5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

20 you are as a lawyer, they wouldn’t have bothered, believe me,” Barr said. I bristled at him. “Now, look here, l’ll give you ten to one I make more dough than you do or ever will.” “Oh, hell,” he said. “Sensitive punk I’ve got on my hands this time.” I opened my coat and showed him the label sewed to the inner pocket. “You don’t buy suits in that place unless you pay a hundred and fifty. How about showing me where yours came from— or shutting up about this sort of drap.” “Okay, okay,” he said loudly. “You’re a huge success. Congratulations. Now, about this confession you dictated and signed. Did anybody rubber hose you into it?” “Nobody did a damn thing but lis- ten.” “That’s a novel answer, anyway. Then tell me this, Craig. Why did you make it?” 3 “Make what? The confession?” “I’m not talking about dames.” “IT don’t get it.” “You will. This woman—what’s her name?” His eyes ran down the typed pages. “This Joan Haven. You claim you knew her only from the day be- fore.” “That’s right.” Barr put the confession paper down slowly. “She must have been an out- of-this-world pushover, my friend.” TOLD him I wouldn’t know about that and put Lieutenant Barr down as a nut. “Now, let’s get this straight,” he went on. “You left this apartment the first time around nine-forty.” “I guessed. I got there at nine. | killed the guy five minutes later.” “Who saw you leave?” “Nobody. Some tenants saw me go in.” “I know that. Your time element checks. They said it was about nine. How come nobody saw you leave?” “Because I— What’s this all about?” “Did you ever see the dead man be- fore?” “Never.” “Well, we don’t know who he is yet. All we have is the name you tagged him with. Sammy.” FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE “He was just some poor slob who was making a pass at Mrs. Haven and got sore when I interrupted him by banging on her door.” “Perhaps. Now, let me ask you one direct question, Craig. I expect a frank answer and if I don’t get it, you’ll travel back to a cell and rot there for all I care.” I said, “You charge me or let me go, Lieutenant. Don’t forget, I’m still a lawyer and I have a diploma that says “We'll skip that. Okay—here it is. Why are you taking the rap for Mrs. Haven if you hardly know her?” I fumbled in my pocket for a ciga- rette, lit it, and exhaled slowly. “Mrs. Haven was an eyewitness, noth- ing else. I know she scrammed, because I went back. I’m not taking any rap for her. I hit Sammy on the head with the metal statue I described, and that’s all there is to it.” Barr said, “We didn’t find any prints on the statue and we didn’t find any blood or hair.” “Okay—maybe Mrs. Haven wiped it off. Maybe she thought I’d run out, too, and wanted to protect me.” “Exactly,” Barr purred. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Why should she do a thing like that for a comparative stranger? In fact, for a man she ought to sneer at. Bill collectors usually are sneered at, aren’t they ?” “You may know that better than I do. Now what the hell is this all about?” “You’re covering for her. I don’t know why. You were at her place around nine o’clock. That’s perfectly clear, more so than you realize. Now stop being a smart guy and tell the truth.” “You want me to cross my heart?” ] asked sarcastically. “What more can a man do than call the police, show them the corpse, and sign a confession ?” “A lot more. We want Mrs. Haven, for one thing.” “Well, so do I. She’s my eyewitness. She can furnish absolute proof that I had to conk that big, overgrown sap.” “All right,” Barr said. “I’m sick of horsing around with you. We’ve estab- lished that you were there at nine. There’s no proof of when you left. Sam- CoOMmicloo S (C(O)