I
CHARLES FOREST, District Attorney, sat behind his big, flat-topped desk, a cigarette between his thick fingers and a brooding expression in his eyes.
Forest was a short, bulky man with a fleshy hard face, searching green eyes, a thin mouth and a square jutting chin. His thick white hair was seldom tidy as he had a habit of running his fingers through it when he was working on a knotty problem, and he seemed to spend most of his working hours solving knotty problems.
“McCann seems satisfied it was Jordan,” Forest said, waving his hand to the pile of newspapers that lay in an untidy heap on the floor. “On the face of it, Paul, he’s got a watertight case. I’ve read Bardin’s report, and that seems pretty conclusive. What’s worrying you?”
Conrad sank lower in the armchair. One leg hung over one of the arms of the chair and he swung it backwards and forwards irritably.
“It’s too damned pat, sir,” he said. “Doc Holmes said it looked like a professional job, and I think so too. I think a hop-head would have to be very lucky to kill six people with six shots, especially when he’s using a .45. Those guns kick, but each time he hit a bull’s eye. It seems to me the killer was a crack shot, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t killed before.”
“I know,” Forest said mildly. “I thought those five shots good shooting. I’ve checked on Jordan. He was a crack shot. He could hit a playing-card edge on at twenty yards, and that wants some doing.”
Conrad grimaced.
“I should have checked that myself,” he said, annoyed with himself. “Well, all right, that takes care of that. There is another thing: he uses an electric razor. From the look of him he hasn’t put a razor blade against his skin for years, and yet he had a cutthroat razor in his possession. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“Not particularly. It would be something if we knew for a fact that he didn’t own such a razor, but we don’t know that. People cut their corns with razors, you know.”
“That’s what Bardin said, but I asked Doc Holmes. Jordan hadn’t any corns. And another thing, there was no blood on his clothes.”
Forest nodded.
“Well, go on: what’s on your mind?”
“Bardin said he’d heard rumours that June Arnot was Jack Maurer’s mistress,” Conrad said quietly. “Suppose Maurer found out she was cheating on him with Jordan? What would he do? Send them his congratulations? If I know Maurer as well as I think I do, he would have gone up there and ripped her wide open and then cut her head off to teach her not to double-cross him in the future.” He sat forward, his eyes intent. “The moment I saw the set-up I wondered if it wasn’t a gang revenge. It would explain the professional touch and the ruthless slaughter to make sure there were no witnesses. Alaurer has the imagination to leave a set of clues to lead the investigation away from him and to incriminate Jordan.”
Forest stared at his blotter, his brows drawn down.
“Do we know for certain she was Maurer’s mistress?” he asked after a long pause.
“No, but we might find out if we dug deep enough.”
“If we could prove she was his mistress beyond any reasonable doubt, then I would think you’re on to something, Paul.” Forest reached out and stubbed his cigarette out into the ash-bowl. He looked up and his cold green eyes probed Conrad’s face. “I don’t have to tell you that the only reason why I accepted office was because I was determined to nail Maurer. I know how you feel about him yourself: that makes the two of us. Up to now we’ve got exactly nowhere. He’s never stepped out of turn, never made a wrong move, never given us anything we can use against him. We’ve nailed four of his best men during the past two years, and that was an achievement, considering the opposition we came up against. But in spite of keeping after him, we’re no further to nailing Maurer now than we were when I took office.” He leaned forward and poked a finger in Conrad’s direction. “I’m not going to discourage any hunches, any leads or any ideas that might give me a chance — no matter how remote — to throw a hook into Maurer. Okay, you think Maurer could be at the back of this killing. He could be. I don’t say he is, but he could be, and that’s enough for me. Go ahead and make some inquiries, but don’t let anyone know what you’re doing. The only way we’re going to corner Maurer is to surprise him, and make no mistake about it, surprising Maurer is my idea of a modern miracle. He has ears everywhere. He knows every move we make as soon as we make it. But go ahead and start digging. I don’t give a damn if it is a waste of public money. We’ve got to gamble on hunches or we’ll get nowhere. Don’t make any written reports. Keep this between your staff and myself. Don’t bring police headquarters into it unless you have to. I’m pretty certain someone at headquarters talks.”
Conrad’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. He had hoped Forest would react in this way, but knowing the amount of work the office had to handle, he didn’t think Forest would give him an okay to go ahead on the flimsy evidence he had to offer.
“That’s fine, sir. I’ll start right away. Van Roche and Miss Fielding are okay. I’ll need them, but apart from them I’ll keep this under my hat. I’ll see if I can dig up some dirt on June Arnot. If I can link her with Maurer we’ve really got something to work on.”
“I’ll leave it to you, Paul,” Forest said. “As soon as you think you’ve got something, let me know.” He glanced at his wrist-watch. “I’ve got to be in court in ten minutes. Don’t take up too much time on the investigation. We’ve got a lot on our hands, but this comes first, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Conrad said happily, and got to his feet.
“There’s just one other little thing,” Forest said, and looked up. “This isn’t my business, but I’m going to mention it because I like you and because I take an interest in you. If I’m talking out of turn, say so and I’ll shut up, but sometimes a word at the right time can be helpful.”
“Why, sure,” Conrad said, puzzled. “What’s wrong, sir?”
“Nothing yet,” Forest said. He looked down at his smoking cigarette, then looked up again. “Are you looking after that pretty wife of yours properly, Paul?”
Conrad’s face tightened. This was unexpected, and he felt blood mount slowly to his face.
“I don’t think I understand, sir.”
“Someone told me your wife was at the Paradise club last night on her own,”
Forest said quietly. “She wasn’t exactly sober. I don’t have to tell you that Maurer owns the club, nor do I have to tell you a lot of people, including Maurer and his mob, know she is the wife of my Chief Investigator.” He got to his feet and came around the desk. “That’s all, Paul. I don’t know if you knew, but if you didn’t, it’s time you did. See what you can do about it, will you? It’s not good for business, and I don’t think it’s good for your wife.” He smiled suddenly, and his hard face softened a little. He put his hand on Conrad’s shoulder. “Don’t look as if the end of the world has come. It hasn’t. Young women as pretty as your wife often try to kick over the traces. Maybe she’s finding life a little dull: especially when you get called out suddenly. But have a word with her. She’ll listen to reason.” He patted Conrad’s shoulder, picked up his brief-case and made for the door. “I must be going. I’ll expect some news of Maurer from you in a day or so.”
“Yes, sir,” Conrad said woodenly.