5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

THIS WILL SLAY YOU “I can’t remember,” Cobb said vague- ly. “That’s always the way after a binge. I can’t evér remember what I did. Was there a girl?” “You picked her up in the lobby,” O’Hanna said. “That wasn’t any girl—that was my wife,” Cobb said. “It’s the last thing I do remember.” 7 “Ice-pick,” O’Hanna suggested hope- fully. “It’s no use. It’s gone from me. Ab- solutely gone.” “Catsup?” O’Hanna asked. Leland Cobb shook his head and groaned. “That damned stomach pump sucked everything outa me, even the marrow in my bones. Why don’t you slip the girl ten bucks and get rid of her?” | “She isn’t interested in ten dollars.” “Okay, slip her twenty. Fifty. Any- thing so I can rest.” O’Hanna gestured Doc Raymond into the other room. “Is that guy kidding el “It’s hard to say. I’m a practicing M.D., not a psychiatrist specializing in dipsomania.” The physician’ eyed O’Hanna with professional concern. “I’d be more at home working on that face of yours.” “It doesn’t hurt any more than a mule-kick,” O’Hanna said. H« snapped on the closet light, knelt beside the dead girl, and attempted gently to open her clenched right hand. Not all the way. He’d seen enough when he found the trace of white adhesive gum on the index finger. He straightened, smiling. “It doesn’t hurt at all now.” Doc Raymond said this was a mar- velous cure. “I'll write it up for the Journal of American Medicine. Pre- scription for a black eye—hold hands with a corpse.” O’Hanna was amazed. black?” “It’s hardly noticeable,” Raymond said reassuringly, “the way the whole side of your head is puffing out.” He became serious. “Did you notice her hair, Mike?” “Yeah. Blonde.” “I looked a little closer than that,” “Is my eye 71 the physician said. “I wanted to make sure there wasn’t a head injury, indi- cating she’d been slugged before she was stabbed. There’s a_ well-defined streak of road dust in that blonde hair.” O’Hanna stared. “Cobb’s suitcases at the back of the closet are dusty. From being packed in the rumble of his car, I’d imagine.” O’Hanna applauded. “I'll be damned. If Endicott really wants to hire a new house dick, you’re the guy for the job.” The physician said, “No. Any M.D. would have looked for a scalp injury under thé circumstances. I’m a stickler for details, so I looked around and no- ticed the suitcases, too.” O’Hanna wasn’t listening. “Where’s the guy’s wife?” “In the suite next door. She sent word I was to telephone her in case of any change in Cobb’s condition.” “Sent word?” “By Endicott,” Doc Raymond said. He adjusted the hang of a bridge lamp shade. “Endicott came in to fetch a dress from the closet in her room.” “Hunh.” “Women like to keep up appearances at such a time as this,” Doc Raymond volunteeréd. ... Ward Tolan opened the door of the suite next door to the Cobb rooms. There were half a dozen couples in the living room, the men in tuxedoes and the women in attractively low-cut din- ner gowns. O’Hanna said, “You’re here—good. I want to ask a few questions about that cocktail party you told us about.” “Go right ahead.” Tolan’s jaw had a hostile set. “Those are the people. Charlotte had invited us all to dinner. Of course, that’s off now.” “T don’t see why.” Charlotte Cobb ad- vanced defiantly. Her silver-cloth gown was a knock-out. She held her chin high. “As soon as the sheriff arrives, all this mystery will be cleared up in- stantly.” “You sound sure of it,” O’Hanna said. chal 8 am.” “It’s very simple,” Charlotte Cobb said. “I’ve learned that girl was killed at five o’clock, within ten minutes either way.” OOO S (C(O) im