Oh, Murderer Mine by Norbert Davis (best books to read fiction .txt) 📕

with a tire iron. Then he tied a rope around Bumbershoot Bennie and threw him in the surf where there were some sharp rocks. He let Bumbershoot Bennie grind against the rocks for two days, until he was completely disfigured. Then he pulled the body in and put it in the rumble seat of his car.”

“Oooh,” said Melissa sickly.

“And then,” said Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz, “he drove to Ensenada. He picked an appropriate spot and, secretly and by stealth, threw Bumbershoot Bennie in the ocean again. Next he put on a noisy performance in a bar, threatening loudly and dramatically to drown himself. Then he ran forth into the darkness, pursued by the people in the bar, and dove into the ocean. There was a wind, and the water was rough. It was at night, you remember. He swam under water away from the searchers, came ashore, and went his way. The police kept on searching until they found Bumbershoot Bennie’s body, wearing Big Tub Tremaine’s ring and his wrist watch, with Big Tub Tremaine’s wallet in the pocket of a suit that obviously fitted the body and exactly matched the description of the clothes Big Tub Tremaine was wearing. It is quite understandable that in the circumstances they identified Bumbershoot Bennie’s body as that of Big Tub Tremaine.”

“And—and what next?” Melissa asked.

“Big Tub Tremaine wandered around, under various aliases, in Mexico for some two years. Finally he came to Piedras Negras, where he fell in with the murderous Sley-Mynick. And you can see what a temptation he offered to Sley-Mynick. He was already supposed to be dead, and in any event he was wanted as a criminal. He still had some of the money he had embezzled. Sley-Mynick murdered him and buried him in the patio of the cottage.”

“Oh!” said Melissa. “But what in the world—”

“Pardon me. I am not finished yet. Sley-Mynick came to the university, thinking his murderous secret was safe forever, but he reckoned without Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz. I followed him relentlessly. And all would have been well if you had not appeared.”

“Me?” said Trent.

“Yes. Naturally Sley-Mynick’s evil conscience bothered him. He thought that Big Tub Tremaine’s wife had gotten some inkling of his guilt and had set you to spy on him. He tried to get rid of you as he brushed aside the other fools who got in his way.”

“Wait a minute,” said Trent. “Why did you break my instruments?”

“I didn’t. Sley-Mynick did that in an outburst of rage because he missed you with that tile he threw.”

“Why didn’t you say he did it—at the time?”

Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz said, “Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz has a reputation. I did not intend to have Sley-Mynick arrested until I was ready to do it myself.”

“Sley-Mynick murdered Heloise. You caused her death by not speaking up about him when you should have.”

Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz shrugged magnificently. “What of it? She is not Mexican. She was only an American.”

“Well, so was Big Tub Tremaine.”

“That is an entirely different matter. It must be known to all evildoers that they cannot murder anyone—not even an American—in the State of Coahuila without answering to Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz. Now I have wasted enough time here. You, Doan. Pick up the culprit and carry him to my car. I will go through the formalities and then return him to Mexico to meet his fate.”

“He’s wanted here for a few murders,” Doan said.

“That is immaterial. I have a federal warrant certified and cleared by the state department. It takes precedence over local authority.”

“Who is the warrant for?” Doan asked.

“For Sley-Mynick, naturally.”

“Then it’s no good, because this guy on the ground isn’t Sley-Mynick.”

“Are you insane?” Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz demanded.

“No. You did all right with your detection, but you didn’t look hard enough at matters before you started. Just consider for a moment. On the one hand we have Big Tub Tremaine—a carnival tough guy, an embezzler and a murderer at least once. I think he’d done in several here and there before Bumbershoot Bennie, because you don’t learn as much as he knew about murder just overnight. And on the other hand you have Professor Sley-Mynick—a poor beaten-up biochemist on the run from the Gestapo. Sley-Mynick and Big Tub Tremaine met in Piedras Negras, and one did the other in. Which one would be most likely to be the murderer?”

Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz said some things to himself in firecracker Spanish.

Doan smiled. “Sure. You slipped because Professor Sley-Mynick turned up and took his job as big as life.”

“What are you talking about?” Trent demanded.

“Professor Sley-Mynick didn’t kill Big Tub Tremaine. Big Tub Tremaine murdered Sley-Mynick. That’s Big Tub Tremaine dying right there.”

“Oh!” Melissa gasped. “Oh!”

“Don’t you see what a wonderful deal this was for him?” Doan asked. “Big Tub Tremaine wanted to get back to the States. Probably he was fed up with Mexico and tortillas and enchiladas and frijoles and everything else Mexican—even the senoritas. That’s the way with most fugitives. Before they commit their crimes they gloat over the dough they’re going to grab and the life of luxury they’re going to lead in some far away clime, but once they beat it out of the country they get homesick and the thing they want most in the world is to get back.”

“I’m beginning to catch on,” said Melissa.

“Of course,” said Doan.

“Big Tub was afraid if he came back and the cops didn’t spot him, his wife would—a fate worse than arrest.”

“Exactly,” said Doan.

“So he needed some place to hide,” Melissa went on. “Also he needed some identity other than his own and a means of occupying himself respectably so that no one would suspect who he actually was.”

“Smart girl,” Doan told her. “Sley-Mynick’s identity was ready-made for Big Tub. It included a job at a good salary and a nice refined, quiet place—the university—to hide as long as he wanted to. It was ideal. The fact that it was quite near, to where his wife had her beauty salon made little or no difference. When people are looking for something they’re less likely to find it when it’s stuck right under their nose.”

“But Big Tub Tremaine wasn’t a biochemist,” Trent objected. “How could he hope to get away with such a disguise?”

“You forget,” said Doan, “he was a onetime medicine show spieler. He could talk the lingo of drugs and chemicals and bell jars and test tubes right out of the pharmacopoeia. Whether or not what he said would make sense is something else again, but who were his undergraduate listeners to question whether the stuff their eminent European professor was giving them was straight from the shoulder fact or carnival doubletalk?”

Carstairs moved about restlessly, stopped in front of Doan, looked up and yawned.

“I know,” Doan told him, “I bore you. But there are others present and they are interested, so keep still for a minute until I’m finished.”

Carstairs lay down, crossed his paws and closed his eyes.

“Sure,” said Doan, “for a long while Big Tub’s disguise was perfect. He always had the Gestapo to fall back on, remember. Maybe he didn’t know quite as much as he should about biochemistry. Well, his mind was confused and had been ever since he left Hungary. The Gestapo had knocked a good part of his knowledge out of him. And suppose he didn’t look just exactly like the old Sley-Mynick. The Gestapo had disfigured him. And suppose he dodged people. The Gestapo had made him shy. Any possible slip he made, he could blame on the Gestapo, and no one would question him because his nerves were in such bad shape, poor man.”

“I noticed he was pretty jumpy,” Eric Trent said. He was standing talking to Doan but looking at and leaning close to Melissa and there was an expression on his face which seemed to indicate that he was thinking about something entirely different from what he was saying. “I noticed he was exceptionally jumpy every time that Shirley Parker was around. He avoided her like the plague.”

“He had a reason there,” Doan told him. “Shirley’s a psychologist, isn’t she? At any rate, a graduate student in psychology, and these psychologists and psychiatrists and the like have a way of seeing right through fakers and spotting a liar as soon as they talk to one. This guy was afraid of Shirley for that reason. It’s a wonder he didn’t murder her too, which would have been a shame, because aside from being a psychologist she’s a remarkably pretty girl…Thinking the matter over and remembering the difficulty she was having getting together her material on sex, I wonder if I couldn’t be of some help to her—maybe in a personal way. Do either of you happen to know her telephone number?”

“Never mind that now,” Melissa said. “You tell us the rest—quick!”

“There isn’t much rest. Everything was going along as smooth as silk for Big Tub—he knew nothing about Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz—alias Morales trailing him—and then Trent had to turn up. That blew things sky high. Big Tub knew who Trent was. He’d been keeping track of Heloise. He knew Trent was separated from her, but he knew very well that wasn’t the end of the story. He knew Heloise didn’t let go of things that were hers that easy. He knew she’d start hanging around the university, and if she did, sooner or later she was going to spot Big Tub. No disguise would fool her for an instant. If she spotted him, she’d have him in jail before he could wink, and that would mean getting it in the neck for Bumbershoot Bennie and Sley-Mynick on top of the embezzlement rap. He had to get Trent away from the university, and that was just what he was trying so hard to do.”

“You told us about that,” Melissa said. She, too, was talking to Doan, but she was looking at Trent who was still looking at her, and between them there seemed to be an intimacy born of a new discovery or a new thought. “That’s what started the whole thing off. Sley-Mynick or Big Tub or whoever was fixing up a booby trap for Eric when I waltzed in and caught it in the noggin.”

“That’s right,” said Doan.

“But Ames—and Beulah…”

“They got in his way. He was desperate. He had two murders—and probably more—behind him. He couldn’t take any chances at all. He couldn’t afford to have any attention directed toward him. He swatted them like the ordinary person would a couple of flies—Ames because Ames had seen him and Beulah Porter Cowys because she was nosing around and might say something to Heloise that would point Heloise at Big Tub, alias Sley-Mynick. He could easily prowl around in the beauty salon. He used to loaf there all the time. He knew the place like the palm of his hand, and Carstairs gave him a nice assist.”

“I still want to know,” Trent said, “why he smashed my instruments.”

“You and your silly instruments,” said Melissa, but there was no malice in her voice.

“They are not silly, and they are damned expensive.” Doan said, “He did that to cover himself after he missed with the tile and spotted Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz watching him. He was going to play his goofy blame-it-on-the-Gestapo game. Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz saved him the trouble by inventing that business about thunder birds.”

“And another thing,” said Trent. “What about my so-called brother, Horace?”

“Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz told Humphrey that because he thought Humphrey might possibly be bright enough to figure out that if Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz hadn’t busted those instruments, only one other person could have. Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz did