Lady in the Lake Page #7

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did you ever hear of a female|named Mildred Havelend?

No.

The real name of the woman|found drowned in the lake.

- Why don't you ask DeGarmot about her?|- Why should I?

'Cause he knew Lavery and he knew her.|And they're both dead.

I think DeGarmot could throw|a lot of light on the subject.

- That's a big statement, Marlowe.|- Why do you think he slapped me around?

- Because you hit him.|- Not until I had to.

There's something from the past here|that we know nothing about.

I intend to do some finding out|on my own tonight.

You can, too, by talking to DeGarmot.

You know what you're doing, don't you?

You're practically forcing on me|the rottenest job a police official can have.

Investigating a man|in his own organization.

Listen, Marlowe,|there've been two deaths.

- And if they're connected...|- They're connected all right.

- lf they are, I'll find out.|- And I'll be glad to help you.

I'll work with you in any way you want.

- Why? Are you that sore at DeGarmot?|- No.

Because I've got a personal interest|in finding Chrystal Kingsby.

All right.

- Here's what you do.|- Yeah?

Call the Sergeant|and get him to give you a nice, quiet cell.

I thought you were on the level.|But you want me out of the way...

so you and DeGarmot can fix it|any way it suits you.

I resent that.|If it wasn't Christmas Eve, I'd...

Okay, your murder alibi checks.

The charge of taking a punch at DeGarmot|is dismissed.

Do me a great big favor|and get out of here.

Kane talking.

Hello, darling.

Well, I just talked to Elaine.

Yes, dear, I know what night it is.

I am, am I?

Be Santa Claus again?

Get out before I decide|to go to work on you myself.

What? It should still fit.

But I don't think we'll need|the pillow this year.

My stomach...

And dear, do me a favor, will you?

Comb out the beard for me.

Will you get out of here, Marlowe?

I'm sorry, dear.

You know I can't talk|to two people at once.

I wouldn't say that about you. No.

Who said you can't dance?

You do a terrific rumba, baby. Just terrific.

Really terrific. I mean terrific.

- Can I use your phone?|- Just a minute.

- I'd like to use one of your phones.|- Sure. And merry Christmas to you, too.

Just like I was saying, baby, that rumba.

Margaret didn't say that.

No. You're crazy. I never did.|I tell you, I didn't.

Well, maybe one day|when there was some mistletoe there.

Am I a dope? Oh, I am.

Los Angeles Chronicle.

Give me the night editor.

Dugan speaking.

Hi, Dugan. This is Marlowe.

Merry Christmas, you lug.

Same to you. Dugan, remember|that favor you said you owed me...

the time we shook down the guy|with the loaded dice?

What do you want? My girl or my car?

I want you to dig me up whatever you can|on a female named Mildred Havelend.

From Bay City. And call me at my hotel.

Mildred Havelend.

in about an hour.

Thanks, Dugan.

Laguna? This time of year? No.

Who wants to live with pigeons?

Thanks for the use of the phone.

Oh, yeah.|Did I wish you a merry Christmas?

Okay. The crack still goes.|Nuts. Who can afford Palm Springs?

What's the matter with Anaheim?

Come in.

I didn't leave that handkerchief there.

You don't believe I did, do you?

You still worrying about it?

I read a story once about a killer...

who left clues around|to point to somebody else.

That was a story.

- I wouldn't kill anyone, Marlowe.|- No...

just a nice, clean campfire girl.

I'm all mixed-up tonight.

If it turns out that you are the little girl|who held the hot and smoking pistol...

you're going to be really mixed-up.

- You think I'm that vicious?|- Yes.

I thought you liked me.

The girl I like won't be editing|a string of crime magazines...

or looking for a quick million bucks...

or trying to hang a murder|on another woman.

What will this girl do?

Take care of me.

Unglamorous, isn't it?

- Buy me a drink.|- No.

I have business.

There's a time and place for everything.

- This is Christmas Eve.|- I told you I have business.

This is it now.

Got the dope on Mildred Havelend.

about a year and a half ago.

Just a minute. Would you mind leaving?

- I thought you were off the case.|- Oh, no.

Marlowe never sleeps|till all's well with the world.

- Who's your client now?|- I never reveal a client's name.

- It's Derry, isn't it?|- You fired me.

And I have to eat, don't I? Blow me a kiss|and close the door gently as you leave.

I'll call you if I need you.

Drexel. 3-3-3...

9-1.

Okay, Dugan.

for a doctor in Bay City named Almore.

that's the doc's wife, was found dead.

Cop named DeGarmot investigated.

- Verdict:
suicide.|- What happened to Mildred Havelend?

She disappeared right after that.

Anybody figure|Florence Almore was murdered?

Raised a stink at first.

Somebody scared them silly.

Somebody has, has he?|Where do they live?

Eugene Grayson.

Thanks, Dugan.|I'll go and have a talk with him.

You Mr. Grayson?

We've told the police everything.|We want to be left alone.

- Who is it, Eugene? Is it Mr...|- Who are you?

Good evening, Mrs. Grayson.|I'm sorry to bother you.

My name is Marlowe.|I'm a private detective.

- I want to talk to you about your daughter.|- Haven't we had enough?

Can't you smell the cigar smoke?|He was here for an hour. One solid hour.

We don't want to talk anymore.

All we ask is to be left alone.|By all policemen.

- But I want to help you.|- Yes. He does, too.

I don't know why you are here,|Mr. Marlowe, but I must ask you to go.

My wife is sick.

We don't want to talk to anyone.

He thinks she committed suicide,|doesn't he, that cop that was here? I don't.

I think your daughter was murdered|and Mildred Havelend murdered her.

Get out.

I think he covered up for her|and wants to keep you quiet.

Did you hear her? Get out.|We don't want any more trouble.

We don't want to talk to any more|policemen. We're tired, Mr. Marlowe.

We've had enough of this.|We've had all of it we can stand.

We don't want to go through any more.|We just want to be left alone.

I tell you, we're tired, and I'm sick.|Please go away.

I must insist that you go.

I'm sorry you won't talk, Mr. Grayson.|Good night.

DeGarmot was a nice, sweet boy.

He left me there, soaked in alcohol.

Went to a telephone and called the police.

Said he was a citizen|who wanted to report a drunk driver.

But I got a break.

I didn't sleep quite as long as he thought|I was going to.

And what woke me up was a guy who|had been over-celebrating Christmas...

and was caroling a little off-key.

So I watched him|to see what my next move was.

He might come in handy.

- Anybody in there?|- No. He was alone.

Looks like everybody's celebrating tonight|except us.

He won't do any more celebrating|for about six months.

- Why, is he hurt?|- No. Just passed out.

Here's his wallet.

Phillip Marlowe. Private dick.

A plum pudding, all cooked up nice for us.

Come on. Let's get him out of here.

He's going to feel great in the morning.

Just a second|while I get this license number.

Call headquarters|and tell them to send out a tow car.

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