Cool & Lam 15 - Beware the Curves

case, and we don’t want any outsiders messing around.”
    “I can hunt up the records on the accident and take a look at the wrecked cars and get a photograph,” I said. “It’s a red-hot story.”
    “No, it isn’t. The newspapers are co-operating, and you’re going to co-operate.”
    I became petulant. “I put out some of my good hard-earned money getting up here to get some pictures.”
    “Where’s your camera?”
    “I’m going to rent one. I’m going to cover all of my cases with rented cameras until I know more about photography and about cameras. Then I can tell the kind of camera I want to buy. But I don’t want to tie a lot of money up in a camera at the beginning of my writing career.”
    The Susanville sheriff suddenly said, “Let’s talk things over, boys.”
    They got up and went through a door. “You stay here, Lam,” he said.
    I waited for about five minutes.
    They came back. The sheriff of Orange County said, “You work in Los Angeles ?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Who do you know on the police there?”
    “Frank Sellers of Homicide.”
    “Stick around,” the resident deputy said. “We’re putting through a call.”
    He placed the call, hung up.
    The men looked at each other as they waited for the call. I could feel the accusation in their attitudes.
    Suddenly the telephone shattered the silence with a shrill ringing.
    The sheriff said, “That’ll be Frank Sellers,” picked up the telephone, said, “Hello,” and then from the sudden change in the expression on his face I knew something had happened.
    “What’s the name?” he asked. “How do you spell it? How’s that? Give it to me again.”
    He picked up a pencil and wrote on the top paper of a memo pad, then said, “Okay, what’s her first name ?... Her own car ?... Okay, what’s the license number? That’s in California ?
    “Can you stall her along ?... Oh, ten minutes... Well, we’ll work as fast as we can... We’re waiting on a long distance call to Los Angeles now... Okay, do the best you can... Well, if you have to. Call back if you have to.”
    He hung up the phone, glanced significantly at the others, picked the top sheet off the memo pad, folded it, put it in his pocket, looked at his watch, started to say something.
    The telephone rang again.
    He scooped up the receiver, said, “Hello,” and the expression on his face told me he had Sellers on the line.
    He identified himself and said, “We’ve got a private detective up here, name of Donald Lam. Do you know anything about him?”
    The receiver made squawking noises.
    “He’s messing around in a case. He says his only interest is in getting material for an article he intends to write. It’s a case we don’t want anyone lousing up for a while. How do we handle him?”
    Again the receiver made squawking noises.
    “Give me some more dope,” the sheriff said.
    Sellers must have talked for about three minutes. “Okay,” the sheriff said.
    He hung up the phone and turned to me. His voice was more kindly. “Sellers says you’re one hell of a smart operator, that you’ll protect a client all the way, and that we can’t believe a word you say.”
    “That’s nice,” I told him.
    “Sellers also said that if you give your word you’ll stay with it.”
    “That’s if ,” I said.
    “That’s right, if. ”
    There was a short period of silence.
    “How did you come here?”
    “I rented a car from Reno .”
    “All right, Lam . You’re free to start back.”
    “I don’t want to start back.”
    “Sellers gave me a message for you. As a personal favor to him, you’re to start back. Sellers said that if you re representing a client you won’t go back. He says that if you stick around it will mean you’re working on this case for a client. He says that if you’re just free lancing for a story you’ll come back as a personal favor to him.”
    I managed to move over to sit on the corner of the table by the telephone and make it seem I was trying to make up my mind. I put my right hand behind me and rested my weight on it, and when I made certain my body concealed my right hand from them, I eased it over to the container which held the sheets of memo paper by the telephone and pulled off the top sheet. This was the one that had been directly underneath the sheet on which the sheriff had done the writing.
    I folded the sheet of paper into halves, palmed it, and as I straightened slipped my right hand into my trouser pocket.
    They were