Three to Conquer (6 page)

             
"No," admitted Ledsom.

             
"I ought to be-if I did it. But I didn't."

             
"Somebody
did. We know that much." Ledsom studied him levelly. "I can hold you for twenty-four hours, and I'd do it if I had a fair chance of pinning something on you by then. But it's going to take that long to empty the pond, so you can go. God help you if we salvage a gun traceable to you."

             
Harper departed, feeling distinctly surly, and made the long drive home in ruminating silence.

-

             
He had a small plant, employing six myopic but deft-fingered men. There was an office barely large enough to hold his desk and that of a secretary cum stenographer cum telephone operator. This person, Moira, was three inches taller than himself and about half the width. Cupid couldn't lug a ladder into the room and that fact suited Harper.

             
Seated at his desk, he was examining a set of miniscule glass forceps under a powerful magnifier when Riley opened the door and took the two steps necessary to reach the middle. His plainclothes effectively advertised him as a cop in disguise.

             
" 'Morning
, Lieutenant," greeted Harper, glancing up momentarily before returning attention to the task in hand.

             
"
'Morning
, Neanderthal." There being no extra chair, or space for one, Riley hooked a thick leg over a desk comer and rested himself as best he could. He bent forward to stare through the magnifier. "Beats me how paws so thick and hairy can fiddle with stuff that size."

             
"Why not?
You pick your teeth, don't you?"

             
"
Leave my personal habits out of this." Riley's eyes became accusing. "Let's discuss some of yours."

             
Harper sighed, fitted the forceps into a velvet-lined case and placed it in a drawer. He shoved the magnifier to one side, looked up.

             
"Such as what?"

             
"Being around when things happen.
"

             
"
Can I help it?"

             
"I don't know; sometimes I wonder. It's mighty queer the way you latch onto this and that.
"

             
"
Be specific," Harper invited.

             
"We've had a call. Fellow wants to know if you're still around.
And if not, why not."

             
"All right, I'm still around. Go tell him."

             
"I wanted to know
why
he wanted to know," said Riley, pointedly.

             
"And he told you; he said it isn't in the mud.
"

             
"
Mud?
What mud?"

             
"At the bottom of the pond."
Harper grinned up fit him. "He also asked whether I'
m
known
to
own a .32."

             
"You're right; it was Captain Ledsom. He gave me the details from first to last."

             
"Whereupon you solved the whole case for him
,
" suggested Harper.
"Two min
ds
being better than one."

             
"
You
are going to solve
i
t
,
" said Riley.

             
"Am I?" Harper
rub
b
ed a c
hin
(and produced gasping noises.
"Moira, throw this
bum
out."

             
"Do your own dirty
w
ork," ordered Riley. "You aren't paying her to act as bouncer as well, are you? Let's get down to basics. You're g
oin
g to let business go to pot; while you play Sherlock."

             
"Why?"

             
"First, because I told I
L
edsom you could clear up the matter if continuously
ki
cked .
So he wants me to kick."

             
"And second?"

             
"Because there's now
a
reward for information lead
ing to the apprehension and con
viction of t
h
e killer or killers.
Being human, and in old
s
hoes, and wearing a tie obviously given with a gallon of gr
o
g you could use the dough.
"

             
"That all?"

             
"Not by a long shot. I
'
v
e saved the best bit to the
last." He grinned, revealing big teeth. "An hour ago some hoarse-voiced character phoned
Le
dsom and said he'd seen Alderson having an argument with
a
compressed bruiser answering more or less to your description. Know what that makes you?"

             
"The sacrificial goat,"
said Harper moodily.

             
Riley nodded. "We'd p
i
ck y
o
u up and sweat a confession out of you but for two th
i
ngs. One is that we know you too well to believe you did it; the other is that the witness is not available to identify you."

             
"Why isn't her

             
"He said his piece an
d
cut off—so Ledsom doesn't know who called."

             
"That looks fishy."

             
"Som
e folks hate to
g
et involved,'' observed Riley
. "
More's
the pit
y.
"

             
"I'm
not surprised.
I
became to
o
public-spirited myself; see w
h
at it's bought
m
e."

             
"Yo
u
jumped into it. Get busy and wriggle out of it."

             
"I c
an'
t afford the time," Harpe
r
complained.

             
"Yo
u can't afford a
spell in clink
,
either," Riley pointed out. "
If Ledsom asks u
s to take yo
u
in, we
'
ll have to do it."

             
"Do you think that's likely?"

             
"Go
d knows. It depends on what
they turn up i
n the way of further evidence."

             
"If t
hey find any pointing at me, it will be purely
circumstantial
."

             
"Th
a
t's a hell of a consolation
wh
en you're sitting around awaiting trial," said Riley. "The mo
m
ent Ledsom believes he's got e
n
ough to convince, a jury, he
'
ll make the pinch. He may then find he's wrong because the jury proves difficult to satisfy. But even
if you get away with it, you'll have been put through the mill, lost a lot of patience, time and money."

             
Harper said flatly, "They haven't the chance of a celluloid cat unless they find that witness a
nd
he identifies me. Even that won't be proof. It will do no m
o
re than suggest a motive. And if the witness does identify me
,
he
'
ll be a liar who knows something about the shooting and is trying to divert attention. He can't appear without becoming suspect himself."

             
"Could be.
A way to find out would be to trace him and beat the truth out of him."

             
"The state troopers can do
tha
t
themselves."

             
"Maybe," said Riley. "And may
be
they couldn't."

             
"Maybe I couldn't, either."

             
"I'm not so sure. You've done s
ome darned
funny things these last few years.
"

             
"
Such as what?"

             
"That Grace Walterson murde
r.
Twelve years old and unsolved—until you sit on a park bench and hear a boozey tramp muttering about it in his sleep. You tell us. We grab him and he confesses."

             
"Sheer luck," informed Harper.

             
"Was it? The Grace Walterson case had been long forgotten and wasn't in our bailiwick, anyway; we had to check across country to get details. That guy did it all right. He was drunk like you said. There was only one respect in which his story didn't jibe with yours."

             
"What was that?"

             
"He didn't go to sleep and he didn't mutter. He swears he sat there, blurry-eyed but wide-awake and wordless, while you slid away and brought back a patrolman."

             
"He wrote his confession on paper and I ate it," said Harper. "I just can't resist paper." He frowned at the other. "You must be nuts. The sot voiced the burden on his conscience and gave himself away."

             
"All right."
Riley stared at him very hard. "But
you
had to be there when he did it. Then there was the Tony Giacomo case. He heists a bank, kills two, and
you
have to be lounging nearby, two days later, when he—"

             
"Oh, give it a rest," suggested Harper wearily. "I'm thirty-seven years old; I have rubbed shoulders with nine wanted men, and you pretend it's remarkable. How many have you sat next to in your half century of sin?"

             
"Plenty, I daresay; but not one of them told me he was wanted and begged me to take him in."

             
"None begged me, either."

             
'The entire bunch did the next best thing. They made the mistake of being some, place where you were, too. You've upped our score of snatches by quite a piece and the Commissioner thinks you're Wonderman. There's something decidedly odd about it."