“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Los Angeles.”
“Bully for you! That’s the way I like to have things done. No excuses. No alibis. Just results. You certainly are entitled—”
“You still have the key to that apartment?” I interrupted.
“Yes, of course.”
I said, “All right. Roberta Fenn lived there. The landlady will identify her photograph. There was a flimflam on a divorce action. She was doubling for Edna Cutler. Edna Cutler lives at Shreveport in an apartment house that’s called River Vista. She staked Roberta to the money to get out of New Orleans.”
“Get in touch with Marco Cutler. You’ll find him in one of the hotels in New Orleans. Tell him that Edna Cutler worked a clever scheme on him by trapping him into serving papers on a woman that wasn’t the defendant. Tell him to come up and look over the apartment. When he does, be sure that he finds the gun and those old newspaper clippings. Then call in the police. Let the California authorities reopen that Craig murder case. As soon as you’ve done that, get on a plane and come to Los Angeles. I’ll have Roberta Fenn all staked out for you.”
Good nature bubbled out of him like coffee in an electric percolator. “Lam, that’s wonderful! Is Roberta Fenn in Los Angeles now?”
“Yes.”