Way of a Wanton by Richard S. Prather Page A

practice with me, or if it was only casual conversation. I said, “The Townsend murder. I've got a client who wants me to try finding her killer.”  
    He was slightly contemptuous. “Do you expect to find him here? Or her, as the case may be?”  
    â€œSeems logical.”  
    He shrugged. Sherry had been sitting quietly up till now. She said to Swallow, “Don't you feel anything? Now that she's dead?”  
    â€œSherry, dear, I'm naturally terribly sorry. Zoe was a lovely thing, and she was my secretary for a long time. But there's nothing we can do now.”  
    Sherry didn't answer, but she was making a visible effort to control herself. She got up and walked out.  
    Swallow slid up on a corner of his desk and hiked up the carefully creased leg of his trousers. “Did you want to see me, Mr. Scott?”  
    â€œYeah, I thought I'd drop in. I'd like to talk to all the people who were at Raul's Thursday night. Just to get the picture.”  
    â€œThis is part of your investigation, I take it?”  
    â€œYou could call it that.”  
    He smiled. “I won't be much help. I remember little of that Thursday night. Mr. Genova insists that there be no late parties, or, oh, carousing when we're shooting the following day—but I'm not in the movie. At any rate, I fear I drank to excess. I passed out and slept on the floor most of the evening. I really don't remember quite how I got home.”  
    â€œWhen was this?”  
    â€œQuite early Thursday night. Shortly after seven, I believe.” He chuckled. “That's what they tell me. But my point is, Mr. Scott, that I could hardly have had anything to do with Zoe's death—assuming that she was killed at Raul's home. I'm simply trying to make things easier for you, you understand. You see, you can eliminate me immediately.”  
    â€œSure,” I said. “I just eliminated you.” I got up. “Thanks, Swallow. Everybody else on the set?”  
    â€œEverybody you'll want to see, I imagine. Except Genova; he's in his office. Number one.”  
    I walked to the door and turned. “Oh, Swallow, one more thing. When the police pulled her from the pool last night you said something to the effect that she'd killed herself. It struck me as a little strange.”  
    â€œOh,” he said, “did I? Perhaps I did. Well,” he went on slowly, “Zoe and I worked together for quite some time. We were—rather close for a while. It simply seemed incredible that anybody could have murdered her. Naturally I assumed...” He let it trail away.  
    â€œAny reason why she should have killed herself?”  
    â€œNo. I don't know of any reason. It was—merely an assumption.”  
    I thought Swallow looked uncomfortable. I let it ride for now. Sherry came back in from outside then and walked over behind her desk. I said, “O.K. See you later, Swallow. You too, Sherry.”  
    She gave me a bright smile as I went out.  
    I knocked on Genova's door and went in when he yelled from inside the room. He had a French phone at his ear, but when he saw me his thick black eyebrows drew down and he growled, “All right—good-by,” into the mouthpiece and hung up noisily. He kept frowning at me. “What do you want?” he asked, testily.  
    â€œJust like to talk to you, if it's all right, Genova.”  
    â€œIt's not all right. I got enough troubles without you. Now get the hell out of here.”  
    This guy and Fanny should hit it off fine. I could feel myself getting hot under the collar. “O.K., if that's the way you want it,” I said. “I thought I'd let you know I've got a client I'm investigating the murder for. The murder we're all mixed up in—including you.”  
    He leaned back in his chair and started nervously snapping the fingers of his right hand. “So you managed to make it