Free Talk of The Town by Charles Williams

shrugged, but there was amusement in the level brown eyes. “I’m sorry about that. But you know how it is.”
    “Forget it,” I said. He had a clean-cut look about him, and I had a hunch he wasn’t one of the crowd that was on her back. I wished I could be sure.
    He came over, propped a foot on the shelf under the bar, and leaned on his knee. He lit a cigarette. “That was a dirty pool, that acid.”
    “How did you hear about it?” I asked.
    “Saw the stuff over there, where you pulled it out. I went over, and the maid told me about it. Sheriff’s office come up with anything?”
    “Not much,” I said. I drank some of the coffee.
    “That Redfield’s a good cop. Tougher than a boot, but smart. And honest.”
    “Yeah,” I said non-committally. “But why did you ask me?”
    “It’s all over town you’ve got some connection with her.”
    I nodded. “I didn’t have. But I do now. That acid job was partly my fault.”
    “How come?”
    “Let me ask you a question first,” I said. “Do you honestly think she was involved in that murder?”
    “You want to know what I really think?” He looked me right in the eye. “I think I’ve got a nice place here. Forty thousand dollars’ worth, and I won’t be twenty-seven till next month. It makes me a good living and I like it. So I think whatever my customers think, or I keep my fat mouth shut.”
    “Don’t try to snow me,” I said. “You didn’t make all this in your twenties by being bird-brained or gutless. You know damned well what you think, and that is she’s not the type of woman who’d even give Strader the time of day.”
    He nodded. “All right. So maybe that’s what I think. I didn’t say it, mind you; you did. So what does it buy? I’ve got a hobby, see—”
    “Hobby?”
    “Yeah. It’s chasing things. Two things—women and tarpon. And by now I know just about everything there is to know about tarpon, but I still don’t know one damned thing about women. Neither do you.”
    “Sure. But you can play the odds. Now, listen—do you recall who used your telephone booth around two yesterday afternoon? A couple of hours before I was here?”
    He frowned and shook his head. “I’d probably never notice unless they asked for change. People are in and out of it all the time. Why?”
    I told him about the filthy telephone calls and the noisy fan. “Somewhere around town he must have seen me, and caught onto what I was doing. If he was in your lunch-room when she drove home—and I think he was, because he called right afterwards—he also saw me go into the office with her. So he knew me. You don’t remember, then?”
    “No-o. There could have been several, but I never pay any attention.”
    “Many people in and out of the bar between two and the time I showed up?”
    “Half-dozen. Maybe more. It’s hard to say.”
    “What about the ones who were here at the same time?”
    “Hmmm,” he said. “Let’s see. That big guy was Red Dunleavy. He works at a filling station just up the road. He’s probably made his share of improper suggestions to girls, but he’d make ‘em in person, not over the phone. Rupe Hulbert’s a loud-mouth, and nosy, but generally harmless. But what you’re looking for, Chatham, is a nut. It wouldn’t be any of those guys. Pearl Talley gets off some pretty raw jokes, but nothing like that—”
    “What about the guy in the guitar-player's shirt, at the  table with her?”
    Ollie grinned briefly. “That’s who I’m talking about. Pearl can be a man’s name too down here. Talley’s a clown type, and to look at him you’d think they had to rope him every morning to put shoes on him, but it’s a front. He’s sharp as a razor in a business deal; he can swap nickels with you, even money, and come out two dollars ahead. Owns several farms around here; runs I cattle on ‘em, mostly.”
    There didn’t appear to be anything in those three to I warrant any further questions at the moment. “Tell me about