gave it to Nunheim.
“Thank you, sir, thank you.” He drank it, coughed, and brought out a dirty handkerchief to wipe his face with. “I can’t remember offhand, Lieutenant,” he whined. “Maybe I was over at Charlie’s shooting pool, maybe I was here. Miriam would remember if you’ll let me go bring her back.”
Guild said: “The hell with Miriam. How’d you like to be thrown in the can on account of not remembering?”
“Just give me a minute. I’ll remember. I’m not stalling, Lieutenant. You know I always come clean with you. I’m just upset now. Look at my wrist.” He held up his right wrist to let us see it was swelling. “Just one minute.” He put his hands over his face again. Guild winked at me and we waited for the little man’s memory to work.
Suddenly he took his hands down from his face and laughed. “Holy hell! It would serve me right if you had pinched me. That’sthe afternoon I was— Wait, I’ll show you.” He went into the bedroom.
After a few minutes Guild called: “Hey, we haven’t got all night. Shake it up.” There was no answer. The bedroom was empty when we went into it and when we opened the bathroom door the bathroom was empty. There was an open window and a fire-escape.
I said nothing, tried to look nothing. Guild pushed his hat back a little from his forehead and said: “I wish he hadn’t done that.” He went to the telephone in the living-room. While he was telephoning, I poked around in drawers and closets, but found nothing. My search was not very thorough and I gave it up as soon as he had finished putting the police machinery in action.
“I guess we’ll find him, all right,” he said. “I got some news. We’ve identified Jorgensen as Rosewater.”
“Who made the identification?”
“I sent a man over to talk to the girl that gave him his alibi, this Olga Fenton, and he finally got it out of her. He says he couldn’t shake her on the alibi, though. I’m going over and have a try
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