Fat Sam read the deposition twice.
Then he sat up. His look remained kind.
“So.”
“Your turn.”
“You even have the name spelled right. Charles Witherspoon. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it.”
“I guess Gummy got it from the registration of the Volkswagen.”
“Oh, yes.” Vatsyayana looked out at the sunlit beach. “You expect a deposition from me.”
“I want to get Cummings.”
“I don’t blame you. A most unsavory man.”
“Either you hang him, or you’ll hang with him.”
“Oh, I’ll hang him all right. With pleasure.”
Fat Sam reached for a book: Jonathan Eisen’s The Age of Rock. In the back of the book was a folded piece of paper. Fat Sam blew the sand off it and handed it to Fletch. It read:
Sam—Jeff killed himself tonight. The boys investigating report of a gunshot found him on the football field. We need a new runner. Maybe the Montgomery kid. He may show up in the next day or two with the money belt. We need someone local.— Cummings.
“Is that hard evidence, or not?”
“That’s hard evidence.”
“Note, if you will, my dear Fletch, the gentleman wrote and signed it in his own hand.”
“I do so note. How did you get it?”
“Would you believe it was delivered to me in a sealed envelope by an officer of the law? I’ve never known what to do with it. When there isn’t the police, who is there? I forgot about the power of the press.”
“You have wanted to turn Cummings in?”
“Always. I have been his prisoner, you see. Just as surely as if I were sitting in the town lock-up.”
“I don’t see.”
“When I first came here from Colorado, I had a supply of drugs, thanks to my dear old mother’s insurance. To support myself here, on this magnificent beach, I sold some of it off. The eminent chief of police had me arrested. He had the evidence. I either went to jail for a very long time, or worked for him. I chose not to go to jail.”
“You mean you have never made a profit from this business?”
“No. Never. I have been a prisoner.”
“Fat Sam, you’re smarter than that. You’re an intelligent man. You’ve known you could go over the head of the local police and turn Cummings in.”
“You do realize, Fletch, that I am an addict, too?”
“Yes.”
“I became addicted while teaching music in the Denver public school system. I was already at the end of my rope when my mother died, fortuitously leaving me fifteen thousand dollars in life insurance.”
“You could have stopped the whole thing here anytime. Especially once you had this note.”
“I realize that. The chief has continuously had evidence against me. Current evidence. Two, I am an addict. My profit from my partnership with the eminent chief of police has been free drugs all these years. Just like Gummy. The chief pays off only in merchandise. Three, I have always hoped for a guarantee of some sort, if I am to turn state’s evidence. Do you have such a guarantee, Fletch?”
“Yes. I’ll have you picked up at the beer stand tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock. You and Gummy.”
“How very considerate of you. And then, I presume, you will splash this sordid affair all over your newspaper?”
“The whole story will be in tomorrow afternoon’s News-Tribune. The first afternoon edition appears at eleven-twenty in the morning. If you are not at the beer stand at eleven, you will probably be dead by three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Oh, I’ll be there. In fact, I would say you are pulling it rather close.”
“I don’t want to tip my hand until the morning.”
“I see. And will you need photographs?”
“I have them already. Several fine shots of you, dealing. In fact, I had them developed and made yesterday at the office. They are awaiting captions.”
“How very efficient. I remember once saying you weren’t very bright. I think you are a very good actor.”
“I’m a liar with a fantastic memory.”
“That’s what an actor is. How did you catch on?”
“I watched the drop three times before I realized it was Gummy. It was his Hawaiian shirt. It was his being picked up by the police regularly. He was the only one ever picked up by the police. And he was picked up only when your supply was running low. Actually, I think it was Creasey who mentioned the repetitious coincidence of timing. He didn’t realize what he was saying. Then, Sunday night, when I tried to get arrested with Gummy and I belted three cops and they didn’t arrest me, I knew Cummings did not want anyone with Gummy at the station. They wanted him alone.”