Read Cool & Lam 15 - Beware the Curves for Free Online

sarcastically. “Well,” I said, “ you began at the top.”
    “What do you mean by that crack?”
    “You had quite a story about the Endicott murder in one of the true crime magazines. Had you ever done any writing before?”
    “I didn’t write it,” he said. “That was ghosted. They used my name.”
    “Well,” I told him, “I think I’ve got a talent for writing, and, because of my position as a private detective, I think I can get the inside track on some of these stories and get some red-hot stuff.”
    I grabbed up my brief case and said, “Here, take a look. I have no objection to showing you the notes I have on the William Desmond Taylor case. I’m not going to tell you my angle of approach on that case, how I’m going to treat it, but you can take a look at the notes.”
    They took a good, long look at the notes. They went through every notebook in the brief case. They exchanged glances. They were puzzled and angry.
    “Why did you come to Susanville?” the deputy asked me.
    “To check on Nickerson .“
    “Why?”
    “Because if Nickerson is dead, you’re never going to find the murderer in that Endicott case.”
    “Don’t be too sure,” the Orange County sheriff said.
    I said, “Perhaps if his conscience gets to bothering him and he confesses, you’ll nab him. Otherwise you don’t stand a chance.”
    “Why did you want to see the body?” the Susanville sheriff asked.
    “I wanted to see if I could get an exclusive photograph of the body in the coffin.”
    “Well, you can’t.”
    “All right. I want to get some photographs of the accident, where he sustained fatal injuries. I want to do some research work.”
    The sheriff shook his head.
    “Why not?”
    “Because we don’t want you to.”
    “Why don’t you want me to?”
    The Orange County sheriff said, “Because we’re baiting—because we don’t want you messing around and interfering with some work were doing.”
    The resident deputy said hastily, “We’re still working on the case, and we don’t want any outsiders messing around.”
    “I can hunt up the records on the accident and take a look at the wrecked cars and get a photograph,” I said. “It’s a red-hot story.”
    “No, it isn’t. The newspapers are co-operating, and you’re going to co-operate.”
    I became petulant. “I put out some of my good hard-earned money getting up here to get some pictures.”
    “Where’s your camera?”
    “I’m going to rent one. I’m going to cover all of my cases with rented cameras until I know more about photography and about cameras. Then I can tell the kind of camera I want to buy. But I don’t want to tie a lot of money up in a camera at the beginning of my writing career.”
    The Susanville sheriff suddenly said, “Let’s talk things over, boys.”
    They got up and went through a door. “You stay here, Lam,” he said.
    I waited for about five minutes.
    They came back. The sheriff of Orange County said, “You work in Los Angeles ?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Who do you know on the police there?”
    “Frank Sellers of Homicide.”
    “Stick around,” the resident deputy said. “We’re putting through a call.”
    He placed the call, hung up.
    The men looked at each other as they waited for the call. I could feel the accusation in their attitudes.
    Suddenly the telephone shattered the silence with a shrill ringing.
    The sheriff said, “That’ll be Frank Sellers,” picked up the telephone, said, “Hello,” and then from the sudden change in the expression on his face I knew something had happened.
    “What’s the name?” he asked. “How do you spell it? How’s that? Give it to me again.”
    He picked up a pencil and wrote on the top paper of a memo pad, then said, “Okay, what’s her first name ?... Her own car ?... Okay, what’s the license number? That’s in California ?
    “Can you stall her along ?... Oh, ten minutes... Well, we’ll work as fast as we can... We’re waiting on a long distance