“Get out!” She stumbled to the door and threw it open. “Get out and stay out! And don’t try to offer me any of your dirty money, because I won’t take it! Now, get out!”
English lifted his heavy shoulders in a despairing shrug. He wanted to take this little doll and shake some sense into her, but he knew that shock and the realization that her own extravagance had been partly the cause of Roy’s death had turned her into this shrill fury, venting her conscience-stricken grief on him. He guessed that as soon as he had gone, she would collapse, and he was reluctant to leave her alone.
“Haven’t you someone…” he began, but she broke in, screaming, “Get out! Get out! I don’t want your filthy help or your sympathy! You’re worse than a murderer. Get out!”
He saw it was hopeless to do anything for her, and he went past her into the lobby. As he opened the front door, he heard her sobbing, and he glanced back. She had thrown herself face down on the settee, her head in her arms.
He shook his head, hesitated, then opened the door and walked down the path to the car.
IV
Lieutenant Morilli stood up as English came into his small office. A plain-clothes detective who was with him left the room, and Morilli swung a chair around and pushed it forward.
“Glad you looked in, Mr. English,” he said. “Sit down, won’t you?”
“Can I use your phone, Lieutenant?”
“Sure, go ahead. I’ll be back in five minutes. I want to get the ballistics report on the gun for you.”
English said, “Did your men clean up the office?”
“It’s all okay,” Morilli said as he made for the door.
“Thanks.”
When Morilli had closed the door after him, English called his own office.
Lois Marshall answered the phone.
“I want you to go to my brother’s office and look the place over,” English said. “Take Harry with you. Is it too late for you to go right away?” He glanced at his wristwatch. The time was a quarter after midnight. “It shouldn’t take you long. Get Harry to drive you home.”
“That’s all right, Mr. English,” Lois said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Take a look at the files. See if he kept any books, if he did, bring them to the office tomorrow morning. Get the atmosphere of the place. The atmosphere is more important than anything else. The business was supposed to be long established with a good connection when I bought it for him. He’s had it less than a year. I want to find out what went wrong.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mr. English.”
“Good girl. Sorry to ask you to work so late, but it’s urgent.”
“That’s all right, Mr. English.”
“Take Harry with you. I don’t want you to be there alone.”
Morilli came in.
“Hold on a moment,” English said, turned and asked Morilli, “Did you lock up when you left?”
Morilli shook his head.
“I left a patrolman on duty. The keys are in the top left-hand drawer of his desk.”
English relayed this information to Lois.
“The address is 1356 7th Street. The office is on the sixth floor. It’s called the Alert Agency.”
She said she would go over there right away, and hung up.
English put down the receiver, took out his cigar case and offered it to Morilli. When the two men had lit cigars, English said, “Is it his gun?”
Morilli nodded.
“I’ve had a word with the doc. He says the wound was self-inflicted. Your brother’s prints are on the gun. There are powder burns on the side of his face.”
English nodded, his eyes thoughtful.
“I’m satisfied if you are, Mr. English,” Morilli said, after a short silence.
English nodded again.
“Sounds all right. There’ll be an inquest?”
“Eleven-thirty tomorrow morning. Did he have a secretary?”
English shrugged.
“I don’t know. He may have had. His wife will be able to tell you, but don’t bother her now. She’s upset.”
Morilli fidgeted with the desk blotter, pushing it straight.
“The coroner will want evidence that he was short of money. Unless the commissioner insists, I don’t want to give evidence myself, Mr. English. There’s no need to tell the coroner what your brother was up to.”
English nodded, his mouth hard.
“The commissioner won’t insist. I’ll have a word with him tomorrow morning. I think I’d better get Sam Crail to talk to Mrs. English. There’s no point in telling the world he was short of money. He could have been worried by overwork.”
Morilli didn’t say anything.
English leaned forward and picked up the telephone. He dialled a number and waited, frowning.
Sam Crail, his attorney, answered the phone after some delay.
“Sam? This is Nick,” English said. “I have a job for you.”
“Not tonight, I hope,” Crail said, alarm in his voice. “I’m just going to bed.”
“Yes, tonight. You act for Roy, don’t you?”
“I’m supposed to,” Crail said without enthusiasm, “but he hasn’t consulted me now for months. What’s he been up to?”
“He shot himself about a couple of hours ago,” English said soberly.
“Good God! Why?”
“He seems to have been short of money and was blackmailing some old clients. He was going to lose his licence so he took the quick way out,” English said. “That’s the story, anyway. I’ve told Corrine he’s dead, but not why. She’s upset. I don’t want her left alone tonight. Can you get your wife to go over and stay with her?”
Crail suppressed a grunt of irritation.
“I’ll ask her. She’s a good soul. Maybe she’ll go, but damn it! She’s in bed.”
“If she won’t go, you’ll have to go yourself,” English said curtly. “I don’t want Corrine to be left alone. Maybe you had better go yourself, Sam. Corrine blames me for Roy’s death. Of course, she’s hysterical, but she may make things difficult. She says I should have given him more money. You’d better talk her out of that attitude. If we have to tell the coroner anything, we’ll tell him Roy was overworking. Get that into her head, will you?”
“Okay,” Crail said wearily. “I wonder why the hell I work for you, Nick. I’ll take Helen with me.”
“Keep the press away from her, Sam. I don’t want too much of a stink. Better come and see me around ten-thirty at my office, and we’ll straighten it out.”
“Okay,” Crail said.
“And get over there fast,” English said and hung up.
While he had been talking, Morilli had attempted to efface himself by going over to the window and staring down into the dark street.
He turned when English hung up.
“If Crail could find out where I can find your brother’s secretary, if he had one, we might get the information we want without bothering Mrs. English.”
“What information do you want?” English asked evenly.
“Just that he was short of money or some reason why he killed himself,” Morilli said uncomfortably.
“You don’t have to bother about his secretary,” English said. “I’ll send Crail down to the inquest. He’ll give the coroner all the information he wants.”
Morilli hesitated, then nodded his head.
“Just as you say, Mr. English.”
V
As Chuck Eagan drove swiftly along Riverside Drive, he whistled soundlessly through his teeth. He knew he was on the last leg of his night’s work, and he was looking forward to turning in. The day had been a long and exciting one. It was the first time he had ever had a ringside seat at a Championship match and the first time he had won a thousand dollars on a bet that he knew couldn’t fall down.
He glanced at the illuminated dial of the clock on the dashboard and shook his head: 12:40. He wouldn’t get to bed before 1:15, and the odds were the boss would expect him to p
ick him up again not later than 9:30: eight hours from now.
He swung the big car into the circular drive that led to an imposing apartment block overlooking the river, and brought the car to a standstill before the entrance.
He got out and held the door open.
“I want to find out if my brother had a secretary or someone to help him in the office,” English said as he got out of the car. “Go down to his office first thing in the morning and see if the janitor knows. I want her address. Be here not later than nine-thirty. We’ll go and see her before we go to the office.”
“Yes, boss,” Chuck said dutifully. “I’ll fix it. Anything else I can do?”
English gave him a quick smile.
“No. Go to bed, and don’t be late tomorrow.”
He walked across to the entrance to the building, pushed against the revolving doors, nodded to the night porter, who snapped to attention when he caught sight of him, and walked to the elevator.
He thumbed the button below the label that read: Penthouse, and leaned against the wall while the automatic elevator bore him swiftly and smoothly up fifteen floors to the roof apartment he had rented for Julie.
He walked down the corridor panelled with polished walnut and paused outside a front door also of polished walnut and equipped with gleaming chromium fitments. As he groped for his keys, his eyes shifted to the card in a chromium frame that was screwed on the door. It bore the single line of neat print: Miss Julia Clair.
He pushed the latch key into the lock, opened the door and stepped into a small, lighted lobby. As he threw his hat and coat on a chair, the door opposite him opened and a girl stood framed in the doorway.
She was tall and broad shouldered, with narrow hips and long legs. Her copper-colored hair was silky and dressed high on top of her small head. Her big almond-shaped eyes were sea-green and glitteringly alive. She had on olive-green lounging pyjamas with red piping, and her small feet were encased in high-heeled red slippers.
Looking at her, English thought how very different she was from Corrine. How much more beautiful, and how much more character she showed in her face, which he considered to be more pleasing to his eyes than any other woman’s he had met. Her makeup, even at this late hour, he thought, was a masterpiece of understatement. He knew she wore makeup, but he couldn’t see where it began or left off.
“You’re late, Nick,” she said, smiling at him. “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming.”
“Sorry, Julie,” he returned, “but I’ve been held up.”
He went over to her, put his hands on her hips and kissed her cheek.
“So Joey won his fight,” she said, looking up at him. “You must be very pleased.”
“Don’t say you listened to the radio?” he said, leading her into the well-appointed sitting room. A big coal fire burned brightly, and the shaded lamps made the atmosphere at once intimate and cozy.
“No, but I heard it on the news.”
“You and Harry are a pair,” he said, sinking into a big over-stuffed armchair and pulling her down on his knees. She curled up on his lap, slipping her arm around his neck, and resting her face against his. “Believe it or not, although he handled most of the arrangements and worked like a dog for weeks, he stayed away from the fight. He’s as squeamish as you are.”
“I think fighting is a beastly business,” she returned with a grimace. “I don’t blame Harry for not being there.”
He stared at the bright flames that licked over the coals, and his hand stroked her silk-clad thigh.
“Maybe it is, but there’s a lot of money in it. Was the show all right?”
She lifted her shoulders in an indifferent shrug.
“I suppose so. They seemed to like it. I wasn’t singing particularly well, but no one seemed to notice.”
“Maybe you want a vacation. Next month I may be able to get away. We might go to Florida.”
“Let’s wait and see.”
He looked at her sharply.
“I thought you would like that, Julie.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want to leave the club just yet. Tell me about the fight, Nick.”
“There’s something else I have to tell you. Do you remember Roy?”
He felt her stiffen.
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“The fool shot himself tonight.”
She half sat up, but he pulled her down against him again.
“Don’t move, Julie.”
“Is he dead?” she asked, her fingers gripping his arm.
“Yes, he’s dead. That was one job he did manage to do efficiently.”
She shivered.
“Don’t talk like that, Nick. How dreadful! When did it happen?”
“About half-past nine. Morilli phoned me in the middle of the party. What a break for him! Of all that damned Homicide mob, he had to be the one to find Roy. And he made sure I knew he was doing me a favor.”
“I don’t like that man,” Julie said. “There’s something about him…”
“He’s just a cop on the lookout for some easy money. That’s all that’s the matter with him.”
“But why did Roy…?”
“Yeah, that puzzles me. Do you mind if I walk up and down? You’re taking my mind off business.” He lifted her, and got up, set her gently in the chair, then moved over to the fireplace. “Why, Julie, you look pale.”
“I suppose it’s the shock. I wasn’t expecting to hear anything like this. I don’t know if you’re upset, Nick, but if you are, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not upset,” English said, taking out his cigar case. “Maybe it was a shock, but I can’t say I’m particularly sorry. Roy’s been a damned nuisance ever since he was born. I guess he was born lazy. He was always getting into jams. My old man and he were a pair. Did I ever tell you about my old man, Julie?”
She shook her head. She was leaning back, staring into the fire, her fingers laced around her knee.
“He was no good, like Roy was no good. If my mother hadn’t gone out and worked when we were kids we would have starved. I wish you could have seen my home, Julie. It was a three-room hovel in the basement of a tenement. In the winter the walls ran with water, and in the summer it stank to high heaven.”
Julie leaned forward to drop a log on the fire, and English touched the back of her neck gently.
“Oh, well, I guess that’s past history,” he went on. “But I can’t understand Roy shooting himself. Morilli says he was short of money and was trying to raise the wind by threatening two or three of his old clients. He was going to lose his licence at the end of the week. I would have been willing to bet Roy wouldn’t have killed himself because of that. I shouldn’t have believed he would have had the nerve to kill himself no matter how bad a jam he was in. It’s damned odd. Morilli says he’s satisfied, but I still don’t believe it.”
Julie looked up quickly.
“But surely, Nick, if the police say so…”
“Yeah, I know, but it foxes me. Why didn’t he come to me if he was so hard up? Maybe I did throw him out last time, but that has never stopped him before. I’ve thrown him out a score of times and he’s always come back.”
“Perhaps he was too proud,” Julie said quietly.
“Proud? Roy? My dear sweet, you don’t know Roy. He had a hide like a tank. He’d take any insult so long as he got money out of me.” English lit his cigar and began to move slowly about the room. “Why did the business collapse like that? When he got me to buy it for him, I took the trouble to investigate it pretty thoroughly. It was paying well then. It was an old-established business. He couldn’t have wrecked it so soon, unless he did it deliberately.” He made an impatient gesture. “I was a fool to have had anything to do with it. I might have known he wouldn’t have worked at it. Imagine Roy a private detective. Why, it’s laughable. I was a mug to have given him the money.”
Julie watched him pace the room. There was a wary, alert expression in her eyes that English
didn’t notice.
“I’ve sent Lois to check up at his office,” English went on. “She has a nose for that kind of thing. She’ll be able to tell me what went wrong.”
“You sent Lois there tonight?” Julie said sharply.
“I wanted her to have a look at the place before Corrine takes it into her head to go up there.”
“You mean Lois is actually there now?”
English paused in his pacing and looked at her, surprised at the sharpness of her tone.
“Yes. Harry’s with her. She doesn’t mind how late she works. You sound surprised.”
“Well, after all it is nearly half-past one. Couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow?”
“Corrine might go up there,” English said, frowning. He didn’t like his orders questioned. “I want to know what Roy’s been up to.”
“I think she must be in love with you,” Julie said, moving so that her back was turned to him.
“In love with me?” English said, startled. “Who? Corrine?”
“Lois. She acts as if she were your slave. No other girl would tolerate working for you, Nick.”
English laughed.
“Nonsense. I pay her well. Besides, she isn’t the kind of girl to fall in love with anyone.”
“There’s never been a girl who wouldn’t fall in love if she’s given the chance,” Julie said quietly. “I should have thought you would have more insight, Nick, than to say a thing like that.”
“Never mind Lois,” English said a little impatiently. “We were talking about Roy. I went to see Corrine tonight.”
“That was nice of you. I’ve never seen her. What’s she like, Nick?”
“Blond, plump and dumb-looking,” English said, coming to sit on the arm of her armchair. “She told me I was responsible for Roy’s death and threw me out of the house.”
“Nick!” Julie looked quickly at him, but was reassured by his smile.
“I guess she was hysterical, but to be on the safe side I got Sam out of bed and sent him down to talk to her. I’ve got to be careful there isn’t a stink about this business, Julie. I have a big pot on the boil at the moment.” His brown hand slid over her shoulder and his fingers gently stroked her throat. “In a few weeks the senator is going to break the news that I’m the man behind the new hospital. The committee know, of course, but the press haven’t got it yet. The idea is to name the hospital after me.”
I'll Bury My Dead Page 3
