Rankin saw us and came forward. He was a head shorter than Candy. He wore a lightweight grey suit with a slouch hat placed carefully and at a jaunty angle over his right eye: a man nudging forty-five with a smooth, hard face, ice grey eyes and a small slit that served him for a mouth. His hair, white at the temples, had been recently cut. He was dapper, neat and as hard as forged steel.
“This is Lew Brandon, Lieutenant,” Candy said.
Rankin looked at me. His eyes were as intense as searchlights. He took from his pocket a flimsy slip of paper and thrust it at me.
“Did you send this?” he asked.
I looked at the paper. It was the telegram I had sent Jack telling him when I would be arriving.
“Yes.”
“He was a friend of yours?”
“We were in business together. He was my partner.”
Rankin continued to stare at me. For a long moment he just stared, rubbing his jaw, then he said, “You’d better take a look at him, then we can talk.”
Bracing myself, I followed him across the hot sand and into the cabin.
II
A couple of beefy-looking men were dusting powder on the window ledges for fingerprints. A thin, elderly man sat at a small table, a black bag at his feet, filling out a buff-coloured form.
I scarcely noticed them. My eyes went immediately to where Jack was lying on the floor by a kind of divan bed. He was hunched up, close to the bed, as if he had been trying to get away from someone when he was dying.
Except for a pair of swimming trunks, he was naked. In the hollow of his neck and right shoulder was a blue-red hole. The skin around the hole was badly bruised. There was a scared expression on his suntanned, dead face.
“That him?” Rankin asked quietly, his ice grey eyes watching me.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He looked at the thin man. “Nearly finished Doc?”
“All but. It’s a straightforward job. There’s a professional touch about it. I’d say a rattail icepick. Whoever did it knew where to strike. Got him just by the occipital bulge. Driven in with considerable force. Death would be instantaneous. I’d say he was killed within the hour.”
Rankin grunted.
“You can take him away when you’re ready.” He turned to me. “Let’s get out of here.” He went out into the hot sunshine, blinking a little in the fierce light. He waved to Candy, who came over. “I’m going back to Brandon’s hotel,” he said. “See what you can find here. Doc says it’s an icepick job. Hughson will be down with some more men. Get them looking for the pick. There’s a chance the killer threw it away, but I doubt it.” He looked at his gold strap watch he wore on the inside of his thin wrist. “See you in my office at fourteen-thirty hours.”
He crooked his finger at me, then set off across the sand, walking through the crowd as if it didn’t exist. The crowd gave way hurriedly, staring at me as I followed him. As we passed the parking lot, I said, “The convertible Buick belongs to Sheppey and me, Lieutenant. He had the use of it down here.”
Rankin paused, looked over at the Buick, then waved to one of his men.
“Tell Sergeant Candy the convertible over there is the car Sheppey came in. Get it checked for prints and give it a going over. When you’re through with it have someone take it to the Adelphi Hotel and leave it there.” He looked at me. “Okay?”
“Thanks.”
We went to a police car and got in the back. Rankin said to the driver, “Adelphi Hotel. Take the long way round and drive slow. I’ve got some talking to do.”
The driver touched his cap, engaged gear and moved the car into the traffic.
Rankin settled himself in the corner, took a cigar from his pocket, shook it out of its metal container, pierced it and put it between his small white teeth. He lit it, drew down a lungful of smoke, held it, then let it drift slowly down his pinched nostrils.
“Well, let’s have it,” he said. “Who are you and who is Sheppey and what is all this about? Don’t rush it. Take it slow, but give me the complete picture.”
I lit a cigarette, thought for a moment, then began to talk. I told him Sheppey and I had been running a successful inquiry agency in San Francisco for the past five years.
“I’ve been on a job in New York for three weeks while Sheppey has been looking after the office. While I was in New York I got a wire from him telling me to get to St. Raphael City as fast as I could. He said he had a big job on and there was money in it. I had more or less tied up my job, so I flew to Los Angeles and took the tram here, arriving this morning at eleven-thirty. I went to the hotel, found Sheppey had reserved a room for me and was told he had gone out. I was taking a shower when Sergeant Candy picked me up. That’s all I can tell you.”
“He didn’t say what the job was?” Rankin asked.
I shook my head.
“Jack isn’t much of a letter writer. I guess he decided it would be quicker and easier to tell me than to write.”
Rankin brooded for a moment, then said, “Have you got your licence on you?”
I gave him my billfold. He examined the contents quickly and expertly, then handed it back.
