Scenarios - A Collection of Nameless Detective Stories Read Free Page A

fellows talk."
    "Uh-huh. Anything else?"
    "About Colly's past, that what you're getting at?"
    "Yes."
    "Just once," Biehler said. "Colly told me a few things. But I never pressed him on it. I don't like to pry."
    "What was it he told you?"
    "That he was never going back to prison. That he was through with the kind of life he'd led before." Biehler's eyes sparkled, as if challenging me. "And you know something? I been on this earth for fifty-nine years and I've known a lot of men in that time. You get so you can tell."
    "Tell what, Mr. Biehler?"
    "Colly wasn't lying," he said.
     
    I spent an hour at the main branch of the library in Civic Center, reading through back issues of the Chronicle and the Examiner . The Glen Park robberies had begun a month and a half ago, and I had paid only passing attention to them at the time.
    When I had acquainted myself with the details I went back to my office and checked in with my answering service. No calls. Then I called Lucille Babcock.
    "The police were here earlier," she said. "They had a search warrant."
    "Did they find anything?"
    "There was nothing to find."
    "What did they say?"
    "They asked a lot of questions. They wanted to know about bank accounts and safe-deposit boxes."
    "Did you cooperate with them?"
    "Of course."
    "Good," I said. I told her what I had been doing all day, what the people I'd talked with had said.
    "You see?" she said. "Nobody who knew Colly can believe he was guilty."
    "Nobody but the police."
    "Damn the police," she said.
    I sat holding the phone. There were things I wanted to say, but they all seemed trite and meaningless. Pretty soon I told her I would be in touch, leaving it at that, and put the receiver back in its cradle.
    It was almost five o'clock. I locked up the office, drove home to my flat in Pacific Heights, drank a beer and ate a pastrami sandwich, and then lit a cigarette and dialed Eberhardt's home number. It was his gruff voice that answered.
    "Did you stop by Robbery before you left the Hall?" I asked.
    "Yeah. I don't know why."
    "We're friends, that's why."
    "That doesn't stop you from being a pain in the ass sometimes."
    "Can I come over, Eb ?'
    "You can if you get here before eight o'clock," he said. "I'm going to bed then, and Dana has orders to bar all the doors and windows and take the telephone off the hook. I plan to get a good night's sleep for a change."
    "I'll be there in twenty minutes," I said.
     
    E berhardt lived in Noe Valley, up at the back end near Twin Peaks. The house was big and painted white, a two-storied frame job with a trimmed lawn and lots of flowers in front. If you knew Eberhardt, the house was sort of symbolic; it typified everything the honest, hardworking cop was dedicated to protecting. I had a hunch he knew it, too; and if he did, he got a certain amount of satisfaction from the knowledge. That was the way he was.
    I parked in his sloping driveway and went up and rang the bell. His wife Dana, a slender and very attractive brunette with a lot of patience, let me in, asked how I was and showed me into the kitchen, closing the door behind her as she left.
    Eberhardt was sitting at the table having a pipe and a cup of coffee. The bruise over his eye had been smeared with some kind of pinkish ointment; it made him look a little silly, but I knew better than to tell him so.
    "Have a seat," he said, and I had one. "You want some coffee?"
    "Thanks."
    He got me a cup, then indicated a manila envelope lying on the table. Without saying anything, sucking at his pipe, he made an elaborate effort to ignore me as I picked up the envelope and opened it.
    Inside was the report made by the two patrolmen, Avinisi and Carstairs , who had shot and killed Colly Babcock in the act of robbing the Budget Liquor Store. I read it over carefully — and my eye caught on one part, a couple of sentences, under "Effects." When I was through I put the report back in the envelope and returned it to the table.
    Eberhardt looked at me then.