Free The Case of the Angry Actress: A Masao Masuto Mystery by Howard Fast

here.”
    â€œAll right,” Masuto nodded. “I think I have had enough of this place too. I’ll drive you over to your office. Now remember, they will crawl all over you when you leave here. Just walk straight ahead with me. Say nothing.”
    â€œI’m a lawyer,” Anderson growled.
    â€œOf course you are. How stupid of me!”
    Out in the sunshine, they pushed past reporters, the curious, and the TV people. A cop came alongside of Masuto and said softly, “They got a call downtown from a Mrs. Baker. She wants you should drop by and talk to her.”
    â€œAll right. I’ll get to it.”
    He got Murphy Anderson to his car and into it, and then they were worming their way through the traffic, down Benedict Canyon Drive to Sunset. Anderson lay back in his seat, his eyes closed.
    â€œHow stupid of me,” Masuto repeated. “Forgetting that you are a lawyer and asking you whether you thought your wife was Samantha. A nasty question, and an invitation to give evidence against your wife.”
    â€œEvidence? What the hell, nothing I say to you means anything in a court!”
    â€œAnd what does Tulley’s death do to your company?”
    â€œIt’s a blow. It’s a shot in the belly. It means that the show is over. No more ‘Lonesome Rider.’ Well, we’re insured—I mean Mike was insured in our favor.”
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œA quarter of a million dollars.”
    â€œThat’s a comfort, isn’t it?”
    â€œIt’s a comfort, as you say, but we’re still in the red. We lose a lot more than a quarter of a million.”
    â€œWell, to a cop such numbers have no practical meaning. I do apologize for an inconsiderate question. But tell me, please, who do you think is Samantha?”
    â€œNow that’s nicely put, isn’t it, Sergeant? Who do I think is Samantha? I can tell you who Samantha is—she’s a little tramp who bit off more than she could chew. I’m sick of all this weeping over a stupid kid who invites disaster. But who is Samantha? The answer is no one. This whole Samantha kick is a phony.”
    â€œThen you don’t think Samantha murdered Tulley?”
    â€œI do not.”
    â€œAnd you don’t think that one of your associates might be married to Samantha?”
    â€œNuts.”
    They were at Wilshire now. Masuto said that he would like to come up to the offices for just a moment. Anderson protested only a bit.
    â€œThe whole world has fallen in. There are only twelve hundred things for me to do, Sergeant. Why don’t you give me a break for today.”
    â€œMurderers are always inconsiderate. But Detective Beckman tells me that Cotter is in the office, and I would like to have a word with him.”
    But it turned out that Cotter had been there and left.
    â€œDid he say where he was going?” Anderson asked his secretary.
    â€œI imagined he was going over to poor Mr. Tulley’s home.”
    â€œWhen was that?”
    â€œAt least a half hour ago. I had two ham-on-ryes and two coffees sent up. They’re inside. The coffee is still warm. I felt that perhaps you would not have time to eat.”
    â€œYou felt right,” Anderson replied, leading Masuto into his office.
    The sandwiches were on a tray on his desk. “Actually, they are ham and cheese. The world caves in, but you go on eating—especially when you’re a compulsive eater. That’s my problem. You know, I’m becoming fond of you, Sergeant. That snotty Oriental manner is intriguing. How about I put you in a TV pilot? We got to have something to replace the ‘Lonesome Rider,’ who’s plenty lonesome now, believe me. Ever thought of being an actor?”
    â€œWho hasn’t?” Masuto smiled. “It’s the occupational daydream of Los Angeles. I have a cousin who works all the time. He’s that heavy-set, sadistic General who always sits at a table