Badge of Evil by Whit Masterson Read Free Book Online Page B

I’m just an amateur at this end of it. But I can’t help how it looks to me.”
    “All right, counsellor. Sum up and tell me again why Tara Linneker and Delmont Shayon didn’t do it.”
    “I’ve met them both. They’re not the type of person who plans and commits a cold-blooded murder of that sort.”
    “Matter of opinion. Over-ruled.”
    “The motive doesn’t stand up. Sure, Linneker didn’t approve of Tara’s fiancé, but Tara was old enough to marry with his consent or without it. This isn’t the Middle Ages. And Tara stood to get the money, anyway, sooner or later. Linneker had no one else to leave it to, and he couldn’t take it with him.”
    “That presumes knowledge you don’t have. Over-ruled.”
    “The dynamite. It’s not the right weapon. As we both know, Van, most murders are done with a gun, a knife, or other sharp implement, a blunt instrument — or with the hands. Occasionally, poison. But dynamite — heck, no. It’s uncertain, clumsy, dangerous to handle, attracts immediate attention to the crime; why, there’re a hundred reasons why you shouldn’t set out to kill anybody with dynamite.”
    “Could have been an attempt to fake an accident. Over-ruled.”
    “Exception, Your Honour. There was no attempt at all to make the murder look like an accident. The dynamite was simply shoved through a window and blooey! Nothing clever about it or cunning or sly — or womanly.”
    “Exception noted.” Van Dusen grinned and banged his spoon like a gavel on the table. “Order in the court. What’ll you have, Mitch — more coffee?” Holt shrugged and the waitress came from behind the counter to refill their cups. When she had gone, Van Dusen asked, “What’s Adair’s opinion on this?”
    “I haven’t discussed it with him yet,” Holt admitted. “Frankly, Van, you’re the only person I’ve talked to, except Connie last night. I sort of wanted your opinion.”
    Van Dusen was silent for a long time, slowly swirling the coffee around in his cup. He eyed it like a medium gazing into a crystal ball. “Well, I’ll tell you. I can’t quite buy your story, Mitch. Which doesn’t mean that you’re wrong, of course. But I’ve worked with McCoy before and he’s a crackerjack, the best there is. I remember one deal we had a few years back, before your time. We were up against a stone wall, nothing to go on and McCoy pulled the answer right out of thin air. There was this sailor on a tuna clipper murdered his wife. He had a beautiful alibi, supposed to be out on a cruise at the time. But McCoy got a hunch and he hung on till he had it made. The fellow’s ship went into Mazatlàn for engine repairs, he grabbed a plane home under a fake name — his wife was two-timing him and he knew it — killed her and was back in Mexico before anybody knew he was gone. His shipmates thought he’d been holed up on a bender. But McCoy broke it and the man confessed. I’ve been in this business a few years myself and I’ll be the first to admit that I couldn’t have done it. So when McCoy says that Tara Linneker and Delmont Shayon murdered her father, I’ll go mighty slow contradicting the old man.”
    “I’ve got a lot of respect for McCoy myself,” Holt said. “I don’t see how anybody could help but have, with his record. But he’s a man and man is fallible.”
    “You’re a man yourself,” Van Dusen pointed out.
    “Well, I’ve got no monopoly on truth. I’ve changed my mind once about this case. Maybe I’ll change it again. But when I go into court I want to be sure.” Holt extracted a page from his notebook and handed it to Van Dusen. “I got this from Shayon last night. It constitutes his and Tara’s alibi — what there is of it.”
    Van Dusen studied the street names. “I don’t see what you’re worried about. I think Two-Gun could win this one by himself. This isn’t any alibi at all.”
    “I wanted a sample of Shayon’s handwriting. It struck me last night that just riding