Cool & Lam 15 - Beware the Curves

off. I told him you. had .”
    “That’s fine. As long as he feels we’re on the job, he’ll be satisfied.”
    Bertha’s face darkened. “Why the hell do you need to take out insurance when were working on a dead open-and-shut case?”
    “Because it’s dead open-and-shut.”
    “What do you mean?”
    I said, “The police would like to clean up the Endicott murder. They have one witness, a taxi driver by the name of Drude Nickerson. He’s their case. All of a sudden the obituary column reports the death of Drude Nickerson up in Susanville. It’s private. No flowers. You’d naturally think the body would be shipped back to Citrus Grove and that the funeral would be held there.”
    Bertha blinked that over.
    “I’ll be seeing you,” I told her, and started for the door.
    “Pickle me for a beet!” Bertha said under her breath as I opened the door.

CHAPTER 5 …

    It was late afternoon when I pulled in to Susanville. I located myself in a motel and registered under my true name, giving the address of the agency.
    I looked up the Susanville Undertaking Parlors . “You have a body here—Nickerson?” I asked.
    The man at the desk sized me up carefully, then made a show of looking through some records and a card index.
    “That’s right.”
    “Can you give me his first name?”
    “ Drude ,” he said. “D-r-u-d-e.”
    “Know anything about the man’s background or anything?”
    “It was a coroner’s case,” he said. “Injuries on the highway.”
    “When’s the funeral?” I asked.
    “Private.”
    “I know it’s private, but when?”
    “It hasn’t been decided yet.”
    “Could I see the body?”
    “It’s a closed casket case. Who are you?”
    “The name,” I said, “is Lam, Donald Lam, from Los Angeles .“
    “A relative?”
    “No, I’m interested.”
    “What’s your interest?”
    “Just checking. Nickerson lived in Citrus Grove. How come they aren’t having the funeral there?”
    “Don’t ask me.”
    “The coroner handled the case?”
    “That’s right.”
    “I’ll get in touch with the coroner.”
    “Do that.”
    “How about this man’s clothes?” I asked. “I take it he had identification. Could I take a look at his driver’s license?”
    “I’d have to get permission.”
    “How long would it take?”
    “Not long.”
    The man picked up a telephone, dialed a number, said, “There’s a Donald Lam here from Los Angeles inquiring about Drude Nickerson, wants to take a look at the man’s driving license and stuff that was in the clothes, wants to be sure of the identification, making inquiries. What’ll I do?”
    The man listened for a moment, then said, “Okay.” He hung up the phone, and said, “A representative of the coroner is coming right over. He’ll show you what you want to see if you can give him a reason.”
    “I’ll give him a reason,” I said.
    I waited for about two and a half minutes. I tried to get the man at the desk in conversation, but he’d quit talking. He made a great show of doing some paper work.
    The door opened and three men walked in. They had LAW stamped all over them.
    The man at the desk motioned toward me with his thumb.
    The three men moved in on me.
    “Okay,” one of them said, flashing a badge. “I’m the sheriff here. What’s your interest in the Nickerson case ?“
    “I’m making an investigation.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m a detective.”
    “The hell you are.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Let’s take a look.”
    I showed him my credentials.
    The sheriff looked at the taller of the two men, said, “All right, Lam , this is the second pass you’ve made on this case. This gentleman here is the sheriff of Orange County .”
    “How are you?” I said. “Glad to know you.”
    The Orange County sheriff nodded curtly, made no move to put out his hand. “What were you doing checking newspapers in Citrus Grove yesterday, asking about the Endicott case?”
    “I was looking up the facts.”
    “All right,” the local sheriff said. “I think you’d better come with us.”
    They moved in, one on each side, and escorted me out to an automobile.
    They took me direct to a private residence. I assumed it was that of the local sheriff.
    The sheriff from Orange County took charge. He was rather a nice individual, but he was determined and he was mad.
    “You can’t pull a run-around like that with the law,” he said. “You’re a licensed member of a detective agency. This is murder.”
    “Sure, it’s murder,” I