As the City Hall clock was striking nine, Conrad walked briskly along the corridor to his office. He pushed open the door and entered, hanging his hat on the hat-stand without pausing on his way to his desk.
Madge and Van Roche were already at their desks. Madge was typing busily. Van was scribbling notes on a pad, a cigarette in his mouth, his eyes screwed up to avoid the smoke as it spiralled past his face.
“You’ve got a visitor, Paul,” he said, pushing the pad aside. He jerked his thumb to the door to the little ante-room that was used for interviews. “And you’ll never guess who.”
Conrad put his brief-case on the desk and reached for a cigarette from the box that stood by the telephone.
“I don’t want to see any visitors this morning. Who is it?”
“Flo Presser.”
Conrad looked up sharply, his eyebrows climbing.
“You kidding?”
Van grinned.
“Go ahead and see for yourself. Come to that you’ve only to take a sniff at the keyhole to have the fact confirmed. I reckon she must have had a bath of Last Night’s Kiss or whatever the stuff’s called. She fairly hums with it.”
“Flo Presser? At this hour? What does she want?”
“She’s lost her boy friend. She wants you to find him.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell her I was busy? Get rid of her, Van. I’ve got other things to do than to bother my head about her. Tell her to go to the police.”
“Know who her boy friend is?” Van asked, his face suddenly serious.
“No. Who is he?”
“Toni Paretti.”
Conrad frowned. The name sounded familiar.
“Well, what about him?”
“He happens to be Maurer’s chauffeur and bodyguard,” Van said quietly. “I thought maybe you’d want to talk to her.”
Conrad took a long drag at his cigarette, then blew smoke to the ceiling.
“That’s right; of course he is.” He got to his feet. “Did she give you any details?”
“They had a date the night before last. He called her around five o’clock and told her he had a job to do. He said he would meet her at eleven o’clock at Sam’s Bar on Lennox Street. She waited until two o’clock, and then went home. Yesterday morning she kept calling his apartment, but couldn’t get a reply. She went round there in the afternoon. He wasn’t there. She asked around, but no one had seen him. She went to Sam’s Bar in the evening and waited, but he didn’t show up. This morning she decided something must have happened to him, so she’s come here.”
“What does she expect us to do?”
“She wants us to find him.”
“Didn’t it cross her mind he’s tired of her and has walked out on her?” Conrad asked.
“Didn’t seem to, and it didn’t occur to me either. I can’t imagine a rat like Paretti walking out on Flo. She’s a gold mine. It’s not as if she’s like the usual run of tarts. She makes money, Paul from what I hear: good money, and I can’t imagine Paretti passing up an income as good as she can provide.”
“He could have found another girl,” Conrad returned. “But what foxes me is why should she come here. Why didn’t she go to the police?”
Van concealed a grin.
“That’s exactly what I asked her, and she said you were a gentleman and she trusted you. I won’t tell you what she said about the police.”
Conrad sighed.
“Well, I’m not going to waste much time on her.”
He crossed the room, opened the sound-proof door that led into the anteroom.
A blast of cloying perfume enveloped him as he stepped into the room, and he grimaced.
Flo Presser was pacing up and down, a cigarette between her scarlet lips. She was a good-looking girl, around twenty-five, with a provocative figure, brassy blonde hair and big money-hungry eyes.
She swung around as Conrad came in. Her full skirt swirled out and then moulded itself for a brief moment around her long slender thighs.
“Hello, Flo,” Conrad said. He had met her often enough in the court room. She was regularly arrested for soliciting, and she had got to know most of the officials connected with the court. “What’s on your mind?”
“Gee! Mr. Conrad,” Flo said, coming over to him. “I didn’t think you’d mind me coming like this. I’m worried stiff. I know I shouldn’t be bothering you. I know how busy you are. I thought I’d go nuts last night wondering about Toni, and this morning…”
“Okay, skip the song and dance,” Conrad said impatiently. He sat on the edge of the table. “You shouldn’t have come here, Flo, but now you’re here, let’s keep it brief. What makes you so sure Toni hasn’t walked out on you?”
Flo’s big brown eyes opened wide.
“Walked out on me? Why, Mr. Conrad, he wouldn’t do that. Besides, I know he hasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
She hesitated, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes.
“You’ll keep this to yourself, won’t you, Mr. Conrad? If Toni knew I’d come to you, he would skin me.”
“How do you know he hasn’t walked out on you?” Conrad repeated.
“I’m looking after his bank roll,” she said after a pause. “I shouldn’t be talking about it, but Toni wouldn’t go off leaving me with five grand, not that he ever would leave me.”
Conrad looked at her, a sudden thoughtful expression in his eyes. She was right. He knew a little of Paretti’s record. If Paretti were going to leave Flo, he would make sure he collected his money first.
“Do you imagine anything’s happened to him?”
She nodded.
“Something must have. He might have been run over or something.”
“He was going to meet you the night before last: is that right?”
“Yes. He called me around five and said he couldn’t meet me as arranged. He had a job to do.”
“What was the job?”
She shook her head.
“He didn’t say.”
“He told you he had a job to do and nothing else? What were his exact words?”
“He said, “The boss wants me to do a job. I’ll see you at Sam’s Bar at eleven.” That’s what he said, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“What time were you going to meet him before he put you off?”
“Seven o’clock.”
He studied her.
“Why did you come to me, Flo?”
Her eyes shifted away from his direct stare.
“There wasn’t anyone else I could go to. I wouldn’t get any sense out of the coppers. They don’t like Toni anyway. I asked around and no one could tell me anything, and I got more and more worried and I thought of you. You’ve always been nice to me, Mr. Conrad, and I thought…”
“Okay, skip it,” Conrad said. “Toni works for Maurer, doesn’t he?”
A blank, remote expression came into Flo’s eyes. She half turned away to drop her cigarette into the trash-basket.
“I don’t know who Toni works for. He’s never told me.”
“Don’t give me that stuff. It’s Maurer, isn’t it?”
She swung round to face him, her face hard.
“I tell you I don’t know! Don’t start acting the copper with me, Mr. Conrad. I’ve always looked on you as a friend.”
Conrad shrugged.
“Okay, Flo. I’ll make some inquiries. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do. Where can I reach you?”
Her face brightened.
“I knew you would, Mr. Conrad! I said to myself…”
“Where can I reach you?” Conrad repeated impatiently.
“23c 144th Street. Why don’t you come up one night and see me, Mr. Conrad? I’ll give you a good time: honest I will, and it won’t cost you a thing.”
Conrad laughed.
“That’s no way to talk to a respectably married man, Flo,” he said, edging her to the door. “But thanks for the offer just the same.”
“First time I’ve ever heard a married man was respectable,” she returned. “And I should know.” She paused in the doorway that led directly into the passage. “You’ll let me know as soon as you find out something, won’t you, Mr. Conrad?”
“Sure. I’ll be in touch with you before long.” He edged her into the passage. “Be seeing you,” and he closed the door.
“Pretty nearly gassed, weren’t you?” Van asked as Conrad came back into his office.
“Yeah, pretty strong.” There was a hard, tense light in Conrad’s eyes. “Madge, have we got a file on Paretti?”
“Yes.” Madge got up and went over to the filing cabinet. She found the file and brought it over to Conrad.
“Thanks.”
He opened the file and settled down to read its meagre contents while Van watched him with alert interest.
“Not much here,” Conrad said after a few minutes. “He’s had two convictions; neither of them amounted to much, and believe it or not, he’s been arrested twenty-seven times. Listen to this: seven arrests for homicide, twelve arrests for assault and robbery, four arrests for being in possession of drugs, one arrest for malicious mischief, one arrest for consorting with known criminals and one arrest for juvenile delinquency. He’s beaten the rap each time except for the juvenile delinquency and consorting with known criminal charges, and those two convictions stuck before he hooked up with Maurer.” He looked up to stare at Van. “There’s a note here that’s interesting. Paretti is a crack shot with a .45. That mean anything to you?”
Van pursed his lips into a soundless whistle.
“Are you trying to tic him up with the Dead End massacre?”
“Work it out for yourself,” Conrad said quietly. “He had a date with Flo for seven o’clock the night before last: the night of the killing. Suddenly he cancels his date with Flo, telling her he has a job to do for his boss. We know who his boss is. At around seven on that night, eight people get wiped out: six of them by a .45.”
“I can’t see Paretti hacking June’s head off,” Van said doubtfully. “That’s not his line.”
“I’m not suggesting he killed June. I think he drove Maurer out to Dead End, and while Maurer was taking care of June, Paretti took care of the staff.”
“For crying out loud! Maurer wouldn’t be so crazy as to kill June himself! He’s got dozens of thugs who’d do it for him.”
“It’s my bet it was Maurer who did the job himself,” Conrad said, leaning forward, his elbows on the desk, his face in his hands. “I think he found out June was cheating on him, and he went haywire. I think he took Paretti and went up there and did the job.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “And I’ll tell you why I think so. He knew the risk he was running. Up to now he hasn’t made a wrong move. He hasn’t done a thing we can use to pin on him. Up to now every murder he’s planned has been carried out by one of his thugs who gets his instructions from some other thug so the trail will never lead back to Maurer. Okay, this time Maurer gets the bit between his teeth. This time he wants to even the score in person. This is a personal thing between June and him. He takes Paretti and goes up to Dead End. He’s known there, and he knows there must be no witnesses, no one must be left alive on the estate who can link his name with June’s or who might have seen him arrive. Paretti takes care of the staff while Maurer goes down to the pool, surprises June and hacks off her head.” He pointed a finger at Van. “Then what happens? There is still one witness left alive after the slaughter — Paretti. Isn’t that like Maurer? He wouldn’t trust his own mother. Paretti has worked for him for fifteen years, but he doesn’t trust him. So he takes care of Paretti, and it’s my bet Flo knows Maurer has taken care of him, and that’s why she came here. She’s too scared of Maurer to mention his name, but she’s no fool, and she must have hoped that by coming to me with this story, I’ll get around to what she’s driving at.”
Both Van and Madge were sitting tense and silent while Conrad talked. When he paused, Van slammed his fist down on his desk.
“I bet that’s it!” he said excitedly. “It fits Maurer, and it docs explain why Flo came here. It’s her way of getting even with Maurer for ironing out her boy friend! And now we’ve got to prove it.”
“And that won’t be easy,” Conrad said quietly. “Here’s what we do. Your first job, Van, is to go to Paretti’s apartment and turn it inside out. Go over the place as if you were looking for gold nuggets. I’m not saying you’ll find anything, but you might, so get over there and snap it up.” He scribbled an address he took from Paretti’s file and tossed it to Van. “That’s where he hangs out. Take a gun with you, and watch out. Don’t let anyone know who you are unless you have to. If you have to break in, break in. I’m going to the Pacific Studios and see if I can dig up some information about June. I’ll be back here at one o’clock, and we’ll see how we’ve got on.”
Van opened his desk and took out a .38. He checked the magazine, tossed the gun into the air with a theatrical gesture, then stowed it away in his hip pocket.
“I want you to take notice of this,” he said, looking at Madge. “I get sent on a job where I can get a skinful of slugs, but the Master Mind over there picks himself a soft one: among the movie stars, glamour, legs and the rest of the trappings. Just make a note of it. I’m not saying it’s unfair, but just record it for the sake of the underdog.”
“Get moving!” Conrad snapped. He wasn’t in the mood for banter. “And let’s have some results!”