Collection 1983 - The Hills Of Homicide (v5.0) Read Free

figure some way to catch the guilty man, you’d be a help.” Jerry Loftus rolled his quid in his jaws and glanced at me sharply. “You come up here to find evidence to prove Caronna innocent. What if you find something to prove him guilty?”
    “My firm,” I said carefully, “only represents clients who are innocent. Naturally, we take the stand that they are innocent until proved guilty, but we will not conceal evidence if we believe it would clear anyone else. If we become convinced of a client’s guilt, we drop out of the case. However, a good deal of leeway is left to the operative on the case. Naturally, we aren’t here to convict our clients.”
    “I see.” Loftus was stirring that one around in his mind.
    “Mind if I look around?”
    “Not at all.” He took his feet down from the desk and got up. “In fact, I’ll go along. Johnny might not let you by unless I am with you.”

----
    W HEN WE STARTED up the trail, it took me only a few minutes to understand that unless Johnny Holben was deaf as a post it would be impossible to get past his cabin without his knowledge. The trail was narrow, just two good steps from his door, and was of loose gravel.
    Holben came to the door when we came alongside. He was a tall, lean old man with a lantern jaw and a handlebar mustache that would have been a dead ringer for the sheriff’s except for being less tidy and more yellowed.
    “Howdy, Loftus. Who’s the dude with you?”
    “Detective. Caronna hired him to investigate the murder.”
    “Huh! If Caronna hired him, he’s likely a thief himself.” Holben stepped back inside and slammed the door.
    Loftus chuckled. “Almost as bad as Old Bitner. Wouldn’t think that old sidewinder was worth a cool half-million, would you. No? I guessed not. He is, though. Bitner was worth half again that much. That niece of his will get a nice piece of money.”
    “Was she the only relative?”
    “Matter of fact, no. There’s a nephew around somewheres. Big game hunter, importer of animals, an’ such as that. Hunts them for shows, I hear.”
    “Heard from him?”
    “Not yet. He’s out on the road with a show of some kind. We wired their New York headquarters.”
    “Wouldn’t be a bad idea to check and see where his show is playing. It might not be far away.”
    Loftus glanced at me. “Hadn’t thought of that. Reckon I’m gettin’ old. I’ll do that tonight.”
    “Does the girl get all the money? Or does he get some?”
    “Don’t know. The Bitner girl, she thinks she gets it. Says her uncle told her she would inherit everything. Seems like he had no use for that nephew. So far we haven’t seen the will, but we’ll have it open tomorrow.”
    The path led along the flat top of the mesa over the sparse grass and through the scattered juniper for almost a half-mile. Then we saw the house.
    It was built on the edge of the cliff. One side of the house was almost flush with the edge, and the back looked out over a natural rock basin that probably held water during the winter or fall, when it rained.
    It was a three-room stone house, very carefully built and surprisingly neat. There were a few books and magazines lying about, but everything else seemed to have its place and to be kept there. There was a dark stain on the tabletop that identified itself for me, and some more of the same on the floor under the chair legs. Looking at the dishes, I figured that Bitner was alone and about to begin eating when death had struck.
    The one door into the house opened from a screened-in porch to the room where he had been sitting. Remembering how the spring on the door had screamed protestingly when we opened it, there was small chance that anyone could have entered unannounced.
    Moreover, a man seated at the table could look out that door and down the path almost halfway to Ranagat.
    The windows offered little more. There were three in the main room of the house, and two of those opened over that rock basin and were at least