Pulp Crime

by Jerry eBooks

  Kenneth Keith

  The tricky agency dick posed successfully as a spirit from the ether world. But he wasn’t able to make his body as safe as a ghost’s when a raging killer discovered his secret.

  I FIGURED the killer might fall for it. I figured it might work. But I didn’t figure the chief would put up such a hell of a squawk.

  “Matt Morgan!” he squalled, after I’d explained it, “there’s more spiny ideas can spring up in that red-thatched dome of yours than weeds in my garden. And that’s sayin’ a lot.”

  He hammered emphasis with his big fist, and the table danced. He erupted again: “It’s too dangerous. That Hoftman’s a killer, Matt, a dirty killer—even if we can’t prove it! And if he found out what you was up to, he’d drill you right square between them dark-blue lamps of yours before you even had a chance to blink ’em once. . . . Nothing doing!” He banged the table again and let off some steamy cuss words.

  “But, chief—”

  “No, Matt! Besides if—Well, can’t you see the headlines—‘Private Dick Shot to Death Attempting . . . . Nope! We can’t risk it!”

  “Okay, chief! Here and now, this operative of Scanlon’s Detective Agency resigns.” I tossed my badge on the table.

  “Now, Matt! Don’t get heated. Sit your big frame down and listen to me. You’re my ace! That’s one reason I’m holding back. Another is that while you’re a damn’ good detective, what in bell do you know about radio hookups? You’d muff it, and Hoftman would look to see who was flim-flamming him, and then—blooey!”

  “I’ll admit I’m no radio man, but I figured on Curt Perkins to handle that end. And he’s a wow! I’ll take—”

  “Look, Matt. Have you thought of this? You’ll be in Hoftman’s house. If he plugs you it’s justified manslaughter. And I’ll bet that Dutchman’s smart enough to know if he can cover up a murder as slink as he has.”

  “Who’ll get slaughtered, chief? Me or you? . . . . I’m telling you something. If you don’t okay it, I resign and go over to ‘Mud’ Craddock. He’ll take the kudos!”

  That brought him around as I’d known it would. He snorted: “Humph, that loose I . . . . Matt, you wouldn’t do that, would you? . . . . After all we’ve been through together? . . . . Oh, hell, when you set that square Irish mug of yours I know Tm licked. But for the love of Pete, be careful, will you? . . . . Say, let me hide Kelly in the room with you. He can—”

  “Ixnay, chief. That big mutt would gum up the works. Hoftman’s smart, like you say. But if he don’t fall for this, I’m a long-eared son of an army male.”

  “You’ll more likely be a corpse!”

  I laughed. But somewhere away down near the pit of my stomach I had a creepy feeling that the chief might be damn’ close to right. To myself I had to admit that his arguments were sound. But I’d started and I’d go through with it So I lit out and dug up Curt Perkins and explained what I wanted. Curt was a sallow, lanky guy, and did he know his radios. He agreed to help me. I had a hunch it was only because I boosted him out of a tight spot on the Mason case. But Curt was the lad I needed, so I took him along.

  HERE we were in the Miter’s house and I didn’t feel so sure of myself. I thought maybe it was the atmosphere. The joint was creepy and a musty odor clung to everything. Heavy, old-fashioned furniture. A plush-bound album on a big, marble-topped table. Dark walls and high ceilings with dim bulbs smack against ’em so the rays they shed didn’t have a ghost of a chance to light up the place. The one modern touch in this room was the console radio, the instrument which I hoped would let me trap this Dutchy whom I believed guilty of murder—wife murder.

  Perkins was round-eyed and a little nervous over our house breaking, but he got busy running wires from the radio cabinet to the heavy window drapes right behind it. The deep, black shadows and contrasting highlights, thrown on his pale face by the bull’s-eye lantern he was using, even made him look like a cadaverous spook. He spoke anxiously:

  “There’s no danger of this guy comin’ home before I’m through. Matt? Is there?”

  “Well, Curt, I’ve been tailin’ him for two weeks, and you could just about set a clock by his movements. It’s eight P.M. now, so he’s parked in a private booth with Anna Kargas, in Weinberg’s restaurant.”

  “Is that the dame he bumped off his wife to make?”

  “Looks that way. They don’t meet openly. Guess he’s afraid of talk. Use the restaurant booth. Stay there until ten o’clock. Then she comes out and goes home alone. He follows in exactly five minutes, like clockwork, and heads for this place. He comes in here, turns on the radio and reads until midnight or so. How the hell he sees the print is more than I know. Sometimes he falls asleep with the music on.”

  Perkins stopped and shot me a curious glance.

  “Do you really believe you can get a confession from this monkey by standing behind these curtains and bunking him through this mike I’m hooking up to the radio?”

  “It’s worth a try, Curt. I figure his guilty conscience will help some, but I’m mostly depending: on the fact I’ve found out he’s plenty superstitious. You know, sort of batty over spirits and anything supernatural. And you’ll have to admit it’s a swell bogie setting. I’ve get an idea . . .”

  Perkins shook his head and went on with his work, flinging his comment over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t take a million bucks to be in your boots if that bird spots this layout!”

  “Make damn’ sure your job is a good one, so he won’t. Then all I’ve got to do is keep my number nines out of sight. I’ve got to chance it, Curt. The cops haven’t a thing on him; in fact, they’ve dropped the case. Field, of the insurance company, is the one who smells the rat. Can’t blame him for not wanting to shell out all that dough. . . .”

  “How big’s the policy, Matt?”

  “Fifty grand, double indemnity accidental. Hoftman stands to collect one hundred G’s.”

  “Whew!”

  “And Field claims this guy he dug up, who overheard Hoftman make the remark to this Anna Kargas that the spirits had told him it wouldn’t be long before he was free, is a personal friend. A week later Hoftman’s wife is dead. So Field called us in. He’s offered the agency a whale of a bonus to break the case. Two weeks’ work and we’ve turned up nothing, except some damn’ strong suspicions. This is our last chance. They’ll have to pay Hoftman off if my stunt don’t work. You nearly through? I want to test out those gadgets.”

  “Yeah. Soon’s I fix up your resistance controls. Don’t take out this case without yanking the plug. Those step-up transformers boost the juice to eight hundred, and that’s worse than a Joe Louis jolt. Say, did you hear a noise then?”

  We stood still, listening. The dull tick of a clock was the only sound.

  “Guess I’m nervous and hearin’ things. By the way, I’ve replaced the regular cord to the wall socket with six-lead stuff. So Hoftman won’t spot any extra wires.”

  “A good idea, Curt. Now, is everything cleaned up like it was before we started?”

  “Yeah. Look, Matt—you hold this rheostat resistance in one hand and this mike in the other. It’s gonna be tough if you have to go for your rod in a hurry.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “I better cut a little peep hole in a fold of this drape,” I said, doing it.

  Perkins went on: “The first knob cuts out the radio program. The second fades in your mike. About a half turn should be right for volume. And the third starts your valve unit. Get it?”

  “Sounds simple. Let’s try it.”

  “All right. Get behind those—What’s that?”

  I whirled at the noise and yanked my stubby .38 from my belt band.

  “Somebody’s out-t th-there,” stammered Perkins, pointing to the window.

  THE TAP was repeated, harder this time, and I heard my name called in soft tones. I stepped to the window and raised the shade. Kelly, from the office, stood outside waving his arms with excitement.

  I jerked up the window, “Well, Shamus?”


  “Quick, Matt! Hoftman’s headed this way with the Kargas dame! I grabbed a cab an’ broke all speed records to beat him. If yuh ain’t done, it’s just too bad. Th’ chief had me tail him so yuh wouldn’t get—”

  I spun around. “Grab your tools. Curt! Hop out that window!” I footed across the room and flicked out the ceiling lights.

  Perkins needed no urging. He was already outside with Kelly.

  “Beat it, you guys!” I rasped, lowering the window.

  This was not so hot. Bringing the Kargas dame home, I couldn’t work my flim-flam with Anna Kargas here. Well, I was in it now and I’d stick it out and hope for a lucky break. I Sashed my light cautiously around and made sure everything was in order, Then I slid into my place behind the curtain, thinking how right old Bobby Burns was about: “The best laid plans of mice and men . . .

  It wasn’t two minutes before I heard the door open. A light button clicked and voices sounded. I found my peep hole and peeked out just as Hoftman and the girl walked into the room and turned on the lights. Hoftman walked straight toward my hiding place. He was a big man with little ears. It seemed to me the pale-blue eyes in his bullet head were burning right through the curtain. I noticed tiny drops of perspiration glistening on his forehead, deeply sloped back to his close-cropped, corn-colored hair, and contrasting with his undershot jaw jutting out at an angle.

  I wondered if my feet were exposed; it we’d missed putting anything in place; if something was giving my hiding place away. It seemed I wondered ten hundred things in the brief interval it took him to cross the room.

  As I shifted the mike and controls to one hand and reached for my gun, he reached the radio.

  “We shall have music, Anna.” He pronounced her name as though it were spelled “An-nah.”

  “Ja!”said Anna in a thick voice. “I do not think I should have come here, Karl!”

  Hoftman stood, leaning on the radio, waiting for it to heat. I could have reached out and touched him.-I held my breath and offered up a silent prayer that Curt had done a good job; that the radio would work. We had bad no chance to test it.

  “Everything is all right, Anna. I wanted you to see the place where you will live soon, mein Liebchen.”

  Soft strains of music began to swell forth, and I exhaled gently. Hoftman adjusted the volume to a low tone and walked back to the plush sofa, where Anna had seated herself.

  “My wife did not like the radio.” The undertone in his voice carried a bitter criticism. He sat down and drew Anna to him.

  She struggled a little. “Nein, Earl. I do not like it in this house so goon yet. . . . It frightens me. Tell me, Karl, it is not true what these people of the insurance are whispering—that. . . .”

  Hoftman released her and leaped to his feet.

  “Der Taufel!”he cried, lapsing into German and broken English. “The devil! You, too, would of me make a wife-killer! Du, nein, Anna!”

  He stood over her—accusing, shaking with rage. I pulled my gun. Maybe, I thought, I was about to get name evidence in another way, from the looks of things.

  Anna began to sob. Hoftman cooled off suddenly and sat down again.

  “There, there, Anna. I am sorry. We will not quarrel. We will sit here and talk, and listen to the music, and maybe a little love, eh?”

  “Nein,Karl! Nein! It is better I think I should go. I know I should not have come. You are nervous tonight, Karl. Some rest you should get.”

  She shook herself free and stood up.

  “I go now!”

  Hoftman argued, pleaded, and then got sore, but Anna walked out on him. I hoped that this spelled lucky break for me. I shifted my position before he came back from the door. The radio played on.

  FINALLY he returned and strode heavily into the room. His pale, narrow eyes glittered. I could see he was still plenty riled at Anna’s actions. He paced back and forth, mumbling wordless sounds. Now that the time had come, I was anything but sure. I cursed myself for being such a fool as to think I could work this racket on him. Yet here I stood with the setup ready.

  Well, here goes, win or lose, I thought, raising the microphone to my dry lips. I spoke softly Into it. Nothing happened. Cold perspiration popped out all over my body. In an instant, Curt had made a mistake in the hookup. I knew it, my last chance was shot.

  Then of a sudden, my whirling brain slowed down. I hadn’t turned the rheostat control knob. I breathed easier. What had Curt said? “First one cuts program. Second one for the mike.” I cautiously gave number two a half turn. Holding the mike dose to my lips I flattened my voice and tried again.

  “You’d like to kill Anna, too, Karl?”

  That jolted him. He wheeled and froze stiff, like an animal scenting danger. He stared at the radio, eyes wide open, unblinking. An incredulous look snapped across his coarse face. The soft dance music droned oh. Good old Curt! My voice volume had been perfect—low and spooky. I lowered the program music to a bare undertone and spoke again, keeping my voice flat, unemotional.

  “Why do you stare at me, Karl?”

  He shuddered at the words. Through my peep hole I could see the hot, angry blood draining from his cheeks. An unbelieving, terrorised expression fixed his face in a basilisk mask. I raised the music, then lowered it again. His lips began to tremble. He tried twice and finally formed words:

  “Was-a ist das?Who-o are you?”

  “I am the radio spirit, the all-seeing eve of radio. But you are frightened, Earl, because I speak to you?”

  He backed to a chair and sagged into it.

  “Nein! Nein!I am not scared. Why should I be scared? Others have talked with spirits. Spirits will not harm me.” The false courage of the words was belied by their tone.

  “You are right, Earl. I will not harm you. . . . I will not kill you—like you did your wife. No.”

  He sprang up in a fury. “It’s a lie! Ifs a lie, you speak!” he screamed.

  “Ach mein lieber Gott!I did not kill her. She fell. I tell you, she fell!”

  I lowered the music. An announcer began to speak, and I turned the knob still farther and faded him out Hoftman’s eyes bulged.

  “Earl, Earl, do not lie to a spirit. I know better. Yon killed her.”

  “You Taufel!” he screeched in a hoarse frenzy, rushing to the cabinet. With a vicious sweep he snapped off the switch. He stood trembling beside the console. I could hear his gasping breath. Suddenly he knelt down and felt all around the cabinet. I blessed Curt for his precaution with the wires. Hoftman stood up again and stared at the dial.

  “You lie!” he spat out.

  He began to pace the room with feverish strides. He kept running his fingers through his close-cropped hair. At every turn he shot a malevolent glance in my direction. I saw failure creeping around the corner for me. I coined myself for not thinking of this angle that he might turn off the instrument. And so far, I hadn’t been able to get him to admit a thing.

  Maybe he was innocent after all. But no, some inner hunch whispered that his denials had not carried conviction, I felt still more certain of his guilt. Not that it mattered much, for I had no confession from him, and no chance of getting one now with the radio silent. I wondered if I bopped out and got the drop on him, and then beat hell out of him, if it would do any good.

  I TOOK another look through the curtain. Hoftman had wheeled and was coming straight for me. My heart did a cardiac flip-flop when he stopped at the cabinet and stretched out his hand. He jerked It back with a snap. His face was the color of weatherworn whitewash. Disbelief, astounded wonderment and terror were mixed strangely In his expression. He seemed to fear to hear the worst, and dread to hear the troth.

  His hand crept out again, drawn by an irresistible desire. He threw the switch, sidled to a nearby chair and sat down, stiff-backed as a small boy passing a cemetery late at night.

  I lifted the mike as the music began, determined to give him the works now that I had another opportunity.

  “You can silence my voice
, Karl, but you cannot blind my sight.”

  He stiffened still more until he was almost rigid. I could see he was thinking furiously.

  “But not my sight, Karl, I do not lie. . . . I saw you call your wife. You pushed her. . . . You pushed her at the head of the stairs. I saw her body come rocketing down from away up there. . . . You remember, Karl?”

  He threw up his hands, palms out, covering his eyes. He was trembling all over. I knew I was dose, and I went to work in earnest.

  “I see you remember, Karl. You hear her screams as you pushed her? Do you?”

  I raised the music. I remembered they did that in the movies for emotional effects. He slumped deep in his chair. I could see perspiration running from his slanting forehead. His chest rose and fell in spasmodic jerks. I faded the music and jabbed him another thrust.

  “I can hear the scream, Karl . . . I can hear you ripping loose the carpet at the top of the stair. . . . Why, Karl? Why?. . . I know. So you could tell the foolish police she tripped and stumbled and fell. But you pushed her, didn’t you, Karl?”

  He leaped up at that, shaking clenched fists in the air. He was almost frothing at the mouth as he panted:

  “Ach Gott un Himmel!You are a devil! Yes! Yes, I pushed her. I killed her. But she was nagging! She was a devil, too. A she-devil! Now, will you be still? Now, will you let me rest?”

  He flopped back in his chair, exhausted with effort. I had won. My goofy stunt had cracked his nerves.

  I was almost as excited as he. I relaxed and shifted my cramped position, and went to work on him again to wear him down. I wanted him weak and worn so he would offer no trouble. Maybe I could get him to sign a written confession on the spot.

  “I knew it, Karl. . . . And you rushed down to look at her broken body. . . .”

  “I tell you I killed her. I killed her! Is that not enough?” His voice was harsh and broken as he mouthed the words.

  “And then you bumped her head on the floor, Karl—just to make sure. . . .”

  “I’ll fix—” He rose swiftly, eyes glaring, and sprang toward the cabinet. “What?” His head snapped alert. He pulled up with a jerk. A surprised look swept all other emotions from his cruel face. His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to be looking straight through the radio. He cocked his head in a peculiar gesture, and, somehow, I felt I’d carried things too far. I quickly sought to regain control.