I
THE next four days were a sustained and shattering bedlam that shook the usually placid, unruffled calm and quiet of Orchid City to its foundations.
When the news broke that five hundred thousand dollars had been paid to a gang of kidnappers and the kidnapped man had not been returned, the country as far north as San Francisco and as far south as Los Angeles sprang into action.
For the first few hours, Brandon had it all his own way, and revelled in the commotion. He began to organize what was to be the greatest man-hunt of the century, but he had scarcely begun to issue orders when a dozen sharp-eyed Federal agents descended on him from San Francisco and snatched away his command.
State troopers, regular Army units, aircraft, television and the radio were pressed into service.
Kerman and I spent hours at Police Headquarters being questioned and cross-questioned by a furious, purple-faced fist-pounding Brandon, and later by two quiet Federal agents who took us apart, laid us on the desk, poked us about with long inquisitive fingers, and weren’t over-fussy how they put is together again.
We were bullied and threatened and cursed. We had fists shaken in our faces. Necks swelled, eyes turned bloodshot and spittle flew in all directions with the intensity of trying to get a clue out of us. But we hadn’t a clue to give out.
I couldn’t move ten yards on the streets without some visiting Pressman letting off a camera in my face. Kerman, described as ‘the man who saw the ransom taken,’ was badgered from dusk to dawn for his autograph, his nail-pairings, locks of his hair and clippings from his suit by wild-eyed, sensation-hungry souvenir-seekers until he was scared to leave the safety of the office.
The massive gates of Ocean End were closed. The telephone was disconnected. A quiet, deathly hush hung over the place.
Rumour had it that Serena Dedrick had collapsed and was seriously ill.
All day long aircraft circled overhead, searching the sand dunes, the foothills and the approaches of the city. Every road was patrolled. A house-to-house inquiry was set on foot; sus-picious characters were rounded up and questioned; a squad of police went into Coral Gables, the east-end district of the city, and checked over the more disreputable inhabitants.
The activity was enormous, but for all the efforts made by the Federal agents, the police, state troopers, the Army and hundreds of amateur investigators, neither Lee Dedrick the kidnappers were found.
Then, on the fifth morning, Serena snapped out of her grief and took a hand in the hunt herself. It was announced through the Press and over the radio that she would pay a twentythousand-dollar reward to anyone giving information that would lead to the arrest of the kidnappers, and a thousand-dollar reward for any information remotely connected with kidnapping.
The result of this announcement turned practically every citizen, except the wealthy, into amateur detectives and made Orchid City a temporary hell on earth.
It was on the sixth night after the ransom had been paid that I let myself into my quiet little cabin, thankful to get away from the strident hubbub of the hunt, with the intension of locking the door and getting myself a little peace and an early night in bed.
My cabin is situated in the sand dunes, facing the sea, and is a quarter of a mile from the nearest house. It has a small weed-infested garden which I pay Toni, my good-for-nothing house-boy, to keep neat; a veranda with faded sun blinds, one big living-room, two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen big enough to swing a cat in, providing it is a Manx cat.
The charm of the place to me is that it is lonely and quiet and you can’t hear anyone’s radio and you can sing in your bath without getting a brick through your window. But because it is so isolated it is also an ideal spot for anyone who wants to slit my throat. My yells for help would be as futile as a short-tempered man trying to slam a revolving door.
I was sinking the key in the lock when I heard a soft foot-fall behind me. Normally my nerves will pass in a crowd with a light behind them, but the excitement and strain of the past five days had made them a little edgy. I swung around with a quick intake of breath to find a shadowy figure right on top of me.
The right-hand punch that automatically started got no more than half-way when I saw that my visitor was a woman. I lowered my fist, gulped in a little of the hot night air and said as even as I could, ‘Must you sneak up like that and scare me out of my wits?’
‘Your name Malloy?’
I peered at the slim figure before me. It was too dark under the veranda roof to see much of her, but what I could see appeared to be worth looking at.
‘Yeah. Who are you?’
‘I want to talk to you. Let’s go in where we can park.’
As I led the way into the main room, I thought it was a pity she had a voice hard enough to crack a rock on. We stood in the darkness, close together while I groped for the light switch. I found it, thumbed it down and looked into a pair of wide brown eyes that knew all the answers and most of the questions too.
She was around twenty-four or five, and dark. Her thick glossy hair was parted in the middle and framed a face of standard prettiness that was a shade paler than it should have been and too hard and bitter for the number of years she had been using it. Her over-bright red lips, put on square, and the faint smudges under her eyes gave her a sexy look that would make men stare at her and wonder, but probably they’d get no farther than wondering. Her figure under the fawnand-green silk wind-breaker and the highwaisted slacks was good enough to advertise the best foundation garment in the business.
‘Hello,’ I said, staring at her. ‘Sure it’s me you want?’
‘If your name’s Malloy, I’m sure,’ she said, and moved past me to the fireplace. She faced me, her hands thrust deep into her trouser pockets, her eyes searching my face. ‘Nick Perelli told me to come to you.’
"Why, sure,’ I said, and looked sharply at her, wondering who she was. ‘Has he been sandbagging anyone recently?’
‘No, but he’s in trouble,’ the girl said. She took out a crumpled package of Lucky Strike, flicked one into her mouth, scratched a match alight with her thumbnail and set fire to the cigarette. ‘He’s been pinched for the Dedrick snatch.’
In the pause that followed, the clock on the mantelpiece ticked busily and the refrigerator in the kitchen gave an irritable grunt.
The girl continued to watch me, not moving, her head tilted a little on one side so the smoke of her cigarette wouldn’t get into her eyes.
‘Perelli?’ I said, as blank as I sounded.
She nodded.
‘He said you were a bright boy. Well, go ahead and be bright. Someone’s got to be if he’s going to beat this rap.’
‘When did they take him?’
‘An hour ago.’ She glanced over her shoulder to look at the clock. ‘An hour and five minutes to be exact.’
‘The Feds?’
She shook her head.
‘A smooth, well-dressed fatty and a couple of hard-faced dicks. There were two bulls outside with the car.’
‘Was it Brandon? Short, fat, white-haired?’
‘That makes him Brandon. Who’s he?’
‘Captain of Police.’
She drew on her cigarette, examined her nails and frowned.
‘I didn’t know police captains made arrests.’
‘They do when there’s a lot of money hanging to the pinch, and a lot of juicy publicity as well. Besides, Brandon would want to get in front of the Feds.’
‘Well, he’s got in front of them.’ She moved away from the fireplace and sat down on the divan. ‘Nick said you’d get him out of it. Can you?’
‘I don’t know. I owe him something, and if there’s anything I can do, I’ll do it. What does he expect me to do?’
‘He didn’t say. He was a little rattled. I’ve never seen Nick rattled before. When they found the gun, he told me to come to you.’
I went to a cupboard, took out a bottle of Scotch and two glasses and set them on the table. I fetched a jug of ice water from the refrigerator.
‘Let’s start from the beginning. It’ll be quicker that way. Do you like your whisky straight or with water?’
‘For a bright boy, you haven’t much imagination. Right now they’re beating his brains out. Do you think I want to drink whisky when I know that’s going on?’
I made myself a stiff drink and sat down.
‘You don’t know for certain, and worrying about it won’t help him.’
She jumped to her feet and took three or four quick paces across the room, turned and went back to the divan. She sat down again and began to pound her fist into the palm of her hand.
‘Who are you, anyway?’ I asked.
‘Myra Toresca. Nick’s girl.’
‘All right. Now let’s take a look at it. Give me the details, but make it fast’
‘I arrived with them,’ she said, and went on practically in one breath: ‘Nick and I were going to the movies. He was late. I ‘phoned and he said to come over while he changed. I went over. I rode up in the elevator with the three of them. I knew they were cops. We got off at the fourth floor, and I let them go ahead. When they turned the corner, I went after them. They were standing outside Nick’s door. Two of them had guns in their hands. I watched. They didn’t notice me. The fat one rapped on the door. I guess Nick thought it was me. They jumped him, and had the cuffs on before he knew what had hit him. Then they started to ransack the place. The front door was pushed to, but not closed. I looked in. Nick was standing by the wall watching them take the place to pieces. He looked my way and made motions for me to keep out of the way. I stuck around, watching. Then they found the gun down the side of the settee. Brandon got awfully excited. He said it was the gun that had killed Dedrick’s chauffeur. Nick got rattled then. He and I play cards for a living. We can lip-read. It helps when the cards don’t fall right He told me to come to you. I left them shouting at him.’
‘How did Brandon know the gun killed Dedrick’s chauffeur?’ I asked.
She shook her head.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What happened then?’
I waited across the other side of the street. After about half an hour, they brought him out. He could scarcely walk, and there was blood on his face and his clothes.’ She got up to grind the cigarette out in the ash tray. ‘They took him away in a police car. Then I came on here.’
I sat staring at her for a second or so.
‘Do you know anything about the kidnapping?’
The brown eyes met mine. ‘Only what I’ve read in the papers.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘No.’
‘Does he?’
‘No. He wouldn’t touch a thing like that. All right, maybe we are a little tricky with a deck of cards, but that’s as far as we go.’
‘Has he ever been caught?’
Her eyes hardened.
‘Now and then.’
‘Has he a police record?’
‘I guess so. He drew two years in San Francisco. He hasn’t been out more than four months.’
‘Anything before that?’
‘You want to know a lot, don’t you?’
‘I want to know his record. If s important.’
‘Six months, a year and two years. Spread over eight years.’
‘Card-sharping?’
She nodded.
‘Did he ever hurt anyone with that cosh of his?’
‘No one’s ever complained.’
‘You’re quite sure about the kidnapping? You don’t think he pulled it without telling you?’
‘He didn’t do it! It’s not his line. Can’t you understand that?’
I decided to believe her.
‘All right. I’ll see what I can do.’ I reached for the telephone and dialled a number. After a while a polite voice said, ‘This is Mr. Francon’s residence.’
‘Mr. Francon in? This is Vic Malloy.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll put you through.’
After more delay, Francon came on the line. ‘Hello, what’s on your mind?’
‘An hour ago, Brandon, with a couple of dicks, picked up a guy named Nick Perelli at his apartment on Jefferson Avenue. They searched the rooms and found a gun. Brandon said it was the gun that had killed Lee Dedrick’s chauffeur. They’ve arrested Perelli for the Dedrick kidnapping. I want you to represent him, Justin. Expense no object, and I want you to get over to Headquarters and look after him. They’re pushing him around and I want it stopped. Will you do it?’
‘Has he anything to do with the kidnapping?’
‘I don’t know. His girl, who ought to know, says he hasn’t. It looks like a frame to me. Brandon couldn’t know the gun was the death gun by just looking at it. He either brought it with him and planted it or he’s guessing.’
‘You can’t say a thing like that!’ Francon’s voice was shocked.
‘Off the record I can. It would be a terrific boost for Brandon if he could crack this case and steal a march on the Feds. I wouldn’t put anything past him.’
‘Who is Perelli, anyway?’
‘He’s a card-sharper with a record.’
‘That doesn’t help. What’s he to you?’
‘He did me a good turn once. As a personal favour, Justin, I want you to get down there right away and stop them working on him.’
There was a long pause on the line while he chewed it over. I didn’t hurry him.
Finally, he said, ‘I’m not sure I want this job. Brandon must have something more solid to work on than the gun.’
‘Maybe he has, but that isn’t the point. You’re not going to let him hang something on this guy just because he’s got a record, are you?’
Well, no. All right, Vic. I’ll go over there and see him. But I warn you, if I think he’s guilty, I’m pulling out. There’s too much publicity tied to this business to be in on the losing end.’
‘I still think it could be a frame. Take a look at him, anyway. And don’t worry too much about what they’ve got on him. I’m going to take a hand in this, Justin.’
‘Well, all right. I’ll see what I can do. Better see me tomorrow morning at my office.’
‘I’ll ring you tonight.’
I hung up before he could protest.
Myra was watching me, an intent expression in her eyes.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Justin Francon. The smartest criminal lawyer on the Pacific Coast If he believes Perelli is being framed, he’ll never stop fighting until he’s freed him.’
‘Is he going down there?’
‘You bet he is, and he’ll block Brandon off.’
She lit another cigarette. Her hand was noticeably unsteady.
‘I guess Nick knew what he was doing when he told me to come to you.’
From her that would be praise.
I finished my drink and stood up. ‘Where can I reach you?’
‘245 Monte Verde Avenue. It’s a little green-painted shack on the left-hand side as you go up. I live alone.’
While I was writing the address down, she went on, ‘This will take some money, won’t it?’
‘I told Perelli I’d be glad to help him any time, and it’d be on the house. That still goes.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Forget it. I owe him a stab in the belly. Now look. I’m going down to Police Headquarters right away. There’s not much I can do until I find out just how much they have on him. I might even have a word with him if I’m lucky.’
‘You mean they’ll let you talk to him?’
‘I don’t know. The Homicide Lieutenant is a friend of mine. He might swing it.’
Just for a second the hardness went out of her eyes, and the red-painted mouth trembled.
‘Give him my love,’ she said.
II
The news of Perelli’s arrest had broken by the time I reached Princes Street and Centre Avenue.
I couldn’t get within five hundred yards of Police Headquarters. As I tried to take the turn a raving, purple-faced cop waved me back into Centre Avenue. Three other cops were barring the way to other cars.
I managed to catch a glimpse of a seething crowd that over-flowed the sidewalks of Princes Street into the road before I drove on down to Orchid Boulevard.
I parked the car and walked back.
There was a big crowd of people standing before Police Headquarters, and it was growing every second. No amount of swearing and pushing from the sweat-soaked patrolmen made any impression on them. They had come to gape, and no cursing cop was going to stop them.
A bunch of Brandon’s special tough squad stood in the door-way of the building with their nightsticks drawn. I knew I had about as much chance of getting past them as a nudist has of gate-crashing the White House: probably less.
I fought my way into a near-by drug-store. It was empty except for a white-coated night clerk who stood in the doorway wistfully watching the crowd.
‘I just wanted to ‘phone,’ I said as he reluctantly tore himself away and moved back into the store.
‘Some excitement,’ he said, licking his lips. They say Brandon’s grabbed the kidnapper. Think he’ll get the twenty-five grand? Jeepers! I wish it was me. I could use that amount of dough.’
I made grunting noises and shut myself in a call-box. I asked the operator to connect me with Police Headquarters.
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘Every line’s jammed. I’ve been trying to get them for the past twenty minutes. What goes on down there?’
‘Some cop’s cleaned his buttons, and the whole force’s gone on strike,’ I said sourly and hung up.
I came out into the quiet and cool of the store again. The clerk was standing on a stool so that he could see over the heads of the crowd. By now they were jammed up against his windows. It looked as if I’d have trouble in getting out.
‘The Feds have arrived,’ he told me, sucking in his breath excitedly. ‘But this has wiped their eyes. That guy Brandon’s a smart cop. Best Captain of Police we’ve ever had.’
‘How do I get out of here?’ I said impatiently after trying to shove through a bunch of backs facing me in the doorway.
‘You don’t want to get out, do you? Grab a stool. You won’t get a better view than here.’
‘View of what?’
He frowned down at me.
‘Maybe they’ll bring him out. Maybe that Dedrick dame will come down to look him over. Anything can happen. I wish my girl was here. She’d love this.’
‘Is there a back way out of here?’
‘Through that door.Takes you into Orchid Boulevard.’
As I jerked open the door, the crowd lurched back. There came a tremendous crash of breaking glass as one of the plate-glass windows of the store gave up the unequal struggle.
I didn’t wait to see what the damage was. A passage at the back of the store brought me to a dark alley that led eventually to Orchid Boulevard.
Mifflin had a small house on Westwood Avenue. He lived with his wife, two children, a Boxer dog, two white cats and a bullfinch. Apart from his police duties, he was a highly domes- ticated man, and rumour had it he was even more scared of his wife than he was of Brandon.
I decided to go out there and wait for him. I was determined to see him tonight, come rain, come sunshine, so I drove out there and parked before his front door.
The time was twenty minutes past ten. I had no idea when he went off duty, but with the rumpus going on at Head quarters he was pretty certain to be late.
I settled down with a cigarette and prepared for a long wait. There was a light showing in one of the lower rooms of the house, and from time to time I saw a woman’s shadow on the blind. Around quarter to eleven the light went out, and then a light flashed up in one of the upper rooms. After a while that went out in its turn, and the house was dark.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about Perelli. I didn’t want to get any false ideas until I knew more facts. Franco was probably right when he said Brandon would have more than the gun on Perelli. It was my bet someone had tipped the police: someone with an eye on the twenty-five grand; a temp- tation to anyone to manufacture a few lies if he could.
A car came grinding up the hill. A few seconds later head-lights came through the windshield to dazzle me, and a car came to a standstill.
I poked my head hopefully out of the window. It was Mifflin all right. He was looking out of his window, a scowl on his face.
‘Take that lump of rusty iron out of my way and drop it in the sea,’ he said testily. ‘You’re blocking my gates.’
‘Hello, Tim,’ I said, and got out of the Buick.
He gaped at me.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
I opened his car door, slid in and sat beside him.
‘Felt lonely, so I thought I’d cheer myself up with your com-pany.’
‘Beat it! I’ve had enough for one night. I’m going to bed.’
‘Let’s have it, Tim. Why did Brandon pick up Perelli?’
‘So you know that, do you?’ Mifflin snorted. ‘Read about it in the morning newspapers and don’t bother me. I’ve had all I want of it for one night. They’ve gone crazy down there like a lynch mob.’
‘I know. I’ve seen them. Now look, Tim, Perelli happens to be a friend of mine. He didn’t kidnap Dedrick. It’s not his line.’
Mifflin groaned.
‘Gimme a butt. I’ve smoked all mine.’
I gave him a cigarette and lit it for him.
‘Do you think he’s the kidnapper?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe, but probably not. Was it you who sent Francon down?’
‘Yeah. Did he get in?’
‘Can you imagine anyone keeping him out? He got in, all right. I reckon he saved Perelli’s life. They were certainly working over him.’
‘Was it a tip?’
Mifflin nodded.
‘Yah. And that’s what makes me think it’s a phoney. Whoever it was, asked for Brandon; nobody else would do. Brandon talked to him. This guy wouldn’t say who he was, and that means he’s gypped himself out of the reward. To me that stinks. No one in their right senses would pass up a reward that big unless he was scared of getting involved. He told Brandon to go right away to Perelli’s apartment, where he’d find the death gun down the side of a settee and other evidence that would pin the kidnapping on to Perelli. Brandon tried to find out who he was, but he got jittery and hung up. We’ve traced the call to a call-box in Coral Gables, but that’s as far as we’ve got.’
‘Someone who must hate Perelli’s guts.’
‘Could be, or maybe one of the kidnappers with cold feet. I don’t know. Anyway, Brandon made the pinch himself. Know what he found?’
‘He found the gun.’
‘He found that. He also found three oilskin wrappers, a hundred thousand grand in used twenty-dollar bills and a fishing-rod which was probably used to take the money off the shed roof.’
I whistled softly.
‘Where did he find them?’
‘The money was in a suitcase in a cupboard. The oilskin wrappers were at the back of a drawer and the rod was under the bed.’
‘As if anyone in their right minds would keep evidence as hot as that in their apartment. Can’t he see it’s a plant?’
‘Look, Brandon wants the Feds out of the city pronto. Perelli’s got a police record. This is a gift to him. If he stares at it all day and all night, it wouldn’t be a plant to him.’
‘Has Perelli an alibi for the kidnapping?’
‘One full of holes. He says he was playing cards with Betillo in a private room in Delmonico’s Bar. We’ve talked to Joe. He says Perelli played cards with him until nine-thirty. Joe remembers the time because Perelli was winning and sud- denly said he had a date. Joe was sore because he wanted to get back some of his losses. Perelli swears he played on until ten thirty. The kidnapping, if you remember, took place at ten past ten.’
‘Anyone see Perelli leave?’
Mifflin shook his head.
‘He went out the back way.’
‘Well, who’d believe a rat like Betillo, anyway?’
‘Brandon does. He’d believe anyone as long as he gets the Feds out of town. The money worries me, Vic. Everything looks like a plant until you come to the money. A hundred grand is an awful lot of money to throw away to frame a man. A couple of grand would have been enough.’
‘That’s just the reason why it was planted. The kidnappers have still four hundred grand to keep him warm. Leaving an amount that big in Perelli’s place would make people think just what you’re thinking.’
‘It’s throwing money away. I can’t see anyone doing it.’
‘That’s because you’re badly paid. A lot of people in this city wouldn’t think anything of passing up a hundred grand.’
‘Juries are badly paid too. They wouldn’t believe it.’
I flicked my cigarette out of the window and shrugged. He was right, of course.
‘How is he, Tim?’
‘Perelli? Not so bad, considering. They didn’t shake his story, and they certainly tried. I think he’d have croaked if Francon hadn’t breezed in. Those two punks, MacGraw and Hartsell, get under my skin. They like nothing better than to be turned loose on a guy in handcuffs.’
‘Yeah. They tried to bash me once. Any chance of my seeing him?’
‘Not a hope. He’s Brandon’s special prisoner. Even the Fed had to get tough before he’d let them look at him.’
I lit another cigarette and passed him the pack.
‘I don’t think he did it, Tim.’
‘Well, you’ll be about the only one by the time they get him before a jury. Wait ‘til you see the morning newspapers. As far as they’re concerned, he’s been tried and found guilty already. The only way to get him off is to produce the real kidnapper.’
‘I’ve got to do something for him. What’ll Brandon do now?’
‘Nothing. As far as he’s concerned, the case is closed. He’s got Perelli, and he’s got all the evidence he needs. It’s in the bag.’
I opened the car door and slid out.
‘Well, at least it gives me a clear field. I’m going to start in and dig.’
I wish you luck,’ Mifflin said. ‘But you’ve got a sweet job on your hands. Where will you dig? What have you got to work on?’
‘Not much. I’m going after Mary Jerome. I have a feeling she knows more about this than you think.’
‘Maybe, but I doubt it. If she had anything to do with the kidnapping, she wouldn’t have come back like that.’
‘She may have left something in the room and had to come back. She wasn’t to know I’d be there. The chances are she doesn’t know anything, but I’m going to find her and make sure.’
‘Okay, anything I can do, let me know. I think Perelli’s been framed myself, but that’s strictly off the record.’
‘Thanks, Tim. I’ll probably have something for you. So long for now.’
I climbed into the Buick, waved my hand to him and drove fast to Centre Avenue. Half-way down the broad thoroughfare I spotted a call-box and swung to the kerb. I dialled Justin Francon’s number.
He answered the telephone himself.
‘What do you make of him, Justin?’
‘I don’t think he did it,’ Francon said briskly. ‘But that doesn’t mean I can get him off. I’ll try, but it looks pretty hopeless. The frame’s too good. Whoever planted the evidence knew his business. The money is damning. Shall we get together tomorrow morning at my office? We’ll have a look at it from every angle and see what we can do. Make it ten. All right?’
‘I’ll be there,’ I said.
‘Don’t expect too much, Vic. I don’t like to say it, but I think he’s a dead duck.’ ‘He isn’t dead yet,’ I said shortly and hung up.
III
Justin Francon sat in his desk chair with his legs hanging over one of the arms, his thumbs hooked into the armholes of his vest, a dead cigar jutting out of his face.
He was a thin, small, leathery man with a straggly black moustache, high cheekbones, a big, bony nose and small, bright black eyes. He reminded me of a ferret. You wouldn’t think to look at him he was the smartest lawyer on the Pacific Coast, but he was. He was in a class of his own, and had more millionaire clients in his fee-book than any other lawyer in the country.
Paula, Kerman and I sat in a half-circle before the massive desk. Francon allowed us the doubtful privilege of studying his profile while he stared out of his office window at the golden beach stretched out twenty storeys below him. The silence mounted in the big air office while he turned the facts over in his mind.
Finally, he shrugged, swung his legs off the arm of the chair and faced us.
‘Nothing you’ve told me would convince a jury that Pereli didn’t murder Souki or kidnap Dedrick,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to get me some ammunition. Right now we haven’t a damn thing. There’s enough evidence on Perelli to convict him without the jury leaving the box. You’ve got to face it. Feeling is running high. He won’t get a fair trial. His record’s against him. Unless you hand me something pretty substantial to hit the D.A. with, there’s nothing I can do for him except talk a lot of hot air that won’t get him anywhere. They intend to indict him on Souki’s murder, but if, in the meantime, they find Dedrick’s body, they’ll hook the two killings together, and it’ll be all over bar the gas chamber.’
He stared at his dead cigar, frowning, then dropped it into the trash basket.
‘Now let’s see what they’ve got on him. They’ve found the gun in his apartment. If I worked hard enough, I could convince a jury the gun was a plant. The fishing-rod could be disposed of too. Anyone can have a fishing-rod. But the money is something no one will believe was planted. That’s where the fellow who planted it showed he has brains. A hundred thousand is a whale of a lot of money. We’re agreed on that, aren’t we?’
I nodded.
‘All right. Well, so far the one thing we can’t get around is the money. The oilskin wrappers could have been planted, but once the jury makes up its mind the money wasn’t planted, then there’s no reason why the gun, the oilskin wrappers or the rod should have been also planted, and that makes the DA’s case watertight. You see that, don’t you?’
Yeah, but all the same, we know the money was planted. Couldn’t you persuade the jury that the kidnapper, to save his own dirty hide, would be willing to part with a fifth of his spoils?’
Francon shook his head.
‘I don’t think so. It’d be too much of a risk. If Perelli had a good alibi, we might get away with it, but he hasn’t. And another thing, his fingerprints are on the gun.’
‘I heard that, but I don’t believe it.’
Francon nodded his head.
‘If s a fact. I’ve seen them.’
But Perelli didn’t handle the gun.’
‘He says Brandon gave him the gun and asked him if he could identify it. He handled it all right, but he handled it after it was found.’
‘For Pete’s sake! You’re not going to let Brandon get away with that, are you?’
‘It’s Perelli’s word against the Captain of Police. Who do you think would be believed?’
There was a long pause, then he went on, ‘So you see how it stacks up. I’ve got to have something hot and meaty to go into court with, and if I don’t get it, I’m passing up the case. That’s the position. I’ve got to have something to work with. Its up to you to give it to me.’
‘I’ll dig up something if it kills me,’ I said. ‘The only way for us to crack this case is to start right from the beginning and dig until something turns up. I have an idea at the back of my mind that this isn’t just a gang of kidnappers at work. I may be right off the beam, but it’s a hunch that’s growing stronger every day.’
‘I don’t follow you,’ Francon said, frowning at me.
‘I don’t exactly follow myself,’ I said and grinned. ‘I do know that Franklin Marshland’s damn’ pleased that Dedrick is among the missing. I’m going to find out why. He looks a harmless little guy, but every now and then you catch a look in his eyes and you suddenly realize he could be dangerous. The wedding was secret. Why? Suppose Marshland’s at the back of the kidnapping? Suppose he realized that Serena had married a crook who was only after her money? Suppose he decided to get rid of Dedrick and staged a faked kidnapping? I’m not saying this happened, but it’s an idea. Suppose this Mary Jerome is hooked up in some way to Dedrick’s past. You see what I mean? If this is an ordinary kidnapping job, and the kidnappers are just a gang from anywhere, then we’re sunk. But if this is an inside job, if Marshland’s at the back of it, then maybe we can crack it.’
Francon was looking interested now.
‘You might have something there, Vic. It’s worth trying.’
‘It’s the only thing we’ve got. I’m going after Mary Jerome. She was first seen at the Acme Garage, and that’s where I’d going to start to look for her. If I can trace her from the garage to Ocean End on the night Dedrick was kidnapped then I may come across something on the way. I’m going to dig into Souki’s past. No one’s bothered with him yet. Then there’s Dedrick himself. I’m sending Jack to Paris right away to get hold of every scrap of information about Dedrick he can find. All this may be a waste of time, but it’s our only chance. We’re digging a big plot of ground in which something valuable may or may not be buried. If we don’t dig, we won’t find it, and if it’s not there to find then, it’s just too bad.’
‘I think Mary Jerome’s a good line of investigation,’ Franco said, pulling at his long, bony nose, ‘but I can’t see any point in bothering about Souki.’
‘That’s just why I’m going to do it. No one’s bothered to look at Souki. He’s just the corpse. I’m leaving nothing to chance. I can’t afford to.’
‘Well, all right, but don’t waste too much time on it. You wouldn’t know if Perelli had an enemy, would you? Someone must have hated him pretty badly to have hung that frame on him.’
‘Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that. There’s one man who’s tailor-made for the job. A nasty little rat named Jeff Barratt. He’s a reefer-addict and a thorough bad egg. He has an apartment opposite Perelli’s. I went on to tell Francon how I had called on Barratt and how Perelli had saved my life.
‘Does Brandon know this?’ Francon said, interested.
‘No; but if he did, it wouldn’t make him change his mind. I’m going to dig into Barratt’s background. That fishing-rod is something you couldn’t easily conceal. Someone had to carry it into Perelli’s apartment. I’m hoping whoever it was was seen.’ I stood up. ‘Well, we’d better get moving. As soon as I have something for you, you’ll have it.’
The sooner the better,’ Francon said.
Outside in the corridor Kerman said, ‘What was that again about me going to Paris?’
‘Yeah. I want you to get off right away. Paula will fix the details. You can have what spending money you want within reason. You won’t object to a trip to Paris, will you?’
Kerman rolled his eyes and tried to conceal his excitement.
‘I’ll put up with it,’ he said. ‘It’s in a .good cause. Besides, from what I hear these French wrens are pretty accommodating.’
‘They’ll need to be if you’re going to hum around them,’ Paula said tartly.
IV
Mrs. Martha Bendix, Executive Director of the Bendix Domestic Agency and an office neighbour of mine, was a big, hearty woman with a male haircut and a laugh like the bang of a twelve-bore shotgun. She was coming out of her office as I was coming out of mine, and, as soon as I saw her, I knew I wanted to talk to her.
‘Hello there, Vic,’ she boomed. ‘Where have you been hiding yourself? Haven’t seen you in days.’
‘I want to see you, Martha. Can you spare a moment?’
She looked at her wrist-watch, about the size of a cartwheel, decided after all she wasn’t in any hurry and opened the office door.
‘Come on in. Suppose you want to pick my brains again, huh? I gotta date, but it’s nothing important.’
She led the way through the outer office where a pale blonde with a face like a happy rabbit pecked at a typewriter and gave a coy little smile as she passed.
‘If Mr. Manners calls, Mary, tell him I’m on my way down,’ Martha said, and breezed into her cream-and-green office.
I followed her in and closed the door.
‘Turn the key, ‘Martha said, lowering her voice. It probably could still be heard at the far end of the corridor, but she im-agined she was speaking in a conspirator’s whisper. ‘I’ve a bottle of Vat 69 that wants breaking open, but I wouldn’t like Mary to think I drink in office hours.’ She hoisted a bottle into sight as I sank into an armchair. ‘I wouldn’t like her to think I drink at all, for that matter.’
‘What makes you so positive she doesn’t know?’
‘What makes you so damn positive she does?’ Martha said and grinned. She slapped a threeinch snifter down on the desk in front of me. ‘Rinse your phlegm out with that.’
‘There are times, Martha, when I don’t believe you’re even civilized, to hear you talk,’I said, collecting the glass. ‘Well, bung-ho.’
‘Fungus on your adenoids,’ she boomed, and downed her drink at a gulp. ‘Not bad, huh? Want another?’
I shook my head, and accepted the three coffee-beans she dropped on the blotter before me.
‘Well now, what’s your trouble?’ she asked, sitting down and getting to work on the beans herself. ‘What do you want to know this time?’
‘I’m trying to find out something about a Filipino named Toa Souki; Serena Dedrick’s chauffeur. She engaged him in New York, and I’m wondering if your New York office handled the job.’
Martha looked insulted.
‘My good man! I’ll have you know we don’t handle coloured people. You’re not sticking your nose into that case, are you’
I said I was sticking my nose into that case.
‘How can I get a line on Souki?’
Martha scratched her head with the paper-knife while she thought.
‘I suppose I could find out for you,’ she said, a little grudge-ingly. ‘Syd Silver runs the biggest colour agency in New York. He’s a friend of mine, the dirty little rat! I’ll ask him. If his boils aren’t bothering him, he might find out for you. Anything in it for him?’
‘A hundred bucks.’
Martha’s eyes popped.
‘Why, for a hundred bucks that guy would drown his mother in a quart of beer.’
I said I didn’t want him to drown his mother in a quart of beer. All I wanted was the lowdown on Souki.
‘Consider it done. I’ll have some dope for you in a couple of days. Will that do?’
‘I’ll make it a hundred and fifty if I can get it by tomorrow morning and if the dope’s worth having.’
‘You’ll get it,’ Martha said, climbing to her feet. That guy’s a genius at stirring up dirt. That all?’
‘Yeah. Well, thanks, Martha, you’re always helpful. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
Martha grinned.
‘Tell me something, Vic. When are you marrying that dark-eyed lovely you keep in frustration in your office?’
‘If you mean Paula, I’m not marrying her. I wish you wouldn’t keep harping on that subject whenever we meet. Haven’t I told you she isn’t the marrying type?’
She gave me a nudge that nearly dislocated my spine, and let off a laugh that rattled the windows.
‘You ask her and see,’ she said. ‘There’s no such animal as a non-marrying woman. Those who aren’t married haven’t been asked.’
V
I parked the Buick in the forecourt of the apartment house on Jefferson Avenue and walked into the quiet of the lobby.
A girl, not the foxy-faced Gracie, was sitting behind the counter, the telephone harness hitched to her chest. She was chewing gum and reading the funnies, and from the bored expression on her face I concluded they were no funnier than those Gracie had been reading the first time I had come in here.
Maxie, the bowler-hatted bouncer, popped out from behind his pillar and scowled at me.
‘Hello,’ I said, and gave him the teeth. ‘Where do we talk?’ His small eyes, set deep in the fat-veined face, showed suspicion and surprise.
‘What do we want to talk for?’ he growled, his moustache bristling. ‘I haven’t anything to say to you. Besides, I’m busy.’
That seemed to be the cue for the mercenary theme, so I took out my bill-fold and hoisted a ten-dollar bill into sight.
‘Let’s go somewhere quiet and talk,’ I said.
He studied the ten-dollar note thoughtfully, groped with a thick, dirty finger amongst his back molars, fished out a slab of something and deposited it on the seat of his trousers. Then he looked at the girl behind the counter.
‘Hey! I’ll be downstairs if you want me. Don’t let anyone up.’
She didn’t bother to drag her eyes away from the funnies, but she did manage to incline her head a couple of inches to show she heard and understood.
Maxie plodded off towards the elevator.
We stood side by side, breathing over each other as the elevator took us down to the basement.
He led the way along a white-tiled passage, lit by lamps in wire baskets to a small office that consisted of a desk, two chairs and a signed photograph of Jack Dempsey over a soot-filled fireplace.
He sat down behind the desk, pushed his bowler hat to the back of his head and relaxed, breathing gently through his thick, fat nose. His eyes never left the ten-dollar bill for a second.
I gave it to him. I knew he wouldn’t concentrate on anything else until he had it. Fat, nicotined fingers closed on it and stowed it away in a pocket somewhere in his rear.
‘Perelli,’ I said.
He wiped the end of his nose on his coat-sleeve, puffed out a small quantity of garlic and beer fumes and sighed.
‘Aw, hell! Not him again?’
‘Certainly. Why not?’
‘Every cop in the City has been talking to me about Perelli. I’ve got nothing to tell you I haven’t told them.’
‘That doesn’t mean a thing, since I don’t know what you told them. Suppose you answer a few questions: questions I bet the police didn’t ask you.’
‘Well all right,’ he said with no enthusiasm. ‘So long as you pay for my time I don’t care.’
I rolled a cigarette across the desk to show him this wasn’t going to be a hurried session, and he wasn’t to get any false ideas about the value of his time, and lit one for myself.
‘Do you think Perelli kidnapped Dedrick?’
The small eyes blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that one.
‘What’s it matter what I think?’
‘Plenty. And, look, don’t let’s waste time. If you don’t want to answer questions, just hand back my dough and I’ll find someone who will.’
We stared at each other across the desk, and he decided I meant business.
‘Beer?’ he asked. ‘Might as well make ourselves comfortable.’
He produced two cans of beer, levered off the caps with a jack-knife and handed me one.
‘Happy days.’
‘Happier nights.’
We drank, sighed as men will, and set the cans on the desk.
‘I don’t reckon he did it. It wasn’t in his line.’
‘That’s what he told me.’ I leaned forward and began to make patterns on the desk with the wet bottom of the can. ‘I want to help him if I can. Anything you might tell me could turn the trick.’
Maxie started to explore his back molars again, changed his mind and poked about inside his ear instead.
‘Not a bad guy. A free-spender. No trouble. Nice girl friend. You seen her?’
I said I had seen her.
He closed one small eye, then opened it again.
‘The best figure I’ve ever seen on a woman. Think it’s real?’
‘Could be. Did you see him bring that fishing-rod in here?’
He shook his head.
‘No; and I know he never had a fishing-rod. I asked the girl who cleans his room. She’s never seen one.’
‘Did she look under the bed?’
‘She cleans under it.’
‘The cops found it last night. Did she clean under the bed yesterday morning?’
He nodded.
‘What time?’
She was late. Perelli didn’t leave the apartment until twelve thirty. She didn’t start cleaning until one.’
‘What time did the police find it?’
‘Seven-thirty.’
‘So between one-thirty in the afternoon and seven-thirty in the evening someone planted it. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘If anyone planted it.’
‘Well, we won’t argue about that. Sometime between one-thirty and seven-thirty either Perelli or someone brought a fishing-rod into this building. That’s right, isn’t it?’
He couldn’t find any fault with that reasoning.
‘Yep.’
‘Are there any other entrances except the main one?’
‘There’s a rear entrance to the basement.’
‘Can anyone get up to the apartments that way?’
‘No.’
‘Sure?’
‘Certainly, I’m sure. The way this place is built, you either come in the main entrance or up the stairs from the rear entrance. Either way you have to cross the lobby and you’d be seen.’
‘Where were you between one-thirty and seven-thirty last night?’
‘At the movies.’
‘You mean you weren’t here yesterday afternoon and evening?’
‘I was at the movies.’
‘Your day off?’
‘My day off.’
‘Who was in charge of the lobby?’
‘Gracie Lehmann.’ Maxie took another pull at his can of beer, added, ‘It’s her day off today.’
‘Have the police questioned her?’
‘Why should they?’
‘Didn’t they want to know about the rod? I mean how it got into Perelli’s room?’
‘Why should they?’
I drank a little beer myself. He was right, of course. They had found the rod in Perelli’s room, and that was good enough for them. They wouldn’t bother to find out how it got there. It was there, and as far as they were concerned that was all that mattered.
‘She could have seen someone bring the rod in, then?’
‘If anyone brought it, she saw it.’
‘She might have gone out to wash her hands or something?’
Maxie shook his head.
‘The lobby ain’t to be left a second. That’s the rule of the house. She has a retiring room behind the switchboard. If she goes in there she turns down a switch connected with buzzers under the front and rear mats. Anyone coming in from the main entrance or up the stairs from the basement would sound the buzzer. It’s foolproof. We had a lotta burglaries here one time. Now we really have to watch out. If anyone brought in the rod, she would have seen it.’
‘We’ve just proved either Perelli or someone did bring it in. So she must have seen it.’
‘That’s right.’
I drained the can of beer and lit another cigarette. I was faintly excited.
‘Want another?’ Maxie asked, helping himself.
I nodded, and watched him hoist two more cans into sight.
‘Well, I guess I’d better talk to Gracie,’ I said as he knocked off the cap of the can. ‘She could be my star witness.’
‘She’ll be in tomorrow. Watch her. She’ll come a mite expensive.’
‘Where does she live?’
He brooded over this, then shook his head.
‘Can’t give you her address. It’s against the rules.’
I nursed the can of beer and stared past him at the photograph of Jack Dempsey.
‘It’s my bet Jeff Barratt brought in that rod.’
He was drinking from his can, and the beer went down the wrong way. I had to get up and thump him on the back or he would have choked. I thumped him a little harder than necessary. I thought I might as well get something for my money.
‘Barratt?’ he wheezed when he could speak. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Barratt hates Perelli’s guts. The guy who planted the rod hates Perelli’s guts. Barratt lives opposite Perelli. Barratt’s a first-prize rat. Not evidence in court, but evidence to me.’
He chewed this over and finally nodded his head.
‘Could be.’
I drank some more beer.
‘Don’t waste your time on Gracie if you expect her to squeal on Barratt,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘She’s very, very strong for him.’
Now, perhaps, I was going to get value for my money.
‘What gives?’ I asked. ‘Why should Barratt want to bother himself with a girl like that?’
The guy who owns this building tries to keep it respectable. Don’t ask me why. He’s funny that way. We’ve got instruc-tions that all women visitors are to check out before one o’clock or it has to be reported. Gracie works a night shift every other week. Barratt’s women visitors don’t check out at one o’clock and don’t get reported.’
‘So what does he do? Feed her five bucks a week? I’ll pay for information.’
Maxi finished his beer, dusted the ash off his trousers and stood up.
‘Well, I guess I gotta get back to work.’
‘Sit down and give. I haven’t had anything like ten dollars’ worth of information.’
‘At my rates you have. Make it another ten, and I’ll tell you something that’ll sit you on the edge of your can.’
‘Five.’
‘Ten.’
‘Seven and a half.’
We closed at eight.
I gave him the money and he sat down again.
‘She’s a reefer-smoker, see? Barratt keeps her in weeds. You ain’t got a chance.’
I thought this over, and decided perhaps I hadn’t, but there was no harm trying.
‘Give me her address.’
The extra money persuaded him to break the rules.
‘274 Felman Street: it’s one of those rooming-houses.’
I stood up.
‘Keep this under your bowler, Maxie. If anyone asks you, you’ve never seen me.’
Maxie grunted, thumped himself on the chest and eyed me sourly. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’m fussy who I claim as a friend.’
I left him sitting there, breathing gently and staring absently at the empty beer cans.
VI
The entrance to 274 Felman Street was sandwiched between a tobacconist’s shop and a thirdrate cafe. There was a dirty brass plate on the door that read: R ooms for Business Women. No Service. No Animals. No Men. A card with several dirty thumb-prints on it was pinned above the brass plate and read: No Vacancies.
The next-door café had four tables on the sidewalk. They were presided over by an elderly waiter whose long, lean face carried an expression of infinite sadness, and whose tail coat, in the hard sunlight, looked green with age. He watched me park the Buick before the entrance to the rooming-house and hopefully flicked at one of the tables with a soiled cloth, but the gesture didn’t sell me anything.
I climbed the three stone steps to the glass-panelled doors of 274, pushed one open and entered a dark, smelly lobby full of silence and neglect. Along the left-hand wall was a row of mail boxes. I went over and read the names mounted in grimy brass frames above each box. There was a surprising number of Eves, Lulus, Dawns and Belles among the three dozen names, and I wondered if the brass plate on the door was entirely truthful. The fourth frame from the right read: Miss Gracie Lehmann. Rm. 23. Flr. 2.
Stairs, carpeted with coconut matting, faced me. I puffed gently up thirty of them before I reached the first-floor landing and a long corridor that went away into a quiet dimness surveyed on either side by numerous doors before which stood bottles of milk and newspapers. As the time was ten minutes past noon, it seemed to me the business women were neglecting their business, if they had a business, which on the evidence didn’t seem very probable.
As I began to mount the second flight, a lean, hard-faced man appeared at the head of the stairs. He wore a fawn flannel suit, a white felt hat and sun-glasses. He gave a nervous start when he saw me, hesitated as if in two minds whether to retreat or not, then came down the stairs with a studied air of nonchalance.
I waited for him.
He scratched his unshaven jaw with a thumb-nail as he passed me. I had an idea the eyes behind the sun-glasses were uneasy.
‘No animals and positively no men,’ I said softly as he walked across the landing to the lower flight of stairs.
He looked hastily over his shoulder, paused, said aggressively, ‘Ug-huh?’
I shook my head.
‘If you heard anything, it was probably the voice of your conscience.’
I went on up the stairs, leaving him to stare after me, pivoting slowly on his heels until we lost sight of each other.
The second floor was a replica of the lower floor, even to the bottles of milk and the newspapers. I walked along the corri- dor, treading softly, studying the numbers on the doors. Room 23 was half-way down and on the right-hand side. I paused before it, wondering what I was going to say to her. If what Maxie had told me was true, and it probably was, then the girl could clear Perelli if she wanted to. It now depended whether or not I could persuade her to throw Barratt to the wolves.
As I raised my knuckles to knock on the door I heard a quiet cough behind me. I looked furtively over my shoulder. There was something in the atmosphere of the place that would have made an archbishop feel furtive.
Behind and opposite me a door had opened. A tall, languorous redhead lolled against the doorway and surveyed me with a smile that was both inviting and suggestive. She wore a green silk wrap that outlined a nice, undulating hip, her legs were bare and her feet were in swan’sdown mules. She touched her red-gold hair with slender fingers that had never done a day’s work in their lives, and her neat, fair eyebrows lifted in a signal that is as old as it is obvious.
‘Hello, Big Man,’ she said. ‘Looking for someone?’
‘Huh-uh,’ I said. ‘And I’ve found her. Don’t let me keep you from your breakfast.’
The smile widened.
‘Don’t bother with her. She’s not even up, but I am, and the safety catch’s off too. I’m all ready to fire.’
I raised my hat and gave her a courteous bow.
‘Madam, nothing would please me more than to pull the trigger, but I am committed elsewhere. Perhaps some other time? Regard me as food for your dreams, as I most certainly will regard you. Bear your disappointment as I am bearing mine, remembering that tomorrow is another day, and we too can have fun even if it is fun postponed.’
The smile went away and the green eyes hardened.
‘Awe hell, just another nut,’ she said, disgusted, and shut the door sharply in my face.
I blew out a little air, rapped on Gracie’s door and waited. A half a minute later I rapped again; this time much louder. Still nothing happened. No one opened the door.
I looked to right and left, put my hand on the doorknob and turned it gently. The door moved away from me as I pushed.
I looked into a room that was big enough to hold a bed, two armchairs, a wardrobe and a dressing-table fitted with a swinging mirror. There was no one in the room. The bed hadn’t been made, and the sheets hadn’t been changed, by the look of them, for probably six months. They were grey and crumpled and as uninviting as only dirty sheets can be. There was a film of dust on the mirror and cigarette ash on the carpet. From where I stood I could see bits of fluff under the bed. Not a clean room: a room that gave me an itchy feeling down my spine as I looked at it.
At the head of the bed was another door that probably led to the bathroom. I stared at it, wondering if she was in there and knocked sharply on the panel of the open bedroom door to see if anything happened. Nothing did, so I stepped inside, and in case the redhead opposite became curious, I closed the door.
On one of the armchairs was a pile of clothes: a frock, stockings, a grey-pink girdle and a greyer pink brassiere.
There was a distinct smell of marijuana smoke in the room. Not new, but of many months’ standing. It had seeped into the walls and the curtains and the bed and hung over the room like a muted memory of sin.
I moved silently past the bed to the closed door, rapped sharply and listened. I heard nothing. No one called out, and I was suddenly aware of a drop or two of sweat running down my face from inside my hat.
I turned the handle and pushed. The door opened heavily and sluggishly, but it opened. Something behind the door jumped against the panels and sent my heart jumping like a frog on a hot stove. I looked into the empty bathroom, saw the soiled pink bath, the mussed-up towels, the loofah, the cake of toilet soap and the half-squeezed tube of toothpaste.
I knew she was behind the door. She had to be.
I stepped into the bathroom, my nerves creeping up my spine. She was there all right: hanging from a hook in the door, in a blue, crumpled nightdress, her knees drawn up, her head on one side, the knot of her dressing-gown cord carefully under her right ear, the cord imbedded in the flesh of her neck.
I touched her hand.
It was cold and hard and lifeless.