Poodle Springs

"Suggestively?" I said.

"Yes." She said it so softly I could barely hear.

"And you didn't ask him about it?" I said.

"No. It was from the time in Larry's life before he met me. He had a right to that time. It had nothing to do with me."

"You trust him?"

"In the way you mean, yes. He loves me, too."

"He sure as hell ought to," I said.

We pulled up behind the house where she and Larry lived… when Larry wasn't living with his other wife in Poodle Springs. She got out her side and I got out mine and came around. The cops stopped a little ways behind us.

"I'll walk you to the door," I said.

"No need," she said. There was the lilt of anxiety in her voice.

"Just to see that you get in safe," I said. "I'm in love too, with my wife."

Angel smiled suddenly, like sunrise after a rainy night.

"That's lovely," she said. "Isn't it."

"Yes," I said.

We walked down the alley to her front door and she unlocked it and let herself in.

"Thanks," she said.

Then she closed the door. I heard the bolt slide, and turned and headed back to the Olds. When I got in and pulled away the cops blinked their lights once, and then shut them off and settled in to watch.

25

Linda didn't like me staying away overnight. I didn't like it too much myself, but there wasn't much to be done about it. When we had talked about that for most of the late morning, I got to eat some eggs and go to sleep. It was a little after four when I was up again, showered, shaved, smelling like a desert flower and tougher than two armadillos, on my way to the Agony Club to report to my employer.

In the bright sun the parking lot was as empty as it had been last time. I parked again out front under the portcullis and walked in through the door that seemed always slightly ajar. Maybe it was Lippy's trademark, always an open door for a sucker. This time the two gunmen weren't around. Lippy was getting careless. I walked across the gambling hall and knocked on Lippy's door. No answer. They wouldn't leave the front door open with no one around. I knocked again. Same silence. I turned the knob. The door opened and I went in and found him. Even before I found him I knew what I'd find. The air conditioning had slowed the process, but the smell of death was there when the door opened.

Lippy was in his swivel chair behind his desk, with his back to me. His head hung down, chin on his chest. His hands rested on the arms, stiffened now in death, the fingers begi

I stood slowly and looked around the room. No sign of struggle, no sign of robbery. A bottle of good Scotch stood on the sideboard, an ice bucket with water in the bottom, one glass. The file drawers were closed and locked. No sign of any attempt to jimmy them. I went back out into the casino and walked around lightly, feeling the emptiness of the place long before I'd proved it to myself by looking. The two bodyguards were nowhere. Probably in the unemployment office.

I sighed out loud in the empty casino. Maybe I was in the wrong business. Maybe I should be an advance man for a funeral parlor. I walked heavily back into Lippy's office. He must have been sitting comfortably, staring out the window, admiring the desert, and someone had leaned over the desk with a small-caliber handgun and shot him in the back of the head. And I came along and found him. I reached over and picked up Lippy's phone and dialed the cops. Pretty soon, at least, I wouldn't be alone.

A couple of highway patrol guys came roaring in about thirty seconds ahead of a couple of Riverside Sheriff's Deputies, and about two minutes ahead of a cruiser from Poodle Springs which was outside its jurisdiction but showed up anyway. The uniforms milled around and told me not to touch anything and examined the scene of the crime for clues and generally marked time till a couple of Riverside investigators showed up in plain clothes with some lab people and a moonfaced guy from the coroner's office.

A dick named Fox took my statement. He was dark haired and tight ski

"Didn't I see your name on the wire last week?" Fox said. "Discovered a murder victim in Hollywood?"

"It's a gift," I said. "At the peak of the season I sometimes discover two, three corpses a day."

"Maybe you do more than discover them," Fox said.

"Sure," I said. "I blast them for no reason then call the buttons at once and wait around for you to come and suspect me. I love being questioned by cops."

Fox nodded, looking at the notes he'd taken on my statement.

"Cops love it too. We got nothing better to do than talk cute with some second-rate gumshoe from the desert."

"I used to be a second-rate gumshoe from L.A.," I said. "I moved out here when I got married."

"Lucky for us," Fox said. "You say Lippy hired you to look for a guy owed him money."

I nodded.

"Who was it?"

I was quiet.

Fox took a deep breath.

"Marlowe," he said, "if you know anything at all besides how to peep through keyholes, you know that this is a murder case and a guy who skipped owing Lippy money is a suspect and that withholding the name of a murder suspect is enough to get your license lifted and your keister in jail."

I nodded. He was right. I was out so far on the limb now for Larry Victor/Les Valentine that I felt like a coconut.

"Guy named Les Valentine," I said. "Lives in the Springs."

Fox turned to one of the Poodle Springs prowlies, an apple-cheeked kid with short blond hair.

"Monson," Fox said, "you know anybody lives in the Springs named Les Valentine?"

Monson nodded and said, "Lemme speak to you alone, Sarge."

Fox raised his eyebrows and followed Monson across the room. They stood near Lippy's door and talked for a few moments in low voices. I got my pipe out while I waited, and packed it, and got it burning. The coroner was through looking at Lippy. Two guys in coveralls came in with a body bag and a dolly. They worked Lippy's stiff body into the bag and wrestled it onto the dolly and went out the office door. Lippy bumped against the door frame on the way out.

Fox and Monson got through talking and Fox came back to me. He threw one leg over the edge of Lippy's desk and looked down at me.

"Monson says Valentine is married to Clayton Black-stone's daughter."

"He had to whisper that?" I said.

"Says you're married to Harlan Potter's daughter."

"That's what he had to whisper?" I said.

"He had to whisper both," Fox said. "He didn't want you to know that us stalwart minions of the law are impressed with stuff like that."

"Are you?" I said.

"Maybe not, but sometimes people up the line are," Fox said.

"Don't worry about Harlan Potter," I said.

"Sure," Fox said. "I won't worry about him, you won't worry about him, the Sheriff, who's up for reelection this fall, won't worry about him. While you're not worrying about him, take a seat out in the casino for a little bit while we clean up here. We might want to chat some more."

I sat in the casino for about an hour and smoked my pipe while technicians cruised around the premises and Fox spent a lot of time talking on the phone in Lippy's office.

At about 7:30 in the evening, Fox came out of Lippy's office.

"We'd like to talk with you a little longer, Marlowe," he said. "We'll go over to the Springs. It's closer."