Read Online You Can't Kill a Corpse by Louis Trimble - Free Book Online Page B

eyes. Clane waited. She looked at him, flushed and angry. She said, “Now that you’re through being masterful you can tell me why you ordered me here.”
    â€œI want to know if you killed Wickett,” Clane said. He drew a straight chair close and sat down. “I didn’t ask you in to make love to you.”
    She went haughtily stiff and then relaxed, smiling at him. “You don’t flatter me, do you?”
    It was bad coquetry. Clane ignored it. He said, “Did you kill Wickett?”
    â€œNo. Why should I?”
    â€œThe police will probably be asking that one,” he said. “Did your old man kill him?”
    Her hands tightened on the arms of the chair. “No,” she said. “They’ll think he did but he didn’t! When he left Anthony was still alive!”
    â€œAnd when you left?”
    â€œWhen I left? I wasn’t at Anthony’s place!”
    â€œBut you know he was killed? Your father told you, I suppose. Only he left before Wickett died. Don’t waste my time, Miss Morgan. You were seen at Wickett’s.”
    â€œBy whom?”
    Clane said, “That is my business.”
    â€œI
was not
there!”
    Clane shrugged and stood up. He went to the bed and picked up the gun, holding it in his hand so she could see it. “This,” he said, “is the same caliber gun that killed Wickett. It may be the same caliber gun that killed Blake Watson. It’s probably the same caliber gun that will hang someone.” He glanced down at it. “There is still a serial number on it. It can be traced to the owner.” His eyes met hers until she dropped her gaze. “There are a lot of things, Miss Morgan, that spell trouble for your family. A gun, a body—two bodies.
    â€œYou’re asking Pryor to put his wolves onto you.”
    â€œAs long as we’re innocent,” she began, “there won’t be …”
    â€œCan it!” Clane snorted. “My God, haven’t you got over what you were taught in school yet? Innocent! What has that to do with it? This is murder. This is politics. Your father was at Wickett’s office today. He was at his home tonight. You were at his home tonight.”
    â€œAnd so, Mr. Clane,” she said with heavy sweetness, “were you.”
    â€œThank God I was,” he said.
    She stood up. “If you’ve finished, I’ll go home.”
    Clane was forced to admire her nerve. She was a lousy actress but she was sticking to her role. He hoped she could beat out the cops. He said, “I was hired to do a job. I’ll do it, Miss Morgan. In spite of you. I’d like your help, but …”
    â€œDon’t humble yourself,” she said calmly. She walked past him to the door.
    Clane grinned. It tickled him, that crack. He reached the door ahead of her. “How did you get in here?”
    â€œA pass key,” she said “Hotel locks aren’t difficult.”
    â€œTry to go out without being seen. And take a message for me, will you?”
    â€œA message?”
    â€œTell your father I’ll trade him a cigar case for one of his cigars.”
    Clane closed the door gently on her sheet-white face. He went back and sat on the bed.
    He was drinking another burbon and smoking sourly when the knock came on the door. He rose. “Yeah?”
    â€œMessage, Mr. Clane.”
    â€œCome again,” Clane said.
    â€œAll right, call the desk and ask them.”
    Clane opened the door. He had one hand on the doorknob and the other cocked into a fist. When he saw the elevator boy who had brought him up he dropped his arm. “Come on in.”
    The boy stepped in cautiously. “The dame gone?”
    â€œMaybe you earn big tips that way,” Clane said.
    The boy grinned at him. “Thorne’s orders. This message is strictly private.”
    â€œI was waiting for it,” Clane said. “Paul Grando seemed to have scared your