Pulp Crime

by Jerry eBooks

She sighed. “Well, I knew it would be, you know. I’m awfully glad that you were there when it happened. That was worth the two hundred dollars alone.”

  “Miss Farnam, I’m going to ask you a question that may hurt.”

  “You may,” she said, strangely relieved, I thought. “Even if it does hurt.”

  I stopped eating and studied her. I was convinced that it wouldn’t hurt, but darned if I knew why. So I dove. “Was Gerald your son?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Of course not, Mr. Kelly. He was a good boy and I liked him; but I was never married, you know.”

  I believed her. In addition, I felt it would be merely bad taste to ask if she thought marriage was a necessity in these cases. Somehow I figured she just wasn’t suited for the part.

  “Good,” I said. “Your father, though, I imagine, has some ideas of his own.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” she admitted. “Father is—well, you know what I mean. He sometimes imagines things.”

  “Sort of loopy now and then?” I helped.

  “Loopy?” she repeated. “I don’t know. However, Father’s a very old man and his memory wanders now and then. Years ago I lost a large sum of money through real estate transactions in which I should have known better. Mr. Walker was in on the transactions but he was not the one who caused me to lose the money. Afterwards, he gave me a job in his office. He was very kind. However, lately, Father has had the idea that Mr. Walker was the guilty man.”

  “And he sent him the threat notes?” I helped again.

  “I think so,” Miss Farnam said, “but I’m not sure. I have never caught him at it. However, just in case any harm ever came to Mr. Walker, I hired you to find the murderer so that my father would be cleared of any suspicion.”

  “What made you so sure your father wouldn’t kill Walker?” I asked, watching her closely.

  Miss Farnam put her hand to her mouth and snickered through it. “Why, Mr. Kelly! How perfectly fantastic. You know father wouldn’t do anything like that. And, besides, I’m here to watch him, you know. That’s why I quit my job in the office; so I could be with father and attend to him all the time.”

  “H’mm,” I said. “Your father’s in bed now, I suppose?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “Father always retires right after supper.”

  “Let’s peek in on him, shall we?” I suggested.

  “All right, Mr. Kelly. But I hope it won’t awaken him. He needs his rest, you know.”

  WE TIP-TOED to a little bedroom off the kitchen toward the hall. Miss Farnam opened the door and from the light reflected from the hall I could see old man Farnam snuggled up in bed. What’s more he was snoring. The peaceful sleep of the just and of little children.

  I followed her back to the kitchen. “Miss Farnam, there’s one more question I’d like to ask. Can you tell me who Gerald Walker really was? I mean—was he really Mr. Walker’s nephew?”

  She studied that one for a minute then came to a half decision. “Mr. Kelly, as my private detective, you are obligated to keep inviolate anything you may learn, aren’t you? Just as though you were a doctor—or a priest?”

  I nodded.

  “Well,” she decided, “in that case, I can tell you; Gerald was not Mr. Walker’s nephew. He was the illegitimate child of a politician who was friendly with Mr. Walker. He had been raised in the belief that he was really a nephew, though. I believe the politician paid Mr. Walker quite well all through the years.”

  “It’s a secret,” I promised her. “And now to the important one. Who was the politician?”

  I drew a blank. “I never knew,” Miss Farnam said.

  6

  IT WAS twelve thirty when I picked up Scott at the Walker home. The Medical Examiner had come and gone long before.

  “What killed Walker?” I asked.

  “That’s the funny part,” Scott said.

  “He just died, as nearly as we can find out. The M.E. finds no wound, no traces of poison, no nothing, so far. We’re going to perform an autopsy in the morning to make sure, but from the looks of it, I’d say he had a heart attack. And that’s the picture.”

  “My gosh,” I said. “It seems hard to believe that he’d have a heart attack on the very day he was scheduled to be knocked off.”

  “It does seem funny,” Scott admitted. “However, there’s the possibility that the threat notes upset him more than he would admit. If he’d had a weak heart, an attack might have been induced through fear. However, we’ll know for sure in the morning.” He stopped abruptly. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes. A sandwich and coffee.”

  “Like another?”

  “Okay by me, but I’ve a suggestion. How’s about going over to the Club Siam and getting your fill of Minego?”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Well, in the first place, I believe Minego was really Gerald Walker’s father. Me, I’m too little a guy to get anywhere with him, but with you along he might be more helpful. I thought maybe he might shed a little light on Gerald’s death—also, perhaps, on Walker’s tonight.”

  “Okay,” Scott agreed, “but in this you’re running the show, remember. I’ll tag along for the moral help—but that’s all.”

  This was all fine by me so we scooted over to the Siam. The bar was closed and the bartender was cleaning up. He waved us away but at the same moment recognized Scott.

  “Something wrong?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Where’s Minego?” Scott said.

  The bar boy reached under the bar. Office button, I figured. I was right. In a second the private door opened and Minego stood there giving us the old study glance. “Well,” he said, suddenly turning on that fine old Edward Arnold smile, “come in, come in.”

  Scott looked at the bartender and I’m glad that look didn’t hit me. It meant that his wash would have to be very clean from then on—or else. “Hello, Kelly,” said Minego to me. “Yeah,” I answered. “Hello. William Walker’s dead, Minego. You did it up right, didn’t you?”

  “That won’t get you anywhere, Kelly,” said Minego, lighting a cigar. “Come into the office; we can talk better in there.”

  We followed him and he closed the door. As soon as that was done, Scott turned to Minego. “First, Minego,” he said, “I’d like to tell you that I’m not here to threaten you or even to question. I am here as an interested party though. Whatever Kelly says to you is strictly unofficial. He’s on his own. However, if it’s all okay with you, I’d just like to listen in.”

  “Why certainly, certainly, Lieutenant!” boomed Minego. “Outside of the profit side of my ledger, anything about me is an open book, you know!”

  “Oh sure,” I agreed. “Well, ‘open book’, tell me why you killed William Walker.”

  “Are you joking, Kelly? What would I kill Walker for? Got nothing against him. In fact, he’s my lawyer.”

  “Was your lawyer. Second question; why did you kill Gerald, his nephew?” I could have stuck a pin in him instead, I imagine; I wouldn’t have hurt as much. I rather felt Scott was sorry for Minego, considering what I had told him about Gerald’s relationship to Minego. I almost felt sorry for him myself. His face lost the cheery smile it had. And his eyes blurred. Had he been a good church-goer, I imagine he’d have cried a little. That’s how he looked.

  “I didn’t kill Gerald, Kelly,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t; I couldn’t.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “That’s none of your business!”

  “Ah, the ‘open book’,” I said.

  He disregarded it. “I’m not sure, Kelly. And this goes for you, too, Scott. But I think I do know who killed Gerald. Not that it’s any of my business.” He tried a little shrug.

  I PULLED the little typewritten slip of paper from my breast pocket. The one that said: $300.00 Final.

  I handed him the little slip. “None of your business, huh?”

  He read it. “So,” he murmured. “You did get away with something after all when you help
ed yourself to my cabinet.”

  “Yeah. Mess me up, why don’t you—in front of Scott.”

  He gave me a dirty look and walked over to the private door again. Stuck his head through. “Bring her in,” he said to somebody. And a second later two of Minego’s strong boys entered with a doll between them. A doll who should have been in black; the widow, Linda Walker.

  She shot Minego a dose of poison with a look that should have been reserved only for a mother-in-law. “What now—big shot?” she spit at him.

  “You will tell Lieutenant Scott how Gerald died,” he said evenly.

  “How should I know?” Linda answered. “Why don’t you throw a little light on it yourself, you fool!”

  “Linda,” I broke in, “if you know anything that might help . . .”

  “Oh shut up, you!” she blazed. “You self-righteous punk! Who the hell you think you are? A one man investigation for that dirty louse of a Gerald?” Minego took one step closer to her and slapped her across the mouth with his open palm. I could feel it sting even over here where I was standing. “You cheap—” he slurred.

  “Yeah, and you!” she screamed. “Minego, the pious! Minego who never done nothing wrong ever! What I could tell you about you that would make you curl!”

  “Shut up!” Minego warned.

  “I will, like hell! Why don’t you let your strong boys rest a while? You afraid I’d get to you?”

  Minego motioned to the two who held Linda and they dropped her arms. At once she jumped over to Minego and spit at his face. The saliva glistened from his cheek, reflecting the light bulb above like a diamond as he fought to control himself.

  “Hmmph! Minego the mighty! Minego the wonderful! Minego, who’s so damned powerful that he’s afraid of a little scandal. Afraid to let people know he’s the father of . . .”

  “Shut up!” Minego hissed.

  “. . . the father of an illegitimate son!” she finished.

  Minego looked wildly around the room. He would have given anything to have been alone with Linda. I could see the hate glowing from his eyes. I felt sorry for Minego at that. He had a false sort of pride that had driven him to funny things in his lifetime, but that was the standard by which he lived. It was his core, his warp. He couldn’t help it now, and he knew it.

  I thought I’d stop it before it went too far.

  “Hey!” I yelled. She stopped her ranting and turned to me.

  I grinned. “That’s better. Now, Miss Lovebird, perhaps you’d better stop accusing. I know Minego was Gerald’s support. And we know another thing; we know who killed Gerald.”

  I could see her eyes widen with the suddenness of the switch. She stood tense, like a statue.

  “You, Mrs. Walker, killed Gerald. Are you surprised? It was a mistake, wasn’t it? You meant to kill old man Walker, so that Gerald would inherit the money from the estate, didn’t you? But unfortunately, Gerald went over to his uncle’s house that very night to warn the old man. He knew what was in your mind. You had hinted around it enough so that he guessed.

  You meant him to. You meant him to do the killing himself.

  “But Gerald believed in the Ten Commandments. He wouldn’t kill. What’s more, he loved his uncle—or at least cared for him too much for a thing like that. He could wait for the estate, but you couldn’t. You had to have it now. So you went over to Walker’s house. You somehow got hold of that paper knife. And Gerald, himself, probably let you in when he saw you at the door. There was an argument, then a scuffle and you couldn’t control yourself. You went crazy and stuck the knife in Gerald instead. Then you straightened up the room, didn’t you—so that it would look neat and orderly when the police arrived!”

  I STOPPED and waited for I was coming to my big scene and it had to be good. “But,” I said, “you overlooked one thing; in the scuffle, a button flew off your sleeve and rolled under a chair. You never noticed it. We found it, Mrs. Walker; it was a button off the very dress you’re wearing now!”

  That did it. Her eyes flew to her sleeve and then up again. I doubt if she even noticed that the buttons were all there. She wasn’t mentally focusing at that instant. Suddenly, she lunged toward one of the muscle boys and pawed at him. And in a flash a .38 gun was in her hand, fanning the room.

  I began to feel wobbly in the knees. I was sure she’d try it out on me first. A wild light blazed in her eyes; her lips were open and her teeth shone out, gritted in primeval desperation. Her breath panted shortly and I noticed the big veins in her forehead throbbing passionately.

  “You wise boy!” she snarled. “Oh, you wise boy! You know so much. But it’s the last thing you’ll ever know; take it, wise boy, take it!”

  She pulled the nose of the gun around and aimed it at me. And I said my prayers for-what I knew was to be the last time.

  And then it broke. The private door opened and the bartender stuck his head inside, talking at the same time. “I’m through, boss,” he said. “I’m going, now.” He didn’t get any farther. Linda swung half way around at the sound and in that instant, Scott lunged. The gun roared once and I heard Scott grunt in pain as he struck Linda Walker in the breadbasket with his fist. She folded easier than a road map. Her body crashed over a chair, lay half in and half out, and the gun clattered on the bare floor. She was through for the evening, I figured, mopping my brow.

  Later, Scotty and I did have that cup of coffee and a sandwich at an all night beanery over on Market Street. He looked kind of picturesque with his left arm in a sling. The slug had grazed his arm and made him bleed quite a bit, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t take in his stride.

  I was just starting my second cup of coffee when he spoke. “You know,” he said, “I still think you should be on the force working at Homicide, Kelly.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Cause I love murder so much. Cause I’m so darned smart.”

  “I don’t know about your love for murder, but you really are smart for a private eye at that. I hadn’t a chance to figure out yet who was guilty of Gerald’s death—and besides, I had been warned to go easy on the investigation. I can guess Minego wangled that. He used to be in politics before he went for that night club business. And besides, somehow, those warning notes of Walker’s threw me off the track. I still don’t angle them in at all. Do you?”

  “Why shore,” I obliged. “Old man Farnam probably did send the notes, thinking Walker had cheated his daughter out of some dough many years ago. His mind’s like a little child’s. Infantile reactions, and all that. And Miss Farnam was afraid that since her father had begun to get screwy notions, he might do something besides send the notes.”

  “She knew about that?” asked Scott. “She suspected,” I corrected. “She never was sure of it. However, she hired me to find out who killed Walker—in case he did get killed—only to clear her father. For she quit her job this year just so she could attend to him and watch him. Therefore, she knew that if Walker got killed, it wouldn’t be her father who did it. But she was afraid that the notes would be traced to her father and so therefore I was the boy who was to be on hand ready to crack down in his defense by finding the real murderer—if any.”

  “Hmm. Pretty complicated.”

  “Yeah. The little old lady works like that. To her, it’s sound reasoning. I kind of like her. She makes good coffee, too.”

  “Tell me, how did you know that Linda killed Gerald?”

  “Well, to be truthful,” I admitted, “I didn’t know for sure. That little act I put on in Minego’s office was just that—an act. But I believed from talking to old man Farnam, and Miss Farnam, that neither of them could have done it. And there was no motive for Walker to have killed h’s nephew.

  “Also, I guessed that Minego was Gerald’s father—after I had that last talk with Walker before he died. Therefore, he certainly wouldn’t kill his own son, I reasoned. And as to the note I swiped from his file, it helped all add up. He had been making payments to Walker for the support of Gerald. Apparently, Miss Farnam was
the go-between for the note read: Walker-Farnam, etc. And that payment was the final, since Walker had put Gerald out. It probably peeved Minego.”

  “What the devil was Minego feeding the kitty for after all these years? After all, Gerald was grown up—had his own law practice, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “That was funny. But, consider. Minego was Gerald’s father. He couldn’t lavish his affection on the boy in any other way, for then Gerald might find out he was not an orphan as he was probably led to believe. ‘Therefore, Minego gave Walker money all the time, just to see that Gerald wanted for nothing. And he didn’t. I’ll bet if you check up you’ll find he had the best clothes, best cars, best everything. And he figured ‘Uncle William’ was doing it all.”

  “What led you to be sure Linda did it, then?”

  “Well,” I reasoned, “nothing for certain. But I was sure that Walker hadn’t done it. Incidentally, he told me right before he died, that he kill Gerald. Probably thought old man Farnam had done it by mistake, and was trying to cover up for the old gent, for Miss Farnam’s sake.”

  “Why, for heaven’s sake?”

  “You got me,” I said. “Who can tell what goes on in another’s mind?” “Well, you’ve been guessing pretty steadily right along now,” Scott commented.

  “Yeah. Haven’t got to that, though. Well, I was also certain Miss Farnam was innocent. Also, Mr. Farnam. And it was evident that Minego wouldn’t kill a son he loved as much as Gerald. Who, then, was left? The only one who had a disposition that should have been better refrigerated when she was a child; Linda. She was greedy, mercenary, lousy, and anything else you might think of.”

  Scott was trying not to appear too interested.

  “Anyway,” I continued, “she was the only one who could have done it, so I put on my show in Minego’s office. She was ripe to give herself away, if guilty, because at that moment she was all het up accusing Minego, remember?”

  Scott whistled. “Kelly, you were luckier than even an Irishman has a right to expect to be. If you ever work in Homicide for me, you’ll have to be more down-to-earth.”