10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 68: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

66—__——______—10-STORY DETECTIVE—— “T still don’t like it,” argued Buck, “and I’d like to—” “You'll do as I say,” shouted Bed- ford. Buck was quiet for a moment. Then he said: “All right, sir. So I resign !’ Chief Bedford’s cheeks blew out. “What?” “T’m resigning,” said Buck. “Right now !” Buck got up late the next morn- ing. It was ten o’clock before he sat down to breakfast in the Citrus Café. By that time, he discovered, every- one in San Leona had learned that he was no longer 2 policeman, and everyone knew why. Most people were sympathetic, but thought he was a fool. There didn’t seem to be any doubt at all that Freddie Gar- eia had killed Dick Hooper. Nobody blamed him much, but there wasn’t any use doing anything about it. Mary Heath prepared Buck’s usual! dish of ham and scrambled eggs. Mary had a pleasantly sturdy little figure, and a pleasantly brown eye. She said: “Don’t look so down, Buck.” Buck grinned. “You know I’m not a copper any more?” “Of course.” “And IT’ll bet you’re all through with a guy that deliberately throws away his job?” “Vou know better than that, hon- ey. I feel pretty bad about the whole thing. We all went to school together —you and Freddie and Dick and me.” Mary smiled. “Of course I was a couple of years behind you, but I was old enough to keep an eye on you.” “You’re swell,’ Buck said. “But this looks like we'll have to postpone everything.” “T guess I can take it.” “What do you think of this mess?” Buck asked anxiously. Mary hesitated. She leaned across the counter, spoke low: “If Freddie did it, I couldn’t blame him.” “But do you believe he did it?” “It does look bad for him.” Mary dropped her voice a little lower. “There’s something I haven’t men- tioned to anyone, honey—I didn’t want to make it any tougher for Freddie.” Buck put more butter on the toast. “You mean you know something?” “T was here until midnight, the night before last. A few minutes before I closed up, Dick came in for a cup of coffee. He left just before I locked the door. Through the win- dow I saw him get in his car and drive south. A moment later I saw Freddie come out of the post office doorway across the street and hurry off in the same direction.” “So you think Freddie was fol- lowing Dick?” “Tin sure of it.” “Thanks for not mentioning it to anyone else.” Mary said: “Freddie won't tell where he was that night?” “Not a word.” “Then I-don’t see what you can do about it, honey.” Buck shoved his plate back and got up. “Neither do I,” he said. HEN Buck walked up the street to the Citrus Pool Parlor & Bar, and sought the proprietor. Stokey Heaton, who owned the place, was a short man with narrow shoulders and a heavy-hanging paunch. “Yes,” he told Buck, “Dick was in here awhile, evening before last. Left here about eleven-thirty, I guess.” ‘““Who’d he talk to while he was here?” Heaton was evasive. “I wouldn’t know about that. I was tending to business, He was squatting there at the bar mostly, the way I remember it. Joe Cowper was tending bar.” Apparently Heaton didn’t want to talk. Buck walked over to the bar. The man behind the bar was big and rangy, like Buck himself. Joe Cow- per had spent a couple of years in the ring, but had fizzled out; he had the build but not the heart. 6)\O)O) ai (C(O) o S (C(O) nn