The Fundamentals of Murder (Davey Goldman Series Book 2)

by Love, William F.

  Regan blew right back at me. “I’ll not tolerate that kind of sexist vulgarity in my presence! Broads, indeed!”

  We glared at each other. Regan broke eye contact first.

  “Very well. Vulgarity aside, your point about the overarching need to identify and apprehend this criminal is well taken. All right.” He headed slowly for the window. “Let’s talk about strategy, David. We can discuss situation ethics at a later, more convenient time.” Regan spun his chair and faced me.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Penniston can make the calls this afternoon. And you will be in place in that office. With just a soupçon of good fortune on our side, we may soon know exactly who and what Mr. Steven Sarnoff is.”

  37

  Maybe you see now why I liked the scam. It had an excellent chance of working, for all the Bishop’s ethical qualms. Frankly, I found it easier to appreciate the scam than to understand his qualms. To me, catching a guy like Sarnoff is a helluva lot more important than to have the truth come charging out of your mouth every time you open it. Well, to each his own.

  But the idea! True, Laura had told people the earrings were paste, but that could be written off as nothing more than a strategy to discourage thieves. Don’t people often try to protect their jewelry by getting the word around that it’s worthless?

  So the Pennistons telling the world that those red cross earrings were worth $20,000 struck me as a dandy way to lure Sarnoff out of whatever hole he’d jumped into.

  “How would you assess the probability,” I asked the Bishop over lunch, “that Sarnoff will head for that office?”

  “Impossible to say, David. Too many variables. All we can do is hope we’re right — that one of those five will inform Sarnoff of what the Pennistons are alleging. He will know that she was wearing them that night. And it shouldn’t take him long to calculate that the most logical place she could have left them was where she in fact did leave them — in that office — an office about which he has no reason to believe anyone else knows.”

  After lunch, I went to my office, loaded my .38 and donned my armpit holster. This Sarnoff was giving every indication of being a very scary individual, even if he wasn’t the towering monster from my nightmare. I wanted to be ready for him.

  I went over the script with Regan once again. We agreed that I should — assuming they let me — stay with the Pennistons when they made the five calls, to lend immoral support. We also agreed that the simpler the script, the better.

  No need for it to be anything but simple. They were going over the estate, and just wanted to be sure those earrings were really missing. Extremely valuable, real rubies and diamonds, you know. What? Laura told you they were paste? Hardly! Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money to pay for paste. So she was definitely wearing them the night of the murder? Then there was nothing more to be done, was there?

  Before leaving the house, I made two key phone calls. First to Rice, telling him I wanted to rent the office for a month. He was delighted, promising to meet me there with the key and a rental contract at five that afternoon.

  Then I called Dennis Kelley. Dennis is a fellow Irregular and a damn good private detective. I was going to need some back-up if this turned out to be a several day stake-out. Or maybe even if it didn’t.

  Kelley was happy to hear from me and was available. He promised to meet me in the lobby of 601 West Forty-ninth at ten to five. I told him I’d explain everything then.

  The plan was as follows. I’d stay with the Pennistons while they made the first call or two from their room at the Hilton, but leave them no later than four-forty — whether or not they’d reached everyone yet — and go meet Kelley and Rice at the stake-out. I wouldn’t let the Pennistons make the first call till four-thirty so as to avoid the slightest chance that Sarnoff might come, look for the earrings, and leave before Kelley and I got there to wait for him.

  I didn’t really expect to see the Pennistons much before three. Lunch with their lawyer, inspecting their daughter’s safe deposit box — these things take time. So I was surprised when we bumped into each other at two-twenty as I walked into the Hilton.

  “Well, Dave,” Roger said jovially, his face ruddier than normal, “this is fortuitous timing.” He had a little trouble getting out the fortuitous. His lunch had obviously been at least part liquid. A quick glance at the frau told me she was also a little happier than she’d been the day before.

  I decided our first order of business, once we got up to their room, had better be a rush order of coffee from room service. I wanted Roger and Maureen stone sober before they started making those phone calls.

  You’d have thought I was a long-lost friend. Flanking me on either side, they chattered all the way through the big lobby to the elevator.

  I didn’t pay much attention to the small talk, having other things on my mind. At least, until we got on the elevator. As the doors closed and Roger pushed 26, I heard Maureen say something about Stubbs, Donovan and McClendon joining them at the bank.

  “Oh?” I said, turning to her. “How’d that happen?”

  “Well,” she said, lurching as the elevator jerked upward, “Betty and George just wanted to be with us when we looked. Just being friendly, you know.”

  Roger grinned at her and joined in. “Yes, and Lee wanted to be sure everyone in the bank was treating us okay, you know?”

  “You’ll be proud of us, Dave,” Maureen said. Something in the way she said it made my stomach tighten.

  She moved closer to me, taking my elbow. Roger moved in with her. The other four passengers listened carefully while pretending not to. In a stage whisper, she said, “We’ve already done it, Dave!”

  I looked from her beaming face to Roger’s. The air was redolent of fine scotch.

  “Wonderful!” I beamed back, my gut not feeling the joy my face was trying to show. “Done what?”

  We were slowing for the twenty-sixth floor. The doors opened and Maureen put a cautionary finger to her lips. In the hall, on edge now, I turned to face them.

  “What did you do?” They suddenly looked sheepish. Maureen gave Roger a look that was an appeal for help. Roger stepped in, his smile losing a little of its wattage.

  “We really pulled the wool over their eyes, Dave.” I stared. Roger got serious. “We told them how expensive the earrings really were, Dave. We told them just what you told us to.”

  I grabbed Roger’s arm. “Told who?”

  “George and Betty. And Lee Stubbs. We told them they were twenty-thousand-dollar earrings.”

  Maureen, looking at my face, looked worried, though not nearly as worried as I felt. “Is something wrong, Dave?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” said Roger. “What’s wrong? Isn’t that what you wanted us to do?”

  I had lots of choices. Curse, swear, stomp on the floor. Shake the two idiots till their teeth rattled, either separately or as a team. But business before pleasure. At the moment, I had to be somewhere else. Namely, at 601 West Forty-ninth Street. Before Sarnoff got there. Or, at least, before he got away.

  “When was this?” I snapped, pushing the elevator button. For a tenth of a second I considered taking the stairs, then remembered I was twenty-six floors up. I gave the button several more sharp jabs.

  “About two hours ago,” Roger said, nervously looking at his watch, then back at my face. “Before we went to lunch. Why? What’s wrong, Dave? Did we do the wrong thing?”

  I glued my thumb to the damn elevator button (I know, I know, that doesn’t help, it’s stupid. All I can say is, you try standing there doing nothing while Steven Sarnoff is probably on his way to West Forty-ninth Street).

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said automatically, trying to think. And actually came up with an idea.

  “Here!” With my free hand, I pulled out Dan Rice’s business card. “Call this guy. Right now! Tell him to meet me in that office he’s subletting. Tell him five o’clock’s too late. I need it now. Right now!” The doors chimed. “Tell him there’s a bonus if
he gets there in ten minutes.”

  The doors opened. I groaned audibly. Packed with kids in school uniforms. How much was this going to slow me down? I squeezed on anyway, still talking to the flustered Pennistons.

  “Tell him to hurry! And call Bishop Regan.” The doors closed in my face and I raised my voice. “Tell him everything that’s happened!” The kids stared. I looked at my watch and tried to ignore them.

  Anything else I should have told the Pennistons? Too late to worry. I had to get to Forty-ninth and Ninth and hope to hell Sarnoff hadn’t already come and gone.

  38

  I loosened my tie and ran all the way. Not far to run, you say? Sixth to Ninth is only three blocks, you say? You’d better bone up on your geography.

  First of all, it’s not three blocks, it’s four, because Broadway’s in there. Second, those are the four longest blocks in the world. Third, you wouldn’t believe the idiots that inhabit the sidewalks of New York — half of them gawk like fools at anybody in a hurry, and the other half go out of their way to slow them down.

  In spite of everything — schoolkids on tour, gawkers and obstructionists — only eleven minutes had elapsed from the moment I squeezed into that elevator to the moment I pushed through the revolving door at 601 West Forty-ninth.

  I was covered with sweat, especially my left armpit under that nylon holster. And naturally the lobby was being prepared for a sauna party, with the temperature at a balmy ninety degrees or so. In seconds, sweat was starting to come through the suit in patches.

  But how I looked was the least of my worries. I loosened my tie a little more, wishing I wasn’t packing that damn weapon so I could take off my suit coat. I tried to think logically. Were there any other exits from this place? If so, did Sarnoff know about them? Would Rice show up?

  The last question got answered when Rice came bustling into the lobby just three minutes after me. Barely enough time for me to have resumed normal breathing. The Playmate of the Year in a sheer negligee couldn’t have looked any better than Dan Rice coming through that revolving door.

  “Mr. Goldman! What’s the rush?”

  “I’m just anxious to get started,” I answered in as cool a voice as I could muster, giving the elevator button a couple of hard jolts. I immediately gave him the program I’d thought up while I waited.

  “Do me a favor and go up first, would you, Dan? Mr. Sarnoff was going to meet me here about now, and he didn’t say whether it would be here in the lobby or up in the office. I’d hate to pass him going up on one elevator while he’s going down on the other. So I’ll wait here a minute while you go up.”

  Rice started to say something but I rode over him.

  “Don’t go in, though. Umm, I think he may have kept his key, and you’d only embarrass him. If he — if anyone — comes out of that office, don’t bother introducing yourself, just stay with them, all right?”

  Rice was puzzled and wanted to argue. The elevator arrived and the doors opened.

  “Just humor me,” I cajoled, easing him onto the elevator by the elbow. “I’ll be up in two minutes. Anyone comes out of that office…” The doors closed and I raised my voice. “…you come back down with them!”

  I was starting to get sick and tired of elevator doors closing in my face while I was still talking.

  I hadn’t found the greatest partner in the world. Replacing Rice with Dennis Kelley would’ve made me feel a lot better. But, weak reed or not, Rice was what I had. Kelley would join me in a couple of hours. Then we could enjoy a chuckle over my senseless mad rush.

  Because I was beginning to think a little more rationally. After all, even if the three who’d heard the Pennistons’ earring story had included Sarnoff’s informant, it wasn’t likely they’d reached him already. And even if they had, he had no reason to think there was any rush. If he showed at all, it probably wouldn’t be before tomorrow. Or even the next day. My heart rate was beginning to subside. I wished my suit would dry as fast.

  I gave myself two minutes. The lobby wasn’t getting a bit cooler or any less deserted. I went up.

  Rice was waiting, as instructed, in the hallway by 320. Something seemed to tell him it was no time for idle chatter. He inserted the key and opened the door. I muscled past him and went in fast, hand on the .38 inside my coat.

  The office was a wreck. Furniture askew, bits of foam rubber scattered around. The cushions on the couch had been slashed and ripped apart. The rug, partly rolled up, was pulled over into one corner.

  I was on the verge of cursing when, over Rice’s breathing and my own, I heard a sound from behind one of the desks. Old habits took over. Out came the .38. I was down on one knee, arms extended, both hands on the automatic.

  “Come out from behind there!” I yelled, weapon trained on the desk, hoping to hell whoever came out wouldn’t come out blasting. A long and silent second passed. Then, like the moon rising over the eastern horizon, the round face of Betty Donovan appeared over the desktop, dishwater eyes wide with apprehension.

  39

  The three of us froze. Till I saw that Betty wasn’t showing any signs of resistance. Then I put my .38 back in its holster. Thinking a comment of some kind was called for, I came up with “Where’s Sarnoff?” Not a top contender for Wittiest Remark of the Year.

  Rice looked too stunned to say anything. Betty struggled to her feet and cleared her throat. Something about her was out of kilter, I couldn’t tell what. She ran her hands over her skirt, trying to smooth it down.

  “I’ve already told you, Mr. Goldman,” she said, in a valiant attempt to recover some dignity. “I don’t know any Sarnoff. What are you doing here?”

  So she was going to brazen it out. She went on. “Just look at this room! Someone has vandalized it.” She seemed to focus on Rice for the first time. “Oh, hello, she said, approaching him with extended hand. “I’m Betty Donovan. Please excuse the mess.” Grace under pressure.

  Rice uncomfortably took her hand, and, as they shook, I realized what was cockeyed about her. Her eyes. They were unfocused and wandering. She had to be high on something — speed would have been my first guess, coke right behind.

  But what she might or might not be on was near the bottom of my list of concerns. Nearer the top was the discovery I’d just made: I’d found Sarnoff’s accomplice. Which translated into Strangler John’s accomplice.

  But at the peak of the list was a question: what the hell was I going to do now? Looking at Donovan’s jittery eyes, I guessed she was asking herself the same thing.

  “It’s okay, Dan,” I said. “Miss Donovan and I know each other. Tell you what we’re going to do.” I strode to the desk. Betty just watched me, her moon face twitching.

  I picked up the phone, facing Donovan. This was one lady I definitely did not want to turn my back on. She stood watching me, fingers writhing on the purse she held.

  The phone was dead. I tried jiggling the button. No good. I looked at Betty.

  “I know,” Betty said in a strange-sounding voice. “I tried it myself a few minutes ago. Here. Look.” She pointed at something on the floor, hidden from me by the desk. She took an abrupt step back, still facing me, leaving room for me to maneuver around it. I didn’t move. So she bent with a grunt and picked up the phone line. Held it up, pointed at the tear. “I guess whoever ripped up this office must have done it,” she said, accentuating her words with jerky nods.

  “Yeah, probably, I said skeptically. “Let me see your purse, Betty.”

  She stared at me blankly for a moment, then gave me a quick, unpleasant smile and handed it over. I riffled through it quickly, not finding anything lethal, unless you counted the ciggies. I handed it back.

  Rice moved to my side. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded, looking angrily from Betty to me. “Why’d you tear this room up? I want to know what’s going on!”

  “Tell you what, Dan.” I kept my voice matter of fact. “Someone’s got to call the police. And it looks like you’re nominated. />
  I removed my billfold without taking my eyes off Betty and handed it to him. “My private investigator’s license is in there. Find the nearest phone and call the police.” I gave him the number for Homicide. “Tell them I’m here and making a citizen’s arrest.” No reaction from Betty.

  Rice started to move, but I stopped him. “Wait a minute, Dan. You need to remember this woman’s name. Betty Donovan, got it?”

  “D-Donovan,” he said in a scared voice. “B-Betty Donovan.”

  “Right. Don’t forget it.” Betty just stood there, blinking and licking her lips, clutching her purse in both hands, her fingers clenching and unclenching. I repeated the phone number.

  “Call that number, Dan. Can you do that?”

  “Right. I’ll find a phone and be right back.” He left.

  Betty sank into the swivel chair behind the desk and put her purse in her lap. She swung abruptly around, giving me her back, and looked out the window. “You can’t really believe what you’re saying, Mr. Goldman.”

  I held a brief caucus with myself over whether or not to debate with her. I won that debate — What the hell, I’m a born talker.

  “You couldn’t be more wrong, Betty. I not only believe it, I know it. I knew it as soon as I saw you in the midst of all this rubble. Did you do all this alone, or did Sarnoff help you?”

  Betty swung the swivel chair to face me, and the look on her round face shook me. How could she be that calm and have been accessory to the death of her best friend?

  She shook her head sadly and began swiveling back and forth, purse teetering in her lap. The chair squeaked in protest with every movement.

  “David, David, David,” she crooned. “You’re so naive. Sarnoff’s my guy. Don’t you understand anything?” She was as high as a kite.