Free Shoot to Kill by Brett Halliday

knocked Alfred and the tray down and run up the stairs, and Alfred followed as fast as he could, but too late to prevent him from entering the study and slamming the door in Alfred’s face. Shayne had arrived at that moment, and the rest of it was known to them.
    Sergeant Griggs thanked him when he finished his concise recital, and asked him to send Ralph Larson in.
    Patrolman Powers escorted the young reporter to the door. Ralph Larson stalked in defiantly and glared at Griggs. “Why can’t we get this over with?” he demanded witheringly. “I told you I killed him. Isn’t that enough?”
    “You haven’t told me anything yet,” Sergeant Griggs pointed out coldly. “State your name and occupation for the record.”
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake. I’m Ralph Larson. I work on the News with Tim Rourke. I shot and killed Wesley Ames upstairs in his study half an hour ago. Is that what you want?”
    “There’s the question of motive and premeditation,” Griggs told him, still coldly. “I understand that you threatened to kill him last night.”
    “What does that mailer now? I was having some drinks with Tim and I shot my mouth off. I’m sure Tim has told you all about it with embellishments.” His mouth twisted and he shot a baleful glance across the room at the other reporter. “What the hell does my motive have to do with it? Do we have to drag my wife’s name through the mud? I killed him because he was a louse and didn’t deserve to live. Isn’t that enough?”
    “Where did you get the murder gun?”
    “It’s mine. I’ve got a permit for it.”
    “And you came here tonight and burst into the house with a loaded gun, and you planned to kill him?” Griggs said inexorably. “It wasn’t a crime of impulse… a spur-of-the-moment thing. You’ve been planning it all day. Is that what we’re to understand?”
    “I don’t give a damn what you understand. I’ve told you…”
    “Don’t be a complete goddamned idiot, Ralph,” Rourke swore at him. “It wasn’t quite as coldblooded as that. Something triggered you off. Was it something Dorothy said?”
    “Dorothy? No. It was that bastard Ames. Sitting there in his chair and laughing in my face when I told him to stay away from Dorothy. I told him I’d kill him and he kept on laughing. So I got my gun and did it, goddamnit.”
    “Wait a minute.” Griggs looked puzzled. “When did he laugh at you?”
    “This evening. Sitting there at his desk wearing that silly red vest with a row of silver buttons down the front. He didn’t even stop opening his mail long enough to listen to me. Sitting there slitting open the envelopes meticulously as though I was dirt under his damned feet. If I’d had a gun then I would have shot him.”
    “This evening? You mean you were here earlier and threatened him and then went home to get your gun and came back to kill him?”
    “Of course. When do you think I’m talking about? Didn’t they tell you I was here earlier? I had an appointment with him, and I didn’t bring a gun with me, damn it, so you can’t prove I was planning it all day. I was determined to have it out with him, and all I asked him was to promise to leave Dorothy alone in the future. That’s when he laughed at me and I decided to kill him.”
    Sergeant Griggs said, “I think we’d better go back and sort of start over, Mr. Larson. Now then: You had an appointment with Wesley Ames this evening? What time, and what was it about?”
    “I was supposed to be here at seven-fifteen to discuss an assignment for tonight. I work… have been working… for him on the side. Checking out stories from him about celebrities and getting facts for him to use in his column. I left the office a little early, a few minutes before seven, and drove out here. Vic Conroy came to the front door as usual when I drove up, saw who it was and waved me around to the side of the house where an outside staircase leads up to Ames’ study. I rang the bell at the top and he