Lady in the Lake Page #3

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Let's see if it's all here.

$18.

You ain't exactly dough-heavy, are you?

Hey, Sarge, get a load of this.|"Kingsby Publications, Inc., December 20.

If I Should Die Before I Live, has been..."

So you're a story writer, too?

The detective business|must be on the skids.

What are you trying to do,|elevate yourself?

If I Should Die Before I Live.|That's not bad.

It might happen to you.

All right, come on, wise guy,|Capt. Kane wants to talk to you.

Captain, this is Marlowe. He slept well.|He likes our jail. Everything is fine.

What's the charge, Captain?

Drunk in your car, ran up over the curb.

When the boys found you,|you were passed out cold.

Fine.

We here in Bay City|don't happen to think so.

That's right, peeper.

And the second time you get picked up|on a drunk driving rap down here...

you get a long, long time to cool off.

You don't exactly walk out free|the first time.

The only reason I'm talking to you|instead of the judge...

is that you're a private dick.|Have you got a story or not?

I went to sleep at a friend's house,|I woke up in a cell down the hall.

You're a great help. Monkeying around|down here on some kind of a case?

Sure. And my client slugged me...

carried me out, put me in my car,|ran it over a curb, poured whiskey on me...

and then went somewhere|to call the police and report a drunk driver.

- Maybe it wasn't a client.|- You're right.

It was a boy in gray named Chris Lavery,|a Southern gentleman.

Who also happens to be|a resident of Bay City.

You know, we ain't especially partial|to private cops down here.

We don't like them molesting our citizens.

So I molested him. Fine.|Lovely city, remind me to move here.

I see him on business, get almost killed,|and now I'm charged with molesting him.

You say you're down here on business?

That's what I thought.

- Who's your client, Marlowe?|- I don't reveal my clients' names.

That's very noble of you, I'm sure,|but you happen to be talking to the police.

Whether I'm talking to cops or not,|my clients' names are their business.

It's confidential,|else I wouldn't have any clients.

I suppose that private license you've got|must mean something...

or they wouldn't give it to you.

But it doesn't give you the right|to start trouble in my district...

without letting me in|on what you're after.

Any time you do,|you'll find yourself in a bad jam.

- A lot worse than this one.|- All right, DeGarmot.

Just don't forget what I said.

I don't like certain kinds of private d*cks.|I never did.

I never met one yet that wasn't a crook.

Anytime, any place.

I've heard of people|that don't like certain kinds of cops.

It seems impossible, doesn't it?

How did you get in here|without being announced?

I told that girl outside|it was an emergency.

You look like an emergency.

Well, it's an old sickness,|re-occurring black eyes.

- Looks like that big ring Lavery wears.|- Yeah, he wore five of them.

You know all about him, don't you?|"Come right in, Mr. Marlowe, sir.

"Have a mint julep, sir. Yak-yak."

He had the decency to hit me|above the Mason and Dixon line.

You must be crazy. Lavery's a Swede.

Brother, is he smooth.|He missed his calling.

- But he didn't miss you.|- I'll say he didn't.

I woke up in jail this morning.

The next time I see him|I'll know what time it is.

I told you he was a phony.|Did you get anywhere with him at all?

No. He claims he hasn't seen|Chrystal Kingsby for two months.

- Right back where we started.|- Maybe this is a good place to get off.

What do you mean?

Well, what do you want for $300?|A funeral?

You were hired to find Chrystal Kingsby.

If I get casually beat up along the way,|that's all right with you, isn't it?

Grist for your mill, Mr. Marlowe.|Authentic fiction.

Would it be asking too much|to start working as a detective?

What?

Chrystal Kingsby was last seen|at Little Fawn Lake.

It's a place in the mountains|beyond Arrowhead.

Just three or four little cabins,|and this private lake that Derry owns.

It's the last place we know she was.

I'm going to write you a note|to the caretaker up there...

- A Mr. Floyd Greer to see Mr. Kingsby.|- In what connection?

- He wouldn't say.|- Tell him if he can't give you some idea...

- he can't see him.|- Yes, Miss Fromsett.

What was Mrs. Kingsby doing|up at the lake alone?

I can guess,|but I haven't been up to count the bottles.

- Here you are.|- No, I'm not going up there.

- Oh, you are.|- No, it's silly.

You said yourself it's been a month|since she was there.

What am I supposed to do?

Harness a dog team|and start mushing through the woods?

You can go up there|and talk to the people.

- They might just possibly...|- Sure, just possibly.

Ever been up in the mountains|around Christmastime?

What's the matter? Afraid of a little snow?

No, but it's just silly, that's all.

You don't work|at being a detective that way.

- He says it's about something at the lake.

Oh, show him in.

Silly, eh?

Mr. Greer.

What's all this about, Mr. Greer?

Something that happened|at the Kingsby place up in the mountains.

- Would you care to tell me about it?|- I plan to tell him.

Well, you see...

Listen, miss,|I just have to see Mr. Kingsby.

Excuse us a minute, please.|Come with me, Mr. Greer.

Express Bulletin.

We've just had a call|from our San Bernadino correspondent...

about the tragedy up at Little Fawn Lake.

- Maybe you've heard something about it.|- Tragedy? No.

Do you have a caretaker|by the name of Bill Ches?

Well, they're holding him for murder.

Murder? Bill Ches? Why, that's ridiculous.

Well, maybe it is, but his wife was found|drowned in the lake.

- Muriel?|- That's her. Muriel Ches.

How long since you've been up there,|Mr. Kingsby?

Let me see. Late last November.

And how about Mrs. Kingsby?

Would she know anything|about Muriel Ches?

- Excuse me, gentlemen.|- What would she know about murder?

- Here you are. Get up to the lake quick.|- I'm way ahead of you.

You think Chrystal Kingsby|shoved this lady in the lake...

and then took a powder out,|which is why she's missing now?

It's possible. She hated Muriel Ches.

Then you think|Chrystal Kingsby may be a murderess?

- Yes.|- And you like the idea.

Yes, I do.

Now, get up to the lake fast.|Find out all you can...

- and speak to no one but me about this.|- Yeah.

So I go up to Little Fawn Lake...

thinking all the time|I don't like this case any more...

and what I like least about it|is Adrienne Fromsett.

First she wants me|to find Chrystal Kingsby...

and then she wants me|to prove Chrystal is a murderess.

She's a sweetheart, Adrienne Fromsett is.

At the lake, I visit that little morgue|they've got up there in the mountains...

and I see Muriel Ches.

Thirty days in the water.|There isn't much left of her.

But I find out a few things|I think Adrienne might like to hear about.

So I go back to town|at 4:00 in the morning...

and I go straight to her place.

- Why didn't you telephone?|- I didn't have a nickel.

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