I thought that one over. “Not even that, Kim. The side door has one of those gimmicks on it that keeps it from closing quickly. Lots of the band boys catch fresh air out the side door and leave it propped open with a pack of matches so they can get back in. The shadows are deep back there. A person could hide in the shadows and wait until one of the band boys came out, finished his smoke and pulled the door open to go in. He or she would have time to get to the door and stop it before the latch clicked.”
“Then it could have been anyone,” he said in a discouraged tone.
“Except Donald. He was waiting.”
“And if he’d done it, it would be a good angle for him to wait around.” We sat and stared at each other blankly. He said, “We better get in touch with the police.”
I shook my head. “Kim,” I said patiently, “if I were a clerk in a store or a stenographer or a housewife, we could get in touch with the police. But you forget my line of work. Any kind of publicity helps my income. I can see a brighteyed lieutenant snickering and saying, ‘And so you figure somebody is trying to knock off the famous Laura Lynn? How much newspaper space is she looking for?’ ”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.
“You don’t know how hard some of the girls and boys fight for those headlines. From bitter experience the cops would suspect that I had fired a shot into my wall, make a scratch across my tummy, broken my own floorboards and fixed up that gimmick to make it look as if I was the lucky girl in a private electrocution. They would sneer wisely and then be very surprised when I stopped breathing.”
“Why don’t you risk it anyway?”
“Because that sort of publicity turns into a boomerang sometimes. The smart boys figure that if your agent dreams up that sort of a sloppy script for you, you must be slipping and need a shot in the arm and they stay clear. I want to keep singing at top rates, Kim.”
“You might be able to convince them anyway — the police I mean.”
It was my turn to touch his hand. “Kim, my lad, I have learned to make the lyrics of moronic songs sound sincere. I have learned how to turn on and off imitation emotion like a kid playing with a faucet. However, when it comes to the real thing I just can’t keep it from looking like an act.”
“The fact that you can see yourself that way means that you’re a pretty bright lass, Hank.”
“Pretty, period,” I said brightly.
Betty woke me up and I looked at the bedside clock and found out that it was only eleven. Somebody had rubbed gravel in my eyes and sprayed my teeth with wet peach fuzz.
I peered up at Betty.
“Hank, honey,” she said, “that Mr. Hale is here with another man. I tried to shoo them away, but Mr. Hale said that he would personally come in and bounce you out of bed unless I got you up.”
She giggled, then got my robe out of the closet. I yawned, stood up, slipped into it and belted it around me. I stuck my feet into the battered fleece-lined slippers I have had since I was fourteen and shuffled, yawning again, out into the horrid glare of the living room.
Kim Hale looked disgustingly washed and healthy and full of life. He had a man with him, a man who was completely bald and had a face that looked nineteen years old.
“Hank, meet Baldy Owen,” Kim said. He turned to Betty and performed the same introduction. Then he said pleasantly to Betty, “Shoo!”
The dismissal didn’t fracture her grin. She trotted on out and pretty soon I heard her singing and clattering in the kitchen.
Kim said, “Baldy is the man I stood on during the war, when I tromped on his left shoulder, the tank went to the left. When I stepped on his right shoulder, it went to the right — usually.”
“Had fallen arches ever since,” Baldy said cheerfully.
“And you charming people got me out of bed to tell me about the war?”
“Baldy is my new assistant on this case, Hank,” Kim said. “It appears that I will find it necessary to sleep and also conduct a spot of research. During those periods, he will be your constant admirer. And should you meet up with a certain chauffeur, Baldy has my permission to do some amateur dental work on him.”
Baldy looked a bit frail. Suddenly the light dawned. I said, “Baldy Owen! Of course! I saw you take Moose Gainey at the Garden a month ago.”
“Nice fight, wasn’t it?” he said complacently. “Seems I busted a little bitty bone in my left hand on his thick skull. Can’t even train until it knits solid.”
For the first time I noticed the taped hand.
“How much does he know?” I asked Kim.
“Just that somebody is trying to knock you off in a lot of trick ways, Hank. He isn’t going to worry about who it is, just about how it might happen next.”
“I’ve been to so many movies I’m going nuts,” Baldy said. “This’ll be a nice change. Anybody got a claim on that nice chubby little redhead that let us in?”
“Keep your mind on your work, Baldy!” Kim said.
“Sure, sure. You go back to bed, Hank,” Baldy said. “Me, I’ll help the redhead. Kim says she works here. I wash a mean dish.”
