Killer's Law by L. Ron Hubbard

Author:L. Ron Hubbard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Suspense
Publisher: Galaxy Press
Published: 2012-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Blow Torch Murder

The Blow Torch Murder

THE crime which the papers played up as the blow torch murder occurred, so it seems, at six o’clock that spring evening, though it was not discovered until six the following dawn, much to the disgust of Ham Logan the homicide veteran.

Springtime was rather trying for Ham. He was sleepy enough for ten months of the year, but in spring…!

That afternoon, a couple hours before the announced time of the killing, Ham Logan was stretched out on a bench, his derby hat tilted over and hiding his small eyes and fat jowls, but revealing his open mouth from which came sonorous symphonies of pure enjoyment. His hands were folded across his paunch and gently rose and fell in perfect time.

All in all it was a very peaceful scene. The sergeant at the desk had his feet higher than his head, his collar was open and he dozed blissfully to the accompaniment of the twittering birds outside the station house.

At four o’clock, crime raised its ugly face in the form of Weasel Martin.

Weasel Martin was thin, quite able to squeeze through cell bars. He was dressed in a checkered vest, a black coat and light-colored pants. He swung a cane and tried to look repentant.

Weasel Martin rapped sharply on the desk to wake up the sergeant. Ham Logan shoved back his derby and sat up, blinking at this unheard-of appearance. The sergeant lowered his feet and scowled to hide the fact that he had been asleep.

“I just stole a car,” said Weasel Martin impatiently.

The sergeant looked at Ham and Ham looked at the Weasel.

“Since when,” said Ham, “did you get so law-abiding as to steal cars?”

“Never mind when. I stole it all right.”

The sergeant yelled for a harness bull and when that worthy had lumbered into the room, the sergeant said, “Check up and see if Weasel’s lying. Meantime, lock him up.”

The Weasel, still trying to look sad, was led off to the cells. Ham Logan scratched his head for a while and then began to slump down for another forty winks.

At four-thirty Chink Edwards came bustling in, very much in a hurry. He looked rumpled and his slant eyes were as shifty as ever. He was pasty white.

“What do you do with guys who break windows?” said the Chink.

The sergeant pulled himself awake, lowered his feet and blinked. Ham Logan raised his derby and peered under the black brim.

“I said I broke a window,” repeated the Chink. “Whatcha going to do about it?”

Ham Logan grunted, “You broke a window? I thought you were in the numbers racket.”

“Beat it,” said the sergeant.

“You mean…” spluttered the Chink, “that you ain’t got any more respect for the citizens of this town than to let them go around breaking windows every time they feel like it?”

The sergeant scowled horribly and yelled for another harness bull. “Lock him up and see about it,” said the sergeant. “The Chink says he broke a window.”

The Chink was led off toward the cells.

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