5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

DEATH ALL AROUND ME “It’s about Joan Haven—the woman who beat it after the killing last night.” “I done all the talking to cops I in- tend to do,” he said. “You guys pumped me dry. Lemme alone, will ya?” I said, “I’m no cop. Anyway, the police aren’t interested in Joan any more. They found her dead a little while ago.” “No kidding? Y’know, I figured it would end that way. Her kind usually wind up on a slab.” “I’m a lawyer from her insurance company.’ We want to locate her heirs. The policy was made out to her estate, but we can’t seem to find an heir. Where did she come from, do you know ?” He spread his dirty left hand wide, put the forefinger of his right hand against the palm and scratched ener- getically. “Insurance companies have dough, my friend. Plenty of dough.” “If you know anything, you’ll proba- bly profit two ways,” I said. “I’m will- ing to pay off modestly, but if through your help we locate the heir to Joan’s estate, that person will probably pay handsomely. At least, I’ll recommend it 99 “I’m interested in what’s in my hand right now, pal.” I gave him a twenty of my own mon- ey. His fingers closed on the bill, folded it rapidly, flipped it into the pants he wore under the overalls. “Twenty bucks don’t buy much, pal,” he said, grinning like an ape. “I’ll tell you when it’s used up.” 3 “Do you know where Joan came from?” He said, “Nope—and all the dough you got won't change that answer be- cause it’s the truth.” “Okay. How long had she lived here?” “A year and a half. Paid her rent regularly. We had no kick.” “Did she hhave any visitors?” “Are you kidding? Listen, sometimes it was like a parade.” “IT mean regular visitors, people who might have known her in the past.” He said, “Nope.” “Did she make a point of visiting any- one special at regular intervals?” “Not as far as I know, pal.” “Well, what do you know?” I de- manded. The guy was getting my goat. 29 “She was a lush, pal, and lushes some- times get careless with their property. It might have just happened she threw something out one time that she didn’t mean to throw out. Something very in- teresting, if you know what I mean.” “How much?” I asked. “Five hundred.” Whatever it was this slob had must be important. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “T’ll go to the police if I have to.” HE SHRUGGED. “If you do, chum, there won’t be nothing for them to find when they get here. It’ll be my word against yours. That’s the wrong move, chum. You can do better than that.” “One hundred,” I said. “Four.” “Two hundred, and I wouldn’t pay more than that for the original copy of the Pickwick Papers.” “TI never read ’em, but they wouldn’t be as juicy as the stuff I got.” I said, “All right—two-fifty and if you think that’s not the limit, I will go to the cops and make you destroy what- ever it is you have. Then you won’t get a dime.” “You’re a tight Joe,” he said amiably, “Let’s see the two and a half yards.” I showed him Joan’s money—her three hundred. I figured she owed it to me. Anyway, she might be in trouble, and it was only fair I use up her money before I dipped into the little Ihad. Of course, the super didn’t have change for the twenties and he wouldn’t take two-forty, so I had to give him two- sixty. He brought out a dog-eared, an- cient, cheaply made scrapbook. “Joan heaves this out one night. Like She was mad at it. I happened to be in the corridor so I picked it up. I figured on throwing it away myself but I for- got. The next morning she was sober and she came down to see me, wanting to know had she thrown out any old papers. I told her yeah—if they weren’t burned up, they were probably out back in the incinerator. She ran out and rooted around in the ashes like she was plain nuts. I decided maybe that scrapbook was important.” I opened it. The first page contained clips from an upstate newspaper, the comiclooolkks (C@)