You Never Know With Women by James Hadley Chase

for their wreaths or something?”
    “O’Readen is a good friend of mine.” Casy glared at O’Readen as if he could eat him. “He takes care of my headaches. It’s part of his job.”
    O’Readen continued to smile, but the edges of the smile were a little frayed.
    “I do what I can,” he explained to his hat; then in case he hadn’t made himself plain, he added, “What little I can do, I do.”
    I selected an armchair, folded myself down in it and set fire to a cigarette. This was the kind of Police Chief I liked. “And what he does for me,” Casy continued grimly, “he’ll do for you. Right, O’Readen?”
    The smile wobbled, but came through.
    “That’s why I’m here, Mr. Jackson,” O’Readen said. “You see, Redfern — you know Lieutenant Redfern?”
    I said I knew Redfern.
    “Yes.” O’Readen shook his head. “Well, Redfern has been on to me. He’s connecting you with the robbery at Brett’s place.”
    I didn’t jump more than a foot. I knew Redfern was smart, but not all that smart. I wondered if Gorman had turned me in.
    “Why pick on me?” I said after the silence had become embarrassing.
    “The guards at Brett’s place keep a log,” O’Readen explained apologetically. “It seems you and another man drove up to Brett’s house yesterday morning. You were both reported in the log as suspicious characters. There’s a comprehensive description of you. Redfern says he recognizes you by the tie you wore. He says you’re the only character he knows who wears horses’ heads on your ties.”
    “There must be others,” I pointed out.
    “Yes, but the rest of the description would convince a jury, he tells me. These guards were police trained. They didn’t miss much.”
    I looked over at Casy.
    “Were you up there yesterday morning?” he asked.
    “Sure.”
    O’Readen’s smile went a little limp.
    “Brett’s got a lot of influence,” he said uneasily. “He arrived back this morning and is yelling for blood.”
    “To hell with Brett!” Casy snapped. “Now listen; Jackson was here last night. He arrived around seven-thirty and he played poker until two o’clock in the morning. He played with me and Joe and you, O’Readen.”
    The smile slipped a foot. O’Readen couldn’t even jack it into place.
    “I don’t think he played with me,” he said gently, like he was tip-toeing across a floor. “I’m not much of a poker player.”
    “That’s right; you’re a lousy player. He took fifty dollars off you.”
    I flicked ash all over the carpet. It was a pretty nice feeling to know I played poker with a Chief of Police: a nice, safe feeling.
    “This is a murder charge,” O’Readen said painfully. “Redfern could stick a knife into me. You know I’d help if I could, but I wouldn’t want him to know I play poker here.”
    Casy chewed his cigar: anger and contempt brooded in his eyes.
    “You and me and Joe and Jackson played poker here last night from seven-thirty until two,” he said savagely. “What the hell do you think I pay you for? I don’t give a damn if Redfern sticks a knife into you. He can stick a harpoon into you for all I care. That’s our story and you’re stuck with it. Now get the hell out of here and earn some of that dough I’m putting in your bank.”
    O’Readen got up, smiled at his hat again. His face was the colour of a fish’s belly and he looked as if he were getting over a long and painful illness.
    “Well, if that’s how you feel,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    “You’ll do better than that, you’ll do what I tell you,” Casy snarled. His voice sounded like a buzz-saw tearing into a wood knot.
    We watched O’Readen all the way across the room to the door. He didn’t look back and walked a little flatfooted. When the door closed, Casy spat viciously into the brass spittoon by the desk.
    “I pay that punk a hundred bucks a week to keep me in the clear, and every time I want him to take care of anything he