Free The Memory of Eva Ryker by Donald Stanwood Page B

outer office. Shirts and pants lay sprawled in erotic positions on the floor. The silk lining of the two-suiter and the weekend case had been efficiently slit.
    I should have played it smart but I was scared and fuming.
    â€œWhat the hell is this, Vivian!”
    â€œI think you know, Mr. Hall.” He prodded my clothes with one shoe. “If we had found a Mauser in your bags, it would have solved a lot of problems.”
    I stared open-mouthed for several seconds before I could speak.
    â€œYou know, Vivian, in my country there’s a popular stereotype that all stupid cops live in the Deep South. It’s reassuring to find that Australia has its share.”
    His jaw stubble flushed to a pink marble hue as he gave a sidelong glance to his men. “You were the last person to see John McFarland alive.”
    â€œExcept for the murderer. McFarland was healthy and well on his way to getting drunk when I left him.”
    â€œNobody remembered anyone but you visiting McFarland’s house.”
    â€œWhy don’t you try using your head instead of cracking walnuts with your ass. The dust tracks that serve as roads in Coober Pedy wouldn’t hold tread marks for five minutes. You don’t have a single damn way of knowing who went to McFarland’s place.”
    â€œYou were the only stranger there.”
    â€œSo what! Who’s to say one of his fellow desert cronies didn’t blow open his skull over a crooked game of cards. Besides, the killer could’ve driven in from anywhere. Andamooka, Mabel Creek—any of those pestholes.”
    â€œWe’ve considered that.”
    â€œThen what the hell am I doing here! I never met John McFarland before Saturday. Until last week, I’d never heard of him. You can talk with Proctor World Publishing if you don’t believe me. Or Commissioner Bramel at Scotland Yard.”
    â€œBig-time connections aren’t going to help you. You chartered a plane to Coober Pedy. You spent the afternoon with McFarland. No one else was seen with him. You shot him when he turned around, dumped the body in the bathtub, and cleaned up the blood. Then you tossed the Mauser out in the desert.” Vivian restlessly shifted on his feet. “The motives are your own. But one way or another, you’re the one who’ll pay.”
    â€œNo court this side of the Iron Curtain could work with the crap you’ve laid out. You admit you have no motive. No weapon’s turned up. A dozen witnesses can testify about my interest in John McFarland. A fiasco like this will bust you off the force.”
    â€œI’ll look after myself, if you don’t mind.” He looked at the officer standing behind me. “Buckley, this man’s under arrest. Suspicion of murder.”
    I felt a prickly tremor at the back of my neck. “I assume I can make a phone call.”
    â€œDown the hall.” Vivian’s eyes had no more expression than two camera lenses.
    It took five minutes of hassling with long distance to get my home number. One ring. Two, Four. Seven. God, I thought, what time was it in Paris …
    â€œHello.” Jan had risen from the dead.
    â€œIt’s Norman.”
    â€œChrist, of all the times to call …”
    â€œShut up, dear. We’ve got troubles. Call Frank Aylmer right away.”
    â€œIn London? He won’t be up.”
    â€œHe will be once you call. It’s time he did more important things than divvying up divorce spoils. You should also phone Geoffrey and Tom. The American consul wouldn’t hurt either.”
    Silence. “Norman, are we being sued again?”
    â€œWorse.”
    They freed me early Tuesday morning. As I said, they had no case.
    I spent the night with an amiable red-veined wino who snored and snuffled in an upper bunk. The cell smelled equally of cockroach spray, human hair, and stale sweat.
    Sergeant Buckley came to get me at eight A.M. His mouth smiled anxiously as the