Dead Pigeon by William Campbell Gault Page A

exercise.”
    “Let’s go.”
    She packed a lunch, including four bottles of beer. An old blanket and a large parasol made up the rest of our luggage.
    The beach was jammed. We walked to the far end, to a more sparsely populated area and set up the parasol and spread the blanket and sat down to watch the waves come in. It was nirvana time, a haven from the external realities.
    “That friend of yours, that Lars,” she said. “How can you stand him? He’s a slob.”
    “Because he busted you?”
    “And propositioned me. It would be like being run over by a truck. He’s so big and gross.”
    “Lars propositioned you?”
    “He did. Don’t you dare mention it to him!”
    “I won’t. I know he’s a horny guy. But he is also an officer of the law. Why didn’t you report him to his superiors?”
    “And have him put me on his enemy list? No, thanks.”
    I said, “Lars isn’t as big and gross as Terrible Tim Tucker. Did you ever meet him?”
    “Turhan’s cousin? A long time ago. Turhan looked him up when he first came out here. I guess they didn’t hit it off. Isn’t he a boxer?”
    “A former wrestler, now a bodyguard for a local hoodlum.”
    She looked at me suspiciously. “Are you interrogating me? Are you suggesting that Turhan might have something to do with Mike’s murder?”
    “Of course not! Don’t be so damned suspicious. I’m your friend, Crystal. Let’s go wading.”
    I took off my shoes and socks, she her sandals, and we splashed along in the shallow water all the way to Muscle Beach. I was more bushed than she was when we got back. Which she pointed out.
    I tried to think of some acerbic comment to make about that. None came to mind.
    We ate the sandwiches and drank the beer and watched the waves roll in, the swimmers and the waders and the young splashers, back again to nirvana time.
    When we got up to go, I suggested that maybe a dinner and a movie might be a pleasant way to end the day.
    She shook her head. “Some other time. Turhan is giving a talk tonight on world peace. Maybe you’d like to come with me?”
    “Not tonight.”
    We walked back to her house in silence. I had the feeling she was miffed. Before I got back into the car I asked her if she was.
    She sighed. “Nostalgic, I guess. Were things really better when we were younger or is that only what I want to believe?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know. If I had my druthers, I wouldn’t mind being young again.”
    “You weren’t rich then.”
    “But I was handsomer.”
    She kissed me. “You’re handsome enough for me. If your wife ever divorces you, put me on top of your substitution list. Thanks for today, Brock.”
    “And thank you. Any time you have need of me, holler.”
    She smiled. “I will. You’re not nearly as heavy as Lars.”
    “You are a vulgar woman, Crystal Lane.”
    “I know.”
    “What a waste” young Clauss had said about Mike. The same could apply to Crystal. Pretty and smart and stylish, a victim of unsuitable suitors. It would be unfair to accuse her of having a love of money, the core of all evil. She didn’t love money, only the spending of it.
    I was having my predinner drink in the dining room when Joe Nolan walked in. He saw me and came over.
    “May I join you?” he asked. “My wife is out of town, visiting relatives.”
    “So is mine. Be my guest.”
    He shook his head. “This one’s on me again. I can pretend you’re a client and put it on my expense account.”
    The waiter came. He ordered mineral water. He sighed. “I thought I didn’t need AA but I was wrong. Is there anything new on Mike’s murder?”
    “Nothing. I have a feeling I am going down a dead-end road. And the Santa Monica police seem to have dropped it from a low priority case to a no priority case.”
    “How about that Gillete person you mentioned. Isn’t he a suspect?”
    “Not to the Santa Monica boys. But, of course, he is out of their jurisdiction.”
    “And Turhan? You don’t think he was involved in any