by Craig Rice
“I did not,” Malone said promptly. “I told you, I went up there to get some flowers for my girl.”
“I’m sucker enough to believe you,” Al Harmon said. “Maybe I’m sucker enough not to tell the boys you were there last night. In that case, maybe you and me could do some business together.”
“Possibly,” Malone said. “Especially if you tell me why you were following me.”
“Listen, chum,” Al Harmon said. “I figure this whole business ties up together somehow. Jesse got his in that dame’s apartment. Big Joe got his in The Happy Days saloon. Both times that ghost—I mean, when guys thought they saw a ghost—you were around. O. K. So last night I know the body’s been moved to Di Angelo’s I didn’t do it myself, I was just casing the joint. Then I spot you in Joe di Angelo’s making a lot of chin music. Am I crazy to follow you?”
“No,” Malone said. “Let’s have a drink.” He fished a bottle out of the file drawer marked “Important Papers,” found two glasses and poured.
“Thanks, pal,” Al Harmon said, lighting a cigarette. “And you bought Joe the Angel’s bar because you figured you could trap the racket guys.”
“You have a nice, logical mind,” Malone said admiringly.
“You’ll probably get bumped off,” Al Harmon said. “But maybe I’ll help you. Then maybe we’ll both get bumped off. Those guys mean business. Officially, I’m here to tell you, as new owner of the Joe the Angel’s, to kick in.”
“Officially,” Malone said cheerfully, “I’ve told you to go to hell. Have you any leads at all to the guy behind it?”
“No. But I’ve got a hunch. I’m not telling it to you, because you’d say I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But if I’m right, it’s going to be the biggest surprise in your life.” He rose, said, “So long, pal, be seeing you,” and left.
Not until after he was gone did Malone remember he’d forgotten to ask one important question.
When Al Harmon went into Anna Marie’s the night before, why had he gone upstairs first?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jake Justus strolled through the dark and empty Casino and reflected that it was the most beautiful place in the world. To some others, a night club seen in the early morning, with chairs piled on tables, only the most essential lights burning, and cleaning women moving around with their mops, pails, and evil-smelling cleaning fluids, was eerie and depressing. Jake felt otherwise. Day or night, morning or afternoon, crowded or empty, the Casino was beautiful.
He loved it almost one-half—well, almost one-quarter—as much as he loved Helene.
Nobody in the world was going to take it away from him.
He looked at the deserted and unlighted stage and thought about some of the people who had appeared there. Angela Doll. Gypsy Rose Lee. Lou Holtz. Milly Dale. Jay Otto.
The name of Jay Otto stirred an unpleasant recollection. A murder on the Casino’s opening night hadn’t been exactly a premonition of success. He remembered Allswell McJackson and his one appearance on that stage, after the murder of Jay Otto. It had brought down the house, but Allswell McJackson had never appeared again on that, or any other, stage.
The recollection brought his mind back to the present difficulties. Now, as then, there had been murder. Again the Casino was involved—though indirectly this time.
He walked slowly backstage to his office. It was a small, cluttered, shabby room. Helene wanted to have it decorated, but Jake liked it the way it was.
He wondered how Helene had made out with Eva Childers, and wished again that he’d been able to keep her out of this dangerous business. Fat chance he’d had, though. If there was excitement anywhere, Helene could unerringly find her way to it.
Jake sat down behind his desk, lit a cigarette, and tried to push the worries out of his mind. The morning papers were piled on his desk, a telegram lay on top of them. He opened it almost disinterestedly.
FLYING TO CHICAGO. DO NOTHING UNTIL YOU HEAR FROM ME.
LOU BERG
What the hell? Jake frowned at the wire. Lou Berg, one-time band leader, was now an important Hollywood producer. He’d made his first hit at the Casino. “Do nothing until you hear from me.” Do nothing about what?
He gave up trying to figure it out and turned his attention to the papers.
Anna Marie had landed on the front pages with even more splash than at the time of her arrest and trial. There were pictures of her as she had appeared when “Alive.” There were complete rehashes of the story of Big Joe Childers’ murder and of the trial. There was an interview with the pastor of an important church, with the head of an organization for the investigation of psychic phenomena, with a prominent medium, and with Dr. Ellsworth LeGeorge, the eminent psychiatrist. Jake grinned happily.
Anna Marie was doing all right for herself!
Again he stared at the wire. “Do nothing until you hear from me.” Had Lou Berg gone insane?
He was still worrying about it when Helene arrived. She’d done a very special job of dressing to lunch with Eva Childers, and he looked at her with appreciation. A wide navy blue felt hat framed her lovely fragile face and pale, shining hair. There was a scarlet scarf at her throat, and she carried an enormous scarlet handbag.
“There’s a smudge on your nose,” he said critically.
She made a face at him and sat down on the corner of his desk. “Mrs. Childers did not hire Ike Malloy to murder her husband,” she announced, “nor did she frame Anna Marie for the crime. She has nothing to do with the protection racket. The man in the tan raincoat is just a casual acquaintance. She never met Jesse Conway. She never has been in Anna Marie’s apartment in her life. There was a key to it among Big Joe’s effects, and she threw it away. And here’s the afternoon paper.”
“Wait a minute,” Jake said, pushing the paper aside. “How did you get her to say all that, none of which I insist on believing.”
“I asked her,” Helene said calmly. She lit a cigarette. “It might even be true. Except that she didn’t seem to be talking to a casual acquaintance when I eaves-dropped on her yesterday.” She grinned. “It was really rather wonderful. I started right out by asking her very tactlessly if she believed in ghosts.”
“Does she?” Jake asked.
“No. Especially Anna Marie’s ghost. But she turned pale. And she said Anna Marie didn’t have any reason to haunt her. That’s when she shyly confided that she didn’t hire Big Joe’s murderer.”
Helene took out her compact and began powdering her face.
“For Pete’s sake,” Jake said, “go on.”
“I learned just one more important thing from Eva Childers,” Helene said. “She’s a very worried woman. Worried, and scared. The question is, what’s she scared of? Including or excluding ghosts.”
“Could be the police,” Jake said.
“Could be,” Helene agreed. “Could also be a murderer.” She snapped the compact shut and slipped it in her purse. “Don’t you want to read all about how two horrid men tried an extortion scheme on an honest undertaker named Rico di Angelo, and how the bright undertaker neatly trapped them and turned them over to the police?”
“No,” Jake said. “I’d rather wait and hear Rico tell it.” He added, “Have either of them talked?”
“Not yet,” Helene said. “According to the paper they’re sitting tight and yelling for a lawyer.”
“Who will probably be Malone,” Jake said with a grin.
“Don’t you want to read how the late Jesse Conway’s body was found up a lonely alley, together with a nice shiny gun with no fingerprints on it, that hadn’t been fired and that, according to ballistics tests, didn’t shoot Jesse Conway.”
Jake sighed and reached for the paper.
“Von Flanagan,” Helene said, “must be having fits. It’s bad enough—”
She broke off at the sound of high-heeled footsteps in the corridor. “Hello, Milly.”
Milly Dale came in and sat down. Her face was very pale. “Mr. Justus, I’m through. I’m ta
king the six o’clock to New York.”
Jake stared at her. “Milly, you can’t do that to me. You’re the biggest hit the Casino has had in months.”
“I don’t care,” she told him. “I don’t even care if I never land another job. Not after last night.”
Jake groaned. It was a possibility he hadn’t figured on.
“Now, Milly,” Helene said, “you’re too sensible to let a thing like that upset you.”
“Besides,” Jake added hastily, “it was probably just a practical joke.”
“I saw her,” Milly Dale said firmly. “It wasn’t anybody dressed up to look like her, it was her.”
“You can’t actually believe in ghosts,” Jake said in what turned out to be a hollow voice.
“I certainly do,” she said.
“But—” Jake picked up the paper. “Look at the publicity. Think what it’ll do for the Casino. Think what it’ll do for you. Look. Every one has your picture. ‘Milly Dale, lovely young singer, who was on the stage when—’ and so on! Two column cuts!”
He launched into a fervent speech about her future career, not forgetting to include Hollywood and vast sums of money.
“Well—” Milly Dale said.
“Besides,” Helene put in, “Anna Marie St. Clair didn’t have anything against you. You were her best friend. She wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
“No—” Milly Dale said. Then, “Only I won’t sing that song again. It was hers. And I won’t do that girl-with-the-gun number any more. I’m tired of it.”
Jake drew a long breath of relief. “Sing anything you want. I’ll get special arrangements made for you, that’s how much I like you.”
A little color had come back into her face. “Maybe it is good publicity at that.”
“You’re a very bright girl,” Jake said.
She smiled at him. “You know, that story they made up, that Anna Marie was jealous of me—it wasn’t true. Sure I knew Big Joe. I guess I was the best friend he had. But he adored Anna Marie.”
She sighed reminiscently. “He wouldn’t even let her know when he was sick.”
“I can’t imagine Big Joe ever being sick,” Jake said.
“He was. Some kind of trouble with his stomach. It worried him a lot. But he wouldn’t let me tell her. I tell you, he worshiped that girl. If he’d ever known she was two-timing him—”
Helene gasped. Her eyes were suddenly bright. “She was!”
Milly Dale shrugged her shoulders. “Anna Marie was human. Nobody could blame her if she fell for a guy.”
“Who was it?” Helene said.
“Why?”
“Listen,” Helene said. “It may be important. Terribly important. You’ve got to tell me.”
“I don’t know why I shouldn’t,” Milly Dale said, reaching for a cigarette. “Considering it’s all over and done with. It was—”
There was a sound in the corridor. There was a shot. Running footsteps and a door banging shut.
Helene looked at Milly Dale sprawled across Jake’s desk in a widening pool of blood, and her face turning white.
“That,” she whispered, “makes five.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
When a hastily summoned and breathless Malone arrived at Von Flanagan’s office, he found a purple-faced and furious police officer, an indignant and protesting Jake, and a pale and anxious Helene.
“Perfect nonsense,” Malone said, without waiting for a word from anyone. He flung his hat and topcoat on a chair. “Why would Jake shoot his star act?”
“And if I did,” Jake said wildly, “where’s the gun?”
“You had plenty of time to get rid of the gun and then call the cops,” Von Flanagan said. He folded his arms across his massive chest. “I’m not accusing you. I’m not arresting you. I just brought you here for questioning.”
“Questioning!” Jake said. “The third degree!”
“I never use no third degree,” Von Flanagan reared. “I use psychology.”
“Don’t you dare bully my clients, you big ape,” Malone said.
“Don’t you interrupt me, you shyster.” Von Flanagan turned back to Jake. “I’m not saying you did, and I’m not saying you didn’t. I’m just saying, if you didn’t, do you know who did, and if you did, why did you?”
Jake sighed wearily. “I didn’t. And I don’t know who did. It’s just exactly the way I told you. We were talking, someone fired from the corridor and was out of the building before I could get a glimpse of him. I don’t even know if it was a him. Could have been a her.”
“It sounds possible,” Von Flanagan said, “but how do I know it’s the truth?”
Helene leaned forward and flashed a smile at him. “But that’s just what happened,” she said. “And you don’t think I’d lie to you, do you?”
She had, on numerous previous occasions, but Von Flanagan had never been able to resist Helene. He said gallantly, “No, I don’t.”
“There,” she said, “that proves Jake couldn’t have done it.” She sat back in serene self-confidence and lit a cigarette.
“But,” Von Flanagan said, “when a dame gets murdered, and there’s only two people with her, and they had time to get rid of the gun before they called the cops, a guy is bound to get suspicious.” He looked thoughtfully at Jake.
“I protest,” Malone said, “against this false accusation.”
“Shut up,” Von Flanagan said. “In fact, suspicious enough to make an arrest.”
Malone said, “We’ll sue you!”
This time Von Flanagan ignored him. “The newspapers and the commissioner are raising enough hell as it is,” he went on. “I can’t have another murder without at least making an arrest, even if it turns out I was wrong.” He sat back complacently.
“Von Flanagan!” Helene said in a shocked voice. “You wouldn’t do that to us!”
Jake said, “Look here, damn you—”
Malone roared something about throwing friends to the wolves.
The scene was interrupted by the door opening. A plain-clothes man came in and said, “Ballistics reports that the bullet in the dame came outa the same gun that killed Garrity and Jesse Conway.” He went out again.
“Well,” Jake said, rising, “it’s been nice knowing you. I have an alibi for at least one of those murders. We’ll be running along now.”
“No, you don’t,” Von Flanagan said. “Maybe I can’t arrest you, but I can question you and, by God, I will. And remember, withholding information from me is against the law.”
“I’m just as anxious to find the murderer as you are,” Jake said angrily. “She was a swell singer and a good kid. I liked Milly Dale.”
“Any idea who might want to shoot her?”
“No,” Jake said, “nor why she should be shot in my office, right at that particular time.”
A meditative gleam came into the big police officer’s eye. “Maybe she was just about to tell you something important about somebody, and the somebody had been following her around in case she did just that, and bumped her off before she got a chance. Because you said she was talking to you. What were you talking about?”
Jake scowled. “At the minute she was shot, she was just about to tell us the name—”
“The name of the man behind this protection racket,” Helene said quickly. She gave Jake a look that meant, “Watch what you say,” and nodded almost imperceptibly toward Malone.
Von Flanagan nodded slowly. “Jesse Conway was mixed up in the racket,” he said. “Garrity was just a small-time politician who got himself a fat appointment. But there must be some connection there.”
He groaned. “Jesse Conway gets killed in the apartment of that dame, St. Clair. Then he gets planted in an undertaking parlor. Then he turns up in an alley. He moved around about as much after he was dead as he did when he was alive. And there was a gun by him that didn’t shoot anybody, and so far we haven’t been able to trace it yet. Now this girl gets shot. And she was the St. Clair dame’s best friend
. Did you ever see such a lousy mess?”
“Try psychology,” Malone said.
“Oh, go to hell.” Von Flanagan moaned.
“I’d better go to my office instead,” Malone said, looking at his watch. “I’ve an appointment at four.”
Helene rose and said, “We’ll drop you.” To Von Flanagan she added consolingly, “Don’t worry.”
“It’s always darkest just before it rains,” Malone said. “And it never rains but it gets dark.”
Out in the car Helene said, “At least he didn’t say anything about closing the Casino. Malone, who might have wanted to murder Milly Dale?”
“I don’t know,” Malone said. “There’s still a bare possibility it hasn’t anything to do with the other murders.”
“You forget the bullets,” she pointed out.
“That’s right,” Malone said, “but I don’t see what the connection can be.”
“Milly was a nice girl,” Helene said. “I can’t believe she was mixed up in any rackets.”
Malone said thoughtfully, “What was she talking about just before she died?”
“Malone,” Helene said hastily, stepping on the gas. “Are you going to help Von Flanagan solve his crimes?”
“I am,” Malone said, “but not for Von Flanagan. Now tell me, Milly Dale—”
“Who’s your appointment at four with?” Helene said.
“Nobody important,” Malone lied.
She stopped the car in front of Malone’s office building. “See you tonight, Malone.”
“Wait a minute,” Malone said from the sidewalk. “What was Milly Dale talking about?”
“It’s too long to tell you now,” Helene said. “I’ll tell you tonight.”
“Just for that,” Malone said indignantly, “I won’t tell you who the man in the tan raincoat is. And I know.” He was across the sidewalk before she could say a word.
“The nerve of him,” Helene said. She swung around the corner and headed south.
“What was the idea of all that?” Jake said. “And where are we going?”
“We’re going to see Anna Marie,” she told him.
“Why?”
