1950 - Figure it Out for Yourself

by James Hadley Chase

  'Maybe he has, but that isn't the point. You're not going to let him hang something on this guy just because he's got a record, are you?'

  ‘Well, no. All right, Vic. I'll go over there and see him. But I warn you, if I think he's guilty, I'm pulling out. There's too much publicity tied to this business to be in on the losing end.'

  'I still think it could be a frame. Take a look at him, anyway. And don't worry too much about what they've got on him. I'm going to take a hand in this, Justin.'

  'Well, all right. I'll see what I can do. Better see me tomorrow morning at my office.'

  'I'll ring you tonight.'

  I hung up before he could protest.

  Myra was watching me, an intent expression in her eyes.

  'Who's that?'

  'Justin Francon. The smartest criminal lawyer on the Pacific Coast If he believes Perelli is being framed, he'll never stop fighting until he's freed him.'

  'Is he going down there?'

  'You bet he is, and he'll block Brandon off.'

  She lit another cigarette. Her hand was noticeably unsteady.

  'I guess Nick knew what he was doing when he told me to come to you.'

  From her that would be praise.

  I finished my drink and stood up. 'Where can I reach you?'

  '245 Monte Verde Avenue. It's a little green-painted shack on the left-hand side as you go up. I live alone.'

  While I was writing the address down, she went on, 'This will take some money, won't it?'

  'I told Perelli I'd be glad to help him any time, and it'd be on the house. That still goes.'

  'Thanks.'

  'Forget it. I owe him a stab in the belly. Now look. I'm going down to Police Headquarters right away. There's not much I can do until I find out just how much they have on him. I might even have a word with him if I'm lucky.'

  'You mean they'll let you talk to him?'

  'I don't know. The Homicide Lieutenant is a friend of mine. He might swing it.'

  Just for a second the hardness went out of her eyes, and the red-painted mouth trembled.

  'Give him my love,' she said.

  chapter twelve

  The news of Perelli's arrest had broken by the time I reached Princes Street and Centre Avenue.

  I couldn't get within five hundred yards of Police Headquarters. As I tried to take the turn a raving, purple-faced cop waved me back into Centre Avenue. Three other cops were barring the way to other cars.

  I managed to catch a glimpse of a seething crowd that over-flowed the sidewalks of Princes Street into the road before I drove on down to Orchid Boulevard.

  I parked the car and walked back.

  There was a big crowd of people standing before Police Headquarters, and it was growing every second. No amount of swearing and pushing from the sweat-soaked patrolmen made any impression on them. They had come to gape, and no cursing cop was going to stop them.

  A bunch of Brandon's special tough squad stood in the doorway of the building with their nightsticks drawn. I knew I had about as much chance of getting past them as a nudist has of gatecrashing the White House: probably less.

  I fought my way into a near-by drug store. It was empty except for a white-coated night clerk who stood in the doorway wistfully watching the crowd.

  'I just wanted to phone,' I said as he reluctantly tore himself away and moved back into the store.

  'Some excitement,' he said, licking his lips. They say Brandon's grabbed the kidnapper. Think he'll get the twenty-five grand? Jeepers! I wish it was me. I could use that amount of dough.'

  I made grunting noises and shut myself in a call box. I asked the operator to connect me with Police Headquarters.

  'I can't,' she said. 'Every line's jammed. I've been trying to get them for the past twenty minutes. What goes on down there?'

  'Some cop's cleaned his buttons, and the whole force's gone on strike,' I said sourly and hung up.

  I came out into the quiet and cool of the store again. The clerk was standing on a stool so that he could see over the heads of the crowd. By now they were jammed up against his windows. It looked as if I'd have trouble in getting out.

  'The Feds have arrived,' he told me, sucking in his breath excitedly. 'But this has wiped their eyes. That guy Brandon's a smart cop. Best Captain of Police we've ever had.'

  'How do I get out of here?' I said impatiently after trying to shove through a bunch of backs facing me in the doorway.

  'You don't want to get out, do you? Grab a stool. You won't get a better view than here.'

  'View of what?'

  He frowned down at me.

  'Maybe they'll bring him out. Maybe that Dedrick dame will come down to look him over. Anything can happen. I wish my girl was here. She'd love this.'

  'Is there a back way out of here?'

  'Through that door. Takes you into Orchid Boulevard.'

  As I jerked open the door, the crowd lurched back. There came a tremendous crash of breaking glass as one of the plate-glass windows of the store gave up the unequal struggle.

  I didn't wait to see what the damage was. A passage at the back of the store brought me to a dark alley that led eventually to Orchid Boulevard.

  Mifflin had a small house on Westwood Avenue. He lived with his wife, two children, a Boxer dog, two white cats and a bullfinch. Apart from his police duties, he was a highly domesticated man, and rumour had it he was even more scared of his wife than he was of Brandon.

  I decided to go out there and wait for him. I was determined to see him tonight, come rain, come sunshine, so I drove out there and parked before his front door.

  The time was twenty minutes past ten. I had no idea when he went off duty, but with the rumpus going on at Headquarters he was pretty certain to be late.

  I settled down with a cigarette and prepared for a long wait. There was a light showing in one of the lower rooms of the house, and from time to time I saw a woman's shadow on the blind. Around quarter to eleven the light went out, and then a light flashed up in one of the upper rooms. After a while that went out in its turn, and the house was dark.

  I closed my eyes and tried not to think about Perelli. I didn't want to get any false ideas until I knew more facts. Franco was probably right when he said Brandon would have more than the gun on Perelli. It was my bet someone had tipped the police: someone with an eye on the twenty-five grand; a temptation to anyone to manufacture a few lies if he could.

  A car came grinding up the hill. A few seconds later headlights came through the windshield to dazzle me, and a car came to a standstill.

  I poked my head hopefully out of the window. It was Mifflin all right. He was looking out of his window, a scowl on his face.

  'Take that lump of rusty iron out of my way and drop it in the sea,' he said testily. 'You're blocking my gates.'

  'Hello, Tim,' I said, and got out of the Buick.

  He gaped at me.

  'What the hell are you doing here?'

  I opened his car door, slid in and sat beside him.

  'Felt lonely, so I thought I'd cheer myself up with your company.'

  'Beat it! I've had enough for one night. I'm going to bed.'

  'Let's have it, Tim. Why did Brandon pick up Perelli?'

  'So you know that, do you?' Mifflin snorted. 'Read about it in the morning newspapers and don't bother me. I've had all I want of it for one night. They've gone crazy down there like a lynch mob.'

  'I know. I've seen them. Now look, Tim, Perelli happens to be a friend of mine. He didn't kidnap Dedrick. It's not his line.'

  Mifflin groaned.

  'Gimme a butt. I've smoked all mine.'

  I gave him a cigarette and lit it for him.

  'Do you think he's the kidnapper?'

  'I don't know. Maybe, but probably not. Was it you who sent Francon down?'

  'Yeah. Did he get in?'

  'Can you imagine anyone keeping him out? He got in, all right. I reckon he saved Perelli's life. They were certainly working over him.' />
  'Was it a tip?'

  Mifflin nodded.

  'Yah. And that's what makes me think it's a phoney. Whoever it was, asked for Brandon; nobody else would do. Brandon talked to him. This guy wouldn't say who he was, and that means he's gypped himself out of the reward. To me that stinks. No one in their right senses would pass up a reward that big unless he was scared of getting involved. He told Brandon to go right away to Perelli's apartment, where he'd find the death gun down the side of a settee and other evidence that would pin the kidnapping on to Perelli. Brandon tried to find out who he was, but he got jittery and hung up. We've traced the call to a call-box in Coral Gables, but that's as far as we've got.'

  'Someone who must hate Perelli's guts.'

  'Could be, or maybe one of the kidnappers with cold feet. I don't know. Anyway, Brandon made the pinch himself. Know what he found?'

  'He found the gun.'

  'He found that. He also found three oilskin wrappers, a hundred thousand grand in used twenty-dollar bills and a fishing-rod which was probably used to take the money off the shed roof.'

  I whistled softly.

  'Where did he find them?'

  'The money was in a suitcase in a cupboard. The oilskin wrappers were at the back of a drawer and the rod was under the bed.'

  'As if anyone in their right minds would keep evidence as hot as that in their apartment. Can't he see it's a plant?'

  'Look, Brandon wants the Feds out of the city pronto. Perelli's got a police record. This is a gift to him. If he stares at it all day and all night, it wouldn't be a plant to him.'

  'Has Perelli an alibi for the kidnapping?'

  'One full of holes. He says he was playing cards with Betillo in a private room in Delmonico's Bar. We've talked to Joe. He says Perelli played cards with him until nine-thirty. Joe remembers the time because Perelli was winning and suddenly said he had a date. Joe was sore because he wanted to get back some of his losses. Perelli swears he played on until ten thirty. The kidnapping, if you remember, took place at ten past ten.'

  'Anyone see Perelli leave?'

  Mifflin shook his head.

  'He went out the back way.'

  'Well, who'd believe a rat like Betillo, anyway?'

  'Brandon does. He'd believe anyone as long as he gets the Feds out of town. The money worries me, Vic. Everything looks like a plant until you come to the money. A hundred grand is an awful lot of money to throw away to frame a man. A couple of grand would have been enough.'

  'That's just the reason why it was planted. The kidnappers have still four hundred grand to keep him warm. Leaving an amount that big in Perelli's place would make people think just what you're thinking.'

  'It's throwing money away. I can't see anyone doing it.'

  'That's because you're badly paid. A lot of people in this city wouldn't think anything of passing up a hundred grand.'

  'Juries are badly paid too. They wouldn't believe it.'

  I flicked my cigarette out of the window and shrugged. He was right, of course.

  'How is he, Tim?'

  'Perelli? Not so bad, considering. They didn't shake his story, and they certainly tried. I think he'd have croaked if Francon hadn't breezed in. Those two punks, MacGraw and Hartsell, get under my skin. They like nothing better than to be turned loose on a guy in handcuffs.'

  'Yeah. They tried to bash me once. Any chance of my seeing him?'

  'Not a hope. He's Brandon's special prisoner. Even the Fed had to get tough before he'd let them look at him.'

  I lit another cigarette and passed him the pack.

  'I don't think he did it, Tim.'

  'Well, you'll be about the only one by the time they get him before a jury. Wait 'til you see the morning newspapers. As far as they're concerned, he's been tried and found guilty already. The only way to get him off is to produce the real kidnapper.'

  'I've got to do something for him. What'll Brandon do now?'

  'Nothing. As far as he's concerned, the case is closed. He's got Perelli, and he's got all the evidence he needs. It's in the bag.'

  I opened the car door and slid out.

  'Well, at least it gives me a clear field. I'm going to start in and dig.'

  ‘I wish you luck,' Mifflin said. 'But you've got a sweet job on your hands. Where will you dig? What have you got to work on?'

  'Not much. I'm going after Mary Jerome. I have a feeling she knows more about this than you think.'

  'Maybe, but I doubt it. If she had anything to do with the kidnapping, she wouldn't have come back like that.'

  'She may have left something in the room and had to come back. She wasn't to know I'd be there. The chances are she doesn't know anything, but I'm going to find her and make sure.'

  'Okay, anything I can do, let me know. I think Perelli's been framed myself, but that's strictly off the record.'

  'Thanks, Tim. I'll probably have something for you. So long for now.'

  I climbed into the Buick, waved my hand to him and drove fast to Centre Avenue. Halfway down the broad thoroughfare I spotted a call box and swung to the kerb. I dialled Justin Francon's number.

  He answered the telephone himself.

  'What do you make of him, Justin?'

  'I don't think he did it,' Francon said briskly. 'But that doesn't mean I can get him off. I'll try, but it looks pretty hopeless. The frame's too good. Whoever planted the evidence knew his business. The money is damning. Shall we get together tomorrow morning at my office? We'll have a look at it from every angle and see what we can do. Make it ten. All right?'

  'I'll be there,' I said.

  'Don't expect too much, Vic. I don't like to say it, but I think he's a dead duck.'

  'He isn't dead yet,' I said shortly and hung up.

  chapter thirteen

  Justin Francon sat in his desk chair with his legs hanging over one of the arms, his thumbs hooked into the armholes of his vest, a dead cigar jutting out of his face.

  He was a thin, small, leathery man with a straggly black moustache, high cheekbones, a big, bony nose and small, bright black eyes. He reminded me of a ferret. You wouldn't think to look at him he was the smartest lawyer on the Pacific Coast, but he was. He was in a class of his own, and had more millionaire clients in his fee-book than any other lawyer in the country.

  Paula, Kerman and I sat in a half-circle before the massive desk. Francon allowed us the doubtful privilege of studying his profile while he stared out of his office window at the golden beach stretched out twenty storeys below him. The silence mounted in the big air office while he turned the facts over in his mind.

  Finally, he shrugged, swung his legs off the arm of the chair and faced us.

  'Nothing you've told me would convince a jury that Perelli didn't murder Souki or kidnap Dedrick,' he said. 'You'll have to get me some ammunition. Right now we haven't a damn thing. There's enough evidence on Perelli to convict him without the jury leaving the box. You've got to face it. Feeling is running high. He won't get a fair trial. His record's against him. Unless you hand me something pretty substantial to hit the D.A. with, there's nothing I can do for him except talk a lot of hot air that won't get him anywhere. They intend to indict him on Souki's murder, but if, in the meantime, they find Dedrick's body, they'll hook the two killings together, and it'll be all over bar the gas chamber.'

  He stared at his dead cigar, frowning, then dropped it into the trash basket.

  'Now let's see what they've got on him. They've found the gun in his apartment. If I worked hard enough, I could convince a jury the gun was a plant. The fishing rod could be disposed of too. Anyone can have a fishing rod. But the money is something no one will believe was planted. That's where the fellow who planted it showed he has brains. A hundred thousand is a whale of a lot of money. We're agreed on that, aren't we?'

  I nodded.

  'All right. Well, so far the one thing we can't get around is the money. The oilskin wrappers could have been planted, but once the jury makes up its mind the money w
asn't planted, then there's no reason why the gun, the oilskin wrappers or the rod should have been also planted, and that makes the DA's case watertight. You see that, don't you?'

  ‘Yeah, but all the same, we know the money was planted. Couldn't you persuade the jury that the kidnapper, to save his own dirty hide, would be willing to part with a fifth of his spoils?'

  Francon shook his head.

  'I don't think so. It'd be too much of a risk. If Perelli had a good alibi, we might get away with it, but he hasn't. And another thing, his fingerprints are on the gun.'

  'I heard that, but I don't believe it.'

  Francon nodded his head.

  'If s a fact. I've seen them.'

  ‘But Perelli didn't handle the gun.'

  'He says Brandon gave him the gun and asked him if he could identify it. He handled it all right, but he handled it after it was found.'

  'For Pete's sake! You're not going to let Brandon get away with that, are you?'

  'It's Perelli's word against the Captain of Police. Who do you think would be believed?'

  There was a long pause, then he went on, 'So you see how it stacks up. I've got to have something hot and meaty to go into court with, and if I don't get it, I'm passing up the case. That's the position. I've got to have something to work with. It’s up to you to give it to me.'

  'I'll dig up something if it kills me,' I said. 'The only way for us to crack this case is to start right from the beginning and dig until something turns up. I have an idea at the back of my mind that this isn't just a gang of kidnappers at work. I may be right off the beam, but it's a hunch that's growing stronger every day.'

  'I don't follow you,' Francon said, frowning at me.

  'I don't exactly follow myself,' I said and grinned. 'I do know that Franklin Marshland's damn' pleased that Dedrick is among the missing. I'm going to find out why. He looks a harmless little guy, but every now and then you catch a look in his eyes and you suddenly realize he could be dangerous. The wedding was secret. Why? Suppose Marshland's at the back of the kidnapping? Suppose he realized that Serena had married a crook who was only after her money? Suppose he decided to get rid of Dedrick and staged a faked kidnapping? I'm not saying this happened, but it's an idea. Suppose this Mary Jerome is hooked up in some way to Dedrick's past. You see what I mean? If this is an ordinary kidnapping job, and the kidnappers are just a gang from anywhere, then we're sunk. But if this is an inside job, if Marshland's at the back of it, then maybe we can crack it.'