5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

DEATH ALL AROUND ME tric dishwasher, one of those roll-away, portable models, stood in a corner, dust and grease covered. I went over and kicked it hard. So she’d run out. I should have ex- pected it. Well, there wasn’t anything I could do now. I went back to the bed- room for another look around. I saw a telephone on a little table beside the bed. So she’d had a phone and wouldn’t let me know. Playing for time so she could get away. I cursed her and picked up the phone. I started to dial 0, then stopped and replaced the phone. I sat down heavily on the bed. I must have stayed there a long time. I’m not sure. Then I went back into the living room and took another look at Sammy. My stomach heaved over a couple of times, and I got out of there. On my way to the street I started feeling that first numbness which comes of despair. Without Mrs. Haven to back up my story, I could be held for murder. It was something I had to face. There was a corner drug store two blocks away. I bought six packs of ciga- rettes, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a razor, and shaving cream. I also bought two- handkerchiefs, sealed in packets. The phone booth was in the corner. I stepped into it and glanced at my watch. It was eleven-fifteen. The po.ice weren’t going to like me any better for. my delay in reporting the murder. I dropped a dime in the slot, dialed 0 and asked for police headquarters. I said, “My name is John Craig. I’m a lawyer with an office in the Brill Building. I killed a man a little while ago. The body is in the apartment of Mrs. Joan Haven on the third floor of 2235 West 19th Street. I’ll be waiting for your men in a drug Store at the cor- ner of Eighth Avenue and West 21st Street.” Chapter III T THE station house, they took the razor and shaving cream away trom me, but left the rest of the stuff. Half a dozen men questioned me. A stenographer typed out a long state- ment which I read, lawyer-wise, before I signed it. When they led me to a cell, it was dawn. I fell asleep very soon. 19 The clank of a key in my cell door wakened me. It was broad daylight. I knew where I was the instant my eyes opened. A turnkey said, “Lieutenant Barr wants to see you, pal. You can have a minute to freshen up.” I ran some water in the tin basin, scrubbed my face and neck, found my comb, and made myself as presentable as a guy can be who has had his tie and belt taken from ‘him. I had to keep one hand in my pocket to hold my pants up as I walked ahead of the turnkey. He led me up a long, dismal corridor and then nudged my shoulder to indicate I was to turn into an open doorway. I passed through what looked like the city room in a newspaper office. There were small oak desks with men sitting at them pounding out reports. Nobody even looked up. Then there was another corridor off which were a lot of offices that remind- ed me for all the world of my own place. I came to a glass door lettered Lieuten- ant Brad Barr. I twisted the knob and went in. I hadn’t met Lieutenant Barr before. He was a slim guy with a hatchet face and sparse gray hair. He had snappy brown eyes and a generous mouth for his kind of face, and small, neat ears. I thought I liked him, then realized what he’d do to me and I didn’t like him any more. “Sit down, Craig,” he said. I perched myself on the edge of an oak chair. It was as comfortable as a rail fence. He leaned back, looked me over for a minute or two, and then held up the statement I’d signed during the night. “I read it. Very interesting,” he said. “Not sensational though,” I said. “The newspaper items are.” He shoved a paper across the desk. “You’re a lawyer, and the newspaper boys didn’t know how important you might be. There was no time to check up before the morning editions, so they ran hog wild. Nice picture of you, though.” I remember someone shooting off a flash bulb in my face. At the time, I’d been too numb to have it register. It was a good picture. I looked very hhand- some, in a drawn sort of way. “If they’d known what sort of a flop CoOMmiclooo S (C@)