Read Online The Case of the Angry Actress: A Masao Masuto Mystery by Howard Fast - Free Book Online

Beverly Hills belief in the stupidity of women. I’m all right now.”
    â€œAs I understand it, you were on your way out to make a luncheon date and you knocked at the door of the study. You were coming from upstairs?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œFrom this room?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow long had you been here in this room?”
    â€œAbout an hour—dressing, makeup. My maid, Binnie, was with me—not to help me dress. I can dress perfectly well by myself and I prefer to. But Binnie had a fight yesterday with some stupid kid she’s dating, and she was crying on my shoulder.”
    â€œYou left her in the room when you went out?”
    â€œNo, she followed me out on the landing and began to whine about what should she do.”
    â€œGiving you an absolutely perfect alibi,” Masuto reflected.
    â€œWell, don’t hate me for that, Sergeant. No one will believe it. By tonight, everyone will have made up his or her mind that I killed poor Mike.”
    â€œI don’t think so. Now, you knocked on the door. Did you hear the woman’s voice immediately?”
    â€œNo. there was an interval of silence. I suppose you could count ten. Then that crazy voice.”
    â€œCrazy? Why crazy?
    â€œThat’s it. I don’t know.”
    â€œBut you said crazy voice. Why?”
    â€œBecause it was different, I suppose. A high, hysterical voice. It shook and trembled. I just never heard a voice like that before.”
    â€œThen it did not remind you of anyone you know?”
    â€œMaybe. I am not sure.”
    â€œLook, Mrs. Tulley, either it did remind you or it did not. Which is it?”
    â€œIt reminded me. It reminded me of someone’s voice.”
    â€œWho’s?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œDear lady, please. Be reasonable. If it reminded you of a voice, you must know who it reminded you of.”
    â€œI don’t.”
    â€œAll right. Was the voice mocking? Hateful?”
    â€œMocking, I would say.”
    â€œAnd your husband’s voice?”
    â€œAfraid. Oh, my God, he was so afraid—you know, I can’t feel any real grief and yet it breaks my heart. He was so afraid.” She began to cry and went over to one of the chests for a fresh handkerchief.
    â€œAre you all right?” Masuto asked.
    â€œQuite. Go on, please. I want to see the bitch who did this drawn and quartered. Why? What gave her the right? Because a man’s a louse? If you go around killing every man who is a louse to some dame, then you’ll end the male population, period! I hate her. Tulley—Tulley was just a permanent adolescent, an all-American boy who never grew up, just like every other all-American boy. Why did she kill him? He wasn’t even a real, high-class louse. He was only a slob, a good-looking TV slob.”
    â€œWhat bitch?” Masuto asked. “Samantha?”
    She studied him narrowly for a moment. “What do you know about Samantha?”
    â€œA bit here. A bit there. What do you know about her?”
    She cried a bit again, and then she dried her eyes and said, “I wish I was like you, Sergeant.”
    â€œHow is that?”
    â€œJapanese. Out of it. So I could stand back and look at it. You must get some kind of special kick out of looking at a sewer.”
    â€œI live in the same sewer,” Masuto said. “Also, I’m a Nisei. Here I am and here I live. I would like to talk about Samantha.”
    â€œOh, I just bet you would!”
    â€œWill you?”
    â€œYou are damn right I will. Talk and anything else that will put a rope around that bitch’s neck. Shall I tell you something, Mr. Detective? I had not seen my father for two years, but when he died it was the worst thing that ever happened to me until now. Maybe worse, because I loved him and I could never break down the wall between us. Do you know who I ran to the day he died?”
    â€œAl