5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

Was the Victim Killed by the Wheels of a ing table without any expression at all on his face, but deep within him was a churning bitterness. “Sam Stone all right,” he said in a colorless voice. Then, as though con- scious something aside from dazed a- pathy was expected of him, he added with forced briskness, “Funny, the way it missed his head completely.” “We figure he fell square across one track with his head clear of the rails,” Chief Ward Murphy said. “The wheels caught him at belt level.” Tony lifted achromatic eyes to the face of the fat chief. “Then how you ac- count for his arms? A guy falling would push his arms in front of him; not hold them flat to his sides.” “We figure he fell clear from the top of the car,” the police chief said. “Prob- ably he rolled before the wheels hit him.” Ransome’s lips tightened. “Or maybe he was dead before he fell.” Abruptly he turned and stalked to- ward the exit from the funeral parlor’s basement, a thin, wiry little man in his early thirties who moved with a belli- gerent strut, as though daring anyone to block. his one-hundred forty pounds. Outside he waited for the slower moving fat man to catch up. “How could he be dead before he fell?” Chief Murphy asked querulously. “He just had an unlucky accident. Three witnesses saw him hold up the restau- rant, clean out the cash drawer and shoot Larson, the proprietor. Then he hopped a freight to get out of town. There can’t be any mistake about him being the robber, because we found the money and the murder gun on his body.” “Why’d he wait five hours to hop a freight?” The chief shook his head resignedly. “What’s eating you, Ransome? So the guy was a respected citizen in Buffalo, but down here turns out to be a killer. That any skin off your nose? You act like the guy was your brother.” OU fat slob! Tony thought. But what he said was milder than his thoughts. “My chief in Buffalo told me to stick around long as I thought necessary. Mind ?” “Don’t trust small-town police work, huh?” Murphy asked resentfully. “You think maybe because our five cops ain’t split up into fancy-named teams like ‘vice squad’ and ‘homicide department,’ we never catch the right guy, is that ig The little man’s patient expression hid growing irritation. “I don’t think anything. Got any objection to my sticking around?” “Can’t very well run you out of town. But just remember Buffalo detective sergeants got no jurisdiction in Miss-_ ouri. What’s the name of:that fancy department you work for up there?” “Homicide and arson.” “Yeah. Imagine that! A whole de- partment to chase murderers and fire- bugs.” “Possibly we have more murders and fires than St. Michael,” Tony said short- ly. “Do I get police backing if I poke around ?” “What’s there to poke for?” “Kind of like to know why a straight character like Sam suddenly went nuts. Occur to you maybe this was a frame?” The fat man said, “Who’d bother to frame a hobo?” “Somebody mad at the guy he was supposed to have killed. Who held a grudge against Jonathan Larson?” The chief opened his mouth, closed it again and let the fat around his eyes squeeze them half shut. “That kind of question could get you in trouble if you asked it too public. There ain’t no doubt about Stone being the killer, and very little doubt about robbery being the sole motive. But in a town this size gos- sip builds mountains out of mole hills. You ask that question to a few people and it plants suspicion. They kick it around without a shade of evidence to go on, and first thing you know every- body’s asking, ‘Think so-and-so hired Jonathan killed, and the robbery was just a cover-up motive?’ Couldn’t really blame so-and-so for getting mad, could you? ” AMICLOOO@ @) (C(O)