Read Online Death of a Tall Man by Frances Lockridge - Free Book Online

at Barney Jones, who looked at her with round, appreciative eyes.
    â€œJones, miss,” Barney told her. He looked at Bill Weigand.
    â€œThe sketch, Barney,” Bill said. “The sketch.”
    â€œYeah,” Barney Jones said. He went to the door leading to the first examining room, opened it and went through.
    â€œNow, Pam,” Bill said. “How did you do it this time?” His voice was no longer official. It was merely very interested.
    Pam told him. She left out the part about the captured taxicab.
    â€œAnd how did you get in?” Bill said.
    â€œWell,” Pam said, “I’m afraid I used your name. And they seemed to think you’d sent for me, Bill—one of them seemed to think I was a relative or something—of the victim, I mean, not of you—and—”
    â€œRight,” Bill said. “Jerry won’t like it.”
    â€œO’Malley won’t like it,” Mullins said. He said it gloomily. He closed his eyes and opened them again. “At all,” Mullins said.
    Pam had seen the body. Her face was grave, suddenly. She turned to Bill and her face was still grave.
    â€œIt was a—an impulse, Bill,” she said. “A sudden thing I do like—like the taxicab. I didn’t tell you about that. But coming here was like that. I’m—I’m sorry.”
    Bill smiled at her.
    â€œOfficially,” he said, “I regard your actions, my dear, with—” He decided not to keep it up. “Actually,” he said, “I’m glad to see you, Pam.”
    Mullins shuddered; he made his shudder audible. Somehow he had got directly behind Pam, who jumped.
    â€œMr. Mullins!” she said. “Don’t do that!”
    Mullins was embarrassed.
    â€œLook, Mrs. North,” he said, “it wasn’t to make you jump. It was just—I was thinking of the inspector.” He paused, considering. “Maybe I shouldn’t,” he said. “Only he’s sort of a hard guy not to think of, Mrs. North. You know that.”
    â€œShe’s here, Mullins,” Weigand told him. “I let them think out there that she was—official. A policewoman or something. So she’s here. I’ll think about the inspector.”
    â€œYou won’t like it,” Mullins told him. “But it’s O.K. with me, Loot.”
    Pam looked at Bill and her eyes asked a question.
    â€œThey are uneasy,” Bill told her. “Off balance. At least, I hope they are. Because they’re the people we have to work on to begin with. The police have taken over—something impersonal has taken over. Not me—not Mullins or Stein—the police. You, Pam—you, unexplained—might have broken it. So I let them think you were police, too.”
    â€œOh,” Pam said. “Then what do I do?”
    â€œSit tight,” Bill told her. “Try not to say anything and if you do—” He considered that, rejected it as hopeless. “Try not to say anything,” he repeated. “Listen. And—use that mind of yours all you want to, Pam.” He smiled at her, and this time it was Bill Weigand to Pam North. “Very nice little mind,” he assured her.
    His smile went away. He opened the door of the private office, went to the doorway of the waiting room and looked at the men and women in it. The blonde who was, apparently, Mrs. Gordon was sitting up. There was a dazed look on her face. Weigand’s eyes went over her. They stopped on Grace Spencer. He made a motion with his head when he saw she was looking at him.
    â€œWill you come this way, please?” he said.
    He watched her as she crossed the room toward him. She was tall for a woman and thin, but it was an attractive, straight thinness. She moved well on long, slim legs; her shoulders were broad and square and they were held well back. Her face was faintly brown, as if tan from an earlier, hotter sun still lingered on it.