I was alone when I came to the surface. I sat up slowly and felt my jaw. It was swollen, but I was relieved it wasn’t broken.
I got to my feet and wandered over to the whisky bottle. The liquor did me a lot of good and a second shot did even better. I wasn’t mad at Bogle. From his point of view he had done the right thing. I’d have done the same if I’d been in his place.
I went into the bathroom and bathed my face. It looked a little better by the time I was through, and as I was leaving the bathroom I heard the wail of police sirens.
Sam was standing in the hall. His face was bruised and puffy, but he looked almost handsome beside me.
We looked at each other. Then he said a little shamefaced, “I’m sorry, Bud, but you had to stick your neck out. My beef ain’t with you, but I’m not letting that dame get away with this. I can’t help it if you’re soft on her, can I?”
I said, “No, but you’re making an awful mistake, Sam,” and went into the sitting room. Then the law walked in. There was Clancy of the Homicide Bureau, who I knew quite well, and a couple of patrolmen and a cameraman.
I heard a lot of talking going on outside in the hall, but I was past caring what happened. I had to wait to see how things shaped, then try to get Myra out of the jam.
I heard Clancy go upstairs to look at Doc. They were up there some time, then Clancy came down with Bogle, leaving the others to work on finger-prints and stuff like that in Doc’s room.
Clancy was a little fat guy, with eyebrows like overgrown shrubs and a blue-black jowl which made him look tough. He usually dwelt behind a dead cigar and modelled his inanners along motion picture lines. He wasn’t the brightest star of the Homicide Bureau, and I was sorry he was handling the case.
He came in and stood over me. “Well, well,” he said, surprised, “Ross Millan! What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Clancy,” I said, leaning back in my chair, “I haven’t seen you for a Long time.”
He stared in astonishment at my face, then he looked at Bogle, “Hey!” he said, “what’s this? You two been fighting?”
“Fighting?” I said. “What makes you think that?”
“Don’t stall,” he snapped, “look at your face.”
“Oh, that,” I shrugged. “That’s the way I wear my face these days. You pick up odd habits in Mexico. Some guys wear beards, some wear ear-rings, I wear bruises. It’s considered the thing in Mexico, isn’t it, Sam?”
Bogle didn’t say anything. He wasn’t quite at ease with the cops.
“Still smart, eh?” Clancy said. “What have you two been fighting about?”
“Oh, we like to keep tough,” I said, “it’s got nothing to do with this business. All kidding aside, Clancy, it’s just our form of self-expression.”
Clancy chewed his cigar and eyed me suspiciously. “Okay,” he said, “we’ll skip that for the moment. How are you tied up in this business?”
I told him in a few words how I had met Doc and Bogle in Mexico, but I didn’t say anything about Myra.
“What do you know about this girl?” He shot the question out as if he’d got a half a dozen cameras focussed on him and a bunch of admirers waiting for his autograph.
“Which girl?” I asked, carefully.
“You know,” he said darkly, “Myra Shumway.”
“I know that,” I said, “but which Myra Shumway? There are two of ’em.” That slowed him down.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, “what do you mean… two of ’em?”
“Look, Clancy,” I said, “there is a lot behind this business that you don’t know. It’s going to be difficult for you to understand, but if you’ll take the weight off your feet and lay off pulling the tough copper on me, I’ll try and explain.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Sam said savagely. “He’s nuts about the girl.”
Clancy hadn’t much use for Bogle, “Clam up!” he snapped.
“When I want a commentary from you I’ll let you know.” He turned to me, “Now, what is it?” he said.
I waved to a chair, “Sit down,” I said. “It’s going to take time and you’ll need all your energy to keep your brain working.”
“Leave my brain out of it. You be careful of yourself Millan. I know you think you’re smart, but if you’re trying to make a monkey out of me I’ll slam you in the cooler as a material witness. How would you like that?”
“Now don’t let’s have threats,” I said, but I was a little dismayed If I were in jail there would be no one to help Myra.
“Come on, Millan, don’t stall,” he said.
I wasn’t going to be rushed. The idea of telling a guy like Clancy the whole story of the Mexican business appalled me, but I had to do it.
So I sat and talked. Clancy sat listening with a drowsy expression in his eyes. He even put a match to his cigar, which let off a rank smell. He didn’t seem to like ft himself, because he let it out after a couple of drags. At that rate a cigar could last him a couple of weeks. This one smelt like he’d had it for years.
I nearly gave up half way, because I could see it was hopeless He didn’t know whether I was crazy or whether I was stringing him. So he just got hotter and hotter until I thought he was going to catch on fire.
“Well,” I said, “that’s the way it is. Someone’s kidnapped Myra and her other half killed Ansell.”
I didn’t mention Kruger. I knew Kruger had a lot of influence and I wanted to go for him on my own without police interference.
“What a story to take to a judge!” Clancy said, drawing a deep breath. “If I didn’t know you, Millan, and if we hadn’t knocked around in the past, I’d toss you into jail right now for wasting my time. Do you think anybody but a lunatic would believe a yarn like that?”
I waved my hand to Bogle, “Your witness, Clancy. He’ll bear me out. Sausage, talking dog, floating woman and the whole set-up.”
“Well,” Clancy snarled at Bogle, “what have you got to say? Did you see this guy turn into a sausage?”
Bogle looked at me and then at Clancy, “I told you he was trying to gum up the works,” he said. “I didn’t see any of that stuff, because it just didn’t happen.”
I half rose from my seat, “Why, you dirty heel!” I said furiously, “you know as well as I do it’s all true!”
“Like hell it is!” Clancy suddenly roared. “I’ve had enough of this, Millan. You either talk turkey or you’ll come down to headquarters.”
“But, I tell you…” I began.
“Okay,” Clancy said, getting to his feet, “come on, the pair of you. I’ve had all I can stand of this. We’ll see what the chief’s got to say.”
I looked at Bogle, “So that’s the way you’re going to play it.”
Bogle’s face twitched, “She’s going to pay for this,” he said viciously, “and you’re not talking her way out of it. If these flatfeet don’t pin it on her, then I’ll fix her, but she don’t knock Doc off without footin’ the bill.”
“Who are you calling a flatfoot?” Clancy demanded angrily.
Bogle sneered, “What makes you think you’re anything but a fallen arch?” he demanded. Before Clancy could come back on this the wagon rolled up to take Doc away.
We all stood silently watching, and when the stretcher came down. Sam began to cry again.
Chapter FOURTEEN
THE police captain was a guy named Summers. I knew him pretty well and he wasn’t a bad guy if he felt like it. Otherwise, he had a temper like a flea on a hot stove and was liable to fly off the handle without warning.
They kept me waiting nearly four hours before they took me to his office and the wait nearly drove me crazy.
“Hullo, Millan,” he said when Clancy pushed me into the room. “I’m sorry we had to keep you. Sit down.”
Clancy stood behind Summers and gnawed dismally at his dead cigar.
I sat down after shaking hands. “That’s all right,” I said, trying to look as if I hadn’t a care in the world. “It’s
just one of those things.”
“Yep, I guess so,” he studied me for a long minute, then took out a box of cigars and pushed them over, “Help yourself,” he said.
When we had lit up he said, “Not like you to be mixed up in murder. I thought you were too smart for that.”
“I’m not mixed up in anything,” I said firmly. “Don’t go making any mistake about that. I just found the poor little guy.”
“Yeah, you just found him. Why did this girl leave a note telling you she had knocked him off?”
“This is a tough story to tell,” I said slowly. “But, she didn’t kill him and she didn’t write that note. The other girl did both those things.”
“The other girl?” He hid behind a cloud of oily smoke. “Oh that! Man into sausage, talking dog and floating woman. Yeah, Clancy was telling me.”
Clancy shifted from one foot to the other and then a silence fell so that I could hear the watch on my wrist like it was an alarm clock.
“You’ve got to do better than that,” Summers said at last. “I wouldn’t want you telling me a whopper like that. Maybe, it amused you to kid Clancy, but it wouldn’t amuse you for long to kid me.”
We eyed each other and I decided that I bad to think up something else.
“Okay,” I said. “Why not ask the girl? Why ask me?”
“We will when we’ve found her,” Summers returned. “We’ll ask her a lot of things, then we’ll sit her on a nice hot seat and fry her.”
Well, anyway, they hadn’t found her yet. That was something.
“She was your girl, wasn’t she, Millan?” he went on casually. I shook my head.
“No, I liked her. She was good fun, but that’s all.”
“This guy Bogle says different.”
“You don’t want to believe what he says,” I returned. “You see, he was the little guy’s pal. He thinks Myra killed him and he’ll say anything to get her convicted. He’s prejudiced.”
“Don’t you think she killed him?”
“I’ve told you already,” I said sharply. “Of course she didn’t.”
“I guess you’re the only guy who thinks so. Why, she even says she killed him herself,” and he tapped a sheet of notepaper which I recognized as the note Bogle had taken.
“Well,” I said, uncrossing my legs. “You’ve got what looks like a confession and you’ve got the stained dress. There isn’t much I can do about it.”
“The knife had her finger-prints on it,” Summers said, caressing the back of his head gently. “We found a strand of her hair in the old guy’s coat. Nope, it’s a cinch, Millan, so you’d better be careful.”
“I shrugged. “Well, I can’t help you. I would if I could, but If my story’s too much for you to swallow, I give up.”
He eyed me thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said. “Give. I’ve known you a long time, Millan, and
I don’t think you’re a liar. So tell me. I’ll listen anyway.” Clancy groaned, but neither of us took any notice of him.
So I told him what I’d told Clancy, only I gave him a lot more details.
Summers listened, caressing the back of his head the whole time. His cold, blank eyes never left my face, and when I was through he nodded.
“Well, I have to hand it to you, Millan. It’s some yarn.”
“Yeah, it’s some yarn, like you say.”
“So the dog talks, huh? A real honest to gawd dog—talking. Where’s the dog now?”
“He’s in a dog hospital some place. Bogle took him. Ask Bogle. He’ll tell you.”
“We’ve already asked Bogle about the dog. He says it never talked.”
“Then telephone the dog hospitals. The nearest one to Mulberry Park ought to find him.” Summers brightened a little. “Do it,” he said to Clancy. “I’d like to hear a dog talk.”
Then, with a sudden feeling of sickness, I remembered. “Wait,” I said. “He doesn’t talk any more. Someone hit him on the head and he just barks now.”
There was a long, painful silence and Summers’ beefy face grew dark. “Oh, so he just barks now,” he repeated, then seeing Clancy hesitate, he snapped. “Get after him all the same. I want to know if an injured dog’s been picked up recently.”
Clancy went out.
“I’m sorry Summers,” I said. “This sounds phoney, but he did talk yesterday. I swear he did.”
“So the dog doesn’t talk any more and maybe the woman’s given up floating,” Siunmers said, his eyes glinted with anger. “If I didn’t know you, Millan, you might be in for a bad time. I might even get some of the boys to give you a shellacking.”
I shifted restlessly. “Give me a chance to prove it,” I said suddenly. I remembered that Summers used to stake all his pay on a single cut of the cards. I’ve even seen him gamble with his next month’s salary. He was far more likely to play along if I appealed to his sporting instinct. “Look, Summers, if I bring these two girls to this office and let you see them, will that convince you?”
“How would you do that?” he asked, but the glint went out of his eyes.
“Give me a couple of weeks. I’ve got to find them first and that’ll take some digging around. But I’ll find them all right if you call off your bloodhounds and give me a free hand.”
“What do you think the newspapers’ll say if I don’t get action in the next day or so?” he asked, pulling at his short thick nose and looking at me old fashioned. “You’re in the business. You know what a ride I’ll get.”
“I’ve been in the game long enough to know that if you want to stall the newspapers you can do it,” I returned, feeling that I had the thin end in the crack and it only needed one good smack to drive it home. “There’s something much bigger than murder behind all this. It’s going to be a whale of a story and it’ll do you a hell of a lot of good to be tied up in it on the right side. I tell you, if you grab Myra Shumway and try to pin the murder on her, you’ll be passing up something that someone on top is trying to cover up. Let me handle it for a couple of weeks and I’ll give it to you on a plate.”
“What someone on top?” he asked, interested.
“That’s my affair, Summers,” I said. “I may be wrong, but I don’t think so. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”
“I suppose you realize that I could hold you as an accessory after the fact on that statement,” Summers said, his voice suddenly cold.
“Where are your witnesses? I didn’t say anything.”
He tried to get mad, but then grinned. “I’ll give you a week,” he said. “You’ve got a week from now to bring the two girls to this office. If you don’t, then I’ll issue a warrant for your arrest as an accessory and we’ll see if we can’t persuade you to talk. How’s that?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Suits me,” I said and put out my hand.
He shook it casually. “Okay, Millan,” he said. “You can beat it. Remember, I want you here this time next week with the two girls. You’re not to leave the City unless you tell me where you’re going. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, and made for the door.
“I don’t think you’re going to be very lucky,” he said as I was going out. “I don’t think there are two girls.”
“We’ll talk about that when next we meet,” I said, and closed the door behind me.
Clancy was coming along the passage and he stared at me.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded.
“Summers doesn’t want me until next week,” I said cheerfully. “Any news of my dog?”
“Yeah,” he said. “There was a wolfhound at the Eastern Dog Hospital with a bang on his dome, but he took it on the lam before anyone could take care of him. Maybe that was your dog.”
“Maybe it was,” I said. “Now, will you have a talk with Bogle about that? It looks like I’m not the only guy who can tell stories.”
Clancy’s face became grim. “I’ll talk to him,” he said sourly.
“And Clancy, if you can keep him on ice for a week
, you’ll be doing me a favour.”
“I will, will I?” he looked at me hard. “What are you up to?”
“Never mind that,” I said. “You ask Summers, he’ll tell you. But Bogle’s got the wrong idea and he’ll be better off out of the way. Do what you can for me, will you? I’ll give you a good write-up if I handle the story.”
“That reminds me,” Clancy said, snapping his thick fingers. “Maddox ‘phoned through a couple of hours back. He wanted you to go around to his office right away.”
This startled me. “Maddox?” I repeated. “Wants to see me?”
“Yeah,” Clancy said.
“Okay, thanks, Clancy. Be seeing you. So long,” and I beat it out of Headquarters as fast as I could travel.
As I got into the street a cruising taxi slowed down and the driver looked at me hopefully. I nodded and he stopped.
“Recorder office,” I said, and jerked open the door. Then I paused.
There was a girl sitting in the far corner.
“What’s the idea?” I demanded, turning on the driver. “You’ve got a customer, you pudden-headed monkey.”
“Get in, Mr. Millan,” the girl said. “I want to talk to you.” The voice was familiar and I looked back into the cab. Lydia Brandt was sitting there and in her hand she held a small, businesslike automatic. Its snub nose was pointed at my waistcoat.
“Why, hello,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Get in,” she repeated. “Unless you want another belly button.”
“Not outside police headquarters,” I said hastily. “It’d be bad for their nerves,” and I got in and sat down gingerly beside her.
The driver shot the cab away from the curb and took off down the street.
Lydia Brandt was dressed in a smart olive green dress, and cerise turban, gloves, handbag and shoes. She looked like Fifth Avenue.
Miss Shumway Waves a Wand Page 17
