Canvas Coffin by William Campbell Gault Read Free Book Online Page A

was, there,” I said. “I wonder how old she was, then?”
    “Eighteen, nineteen.”
    From the doorway behind us, a voice said, “She was a real pretty girl. And look at this place; you can tell she knew good stuff when she saw it. Nothing cheap about Brenda.”
    We turned to face the big woman in the white twill shorts.
    “Was she ever married?” Sally asked.
    “Not that I know of. Would you folks like some coffee? I got a full pot on.”
    I looked at Sally, and she said, “I’d like some.”
    The woman’s apartment was a replica of the one above, but furnished in the four-rooms-for-four-hundred-and-seventy-nine-dollars-name-your-own-terms-including-refriger-ator-stove-and-washing-machine Los Angeles too recent American.
    But she made it warm with her outsize geniality.
    “It better be good coffee,” she said, “at twenty dollars.” She chuckled. “I feel kind of guilty about that, but not guilty enough to give it back. Were you cheated, dearie?”
    “No, I wasn’t,” Sally said. “You make a fine cup of coffee.”
    We were in the bright kitchen, sitting at a Formica-top, chrome-legged table. The woman wore a halter with the shorts and it could have served as a hammock for Max.
    Sally asked her, “Didn’t you hear any racket, any noise that night it — happened? I should think, being right below and all — ”
    “I was visiting my daughter-in-law, in Culver City,” the woman said placidly. “And the Gendrons were out — they’re the people in back on this floor — and it could have been there wasn’t much noise, anyway. But wasn’t it horrible?”
    Sally nodded. I nodded. She was a woman who wouldn’t need prompting.
    “Lived here ever since the building was finished, eight months ago, and never a bit of trouble about the rent or making noise. No dogs, no kids, no parties, a real ideal tenant, Brenda was. I’m sure going to miss her.”
    “Must have had plenty of — admirers,” Sally said.
    “Not many for overnight,” the woman went on, “though it isn’t a thing I worry about. Wouldn’t mind a man of my own, if you’ll pardon the frankness, and can’t see cooking up a storm about them fortunate enough to — ” She stopped, and clapped a big hand over her mouth. “I forgot about you being reporters; you won’t print that? I’m just too damned mouthy.”
    Sally smiled. “I’m not exactly a reporter. This Sunday feature writing is almost as much fiction as fact. It’s the — the human side of the — the subject I’m supposed to write up, and I never, never speak ill of the dead.”
    “I’m sure you don’t, dearie. I’m not very often wrong about people, and I liked your looks, right off. Is your hair naturally that color?”
    “Since I was eighteen,” Sally said. “Brenda didn’t have any steady boy friend, then?”
    “I just didn’t watch that close. I honestly couldn’t say. More coffee?”
    Sally rose. “Thanks, no. We have to get back to the office. I wonder if the police have any real leads on this?”
    “I don’t think so. That Sergeant Sands has about talked my arm off, and the questions he asks, it don’t seem to me he’s got even the tiniest idea of where to start looking. But, of course, you can’t always tell with them — ”
    We were both standing now. We were walking toward the door, and the woman continued to talk. In the open entry, under the stairs that led to the second floor, we stood a moment, while the talk went on. And then she stopped and looked past us.
    Three men were coming up the walk. Two of them were carrying things, things that looked like photographic equipment or technical instruments. The third man carried nothing.
    The third man was Sergeant Sands.

Chapter IV
    T HE SERGEANT’S EYES were cool. His glance flicked over me, went to Sally, and came back to me. “Well,” he said. “Well,
Champ.”
    One of the men said, “You got the key, Tom? We haven’t much time.”
    Sands nodded at the big woman. “She has one she’ll