Archer grimaced. “You try butchering hogs all day and see how the hell you smell.”
“Come on then, and let’s get your belly full up and my sinuses cleared out.”
They each had rare steaks and hard potatoes and coffee and pie at the Checkered Past. As they ate, they talked.
Shaw said in a low voice, “Man was head over heels in debt. Those past-due bills I found in the trash were just the tip of the iceberg.”
“How can that be, I wonder?” said Archer.
“Part of it is from gambling.”
“Gambling? Where?”
“They got places around here, Archer. None of ’em legal, but they’re around. And then we found out Pittleman’s been traveling to this place called Las Vegas. You heard of it?”
Archer shook his head. “Hold on a minute. First night I met Pittleman, he mentioned the place. Said the likes of Poca City couldn’t compete with Los Angeles and Frisco and that Vegas place.”
“That’s interesting. Well, it’s in Nevada. They got gambling casinos out there. And showgirls. And brothels too.”
“Brothels?”
“Prostitution, son. It’s legal out there.”
“The hell you say. I never knew that.”
“And the boys that run those casinos, we’re talking criminals, gangsters, make John Dillinger look like a choirboy.”
“And Pittleman got in with them? And he owes them money? You think they sent somebody here to kill him then?”
“It’s possible, Archer. From what I’ve learned, those boys don’t take no for an answer when it comes to dollars owed. I guess they figure if they let one customer stiff ’em, everybody would try.”
“So what are you gonna do? If they sent somebody out from Nevada, doubt they’re still around.”
“Doubt that, too.”
“What now?”
“Figure as soon as we finish up here, we’ll take a ride out to see Marjorie Pittleman.”
“What for?”
“If her husband was into all these shenanigans, she might know about it. We’ve been all over his office at the Derby but there might be something helpful at his house. You know the lady. So you game?”
“I’m game for anything that keeps me from going back to prison. But right now this is all clear as mud.”
“I’ve been doing this a long time and it’s pretty muddy for me too, son.”
Chapter 27
SHAW HAD A BIG FOUR-DOOR BUICK that he pushed hard as they roared down the road. Earlier, after they’d finished their dinners, he’d escorted Archer to the Derby Hotel and let him wash up in the hall bath. As he was driving, Shaw said, “I called ahead, so the lady’s expecting us. Right now, tell me about that fella on the truck with you.”
“His name’s Dickie Dill.”
Shaw’s eyes took on a hint of recognition. “Dickie Dill. Damn. I knew I’d seen that cuss before.”
“Where?”
“Investigating a murder, well, actually two murders, this was way back. Must’ve been ten years ago, before the war. That Dill killed two women sure as I’m sitting here. But we couldn’t prove it.”
“I thought you always got your man, Mr. Shaw?”
“Hell, son, even lawmen lie sometimes to make themselves look better.”
“Well, any consolation, he was in prison for a long while. Just got out a few months ago, so they must’ve got him for something else. He’s small but mean as hell. He’s not a man you want to cross.”
“I’ll cross him if he steps a foot outta line,” said Shaw fiercely.
They reached the gates of the Pittleman estate, and Manuel opened them so they could pass through.
“Hold on,” said Archer. He was pointing at a long-hooded car parked in the drive. “That’s Lucas Tuttle’s car.”
“You sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. That’s his driver sitting in the front seat.”
“Wonder what he’s doing here?”
The front door opened as he said this, and Lucas Tuttle appeared there.
Archer saw that he was putting a sheaf of papers into his suit jacket pocket.
“Let’s ask him.”
They faced off with Tuttle at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door.
Tuttle had on a checkered sport coat, contrasting charcoal slacks, and black-and-white leather lace-up shoes. His bow tie held a pattern of black-and-white swirls. His crown-dented fedora covered the snowy hair. The bowl end of a pipe stuck out of his breast jacket pocket.
“Archer, what are you doing here?” he asked.
Shaw stepped forward and showed his badge. “He’s with me. I’m Lieutenant Detective Irving Shaw, with the state police.”
“You certainly look like an officer of the law,” said a clearly unimpressed Tuttle.
“Can I inquire as to what you’re doing here?”
As he asked this, Archer glanced toward the front of the house. In a window next to the door, he saw Malcolm Draper staring out at them. When he saw that Archer had spotted him, the man abruptly moved away.
Tuttle said, “I was here paying my respects to Marjorie on the death of her husband.”
“I understand that you owe her a debt.”
“And who do you hear that from?” said Tuttle, glowering at Archer.
“Never mind. Did you pay her?”
“I have Mr. Archer here working on that for me. So you can ask him about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Just a minute there, fella,” said Shaw. “You want to tell me where you were between the hours of midnight and six a.m. on the day Hank Pittleman was found murdered?”
“I was in Houston, Texas, with about ten other gentlemen. We were up conducting business until nearly three in the morning. So unless you think I can fly like that Superman fellow, I think you and I have no further business.”
“You get me the names and addresses of these ten gents.”
“I’ll gladly have my secretary provide them. Never let it be said that Lucas Tuttle was not a good partner to the law.”
He tipped his hat, walked to his car, climbed in, and they drove off.
“I don’t like that man,” said Shaw. “He’s too smart and smug for his own good.”
“I don’t much like him, either,” said Archer. “Especially when he’s pointing a shotgun at my crotch.”
Shaw knocked on the front door while Archer stood beside him looking awkward.
“So those two gals, Marjorie and Jackie, met head-to-head, did they? How’d that work out?”
“Don’t try to figure out women, Mr. Shaw. You would just be wasting your time.”
“Hell, boy, I know that. I got a wife and a daughter. But see, my job requires me to do just that. Figure people out.”
“You been out here before, then?” asked Archer.
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Because you didn’t start jawing at the size of this place.”
Shaw grinned at this comment. “Well, I sure did the first time I came out here. This house looks as big as some of the German factories I dropped bombs on.”
The door opened, and the same young maid appeared there.
She smiled when she saw Archer.
“Can I help you?” she said sweetly.
Shaw took out his star once more. “Lieutenant Detective Irving Shaw with the state police to see Mrs. Pittleman. I’ve been out here before. I called ahead and she’s expecting us.” He pointed at Archer. “And this here’s Archer.”
The maid hiked her brows enticingly and smiled. “Oh, I know. I seen Mr. Archer before.”
She led them down the same hall as before. The maid opened the door and motioned them in. This was not the conservatory Archer had been in before, but a walnut-paneled library full of books and the smell of wood smoke. Though it was still fairly warm outside, there was a small fire in the fireplace. Marjorie lay on a small hunter green davenport set against one wall. She had on a long, simple beige dress over her husky figure and black
shoes with fancy bows. She had just affixed her pince-nez to her nose and peered up at them through the lenses. Archer noted a tall glass of an amber liquid on the rocks on the small table next to her.
She said, “Thank you, Amy, you may leave us now.”
Amy gave a little curtsy, glanced with a smile at Archer, and departed.
“Please, gentlemen, sit.” She pointed to two chairs upholstered in tiger stripes and gilded wood across from her.
The men took off their hats and sat.
“Mr. Archer, isn’t it?” said Marjorie.
“Yes, ma’am. I was out here last time with Jackie.”
“Hmm, right, Jackie Tuttle,” said Marjorie disapprovingly.
“Ma’am,” began Shaw. “Sorry to have to come back and trouble you again.”
“Well?”
Archer interjected. “We saw Lucas Tuttle leaving here. He said he came to pay his respects?”
“That’s right,” she said.
“Sort of surprised me,” said Archer. “I didn’t think the two men liked each other.”
“Perhaps not, but I got along fine with Lucas.” She turned to Shaw. “Have you found whoever killed Hank?”
“No, ma’am, but we’re working hard on it. Now, this is not easy to say, but were you aware that your husband was in, well, money troubles?”
Marjorie tittered. “Don’t be ridiculous. Hank was extremely wealthy and as good a businessman as he was a husband to me.”
Archer thought to himself that with that analogy, Hank Pittleman might’ve left his wife dead broke and belly-up.
Shaw continued. “Well, did you know that he had traveled to a place called Las Vegas? It’s in Nevada.”
“I know where it is, Detective. But, no, I didn’t know that Hank had been there. How can you be sure?”
“Well, we had folks out there look into it.”
“Why would you do that?”
In answer, Shaw pulled out a sheet of paper. “I have a lawman friend out close to Nevada and he sent some men over to the casinos in Las Vegas. They’ve determined that your husband owes them about two hundred thousand dollars in gambling debts.”
Marjorie’s eyes widened at this gigantic sum. “Did you say two hundred thousand dollars!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My word, I had no idea.” Her hand went to her bosom. “Hank, gambling? I can’t believe it.”
“That’s not all, unfortunately.”
“What?” she said sharply, her small eyes narrowing behind the specs.
“Your husband had lots of businesses.”
“Yes, of course he did. He owned half of Poca City. And now I suppose I do.” She seemed pleased by the prospect, thought Archer.
“He owned a lot, sure, but he owed a lot, too. This is a list of vendors he has failed to pay over the last eleven months or so. It’s a pretty lengthy list. I’m not sure he was paying anybody what they were owed.”
Marjorie read down the list, looked at the total dollar amount, turned the color of a cloud, picked up her drink, and drained it in one swallow. She wiped her mouth and Archer noted the shake of her hand as she set it back down.
“There must be some mistake,” she said weakly, or maybe hopefully. “I mean, this…this can’t be. This is far more than the gambling debts. This.…” She faltered and looked up at Shaw in total shock.
“There’s no mistake. I’m sorry.”
She half rose and looked toward the door, which puzzled Archer, because there was no one there. Then she collapsed back on the davenport and hit a brass button on the wall. A few seconds crawled by, and Amy opened the door.
“Yes, ma’am?”
Marjorie held up her empty glass. “Another of these. Gentlemen, will you drink with me?”
Archer eyed Shaw, who nodded and said, “We’ll both be having what the missus is.”
“Tell George to make mine a double, and don’t bother with any ice,” ordered Marjorie.
Amy smiled and skipped out.
Marjorie refocused on Shaw. “This…this is unbelievable.”
Archer said, “How come if he owes the boys in Vegas, they haven’t gotten paid?”
“I asked my friend that. They said Mr. Pittleman was a good customer and always paid what he owed. So when he asked for credit, they gave it to him.”
Marjorie, looking distracted, once more put a hand to her bosom. “I feel like I’ve fallen into someone else’s life.”
“Yes, ma’am. I take it you knew nothing about your husband’s businesses, then?”
“I never saw the need, and neither did Hank. I mean, well, he was the man, correct? And I’ve never had any talent whatsoever when it came to such things. And…and he was so successful. I never dreamt…I mean, I never thought anything was wrong at all.” She looked around the grand room. “How could I? I wake up here every day to…this.”
Shaw put the paper away. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first wife to be kept in the dark about her husband’s doings, ma’am.”
She glanced warily at Shaw. “These gambling debts? Do you think these people could have had something to do with Hank’s death?”
“I certainly think it a possibility. And a two-hundred-thousand-dollar debt is reason enough to kill a man.” He paused. “But you would think they’d try to collect the money. With your husband dead, how are they going to get paid?”
Tears gathered in the old woman’s eyes. “My poor Hank.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Shaw, casting an awkward glance at Archer.
A minute later the door opened, and Amy came in carrying a tray with their drinks. She passed them out and left, but again with a smile cast Archer’s way. Shaw noted it this time, elbowed the man, and shook his head, a grave expression on his face.
Marjorie drank a goodly portion of her whiskey while the two men sipped on theirs.
Shaw said, “Has anyone tried to contact you? Phone calls, letters?”
“Pertaining to what?” Marjorie said sharply.
“The debts your husband owed. Gambling or otherwise.”
“No, but he had his office at the Derby Hotel, not here.”
“Yes, ma’am, we know that. Did he by chance keep any papers here?”
“Not that I know of, but you could talk to Sid Duckett. He might know. Been with us a long time. Hank liked him.”
“Is he here?”
“He lives in a cottage over near the trucking warehouse. White house with green shutters.”
“Right, but what about Malcolm Draper? I was told he was your husband’s business manager of sorts. If anyone knew it would probably be him.”
Marjorie took another drink of her whiskey. “Yes, of course, that’s right. I was actually counting on Mr. Draper to help me navigate all of Hank’s affairs. He came on about a year ago. He would most certainly know.”
“Does he live on the grounds?”
“No, he has a room at the Derby.”
“Does he?” asked Shaw, who cast another glance at Archer. “Well, we won’t bother you anymore. We’ll go see Duckett and find out what he might know. And then we’ll talk to Draper in town.”
He stood, along with Archer. Marjorie, showing a nimbleness that Archer certainly had not expected, rose off the davenport, came around the table, and put a hand on Shaw’s arm.
“What am I to do about these debts and such?”
Shaw looked taken aback by the query. “Ma’am, I don’t know. You’d have to check with someone. I suppose your husband had a lawyer.”
“I think he did.”
“And he owns the bank,” added Archer. “They might know something, too.”
Marjorie looked unsure. “Yes, but I’ve never had to deal with those people.” She gripped Shaw’s arm tighter. “Do you…do you think these people might come here? These people from Las Vegas? Am…am I in any danger?”
Shaw said firmly, “If anyone comes here and makes any threats whatsoever, you let me know immediately. Don’t know about Nevada, but we frown on
that hereabouts.”
“Yes, of course, thank you.”
As they walked out of the house Shaw said, “That poor woman looked like she just saw a freight train coming right for her.”
“Let’s hope it’s not coming our way, too,” replied Archer.
Chapter 28
NO BUSINESS PAPERS around here that I know of,” said Sid Duckett.
They’d found him sitting on the front stoop of his small cottage smoking a fat cigar.
“So Mr. Pittleman never gave you anything like that? To hold for him or whatnot?”
“Naw. If something needed doing, he just told me, and it got done. For papers and such, you’d have to ask Mr. Draper that.”
“And where is Mr. Draper now? At the Derby?” Shaw wanted to know.
“Don’t know. Not the man’s keeper.”
“If you see him, will you let him know I want to talk to him?”
“Sure thing, Detective.”
Archer said, “Draper carries a gun. He said it was because of the warehouse.”
“That’s right.”
“But the other guys at the warehouse weren’t carrying guns,” noted Archer as Shaw looked on.
“Don’t know what to tell you about that. Man wants to carry a gun, he can carry a gun.”
“You don’t,” said Archer.
“Never saw a need to.”
“Mr. Pittleman ever mention any money troubles to you?” asked Archer.
Duckett laughed. “Money troubles? Hell, he’s the richest man around here. Maybe the whole state far as I know. I mean, just eyeball that house ’a his. Look to you like the house of a man with money troubles?”
“Well, looks can be deceiving. Your wages ever been late in coming or not come in full?”
“Not one time.”
“Well, rumor has it they might not make full payroll this week at the slaughterhouse,” retorted Archer.
Duckett now showed more animation than he ever had before. “The hell you say. What else do you know about that?”
Archer was about to say something when Shaw interrupted. “You tell Draper if you see him, I want to talk to him, you hear?”
“Yes sir.”
They drove back to Poca City. Along the way Archer said, “The man was spooked about Pittleman maybe not being rich and the wages not being paid.”
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