The man at the other end of the line hung up. Angrily Moss looked at the receiver. He dumped it back on the hook. He shrugged.
“The bastard. But that’s public relations for you.”
“That,” I said, “is a travesty on public relations. You’re a living, breathing insult to every guy who ever made an honest buck in public relations. You’re no more qualified to call yourself a public relations man or an advertising man than you are to become an astronaut.”
“What brought that on?”
Moss sincerely wanted to know. My insult didn’t bother him in the least. With a skin that thick, he was bound to succeed at one enterprise or another, sooner or later. Even now, I found myself unable to entirely dislike Moss.
“Marty boy,” I said, “I have just had a long talk with Tony. He told me you paid him to spy on me. Don’t bother denying it. I’ll make you the same offer I made him. Either you tell me a straight story or I’ll ruin you professionally.”
Moss picked up his cigar. He avoided my eyes. “Whaddya mean, ruin?”
“Just that. I’ll call my friend Bill Totten at the Beacon. I’ll tell him what Tony told me. Then I’ll call Doyle at the Clay Street Precinct. I’ll tell him what Tony told me. I don’t know what kind of a law you violated, but you must have violated some law, bribing Tony to prowl my apartment. And I still have some news value, my charges will get into the newspapers. Then everyone will know how you took advantage of your role as a public relations and advertising man to spy on one of your client’s tenants. You’ll have a hard time keeping old clients and finding new ones. Your releases will also be blacklisted at city desks. It’ll be a dirty trick on Tony. He doesn’t think I’m going to tell anyone else what he told me. But if you want to drag him down with you, that’s okay. And when the pressure’s on, I think Tony will repeat his story to Lieutenant Doyle.”
“Maybe he won’t.”
“Oh, yes, he will.” I held up my attaché case. “You know what’s in here? A tape recorder. I made a trip uptown to rent this rig before I visited Tony. I’ve got a tape of everything Tony said to me. I dropped the tape into a mailbox before I came to see you. Any more questions?”
Moss puffed on his cigar. “I guess not.” He looked up. “You’ll cover me?”
“My only interest,” I said, “is learning what happened to my brother. If you’re not involved in his disappearance, you don’t have a thing to worry about.”
“Brother, smother.” Moss sighed. “Okay. I know you won’t believe this, but I’m really on your side. I have a kid brother of my own. But then this thing came up. An important client made a request. And what could I do? It didn’t seem to concern how your brother disappeared. And if I went along, maybe he’d back me with the Clay Street newspaper.”
“Which client is that?”
“It’s a complicated story. At first it wasn’t the client. You know who approached me first? George Nesbitt, the Journal reporter. He came up here and said, I just heard you handle the account for The Dugout where Kolchak lives. It’s just possible Kolchak might learn something important about his brother. If he does, I want the story first. So if you find out everything he’s up to, I’ll see to it any releases you send the Journal about your clients get top consideration.”
“He didn’t offer money, though.”
“No. That came later. When Joan and I paid a call on Phil Amber. I handle some of Phil’s places, see…”
“I know.”
“Well, I paid Tony five bucks a week to keep an eye on you. I’d relay everything Tony found out to Nesbitt. It paid off, too. I planted a lot of handouts in the Journal during that period. Then Phil and I got to talking about you. I mentioned I’d heard you just had lunch with Pete Ordway. Phil got real interested. So interested I told him how someone at the restaurant was watching you for me. Phil said, ‘Marty, I’ll pay you twenty a week for reports on Kolchak’s activities. And a hundred if you can talk that kid into sneaking into his room, just to look at any letters or documents he might have lying around. That Kolchak can hurt everyone’s business here and we wanna know what he’s up to. If you do a good job, I’ll consider your newspaper.’ So I talked Tony into sneaking into your room for fifty bucks, and pocketed the other fifty myself. Amber was so pleased at what Tony found, he gave me another hundred. He told me to get Tony to go back up to your apartment at least once a week and to take notes on some of those documents in your closet.”
“Did you tell Nesbitt about the documents?”
“No. I had to explain to Amber why Tony was watching you in the first place. Amber said not to give any more reports to Nesbitt, to give the reports only to him. So my deal with Nesbitt ended then. And when you moved out to that apartment building in the Second Ward, that goddam Amber called me up and said, ‘Okay, Marty. I appreciate your help with Kolchak. But as for your newspaper—I had my investment analyst look into it, and the deal stinks.’ Howdya like that?”
“Pretty raw. How much did Joan Engstrom know?”
“Only that Tony was keeping an eye on you for me. And that Amber paid me to get Tony to go upstairs and look around. What Tony found, I didn’t tell her. She quit me, by the way. She’s been sleeping with Bagwell and he got her a better job. But she’s a real whore. Ronnie Layne gave me the story on her.”
“You know Ronnie?”
“Sure. He’s the only photographer in this neighborhood I can depend on. He told me yesterday, he took some pictures of Joan when she was in high school. She posed with no clothes on. What they call ‘art’ photos. And he laid her afterward. She sure made a jerk out of me.”
“I wouldn’t worry. Even if she has landed a job with a top agency, she won’t hold it long if she can’t produce. Not in that league.”
“That’s just it.” Moss scowled. “Joanie’s good. Better than I’ll ever be. With half a chance she’ll go all the way to the top.” He stubbed his cigar out. “Excuse me. I’m going to lunch. With my wife and kids.”
I dialed Max Fuller’s office from a booth in Clay Drugs, the pharmacy owned by Pete Ordway’s father. Max made me hang up and wait until he called back from a public phone. Ever since Captain Ware found Fuller’s reports in my apartment, the private detective had been convinced his office and home phones were being tapped despite all his precautions.
“All right, Mr. Kay. You can talk now.”
“Max, for what it’s worth, I’ve learned Phil Amber knew all about your reports and everything else in my apartment. The press agent hired a spy.”
“That’s interesting, from a historical point of view. No doubt Amber told Schell. And when Schell heard you were involved in a rape case, he ordered Captain Ware to raid your apartment and make the stuff public.”
“I’m thinking of bracing Amber. Just to verify that theory.”
“You’d be a fool to try that. In the first place, even if you managed to see him, he wouldn’t tell you the time of day. If you read the report I sent you on Amber you’d realize he’s as tough as they come. You couldn’t bluff the truth out of him, you couldn’t trick it out of him, you couldn’t beat it out of him. He’s defied interrogations by experts, and you’re no expert. In the second place, if you tried to force your way in to see him—and he’d make you do that—you’d give him the excuse he’s waiting for. His boys wouldn’t kill you. But when they were through working you over, you’d be a cripple for life.”
“So where does that leave us?”
‘“You tell me.” Fuller seemed in a testy mood.
“What’s wrong, Max?”
“Dammit, I know you’ve got your troubles. But I suppose you have to be told. You’ll read it in the papers tomorrow anyhow.”
“The license revocation?”
“That’s right. I thought when they dug up that old case, I’d have enough pull to kill it. But it doesn’t look that way now. The mayor has much more influence
with that board than my friends do, and the mayor has taken a personal interest. One of the mayor’s subordinates as much as told me that city hall will drop the case if I stop working for you. And if I don’t stop, the mayor will put me out of business for good.”
“I’m sorry, Max. It was my fault for getting involved with the CGL. Under the circumstances, we’d better terminate our relationship. I have no right asking that you lose your license to practice on my behalf.”
For a moment Fuller was silent. Then he said: “I’m afraid I’m glad you said that. Unless the client turns out to be a crook, I never leave a client except at the client’s request or when the job is done. I don’t like running out on you and you deserve all the help you can get. On the other hand, I know damn well that if I can’t practice my profession, at my age I’ll die of boredom inside of a month.”
“Send me a final statement, Max.”
“Why don’t you come in early next week, and we’ll make a settlement then. There’s still a chance in a million I can block the revocation. I’ll visit a few people over the weekend. But I don’t really think it’ll do much good.”
Fuller hung up. I had more than a suspicion I had just lost my secret service.
When I left the telephone booth, Pete Ordway waited at the soda fountain. He grabbed my arm and steered me to a back table.
“My secretary saw you come in here,” he explained. “Didn’t you get the phone messages I left at your apartment building?”
“I did, Pete. But I got you in enough trouble already. You and the CGL too.”
“Oh, hell.” Pete’s father brought us two cups of coffee. “Thanks, Dad. Listen, I know the CGL gave you a raw deal, disclaiming any connection with you. I wanted to go to the Clay Street Precinct that night and represent you, but the CGL wouldn’t let me.” Ordway looked down. “They told me that if I helped you, I’d be involving the CGL in a dirty rape case. They’d fire me from the CGL and I’d lose all the private business I was picking up from there. They said it in a polite way, of course, but that’s what they meant.”
“I’m not sore at you. Or the CGL either. I’m of age. The error was mine, in allowing my sympathy with your cause to interfere with my search for my brother. My private detective checked into you and the CGL, and you came out just as true and blue as you’d presented yourself to me. So I have nobody to blame for what happened but myself.”
“Sure. But I want to make it clear.” Slowly Ordway stirred his coffee. “Personally, I think the way we let you down was rotten. It was our idea you take all those documents. I got real sore that night. At the CGL. But when they put the screws to me—I had to give in. I worked hard, putting myself through law school. And now my whole future as an attorney and in politics is tied up with the CGL. I’ve got a wife and kids to think of. That’s why I chickened out on you.”
“You couldn’t have represented me better than Harry Bagwell did. In fact, with all due respect to your ability, I don’t think you could have matched his performance.”
“That’s not the point. I still worry about what you think of me, see. The way the CGL viewed it, it was worth stabbing you in the back to keep their skirts clean. I didn’t agree. But I was overruled. And disillusioned.”
Ordway stuck a pipe in his mouth. He filled it and fumbled for a match. He couldn’t find one, so I handed him a matchbook from my pocket.
“Anyhow, I’ve made my confession. I feel better.” He puffed. He glanced at the matchbook’s cover. “That’s my bank. The Midtown National. You bank there too?”
“No, I picked up the matches somewhere.”
“My only consolation is, the CGL is still a far cut above the crowd around Hiram Schell and the mayor. One of the CGL directors got mixed up in that expressway land scandal, but no group’s perfect. How’s it going?”
“The search? Hard to say. On the surface, nothing’s happened lately. But one thing leads to another. The watch, the credit card, the attack on Irma. The ring, the clothes, Mexoil. It’s just a matter of plugging away.”
“What’s Mexoil?”
“A brand of motor oil. The police haven’t made it public yet, but stains were found on some of my brother’s clothes, and an oil refinery research lab identified the stains as Mexoil. Mexoil isn’t marketed here any more, but a discount chain sold a big batch in the city a couple years ago at giveaway prices. One of the stores in the chain is on Clay Street.” I showed Ordway the label. “Ever see anyone with a can of this stuff lying around? Or an old can now being used to store nails in a basement or on a garage shelf? This Aztec design, black on orange, stands out like a sore thumb.”
“No, I never did. The police learn more about who raped that girl?”
“Not a thing. They assume the attacker left by a back door leading to the alley. But they have no more suspects.”
“I’m still inclined to go along with the police,” Ordway said. “I think a bum who just happened to be in the building attacked her. But if she teas attacked because she was helping you, I can name one man capable of dreaming up a trick like that. Specifically, our mutual friend Phil Amber.”
A letter postmarked Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, lay in my mailbox.
Upstairs, I opened it.
Dear Steve [Irma wrote],
It was good to hear from you. You must have gone through lots of trouble to learn where I am. I know my father isn’t telling anyone. I wanted to write you earlier but didn’t, I don’t know why. Don’t feel bad about what happened. I’m all right. I don’t blame you for anything. Nobody knows me here. In a way it is a good thing. I am meeting new people and seeing new places and I like that. I suppose after a while I will get bored, like when I was at the bakery, but I’m not bored yet. I love my father but it is good to get away from him too. I’m afraid he would never understand that. I got a job as a checker in a supermarket. I lost twelve pounds and am out of doors a lot and everyone says I look real healthy. I apologize for my father hitting you when you tried to see me at the hospital. He means well. I hope you go on looking for your brother and find out what happened to him…
I tossed the letter onto a coffee table. I stared out the window.
Irma had been the first casualty in my little army. After the attack on Irma, I’d ordered Betsy and her cavalry out of action. And now Max Fuller was hors de combat. The only full-time soldier left was Sam Alban.
That was serious enough, but the war chest was running low. I’d been spending more money than I’d anticipated. My paying Bagwell two hundred dollars instead of five hundred wasn’t just a matter of principle. That extra three hundred would have hurt. I estimated I could finance my current operations for maybe a few more weeks. Then I’d have to get a job and look for Ed part-time, or move into a Clay Street flophouse.
CHAPTER 15.
Sam Alban adjusted his rimless glasses on his broad nose. He turned the ignition key and spun the steering wheel. We rolled out into the street fronting my apartment building.
“We gonna visit stores that sold Mexoil again?”
“Not today.” I settled in the back seat of Cab 444. “I’m going to a birthday party in a suburb called Hill Acres. A house at 623 Crescent. Think you can find it?”
“I can find Hill Acres. It’s off the North Freeway. But we’ll have to ask directions to the house. The streets there go in circles. Who’s giving the party?”
“Lorene. For Jackie.”
“It must be rough on her now. With her old man laid up.”
“It is. Your friends spot any more Mexoil cans?”
“Five more locations. I found one of ’em myself.” Sam pulled a penciled list from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. Briefly I glanced at it. Only one location was anywhere near Clay Street. I returned the list to Sam. “Five locations don’t sound like much,” Sam added. “But my guys have been canvassing every basement and garage in their neighborhoods where old oil
cans might be lying around, on their own time. There just ain’t many Mexoil cans left in town.”
“That’s all right. Every lead helps. With half a hundred cab drivers on the prowl, we just might turn up something. Doyle will check out those locations. If any of the people involved look like live prospects, the crime lab will go over their cars, looking for traces of blood or anything else that might be a link to my brother’s murder.”
“I’m meeting a driver for another cab company this afternoon. His guys are looking too. I might have more names to add. I’ll drop the list off at your building tonight. Incidentally, I made a big mistake yesterday. I took a fare down to Clay Street. Before I could get away, I got ticketed for double-parking and for blocking an arterial street.”
“How much?”
“Ten bucks.”
I gave Sam ten dollars.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “The next time I drive into Hiram Schell’s ward, I’ll cover the numbers on my cab. That’s illegal, too. But at least I’ll have a fifty-fifty chance of driving out without a ticket of some kind.”
We reached Hill Acres by noon. It took another fifteen minutes to find Lorene’s house. Sam got lost three times. A small boy on a bicycle finally put us on the right track.
Lorene waited on the front lawn, waving. Sam parked in front of the dwelling, a modest split-level about ten years old. Lorene wore a white blouse and a form-fitting pair of brown slacks. She smiled. Lines of fatigue fanned from her eyes.
“I thought I’d better stand out here,” she said. “I was afraid you’d go by. The street numbers are hard to see.”
“They sure are,” Sam agreed. He had fallen into a surly mood. Getting lost three times had hurt his pride.
I paid the fare and climbed from the cab.
“Sam, why don’t you join us for a minute?” Lorene invited. “It’s a warm day. There’s some beer in the icebox.”
The James Michael Ullman Crime Novel Page 17
