The Fat Death by Michael Avallone

Author:Michael Avallone [Avallone, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Story Merchant Books
Published: 2013-11-11T22:00:00+00:00

Forgive Me, Alberta

There are a lot of awful things under God’s blue sky but how many of them can compare to what I had to sit through? The worst part of the whole business was that I knew what was coming and couldn’t do a thing about it. I’d seen Mike Monks operate before with trump cards up each sleeve. I was damned if I was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was also kicking my insides around every time he scored a point on Alberta Carstairs. But I’d paid my money and I’d made my choice. Not Mike’s fault. Just another casualty to chalk up to sweet sentimentality getting between a detective and his case.

Monks treated her like a lady, though. In spite of all he had on her, hidden away in one reel of film. He waved her to a chair and carried out his interrogation like a gentleman of the old school.

Alberta’s eyes had indicated she was about to greet me warmly and with surprise but I was able to telegraph my message without making Monks suspicious.

“Hello, Miss Carstairs. Nice to see you again.”

She caught herself, nodded and sat down. “Hello, Mr. Noon. I didn’t expect to find you here.” She was looking angelic and heavenly again in military coat, coiffure of gold mounting all her beauty for all the world to see. My face was a poker game. It told her nothing of what was eating me down to the bare bones.

“I didn’t expect to be here,” I pointed out. “The Captain is an old friend of mine. He insisted I be on hand for his third degree.”

“Third degree?” Alberta’s eyebrows arched. “The idea. Are you really going to grill me, Captain Monks?”

Mike winced. “Ed has to have his little jokes.”

“That’s all right,” she responded cheerily. “Ask me anything you like. I’ve nothing to hide. But please be brief. I’m expecting an important client this afternoon and I wouldn’t want to keep her waiting. She’s a millionairess and you can’t treat them too lightly.”

“Fair enough,” Monks boomed. “We’ll get to it.”

I buried myself in my chair and stared down at my hands. I didn’t want to look at Alberta Carstairs. Right then I wanted like I’d never wanted anything in my life to be sitting under a palm tree in Tahiti watching sails on the horizon. A man should not have to be present at an execution. Especially his own.

But I couldn’t stick cotton in my ears or even drown out the inquiry that followed. It was a classic of its kind, from the question and answer point of view. Mike Monks has never been faulted as a seeker of truth.

“Did you know John Freeling personally, Miss Carstairs?”

“No. I’m afraid not.”

“Don’t be afraid. You’re saying you were never in social contact with him?”

“No, Captain. I’m saying that outside of our being in the same line of business, I never spoke to the man once.”

“I see. Then I’m correct in assuming that you’d take an oath if you had to as to the validity of that claim?”

“Certainly, I would.

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