Sometime later I heard a faint rustling sound and opened my eyes. Margot stood in front of me wearing a shortie pajama outfit in blue satin—a two-piece with skintight pants that ended with a neatly turned cufl[ at mid-thigh, and a wrap-around jacket knotted tight at the waist with a broad sash.
"I've been busy," she said softly. "You know—all those Uttle domestic touches which mean so much in a girl's life —hke choosing the right outfit to please a special guest, locking the front door, and taking the phone off the hook."
She bounced onto the couch beside me and this time it was real close.
"I'm glad you made the drinks," she murmured. "Right
now I can't think of anything else we might need. How about you, Danny boy?"
I traced the taut curve of her thigh slowly with my index finger underneath the satin cuff. "Your kind of grief is the kind I go for, honey," I told her. "The kind that doesn't last any time at all!"
She smiled easily. "You mean Paul? There's a simple explanation, lover, if it worries you."
"I got respect for any simple explanation, honey," I said sincerely, "so give!"
The couch was an island in the center of the dimly lit room where we were marooned in comfortable intimacy. My finger still slowly traced the warm curve of her thigh and gently explored the sensuous, heavy smoothness of the tight satin. Her fingers unbuttoned my shirt and slid inside, then the palm of her hand pressed flat against my chest.
"A girl like me has a choice, lover," she said in a low-pitched voice. "She can be a mezzo-soprano or a wife —^but if she tries to be both at the same time it never works out."
"This, I dig," I said like I was impressed. "The tragic dilemma of the singer's life—as told to, and serialized in a big, glossy magazine."
"It's true," she said coldly and yanked a hair out of my chest to emphasize the point.
"You couldn't marry Paul Kendall," I said politely because a guy only has so much hair on his chest, "so you did the next best thing and gathered rosebuds—"
"K you want to teU it, I'll shut up and listen," Margot snapped.
"Sorry," I apologized. "Go right ahead!"
"Sex is important in my life the same as in most other people's," she continued. "So is my singing. That's why I make a habit of sleeping with a producer—^unless he's physically repulsive, of course."
"Hell!" I said admiringly. "That's what they mean by having the best of two worlds?"
"I have to admit I was a little miffed when Paul lost interest so fast and started leering at the Alberta edifice," she said casually. "Maybe he had a thing about over-
developed prima donnas—maybe that's why he died. I'm sorry he's dead, lover, but grief is something you keep for the important things like when you get laryngitis on opening night!"
"I guess it all depends on your sense of values," I said, shaken. "It's not what I'd call simple, but it's an explanation, for sure."
She used both hands to rip the front of my shirt wide open, then unknotted the broad sash and shrugged her shoulders free of the jacket so it sUd down to her waist. Her taut, high-peaked breasts were crushed against my chest as she thrust her body against mine, her face uplifted. All I could see was her hair like a dark cloud, and her eyes blurry with desire.
Her nails dug sharply into the small of my back with a sudden and savage intensity. I yelped involuntarily as they started gouging small pieces of skin from my spine, and drove my own fingers deep under the tight waistband of her satin pants, sinking the nails sharply into the firmly rounded flesh in pure self-defense.
"Coo-coo!" she whispered dreamily.
Then her mouth clamped against mine with a bruising impact while her nails traced a faster and even more painful design in lacerated flesh. I figured if this was Margot's idea of fringe benefits she could have my social security number any time.
Chapter Four
I CALLED INTO KASPLIN'S OFFICE AROUND
ten-thirty the next morning and his redheaded girl Friday gave me an unwelcoming glare.
"Mr. Kasplin is out," she snapped.
"Way out," I agreed, "Uke disaffiUated!"
Her eyes widened a fraction as she stared at me. I could see the dark circles around them clearly, and even the heavy smear of Upstick couldn't conceal the chewed-up look of her mouth.
"Late night, Maxine?" I asked sympathetically.
"Get lost!" she snarled.
"Maxine, honey!" I said reproachfully. "Is this the way to present a corporate image?"
"He won't be back all day," she said viciously. "You want to wait, you're welcome, but not here. Go into his office—and drop dead!"
"I am in my right mind," I told her. "Would any guy in his right mind want to see Kasplin?"
"So what do you want?" she almost pleaded.
"He leave me something—Uke a check?"
"Oh, that!" Her eyes brightened momentarily. "Sure— in this envelope."
She rummaged around her desk until she found the envelope and handed it to me. I tucked it carefully into my pocket, then gave her the Boyd Sunday punch—both sides of the profile in quick succession.
Her expression didn't alter, so I figured she must be real sick. She doodled a surrealistic mink—halfway between hoof and coat—on the deskpad in front of her, then looked up again.
"Are you still here?"
"Fm going," I said regretfully. "We could have made such wonderful music together, Maxine. You should see me with a baton—a hghtning conductor yet."
"I bet!" she said scornfully. "You don't have the stamina for my kind of duet—^big man!"
On my way out, I figured maybe she was right but I'd have loved the chance to prove it one way or the other. I went back to my own office and Fran Jordan greeted me with a solemn look.
"If you had to murder somebody last night," she said briskly, "at least we got the payment by messenger this morning."
"Huh?" I gaped.
"A check for one thousand doUars—endorsed by Mar-got Lynn." She smiled sweetly. "If you didn't murder anybody, just what did you do that's worth so much money?"
"Only my natural modesty forbids me to reveal the secret," I said smugly.
"I figured it had to be murder," Fran said casually. "Why else would that Ueutenant be waiting in your office?"
"Lieutenant—what lieutenant?" I yelped.
"Chase by name," she shrugged, "and for all I know, chaste by nature."
"How long has he been here?"
"Maybe fifteen minutes. I told him I had no idea when you'd be in but he said he'd wait anyway."
I moved fast because cops don't like to be kept waiting, and I didn't go for the idea of a cop waiting inside my office either.
"Good morning. Lieutenant," I said brightly while the door was stiU half open. "Sorry I kept you waiting."
Chase turned his head and looked at me and the effect wasn't exactly therapeutic. "Where the hell have you been?" he growled. "I've been wasting my time in here the last twenty minutes—don't you ever get to your office before this?"
I moved around behind the big executive desk and sat down cautiously. "You sound like a stockholder," I told him.
"I can be polite and talk in your office like now," he growled, "or we can go to my office."
"O.K., Lieutenant," I said carefully. "What's the pitch?"
"The night Kendall was murdered," he said, "you told me Kasplin hired you the same morning to find out who killed Miss Alberta's dog, right?"
"Right!"
"Made any progress?"
I shook my head. "Kasplm called me yesterday morning and closed me out—said the murder had stopped Donna Alberta worrying about the dog any more."
"That's a shame!" Chase looked pointedly at the expensive office furnishings, then back at me. "So you're out of work right now?"
"Not exactly." I cleared my throat gently. "Margot Lynn hired me last night to find out who killed Kendall."
"That's nice," he said and bared his teeth at me. "She doesn't trust the police?"
"Kendall was murdered sometime between nine-thirty and ten that night," he said. "Funny thing is nobody has an aUbi. Either they were dressing for the party— alone, or they were on their way—alone."
"So what makes Margot Lynn's no-alibi special?"
"Motive," Chase grunted. "She and Kendall were sharing the same bed, then he got tired of her and started chasing the Alberta woman."
"So she stuck him in a box and cut his throat?"
The Heutenant shook his head slowly. "He stuck himself into the box—^that's for sure. The way I see it, they were arguing while he climbed into it and when he was wedged real tight, she suddenly saw her opportunity."
"Any proof?" I asked.
"Fingerprints," Chase said laconically. "Just hers and Kendall's on the box."
"She could've left those when she pressed the button in front of everyone else there," I said, "including you."
"Maybe." He didn't seem impressed. "Then there's the dog—a nasty kind of warning to the Alberta dame —keep her hands off Kendall or else."
"How did you get there so fast—^before the body had been discovered even?"
"Anonymous phone call," Chase said. "A man's voice —anyway, the guy who took the call thinks it was a man's voice—he's just not real sure."
"That's all you have to go on?" I raised my eyebrows.
"At the moment," Chase nodded. "You got anything to add, Boyd?"
"Not a thing," I said.
"You'd better get started if you're going to earn whatever money the Lynn dame is paying," he said, grinning nastily as he stood up. "A private eye showing the cops how—I Uke that."
He got as far as the door, then swung round toward me again, his index finger stabbing the air.
"You find out anything—anything at all—I want to hear it first, Boyd. You got that?"
"Sure," I said poUtely.
His glance included me and the furnishings in one comprehensive sweep. "White leather chairs and two hundred dollar suits!" he said contemptuously. "You guys make me sick!"
"Not in here. Lieutenant," I pleaded. "That carpet set me back three months already."
Five minutes after Chase had left, I wandered out to Fran's desk and dropped the envelope Maxine had given me in front of her.
"You could add that to the thousand Margot Lynn donated," I said casually. "Keep the wolf from the door if not from the boudoir, huh?"
She sht open the envelope and looked at the check inside for a moment, then started to giggle.
"Since when did five hundred bucks look funny?" I asked in an injured voice.
Fran handed me the check instead of answering. Meticulously written, it was made out to "D. Boyd, Dog-catcher."
I figure you got to expect it in the era of the status symbol, corporate image, and organization man. I mean, Uke everything a guy has looks better than the guy himself—the car he drives, the suits he wears, and the ofifice he rents.
Earl Harvey's office was no exception—unlike him, it was impressive. It had all the things he didn't, like class, good taste, and all that jazz. His receptionist was a hard faced forty, but her figure made you wonder if she was an ex-model, or maybe an ex-call girl, or maybe she wasn't an ex at all.
"Can I help you?" she asked in a voice obviously determined to be of no help at all.
Receptionists in this town were certainly goiag to hell. She was the second stinker today, and only about one-fifth as good looking as Maxine. I was so depressed I didn't even bother giving her the profile treatment.
"I'd like so see Earl Harvey," I told her.
"Mr. Harvey never sees anyone without an appointment," she snapped.
"Golly gee, I didn't know he was such a big shot!" I said, real impressed. "How come he can't afford a classier babe in the front office?"
"The elevators are to your right," she said icily.
I fit a cigarette and tried again. "Tell him Danny Boyd's outside and wants to see him."
Suddenly her face fit up with an almost warm, welcoming smile and I guessed I must have inadvertently thrown her the profiile after all.
"Hello, Mr. Harvey 1" she cooed, still looking over my shoulder. "I didn't expect you back so soon."
"I get so goddamned tired of that theater and all that screeching!" a voice grated in back of me.
I turned around and looked at Harvey. He hadn't improved any since the last time I saw him. The lank hair still fell down across his forehead and the large nose still sniffed suspiciously at anything within ten feet of him.
His dirty gray eyes recognized me with no enthusiasm at all.
"Stm in the doghouse, Boyd?" he asked.
"I got promoted. Now I'm working with people—^if you know what they are?" I said.
"What are you doing around here?"
"Waiting for you,"
"Some other time," he scowled. "I got an opera opening tomorrow night!"
"That's what I wanted to talk about," I told him. "You could be missing a mezzo-soprano."
"Margot Lynn?" he growled. "What the hell is this?"
"Why don't we go to your ofiBce?" I asked politely. Then I gestured discreetly toward the receptionist. "Maybe you wouldn't Uke your mother to hear this?"
"All right," he said reluctantly. "But quit insulting my staff, will you, Boyd? Marge is real sensitive—all dames get the same way once they're past forty—^you should know that!"
We walked past the white-faced receptionist, through a large office where a half-dozen or more people worked at desks, and wound up in his office which was big enough even for his ego.
Harvey slumped into an outsized armchair and lit a cigarette like it was a personal enemy.
"It's your pitch—so make it!" he snapped.
I told him briefly that Margot had hired me because Chase had made her his number-one suspect, and also his reasons.
"Why bother me with a stupid pitch like that?" he sneered when I'd finished. "You figure I'U bust out crying or something? The Lynn dame blew her stack when Kendall gave her the kiss-off for the prima donna —so what? That's only hearsay. You got to have real evidence—Uke facts—to prove murder, Boyd, remember? No cop in his right mind would book her on the basis of what you just told me!"
"Sure," I said amiably. "I'm not worried about Chase doing anything. I'm worried about you."
He squinted up at me through the haze of cigarette smoke. "Me?" he rasped. "Why me?"
"This Margot Lynn is a real nervous dame," I confided. "If Chase starts pressuring her, my guess is she'll tell him everything she knows, from her birth date on."
"So what?"
"So I figured you mightn't like that, Earl," I said in a sympathetic voice. "There must be a lot of people already wondering how come a guy with your reputation could talk three top operatic stars into singing in some off-Broadway flop-house—for you."
"There's a simple answer," he said coldly. "Maybe too
simple for a stupe like you, Boyd. You can have it in one word—money!"
"Yeah?" I said, unimpressed.
"You don't believe me, you can see the contracts even," Harvey said, his voice suddenly mild. "They're all getting top salaries—^the Alberta dame gets Mteen per cent of the gross on top! That answer your question?"
"Don't get me wrong, Earl," I pleaded. "I'm not asking for myself—I'm only saying there's a lot of people wondering akeady. The only problem you got is if Margot Lynn comes up with a different answer."
"How could she?" he asked tautly.
"Like I told you—" I shrugged indifferently "—if that lieutenant puts on enough pressure, she'll tell him anything."
Harvey shifted from the armchair to the swivel-type in back of his desk. His finger searched momentarily for the right button on the intercom, then the receptionist's tinny voice answered.
"Marge," he grated, "find Benny and send him in here right away."
I lit
a cigarette while we waited and Harvey watched me carefully like he was worried I could snap my fingers and disappear.
There was a polite knock on the door, then a taU, sleek-looking guy came into the office.
"This is a private eye called Boyd," Harvey said in a neutral voice. "He's got a problem he figures belongs to me. Tell Benny all about it, Boyd!"
Benny was aroimd twenty-five and had a lot of muscle bulging through his suit, which was an exaggerated Itahan cut that took the shrunken look almost as far as a head-hunter. His blond hair was long and glossy, oiled carefully to preserve the wave. The sun tan was just right— not too dark. His eyes were a washed-out blue, pecuharly lifeless as they looked at me.
"You tell him, Earl," I suggested. "He's your boy."
Benny moistened his full Hps with the tip of his tongue and took a quick, expectant step toward me.
"O.K." Harvey said suddenly. "I'll teU it, if you want."
He repeated the gist of what I'd told him while Benny
listened carefully, like it was the voice of the leader from Outer Space.
"That's the size of it," Harvey finished. He drummed his knuckles gently on the desktop for a few moments. "You figure he's trying to get at me some way, Benny?"
The full lips parted ui a smile, advertising a first class capping job on teeth that were not only white, but glossy.
"I wouldn't figure it that way, Mr. Harvey," he said softly. "Nobody—not even a punk like this Boyd—^would be that stupid!"
"Maybe you're right," Harvey whined. "But you can't trust nobody these days, Benny, you know that?"
Benny took another step closer to me, the smile still fixed on his face. "It's a great big world, Mr. Harvey," he said, without looking at him. "Room enough for everybody to live happily side by side, I always say. Right, Boyd?"
I couldn't figure a percentage in trying to find an answer so I didn't try. His right arm blurred in a fast movement, the stiffened fingers jabbing brutally into my solar plexus. The pain exploded and mushroomed into my guts with agonizing speed.
The savage salome Page 4
