The Blue Dahlia Page #4

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I see. Purely a business transaction.

I'd regard a secured loan at

6% as a business transaction.

I suppose you think

I'm wasting your time?

You're married, aren't you, Mr Harwood?

My wife and I are separated.

You want to know why?

Not unless it has a bearing on

your relations with Mrs Morrison.

It hasn't.

- Where is Mrs Harwood at the moment?

- No idea.

Any idea where she was last night?

No.

Look here, Hendrickson, if you

think my wife had anything to do

with Helen Morrison's murder...

So you're taking it for granted that

Mrs Morrison was murdered, are you?

- Well, wasn't she?

- We haven't called it murder so far.

Yes, but the newspapers...

Well, then I just assumed it.

Sure, but you're quite right.

She was murdered.

We have the autopsy report now

and nitrate tests of her hands.

Well, thanks for coming in, Mr Harwood.

I guess that's all for now.

Am I under suspicion?

I don't know. How do you feel about it?

Hello, George?

Isn't George there?

George Copeland.

No, George isn't here right now.

Who's this calling? Who's calling, I said!

There's just one thing

I'd like you gentlemen to bear in mind.

Even if you are close

friends of Morrison's,

you can't help him to hide out, so don't try.

I'm an attorney, Captain.

I understand perfectly.

I'm glad to hear it.

If he gets in touch with you,

make him come in.

- It's the only sensible thing for him to do.

- Baloney!

If you think we're gonna

help you tie a murder to a guy

who's flown us through 112

missions, you're off your nut!

We haven't accused Morrison

of murder so far.

No, what's holding you up?

Have these men driven back

to their apartment. Bring in that Newell.

Any chance for a room here?

I'm sorry, sir, we haven't

had a vacancy in eight weeks.

Do you know where I can find one?

That's a pretty difficult thing to say

these days.

- I'm afraid I can't help you.

- All right, thanks.

You! Just a minute!

Got a match?

Okay. Use one of my own.

- Suitcase gets kind of heavy, don't it?

- Yeah, what's it to you?

Every hotel in town's loaded.

Thought I might be a little help.

Little place

down on Santa Monica boulevard.

- What's the racket?

- Lf you think it's a racket, call a cop.

- How far away is this place?

- About six blocks.

Transportation and everything. Okay?

Okay.

You saw Harwood go up to this dame's

apartment and knock on the door.

No answer. He went away. Went away where?

Well, you see Captain, there's a

side gate to the hotel grounds...

We've seen the joint.

- Well, that's where he went out.

- What time was this?

- I've told you gentlemen...

- Tell us again.

It was about 7:
00. It was raining.

- You like standing in the rain?

- I got to make my rounds.

See if everything's okay.

Nobody cutting up too much.

You got a passkey to the bungalows?

- Surely you don't think I had...

- Why not?

Plenty of genial old parties

like you commit murders.

That isn't a very nice thing to say, Captain.

Mrs Morrison's lights were on.

The radio was going.

Why would I want to get in?

You tell us? She didn't

answer when Harwood knocked.

- Didn't that interest you?

- Would that be any of my business?

You boys got a nice technique.

Had me worried for a minute.

No hard feelings, of course.

That's all, Newell, for now.

- This is a terrible thing for the hotel.

- Kind of tough on the Morrison dame, too.

Go on, beat it!

JOHNNY:
You call this dump a hotel?

MAN:
That's what the sign said.

Clean sheets every day, they tell me.

- How often do they change the fleas?

- Hmm, very funny.

Customer, Corelli.

That'll be 10 bucks.

In advance, Mr Moore.

- That'll be 10 for us, too.

- What?

Our commission. Get it?

- Give me back that money.

- You ain't going to get difficult, are you, pal?

Okay, boys, you win.

- Hot, ain't it?

- Yeah.

Hi, Corelli.

Anybody up here belong

to that Plymouth down front?

Why?

Some crazy woman driver

just tore a fender off it.

- I didn't hear nothing.

- No?

MAN:
What's a fender? Forget it.

- Your car?

- Could be.

Come on down, then.

We got to make a report.

Let's skip it, huh?

You heard what I said, didn't you?

Come on down. That's a hot car!

Come on, get back here.

Come on get up, you.

Come on, quick. Turn around.

That's it. You want to play rough, huh?

You boys make it easy for us.

All right, get going.

Who are you?

- Jimmy Moore, San Francisco.

- That right, Corelli?

- Yeah, he just registered.

- Okay.

Get moving.

Thanks, pal.

- You still want that room?

- Lf you're sure nobody's dead in it.

Right back this way.

You live in San Francisco, Mr Moore?

- Yeah, when I'm there.

- Nice town.

I like it here better.

Anything you need, just ask for it.

- Where's your phone?

- Back down the hall.

WOMAN OVER PHONE: Grenada Towers.

JOHNNY. Mr Harwood, please.

Good evening, Mr Harwood.

Who let you in?

Housemen don't have much

trouble getting into places.

I come up the fire stairs.

Thought it was a good

idea not to be seen.

- Drink?

- I don't mind if I do.

Easy on the water.

I told the homicide boys

a good straight story.

They're satisfied. For today, anyway.

But you know how these d*cks are.

Tomorrow they might get to figuring

I was holding something back.

Nice.

And were you holding something back?

Well, I hung around a while.

After you knocked on Mrs

Morrison's door, I mean.

- Pretty wet, wasn't it?

- Weather don't bother me.

Used to be a copper myself.

Fifteen years of it.

Sit down.

- How much do they pay you over there?

- Twenty-eight a week and found.

- Not very much, is it?

- No, it's not, for a fact. Well, thanks.

So you thought you'd like to make

a little more. That's why you're here, huh?

Oh, you got me all wrong,

Mr Harwood. I just thought...

Yeah, I know, I know.

- How old are you, Dad?

- Going on 57.

Well, you've got a lot of life left

in you, unless you get careless.

I don't aim to get careless.

The cops don't pay you

any money, and I do.

Here.

Gee, this sure is white of you, Mr Harwood.

Yes, isn't it? Finished your drink?

No, I...

Well, I guess I better be

going now, Mr Harwood.

Wait a minute.

- You forgot your cigar.

- Oh, I...

I think it's out.

Cigars go out awful

easy, don't they, Dad?

Good night.

Hello, Eddie.

Hello, baby. Long time no see.

Not so long, is it?

You even send these blue

flowers to yourself, don't you?

- I thought you went out of town.

- I came back.

You still have this around.

Sentimentalist, aren't you?

I only wish I had you with it.

Sure, I know I've got lots of faults,

but being in love with you

isn't one of them, is it?

Look, baby...

It's too late, Eddie.

Why? Why is it too late?

Just is.

Helen Morrison didn't

mean anything to me alive.

No?

And she doesn't mean anything to me dead.

She means something to the police, though.

The police have the whole story.

My part of it, in any case.

- How do they like it?

- As well as they ever like anything.

Well, I guess everything's lovely, then.

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