Free Bad Samaritan by William Campbell Gault Page B

for me.” He paused. “Brock, in your line of work, I have to guess you know something about my background.”
    “I read the Los Angeles Times , if that’s what you mean. A lot of people up here do. I didn’t usually check people’s backgrounds unless somebody paid me to do it.”
    “But if you read the piece in the Times , you’ll remember that some of the men I defended had—doubtful connections.”
    “Two of them,” I said, “were Mafia dons.”
    He smiled at me. “Are we going to fight again?”
    “Not if you have friends in the Mafia, we’re not.”
    “Brock, I’m an attorney, not a hoodlum. You’ve got to believe that: because what I’m going to tell you will look suspicious unless you do.”
    I returned his earlier smile. “Tell me and let me guess.”
    “Jesus!” he said. “You—All right! Those two men you mentioned, those alleged dons, now live in town here. They’re old and they’re retired and they certainly don’t want any more trouble than they’ve already had with the law. But one of them told me something about a young friend who dropped in to see him when he was in town. The man was in town for a checkup at the Dolor Clinic here. He told my client about a prank he pulled for another friend in town, simply as a joke.”
    “Are you talking about a short, thin man who drives a yellow El Dorado?”
    “I don’t know what the man looks like or what he drives. He threatened some waitress downtown. Jan mentioned to Julie Marner that the police might have connected the incident to the death of Mrs. Marner.”
    “They’re checking it. What was he, a hit man or just a muscle?”
    “I have no idea.”
    The Dolor Clinic was popular with the Vegas boys. I asked, “Where was he from?”
    “Nevada.”
    “Does the man have a name?”
    “I don’t know his name. And it’s not a question I’m going to ask my client.” He inhaled heavily. “Brock, believe me, there is only one reason I told you what I did. I want the police to find the murderer of Maude Marner as badly as you do. Si is probably my best friend. I told you this so the police won’t waste their time on a blind alley.”
    “If they checked the Dolor Clinic, they could find out the man’s name.”
    “Maybe. If he used his right name. We get a lot of Nevada patients at the Dolor Clinic, Brock.”
    “You’re putting me in a bind,” I said. “I’m supposed to be working with the police, but I can’t reveal my source of this information. And you probably don’t want me to tell them about the Dolor Clinic.”
    “I would appreciate that. I want to live here. I thought this was a favor I was doing you—and the police. I swear to you this man from Nevada had nothing to do with the death of Mrs. Marner. My client checked that out. The man was in Nevada the night Mrs. Marner was killed.
    “But what about his friend in town? Why did he want the waitress threatened? You called that a prank. It was no prank to the waitress. She was frightened enough to tell the police about it—and she’s a part-time bookie.”
    “Whoever the man in town was, he was a local. It’s highly probable he has a record. Perhaps they had better question that bookie-waitress again and find out who she usually pays off to.”
    “She doesn’t pay. She’s free-lance. That’s why she was threatened.”
    “Okay, there’s your case. Find the payoff man. I can guarantee you he’s local. My clients came here to die, not to operate.”
    I sat there, thinking. “Okay, Paul,” I said finally. “I’ll take the police off that blind trail if I can. I won’t mention your name or the clinic. If things get sticky and I have to, I’ll come to you first and we’ll figure out how to do it.”
    “Fair enough,” he said. “You have just made me a Ram fan.”
    He might have honestly believed that hoodlum’s threat against Mary Serano. It was also possible that, like Si, his relationship to the mob was peripheral. He had told me some dangerous