The Killers Page #2

You got along with him

all right on the job?

Sure. Easy enough to get along with.

Uh-huh. Think I'll have

a look at the body.

Right. Nick, you take Mr. Riordan

down to Pluthner and introduce him.

Mr. Pluthner's in charge

of our county morgue.

Thanks. I'd like to have

a chat with Nick anyway.

Anything else I can do, let me know.

I'd like a copy of the report

on Lunn's fingerprints soon...

- as you get it from Washington.

- I'll send it right on to you.

- Fine. Mind if I keep this?

- Keep it. Sure.

Thanks again.

Tell me, Nick, the last time you

and the Swede were together...

Hello, Nick. What's on your mind?

Mr. Pluthner, this is Mr. Riordan.

The chief asked me to bring him down.

I'm with the Atlantic

Casualty Company.

Tri-States Oil carries a group

policy with us on its employees.

- Lunn worked for them.

- Well, the policy is now payable.

Got eight slugs in him.

Near tore him in half.

- "Once I did something wrong."

- Huh?

Those were his last

words to Nick here.

I wonder what he meant.

"Once I did something wrong."

I don't know, but it was

something a long time ago.

- How do you know that?

- Just the way he said it.

Like it was something

happened a long time back.

Did the Swede eat his supper

at the diner every night?

Yeah.

I wonder why he didn't show

the night the killers were there.

He'd been staying home for a

few days. He didn't feel so good.

- What was the matter with him?

- I don't know.

Stomach or something.

It started Thursday, a week ago.

I was at the filling station.

About an hour before closing,

a guy drives in in a big black car.

Caddy, I think it was.

- Fill 'er up. Ethyl.

- Yes, sir.

Hey, you!

Look at the oil, will ya?

It's okay.

Check the rear tires.

Wipe the windshield.

This town got a name?

- Yeah.

- What is it?

- Brentwood.

- Brentwood?

- 3.83 with the tax.

- Here, kid. Thanks.

Thank you.

Brentwood, huh?

Nick, you close up. I'm going home.

What's the matter, Swede?

Are you sick?

Yeah.

I feel kind of sick.

And he walked off

rubbing his stomach,

and he didn't come to work next day.

Only time I knew him to miss a day.

You didn't notice the license

plates on the car, did you?

It was an out-of-state car, though.

Illinois, I think,

or maybe Pennsylvania.

And the man in the car,

what did he look like?

Well, he was kind of heavyset.

Had a mustache.

Look, mister, if you don't mind,

I'm feelin' kind of sick myself.

Yeah.

I want to call Newark, honey.

Market 3-2-600.

Uh, Brentwood 2-7-7.

This is Riordan. Let me

have my office, please.

Hello, Stella? I'm still

up in Brentwood. Yeah.

I've had some postmortem photographs

made of this fellow Lunn.

I'm sending you in a print. He's got

broken knuckles, a fighter's hands.

Have one of the boys take the

picture over to Kelly's gym.

See if anyone there can identify him.

Get me anything you can on the guy.

What? Oh, that can wait

till I come in tomorrow.

Well, tell the boys I've taken

a run down to Atlantic City.

I want to interview

Lunn's beneficiary.

Around here, Mr. Riordan,

they all call Mary Ellen "Queenie."

She should be here any minute.

She's usually home

from church by now.

There she is.

Queenie, will you come here a minute?

This is Mr. Riordan.

Hello, Queenie.

Thank you, Mrs. Grimes.

- Sit down, Queenie.

- Thank you, sir.

I have news for you. It may

be good, it may be bad,

according to your feeling

for the deceased.

- Oh, did somebody die, sir?

- Pete Lunn.

- Who, sir?

- Pete Lunn.

Oh, I know no one of that name.

Well, you must have known him, Queenie.

You're his beneficiary.

His what, sir?

His life was insured for $2,500.

It's payable to you.

Oh.

Oh, there must be some mistake.

Nobody would be leaving

me that much money.

There aren't any other Mary Ellen

Daughertys employed here, are there?

No, sir.

Oh. Him it is!

- Who?

- Oh, the man in 1212.

But... But his name was never Lunn.

It was, um, uh, Nelson.

That's who that is.

That's Mr. Nelson.

And you only knew him

as a guest in the hotel?

Yes, sir. Oh, but that was years ago.

The year of the hurricane.

1940, that was.

I remember because it was when

my sister's youngest was born.

Was it a natural death he

was dying, Mr. Riordan?

No, Queenie. He was murdered.

Murder, you say?

How long did Mr. Nelson,

as you call him, stay here?

Well, I couldn't say exactly, sir,

but no longer than a few days.

And you never saw him before

those few days or after?

Never, sir.

Why do you suppose he made

his insurance payable to you?

For the life of me, sir...

Murder, it was?

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor Mr. Nelson.

Well, there's one thing

to be thankful for.

He can sleep in consecrated ground.

- What do you mean by that?

- The sin was not on his own soul.

Why did you think

he'd killed himself?

Well, sir, now maybe

I shouldn't be tellin' it.

No, go ahead, Queenie.

Well, sir, I was makin' my rounds.

I was on night duty then,

turnin' down the beds,

and I came into 1212.

Oh! It was a sight to behold!

She's gone.

- She's gone!

- Who's gone, mister?

Don't do it, mister!

Mister, don't! Please, mister.

Oh, if you did, you'd never

see the face of God.

You'd burn in hell to the end of time.

Oh, you mustn't, mister.

Oh, blessed Mother of God,

help me. Oh, please.

She's gone!

Charleston was right. He was right.

Charleston was right.

Atlantic Casualty, claim department.

There's your party. Go ahead.

- Good morning, Stella.

- Good morning, dream boy.

- Mr. Kenyon wants to see you.

- What about the Swede? Pete Lunn.

- Oh, my notes aren't transcribed yet.

- Uh-huh.

- You sent for me?

- What are you working on?

- The Lunn case.

- That one of those $2,500 death benefits?

- That's right.

- Forget it.

- There's a damaged freight claim...

- Ever hear of anyone called Charleston?

Charleston.

There was a petty-larceny thief. Why?

Does a green handkerchief decorated

with golden harps mean anything to you?

What are you talking about,

a green handkerchief?

Did you ever try to remember

something like somebody's name,

have it on the tip of your tongue almost,

then, just as you're about to say it,

- lose it?

- I guess so.

Well, that's how it is with me

and this green handkerchief.

- It's real silk. Whose was it?

- The dead man's.

Listen. I'm trying to

run an organization.

The number of claims piled up here...

I could use six other investigators

and still be behind.

And you're off fooling around

with a two-for-a-nickel shooting.

But this isn't a

two-for-a-nickel shooting.

Two professional killers

show up in a small town...

and put the blast on a filling

station attendant, a nobody.

There was no attempt at robbery.

They were out for only one thing.

To kill him. Why?

I don't know. And what's

more, I don't care.

Here, get to work on these.

Give me a couple of more days.

Maybe a bell will ring.

I'd fire you if I didn't know you'd go right

over to more money at the Prudential.

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