Murder '97 by Gruber Frank

Author:Gruber, Frank [Gruber, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Pulp
Publisher: Ulverscroft
Published: 1948-08-26T11:28:51+00:00

14.

Simon Lash landed at the Chicago airport shortly before five o’clock Central time. A half hour later a chartered plane, with Lash as the sole passenger, took off from the same airport and at precisely six-thirty Lash stepped to the ground of a reconverted cow pasture.

Carrying his topcoat and suitcase he walked toward a man who was tinkering on a Jalopy.

“How do I get to Mt. Miller from this town?” he asked the mechanic.

“Bus,” replied the mechanic. “Only it’s left by now.”

“How far is it to Mt. Miller?”

“’Bout six miles.”

Lash took a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. “Does this crate run?”

The man took the ten-dollar bill and slammed down the hood of the car. “Let’s try it out, huh?”

The car had a hopped-up motor. The mechanic never let it out entirely but in five minutes after stepping into the car, Lash was in Mt. Miller. The driver of the car slowed down to fifty. “Any special place in town you want to go?”

“The hotel.”

A moment later the car squealed to a stop in front of a dingy two-story building. “Hotel,” the driver said.

Lash got out and waved to the driver of the hopped-up car. Then he entered the hotel.

The lobby was about twenty feet square and contained, besides a desk, three shabby leather-covered chairs, a leather-covered couch and about six big brass spittoons.

At one side of the desk was a wide door that led into a small dining room. There were six or eight diners in the room, but the lobby contained only two people, a middle-aged mustached man seated in one of the leather chairs reading a Chicago newspaper and the man behind the desk, a roly-poly, fat-jowled man with snaggled, stained teeth.

“Room and bath,” Lash said.

“Room,” replied the clerk, “but you take your own bath!” He howled at his own joke.

“Funny,” Lash said.

The clerk continued to chortle, but after awhile recovered enough to turn the hotel register about so Lash could sign it. “Room ’ll cost you four dollars—American plan, or two dollars European.” He read Lash’s signature. “Simon Lash, Hollywood, California. Well, well…!”

Behind Lash the middle-aged man lowered his newspaper and got to his feet. “You’re Mr. Lash?” he called. “I talked to you on the telephone this morning.”

“Sheriff Walters?”

The man nodded. “Musta flown here, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“Sorry about your friend, Carter,” the sheriff said. “I talked to his wife on the phone this morning and she said to have the body shipped to Chicago. Got it out this afternoon.”

“You’ve already shipped it.”

“Yes.”

“Without an autopsy?”

The sheriff grimaced. “Wasn’t any need for an autopsy. Like I told you, he was killed by a bull…”

“The bull confessed?”

‘The sheriff scowled. “Now, look here, Mr. Lash, that ain’t no way to talk. I been sheriff of this county for twelve-thirteen years.”

“How many murders have you had in that time?”

“People around here don’t commit murders. Had a manslaughter case four-five years ago, but murder…” The sheriff shuddered.

Lash turned to the hotel clerk. “Can you tell me where George Halpin lives?”

Before the clerk could reply, the sheriff said: “It was George Halpin’s bull killed your friend.

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