“Won’t need the five hundred, Mr. Reiner,” he said. “There wasn’t any woman in Glendale. Wanted to see if you would lie about the Paris meeting with your brother.”
Reiner was breathing heavily. He said in an angered tone:
“Me—I do not lie! There was no need for you to do such a thing—”
Jardinn smiled. “That’s up to me,” he said. “Because you give me five thousand dollars to get a murderer—that doesn’t mean that you are not the murderer.”
The director rose. His eyes were pinpoints of rage. He said thickly:
“I will not stand such talk! There was more than one person back of the stage in Paris, when I talked with this musical comedy star. There was—”
“Sure,” Jardinn agreed. “Don’t get excited. You didn’t murder your brother. How do you think I know you quarreled with him, in the theater, if there wasn’t someone present? I’ve told you no threatening woman exists.”
Reiner seated himself, still breathing heavily. He glared at Jardinn. He said:
“I come to you—for help. But from the beginning—I have the feeling that you suspect me. I do not like that.”
Jardinn said grimly: “You know Carol Torney was murdered. Her body was found in my place. I found it. I have the feeling the police suspect me—and I don’t like that. But what can I do about it?”
The director looked at Doll Crissy. He said slowly:
“Howard Frey is under arrest. I have heard he is suspected of something greater than a drunken quarrel.”
Jardinn nodded. “I think we’re getting close to Hans Reiner’s killer,” he said in a hard voice. “I begin to think you were right, Mr. Reiner.”
The director’s small, brown eyes glittered back of the glasses he was wearing. He said thickly:
“It is the proof that I want, Jardinn.”
Jardinn smiled. “Maya Rand worked this girl, Miss Crissy, inside the agency,” he said. “Maya is in love with Frey, maybe. She wouldn’t go the limit for him, though. She had to know when he was getting in very bad. Doll was supposed to tell her, but Doll got frightened—and I got suspicious. Doll knows a few things that sound rather bad for Howard Frey. I’m keeping her near me.”
Ernst Reiner widened his eyes on the face of the girl. He said slowly:
“So!”
Doll looked frightened, but did not speak. Jardinn said:
“Frey isn’t talking much. He can’t remember what he was doing about the time that Carol Torney was knifed to death. He was drunk and he says he had a fall.”
Ernst Rainer shook his head and made a clicking sound with his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
“I think I remember Miss Torney,” he said slowly. “One day, in your office—”
He let the words die. Jardinn relaxed in the chair and said very quietly:
“Or perhaps at your house, a few mornings ago. She went in the back way, at about three-thirty. She came out at four-ten.”
Ernst Reiner stared at him. He got up and walked around the desk. He said stupidly:
“What is that—you say? This woman came into my house?”
Jardinn nodded. “My eyes are excellent. She went in, and she stayed in—about forty minutes. Then she came out and went home.”
Reiner stood and looked down at Jardinn. His body swayed a little, from the waist up. Jardinn said:
“So maybe you do remember her, after all.”
The director walked slowly around his desk and sat down in the chair. He said in a heavy tone:
“Well—that is so. Yes, it is true. You have found that out. You know that.”
Jardinn smiled. Doll Crissy was looking at him with her blue eyes wide. Reiner looked at the girl and said:
“It is perhaps better that we discuss the matter alone.”
Jardinn shook his head. “No,” he said. “Doll’s all right—now.”
Reiner frowned. “It was this—” he said slowly—“I knew that Howard Frey had come to you. You are an American—and Frey is one. I am of German descent. I thought: It will be better to know what Mr. Jardinn is doing. I did not think Miss Torney was too wealthy. So I asked her to come-and talk with me. And so—”
He spread his hands. Jardinn said in a cold voice:
“And so—she came.”
Ernst Reiner nodded. “But she refused to report to me your methods,” he said. “I urged her. I wanted to know that I could trust you. I asked her to give me only the truth. She refused. She was not angry—but she refused. She went away. Yes, it was after four. She thought it best to see me at such a time.”
Jardinn said quietly: “So you, too, were spying on me. Why in hell did you come to me in the first place?”
Reiner nodded. “You have a fine reputation. I wanted you to protect me—and later, to find my brother’s murderer. But I needed to know that you would work for me. When I first went to you Frey had not given you money.”
Jardinn said: “You quarreled with Hans Reiner, backstage, in a Paris theater. What about?”
Reiner hesitated, shrugged. He said in a precise tone:
“Well, it does not matter. I will tell you. There was an actress I wanted for a picture over here. Sound was coming—and this actress possessed a voice. A very fine voice. My brother was acquainted with her. He was distressed because she had even gone on a Paris stage in a musical comedy. For her he desired concerts. He felt that her voice was very wonderful. We quarreled over—that.”
Jardinn said: “There were no blows struck?’
The director said heatedly: “Most certainly not. It was a matter between artists. Hans was the musician—it was my opinion that the woman was a superb actress. I wanted her, perhaps selfishly, and yet not utterly so.”
Jardinn nodded. Reiner leaned forward across his desk and asked:
“How did you learn of—this scene?”
Jardinn spoke simply: “Maya Rand told me.”
The director’s voice was a hoarse, grating whisper. He said:
“Maya—Rand?”
Jardinn nodded. Reiner was breathing heavily again. He rose from the chair, paced up and down back of the desk. A voice outside the bungalow called:
“Hey, Shrimp—over to Stage Seven—that lousy bastard McKenna is yellin’ for lights!”
The reply was obscene and to the point. Reiner stopped pacing and said to Jardinn:
“I tell you—she is trying to involve me. I tell you, she is doing that. She is in love with this man Frey—you have said that. I think you are right. She put this woman inside your agency, you have said.”
“Yeah,” Jardinn replied. “And you tried to get to Carol Torney. You know what that did?”
Reiner looked puzzled. Jardinn said in a grim tone:
“It got her killed—that’s what it did. It got her knifed out.”
Doll Crissy covered her face with her hands and started to sob. Jardin turned in his chair and said sharply:
“Damn you—cut that out!”
Ernst Reiner said in a voice that was steady and very gentle:
“That is not good, Miss Crissy. It is all right—it is all right. It is only that Mr. Jardinn thinks I have had my brother killed because of a woman. That is why he shouts at me.”
Jardinn showed his teeth in a swift smile. He rose from the chair.
“That’s wrong,” he said. “But you’re all making it tough. Frey and Maya Rand. And you, Mr. Reiner. You’re all very anxious to turn up the killer of Hans Reiner. But you want it done in this way—or in that. You can’t just turn the killer up any way. That makes it hard.”
Ernst Reiner looked puzzled. He played with a letter opener he lifted from the surface of his desk with stubby fingers.
“I do not understand,” he said.
Jardinn looked at Doll Crissy. Her fingers still covered most of her face, but she wasn’t making any noise. He said quietly:
“It’s all right, Doll. I’m taking care of you. Don’t get scared.”
Reiner spoke in a thick voice, h
is brown eyes half opened on Jardinn’s.
“I regret the attempt with Miss Torney. I think that you are right—Frey is the guilty one. He hated me. He was afraid to harm me, because I had gone to you. He knew I loved Hans and—”
Jardinn cut in. “Yes, you’ve spoken before of all this. Frey had a motive. But you’re holding back something, Mr. Reiner. Something important.”
The director shrugged. “If you mean the name of the woman we quarreled about—in Paris—”
Jardinn smiled and shook his head. “No, not that,” he said. “I know her name.”
Reiner’s face lost color. He leaned back against the desk surface, geting support from it. His lips were twitching. After a few seconds he got a foolish smile on his face and said:
“Yes?”
Jardinn nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “If she hadn’t taken an overdose of veronal it would have been hell for Maya, eh?”
Reiner sucked in deep breaths of air and breathed hoarsely:
“You—you—”
Jardinn said: “Take it easy. Take it easy.”
The director took a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his lips with trembling fingers making the cloth dance. He said hoarsely:
“You know—the name.”
Jardinn smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s an easy one to remember. You just think of grand or sand or land—and then you remember the name. And that woman was coming up, Mr. Reiner. She had looks and a voice, Ollie did.”
Reiner started to cough. He held the handkerchief pressed to his lips and bowed his head. Jardinn waited until he straightened up again. He said:
“Olive Rand—Maya’s younger sister. All set to come back to the place Maya shipped her away from—and take the play away from a fading star. I doubt that your brother could have prevented her, dangling concert chances. Maybe she wanted to come back and shove Maya out of the spotlight. Maybe she didn’t love her sister, Mr. Reiner.”
The director spoke in a dull voice. He kept his eyes on the surface of the period desk.
“She was so sensitive. Temperamental. And she was working very hard, in London, Paris—the south of France. She could not sleep at night. It was nerves, you see. And there was the accident—she was not too strong. An overdose—”
Jardinn said: “Too bad, too bad. She was pretty young. Young—to die that way.”
Reiner said slowly: “You have learned about her. I do not suppose it was difficult. She was well known abroad.”
Jardin nodded. “I’m working in Hollywood. There are files I keep—many of them useless things. But events concerning picture people and their relatives interest me. I get clippings from abroad—about them. Olive Rand hasn’t been in Hollywood for six years or so. Maya kept her away. A good many people don’t even know she has a sister. When she took too much veronal it didn’t get into the papers here. She sang under the name of Randling.”
The director said wearily: “Yes, yes. But what has it all to do with my brother’s death?”
Jardinn smiled. “Your brother was questioned by London police, after she died,” he said simply. “She died in London—Hans Reiner was there. He was exonerated. He had spent the evening with her in her hotel room, before she took the overdose.”
Doll Crissy was watching Jardinn with her blue eyes wide. Reiner said grimly:
“You mean to tell me, then, that Hans was in some way responsible for her death—and that his murder was a revenge.”
Jardinn shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “But perhaps Hans Reiner was in some sense responsible for the death of Olive Rand. Perhaps that was the motive for the killing of your brother.”
Reiner said: “But Howard Frey—”
Jardinn smiled with his eyes on the wall beyond the director.
“Frey and Maya Rand were quite intimate,” he said. “Maya, of course, knew conditions as they really existed. Perhaps Frey knew them, too. You were Hans Reiner’s brother—and you insulted him. You were powerful enough to break him, at the studio. You are powerful enough to keep him broken.”
Ernst Reiner got to his feet and frowned at Doll Crissy.
“It is not right—talking before this girl,” he said.
Jardinn smiled. “It’s perfectly right,” he contradicted. “I might be hit by a truck—or something. Miss Crissy will remember the conversation, perhaps.”
Reiner said: “But you have admitted that Maya placed her in your office.”
Jardinn nodded. He said very quietly:
“Remember, the thing you and Maya are trying to do is to get Frey, without injuring your own reputations. You both believe that Frey directed the murder of Hans Reiner. You think he did it because he loved Maya. And because—”
He stopped. The director said bitterly:
“Howard Frey—hated me!”
Jardinn rose and nodded. “I think he did,” he agreed. “But he’s no weakling. The police won’t break him down.”
He smiled at Doll Crissy, motioned to her. She got to her feet, her baby face turned toward him. Reiner spoke.
“Jardinn—Maya would never have gone to Frey, told him about that accident abroad. She would never have thought that my brother—”
He stopped. Jardinn said tonelessly, facing the director but not looking at him:
“She didn’t have to go to Frey—he came to her. Do you think Maya admires anything in you, other than your art, Mr. Reiner?”
The director’s face twisted. He pushed the clenched, stubby fingers of his right hand against material of his suit. He said thickly:
“I do not know—I do not care. I want the murderer of Hans. That is what—I want.”
Jardinn said grimly: “Then don’t get in my way anymore. Don’t mix into agency affairs.”
Reiner said: “Publicity—it will finish me. It will finish Maya.”
Jardinn moved toward the door. Doll Crissy said insanely:
“I’m glad to have met you, Mr. Reiner.”
The director paid no attention to the baby-faced girl. Jardinn said:
“To hell with publicity. It won’t break either of you, anyway. Maya Rand’s younger sister took too much veronal—and your brother was playing around with her. A few months later your brother comes over here and gets murdered. A select group, connected with both deaths, has a lot of bright ideas. You want something. Maya Rand wants something. Frey wants something. Well, I want something, too. I want your brother’s murderer, and the one who knifed out Irish. Publicity won’t stop me.”
Ernst Reiner bowed with his eyes half closed. His thick lips were slightly parted. He said grimly:
“I am regretful that I—have interfered.”
Jardinn nodded. “You should be,” he replied. “By God, you should be.”
He shoved Doll Crissy out into the other room. They moved from the studio. When they were inside the roadster, he drove slowly toward Los Angeles. With one hand he got bills from his pocket, handed a roll of them to her.
“Take two hundred,” he said. “You’re going down to Caliente and just have a good time. Play roulette and things like that. You can come back day after tomorrow.”
Her wide eyes showed surprise. Jardinn grinned.
“If you stick around, you’re a damn fool,” he told her. “This’ll be all over by tomorrow night.”
She said in a frightened voice. “Howard Frey—killed Reiner?”
Jardinn grunted. “What makes you think that?” he said, getting surprise into his voice. “That talk—at the bungalow?”
She nodded. Jardinn kept the roadster headed toward Los Angeles and made a sound that was almost a chuckle.
“Jeez, Doll—” he said amusedly—“if I told you you weren’t dumb—you’d believe me!”
14
MERRY-GO-ROUND
Jardinn got back to the agency office at ten minutes after two. He went inside, glanced at the headlines of a paper that lay spread on the stenographer’s desk, shook his head grimly and went into his office. Max Cohn was standing near
the window, looking out. He turned and grinned at Jardinn.
“They’re giving Frey the works,” he said. “Phaley and that mutt Donaldson figure he did for Hans Reiner—and knows a lot about Irish getting—”
Cohn stopped and twisted his round face. He said savagely:
“Goddam them for doing that!”
Jardinn squinted his eyes and flexed the fingers of his right hand.
“If I was sure Frey did the job I’d go down and help beat him up,” he said. “Sit down, Max. I want to tell you things.”
Max Cohn sat down and leaned back in the chair. Jardinn stood on his feet and talked rapidly, without regard for grammar.
“I just sent that baby-faced brat away—up to ’Frisco. I think she’d been square, but no sense taking chances. Maya Rand put her in here to watch us. Says she didn’t, but she did. Good actress, the Rand lady. Tough to beat, on the witness stand. Took the blue-eyed kid over to see Reiner, before I shipped her out. Talked in front of her—and so did he. Told him that Maya Rand had put her in the office, and gave him the news that I knew Carol had gone in to see him the other night.”
Cohn grunted. “Lie out of it?” he asked.
Jardinn shrugged. “Said he was trying to buy her over to watch me,” he replied. “Think that’s about right. Anyway, that stunt had me fooled, Max. I was even worried about you. Irish had a hunch you were playing loose with me. But you had it right on her visit to Reiner.”
Cohn smiled grimly. “Thanks,” he said without humor.
Jardinn lighted a cigarette. “You’re such a damn good dick—did you know that Randling woman who died in London a few months ago was Maya Rand’s sister?”
Cohn sat up and said: “Hell—no?”
Jardinn nodded. “Yeah. Maya shipped her away from here six years ago, when she started to get too good-looking. Maya isn’t the type to play second—and she could see that Ollie was going to have plenty. So she got her going on the idea that a voice counted big. She put the coin, and Ollie changed her rear name to Randling. That’s my guess, anyway. Ollie was the woman Hans and Ernst Reiner had the argument about, in the Paris theater. The maestro wanted her to do concert work. Ernst saw talkies coming in and figured Ollie was a sweet actress. He wanted her to come to Hollywood.”
Death in a Bowl Page 19
