“You’re not twenty-one,” Leemy said.
I opened my mouth and closed it again. Somehow I didn’t think another portrait of Alexander Hamilton was going to cut much ice with the man.
“My fucking dancer drops dead on the fucking stage and the place is going to crawl with fucking cops and I need you like a fucking hole in my head. Out!”
“But—”
“Out!” He grabbed me by the arm, tugged me toward the door. He wasn’t all that big or strong and at first I stood my ground, and then I remembered that he and I agreed that I should get out of there. At which point I stopped resisting.
He said, “Joint crawling with cops and all I need is trouble with the fucking S.L.A. about my fucking liquor license, all I fucking need, out, you little prick, and don’t come back, and—”
I couldn’t have agreed with him more, and I could have walked faster if he’d just let go of my arm. But he didn’t, and I couldn’t have walked fast enough anyway, because we were still maybe a dozen steps from the door when three or four gentlemen in blue uniforms filled the doorway.
“Oh, shit,” Gus Leemy said.
The patrolmen mostly stood around and made sure that nobody entered or left the premises. One of them went up on the stage to confirm that Cherry was dead. When he came back down somebody asked if the girl was dead and he refused to commit himself. “We’ll let the medical examiner settle that question,” he said. I guess Dylan was wrong; some people really do need a weatherman to know which way the wind is blowing.
I did manage one feat while the patrolmen stood around waiting for the heavyweights to reach the scene. I found the phone booth and looked in my pocket for a dime. I only had a quarter, and my ingenuity and experience told me not to waste time getting change. I dropped the quarter and dialed my favorite telephone number, and when Wong Fat answered I told him to wake Haig, and he said he couldn’t because Haig hadn’t gone to sleep yet. He put the great man on the phone and I talked a little and listened a little and was off the phone by the time the detectives from Homicide, flanked by a couple of other detectives from Midtown West, came plainclothesing their way through the door.
The phone booth was not far from the door they entered. I saw them before they saw me, but not very much before. Just long enough for my heart to sink a little. I recognized them right away, but they needed two looks at me to make the connection. They worked in perfect unison, those two homicide cops in the middle, looking simultaneously at me, looking away, then doing a beautifully synchronized double-take.
“You!” they said. Much as Gus Leemy had said it. And I figured if we were going to stand their trading Gus Leemy lines, I had mine all picked out.
“Oh, shit,” I said.
The one on the left was Detective Vincent Gregorio, a tall and dark and handsome number with one of those twenty-dollar haircuts and a suit you’d never find at Robert Hall. The one on the right was Detective Wallace Seidenwall, and I’d decided some time ago that Gregorio liked having him for a partner for the same reason pretty girls like having ugly girlfriends. Seidenwall’s suits always looked as though someone else had bought them at Robert Hall, then wore them day and night for a year before passing them on to Seidenwall. I never had trouble remembering his name because he was built like the side of a wall.
The first time I met the two of them was when I discovered the body of a girl named Melanie Trevelyan. The second time I met them was when somebody bombed Madam Juana’s whorehouse. That was the memorable day when Haig called them witlings, which was accurate if not diplomatic. The third meeting was in Haig’s office, when he unmasked a murderer and presented him to them on a Sheffield platter. You’d think they might be grateful, but you’d be wrong.
If there were two things Seidenwall and Gregorio hated, I was one of them. Haig was the other.
Five
“IT WAS A Mexican standoff,” I told Leo Haig. “Gregorio wanted to arrest me and Seidenwall wanted to arrest your client. I was hoping they would arrest us both and lock us up in the same cell, but then I figured you’d have Addison Shivers down there with a writ just when Tulip began to realize that it’s hip to be involved with younger men.”
Haig grunted. “There are other things in life beside sex,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “That’s the whole trouble. One of the things there is beside sex is coffee. At the moment I’ll settle for second best. Is there any?”
Haig picked up a little bell and rang it, and before the vibrations quit Wong entered with a couple of mugs full of hot black coffee. He’s extraordinary that way. You hardly ever have to tell him what it is you want.
In this case maybe it wasn’t all that extraordinary. It was six-thirty in the morning and I had been up all night, and while Haig had dozed on the couch waiting for me to turn up he hadn’t had anything you’d be likely to call real sleep. Of course we wanted coffee.
By the time I had finished my cup and rung for a refill, I had brought Haig up to date to the point where the cops walked in. I gave him everything reasonably verbatim and he took me back over various points until he was satisfied.
Then I went through my own interrogation. I had gotten off some good lines and I was careful to repeat them all, but since then I’ve reevaluated them, and while they were nice enough at the time, I don’t think I’m going to inflict them on you. I’m not really all that inclined to play smartass with New York’s Finest, but those two bring out the wiseacre in me and I have trouble controlling myself. To give you an example of the level of repartee, at one point Gregorio tried a trap question, asking me why I’d been jealous of the girl in the first place, and I said Haig had selected her to crossbreed with one of his fish in the hope that half the offspring would be mermaids and the other half would be Esther Williams. And that was one of my better lines, so now you know why you’ll never hear the others.
Haig perked up at that particular line, as a matter of fact. “Then they know about Miss Wolinski’s fish?”
“Yes, sir. They were going to find out she had fish, and even the police can add two and two. I told them l was at the club because I was friendly with Tulip, and I said the friendship had happened because Tulip had consulted you as a fellow aquarist about a problem connected with her hobby.”
“Which is not untrue,” Haig murmured.
“I know that. I don’t lie to the police unless I have to. Tulip overheard me say this, and she picked up the ball neatly enough. She said she doesn’t know how good a liar she is. If they grill her I guess she’ll find out.”
“And will they grill her?”
“Over and over again. She was Cherry’s roommate, she was a few yards away from her when she was murdered. They’d have to be crazy not to grill her.”
“There’s no doubt that Miss Bounce was poisoned?”
“None. I saw the blood on her breast. So did someone else, so the M.E. knew where to look for a wound. Just a pinpoint puncture.”
“And the cause of the puncture was not found.”
“No. I looked. The first thing that I thought of was poison. I thought of it before she hit the ground. God damn it, I was looking right at her and I never saw anything hit her. I just saw the blood and then she reached for herself and started to fall. Christ.”
“Chip?”
“I’m all right. When I got up on the stage I was looking for the weapon at the same time that I was determining that she was dead. Not that it was hard to determine. She was all blue in the face. I forget what that’s called. Cyanitis?”
“Cyanosis. And you weren’t looking for the weapon. You were looking for the projectile. A gun is a weapon and a bullet is a projectile.”
“Well, you knew what I meant.”
“My cryptographic ability does not justify your abandoning the English language. You found nothing?”
“Nothing. I didn’t know what I was looking for. Something sharp, but that was as far as I got. A dart or a needle or, hell, anything at all. I didn’t have much time and
of course the lighting was terrible, and if it was something like a needle it could have rolled between the floorboards and disappeared.”
“If it’s there, the police will find it. Whatever it may be.”
“Maybe.”
“Absolutely.” He took a pipe from the rack and began twisting it apart. The end of the stem broke off inside the shank and he stared at it, sighed, and dropped both pieces into his wastebasket. He looked at me to see if I was going to smirk, and when I didn’t he went on. “That is their strength. Scientific methodology, exhaustive investigation. If pressed they could find a needle in a haystack. Certainly they can locate one in a nightclub. Unless the murderer has already removed it.”
I thought about that. “He could have,” I said. “It must have hit her and bounced off after puncturing her skin, and if he saw it land he’d have had plenty of time to pick it up. I didn’t make the world’s greatest search for it. I felt it was important to keep as many people inside the place as possible until the police got there.”
“You were probably right,” he said. He cupped his beard, making sure that all the hairs were the right length. “I gather the murderer could have left before you barred the door.”
“Easily. He could have been out the door before Cherry hit the stage, and then he would have had another minute or two while I was checking out the body. A lot of people did leave, I know that much.”
“Hardly an admission of guilt on their part. One can readily appreciate the concern of any number of innocent citizens not to have their presence in such an establishment a matter of public record. All those gentlemen who habitually assure their wives that they are working late at the office.”
“There were enough of those who didn’t get out. When the cops went around taking names, you wouldn’t believe the number of John Smiths who turned up. Of course the cops insisted on seeing identification and took down everybody’s name and address.”
“And you recognized some of the names.”
I stared at him, which of course pleased him no end. “How did you know that?”
He waggled a finger at me. “You’re still a boy who eats the cake and then the frosting, Chip. You save the best for last. If none of our suspects had been present you would have said so earlier. Who was there?”
I got out my notebook and flipped it open. “I can’t say who might have left beforehand. And I can’t be sure that I got the names of all the suspects who were there, because Seidenwall and Gregorio didn’t take me into their confidence. I overheard a few names and I got together with Tulip and she pointed out a couple of people. She didn’t know any of them were there until she happened to see them. Incidentally, her dinner date tonight was with a cousin from Chillicothe, Ohio. He came into town on business yesterday morning and flew home after they had dinner at the Autopub. I didn’t find out what they had for dinner but I could probably check it out for you.”
“Chip.”
“Yes, sir. Gus Leemy was there, obviously. I told you how he did his impression of a bald penguin. That’s not suspicious because he’s always there. Andrew Mallard was there. That’s the ex-boyfriend, the one who kept Tulip’s apartment so she had to find another one.”
“Indeed. And Tulip did not know of his presence beforehand?”
“No. He never talks to her. He usually gets a good table, but what I found out is that there’s no such thing as a good table as far as being up close is concerned. The bar is between the tables and the stage. He came alone, of course. Tulip said he always does.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“I didn’t have a chance. I got a good look at him, though, and I got the impression of a man who goes through life in a fog. He’s tall and thin and he’d be taller if he straightened out his spine a little. He walks with a stoop. Oh, and he wears very thick glasses. From where he was sitting, if he shot a dart or something into Cherry, he was probably aiming at Tulip.”
“Continue.”
“Simon Barckover was there. Tulip didn’t know about this, either, but that wasn’t unusual either. He drops in occasionally with someone he’s trying to convince to book one of his clients. And he usually doesn’t give advance warning that he’s coming to keep his clients from getting uptight. He was there with a man who books acts for a nightclub in West Orange. I didn’t get the name.”
“I doubt that it matters.”
“Well, I tried, all the same. Barckover’s a forty-five- year-old hippie. Embroidered pre-faded jeans, the kind of counterculture clothing you can buy for about two hundred dollars a pair in the East Sixties. A buckskin jacket with fringe that probably cost him double that. Aviator glasses, wears his hair in a Hebro.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s Tulip’s word but I think I like it and I’m going to make it mine. A Hebro. Sort of a Jewish Afro.”
“Indeed.”
I closed the notebook. “That’s it. Just those three, and it wasn’t unusual for any of them to be there. Leemy owns the place, or pretends to. Mallard comes in a lot because he likes to look at Tulip’s breasts while he drinks. Barckover had a professional reason for being there. It’s possible that there were other suspects there. I don’t mean of the ones who ducked out when they had the chance, but besides that. For instance Mrs. Haskell Henderson might have been there and how would we know it? Tulip’s never met her.”
Haig sighed. Then he folded his hands, and then he extended his index fingers and played here’s-the-church-here’s-the-steeple. I got up and looked at some fish.
He said, “The poison. Strychnine?”
“I don’t know. They’ll have to do an autopsy. What do people look like when they die of strychnine poisoning? Besides dead, I mean.”
“The symptoms you described are not incompatible with a diagnosis of strychnine poisoning. It works on the nervous system, the effects are rapid, there’s spasmodic paralysis. But it’s almost invariably given orally. I suppose it could be used to tip a dart or arrow or whatever projectile was employed.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “If it was a poison other than strychnine—”
“Then what?”
He grunted, shook off the question.
“If it was strychnine, then it ties in with the fish. Is that what you mean?”
“No,” he said.
“Well—”
“It’s tied to the fish in any case,” Haig said impatiently. “A young woman comes to see us. Her fish have been deliberately poisoned. Less than twelve hours after she sets foot in this office, her roommate and co-worker is also deliberately poisoned, and under our eyes. Your eyes, at any rate, and you in turn function as my eyes. The connection is undeniable. Anyone who would raise the gray banner of coincidence would—how did that congressman put it? If a mouse walked into the room, he would say that one could not be certain that it was a mouse, that it might well be an elephant with a glandular condition.”
It was the other way around; if an elephant walks into the room one says it might be a mouse with a glandular condition. But as much as I like to nitpick with Haig, if only to give him some of his own back, this didn’t seem to be the time to pick that particular nit.
Instead I said, “Well, I took it for granted the two things were connected. Obviously. But what difference does it make if it was strychnine both times?”
“Perhaps none. Who else was in the club?”
“The names of all the people whose names didn’t ring a bell? God, I don’t know. I couldn’t run around writing everything down, for Pete’s sake. I think most of the men I overheard were from out of town. There could have been a boyfriend or two of Cherry’s there. She evidently had a lot of them, former and current.
Tulip wouldn’t recognize them either by name or face, so I couldn’t say. I know Leonard Danzig wasn’t there because Tulip would have spotted him.”
“You mentioned a short heavy man who tended the door. A bouncer, I presume.”
“Well, he tried to bounce me. And if I hadn’t slipped him a ten he would
have done it with no trouble. His name is Buddy Lippa. I assume he has an official first name, but all I heard was Buddy.”
“Waitresses? Or waiters?”
“Definitely waitresses. Two of them working the tables, and I didn’t bother to get their names, but not because I was being stupid. I figured I could get them later from Tulip. Or from Lenny or anywhere else.”
“And behind the bar?”
“Her name is Jan and I could probably fall in love with her if I wasn’t already committed to Tulip. I understand Tulip doesn’t like to play threesies. Leonard Danzig tried to arrange that once and she didn’t go for it. But maybe she was just saying that because she was shy, meeting me for the first time and all. After this is over Tulip and Jan and I can get together and work it all out. As a matter of fact—”
“Chip.”
I finished my coffee. It was cold, but that was all right. We sat around for a while, and then Haig turned on the news and we had the story, and there wasn’t much to it that we didn’t already know. They gave Cherry’s real name but they got it wrong, and they said that the police expected to make an arrest very shortly.
Haig grunted and shut off the radio.
“Well, we’re out of it,” I said. “The police expect to make an arrest at any moment. Of course whoever killed Cherry also killed the fish, so they’ll be solving your case for you. Do we give Tulip her check back or not? I’m not sure of the ethics involved.”
Haig didn’t answer me. After a moment he said, “You’ll want to sleep, I suppose. There’s a convertible sofa in your room. I’ve had Wong—”
“There’s nothing but a bed and chest of drawers in my room and you know it. If you mean the guest room, that is not my room, and we’ve been through this enough so that you should have figured it out by now.”
He held up a hand. “Please,” he said. “The police are not going to apprehend the murderer. Either they will not make an arrest at all or they will arrest the wrong person. That was the seven o’clock news. Sometime between now and noon the police will come here. I want you here when they arrive.”
The Topless Tulip Caper Page 6
