by Unknown
“I never dreamed it! I never dreamed that anyone could be so ignorant of the law! Evidently you think that Harmon had to get his old will back and destroy it before he could make a new one! Why, all he would have to do to revoke the will would be to make a new one!”
“Well, I’m not a lawyer.”
“And you’re a hell of a detective! What’s the idea of holding out this long about that will? Try to remember that you’re working for me. Instead of running around in circles and trying to crack this case on your own, I want you to get Waxman’s secretary, the O’Hara girl, and bring her to Waxman’s office by eight. A locksmith’s going to try to open that safe this evening, and Waxman’s secretary should know something about the contents.”
It was one detail I could accept without urging. I had been careful to jot down Mickey O’Hara’s address, but I hadn’t hoped to be able to use it so soon. Her place turned out to be the first floor of a duplex. When she came to the door and saw me she seemed a little disappointed.
“Oh, it’s Mr. Corbett! I wasn’t expecting you. Is your visit official?”
“Only if you want it to be. I’m to take you to Waxman’s office, and I thought you might like to have dinner first.”
I could see that she wasn’t crazy about the idea, but she said: “Why, that would be lovely. I’ll only take a minute.”
Her place was furnished modestly enough. I dropped into a lounge chair and surveyed things casually. My gaze halted at a silver picture frame. It contained the smiling likeness of Jimmie Harmon. It was a good photo, but it had been mounted in such a way that the face bulged and looked a little bloated.
I averted my gaze from the photo as Mickey O’Hara appeared, but she gave the photo a sharp look, realizing I couldn’t have missed it.
“So you and Jimmie are that way?” I ventured, when we had driven a block from the duplex. Mickey O’Hara gave a nervous little laugh.
“I consider Jimmie a very good friend, that’s all. We used to bump into each other in the elevator and got to having lunch together. As for Jimmie being ‘that way,’ I don’t have to tell you about his reputation as a bite-and-run wolf.”
I let it go at that. I drove across town, out on Broad and pulled up at the Arabian Grill. It’s an expensive joint that I seldom patronize, for an obvious reason. But I had good cause for selecting it now.
“You’ll have to run along and order for both of us while I go down the street and get a check cashed. They don’t know me in there.”
I waited till she had gone inside, then turned around and drove back to the duplex. Picking its lock took only a minute, and once inside I didn’t bother to turn on the lights, for I knew where to go. I crossed the room to the silver picture frame and pried off its heavy cardboard back. The back and picture fell free to expose a folded paper between. I got out a pocket flash and scrutinized the paper.
It was the Harmon will. I read it through. It was a homemade job, all right, written by a guy who thought anyone can write his own will. I know better. I’ve whiled away quite a bit of time in Keever’s office over a book on wills, and I know they’re tricky things. A lot of people so hate to give a lawyer five dollars that they write their own wills, and after they’re dead their crude mistakes cause long-winded lawsuits that result in the lawyers getting all of their estates.
I put out my flash, folded up the will and started for the door. Then I went out like a light. I knew when I came around that I’d taken a perfect rabbit punch. I got up off the floor and fell down again. The next time I stayed up, but I knew I was going to be sick. I went into the bathroom and got it over with. Then I went back into the room. The will was gone. I didn’t waste time looking for it. My watch said eight-thirty. I went out to my car and drove to the Mercury Tower.
here was one of Carrothers’ men at the door. He looked at me pityingly as he let me in.
“I’m sure glad I’m not in your shoes! Keever’s layin’ for you with a meat-axe!”
I couldn’t think of a single cute thing to say. The night man took me to Waxman’s floor. The first face I saw when I opened his office door was Sam Peterson’s. He was flanked by two headquarters men, and Carrothers himself sat close by. But Peterson looked strangely at ease in contrast to the others in the room.
There was quite a gathering. Her silken knees crossed, Mickey O’Hara knifed me a look from a chair in a corner. Jimmie Harmon adjoined her. It was something of a shock to discover his sister seated on the opposite side of the room. Louise Harmon apparently had been in conversation with Keever, who stood beside her. His face got red the moment he saw me.
“So you’ve finally shown up!” he raged. “Pardon my curiosity, but would you mind telling me why it is that when I send you out to do even the simplest thing, you muff the job?”
“He was trying to cash a check,” Mickey O’Hara said icily. “I hope you succeeded, brother, ’cause you owe me three dollars for the steak I ordered for you. Whether you have the chivalry to pay for the one I ate is purely speculative.”
Somewhat grandly I paid up. But that didn’t satisfy Keever.
“Well, what have you got to say for yourself?”
“Nothing. Anything I said would be used against me.” I was busy trying to figure out Keever’s angle in having Jimmie and Louise Harmon and Peterson here. What was up Keever’s sleeve? “The safe,” I said, “has it been opened yet?”
Keever shook his head.
“But it soon will be. We’ve got a good man in there.” He indicated the inner office. “He’s been at it since seven. He should be through any minute now.”
Keever did have something up his sleeve, all right—plenty. Otherwise he wouldn’t have left off riding me about my unexplained absence. I was glad to let it go at that, and for about ten minutes we all waited in uncomfortable silence. Most uncomfortable of all was Jimmie Harmon. He sat fidgeting, mopping his moistening temples from time to time. He started half out of his chair when the door suddenly opened, and a bald little guy stuck his face through.
“All set, Mr. Keever.”
I knew the locksmith, Clyde Altman. He was a skilled man, trusted by the police, but Keever had seen to it that a headquarters man had been on the job while Altman had worked.
“Has anything been touched?” Keever questioned the man, as we filed into the inner room.
“Not a thing, sir. The strongbox door’s been opened—that’s the only thing that’s been done to the inside.”
We formed a semi-circle in front of the safe at a respectful distance. Keever, wasting no time with the stuff in the pigeonholes, removed the strongbox drawer at once. His eyes lighted as he saw the paper on top. He snatched it up, unfolded it and gave it a rapid inspection. There was triumph in his eyes as he turned mysteriously to Louise Harmon.
“Miss Harmon, will you please look at this signature?”
Keever exhibited the paper. The girl’s eyes widened.
“Why—why, it’s Dad’s signature! What is this paper?”
“It’s a will, Miss Harmon, your father’s will. And now, Peterson, come over here and look carefully. Did you ever see this paper before?”
Peterson came forward and scanned the paper with growing astonishment.
“Yes, I saw it once. It’s the will that I stole out of Jimmie Harmon’s safe!”
“Exactly!” Keever’s eyes flashed with triumph as they fixed their gaze upon Jimmie Harmon. The boy had lost all color. Satisfied, Keever turned to me. “You didn’t realize it, Ben, but this afternoon you gave me the information that enabled me to crack this case. When you told me that Peterson had stolen a will and that it left the entire estate to Louise Harmon, you unwittingly supplied the key to the entire case.
“You see, it wasn’t Jimmie Harmon’s will that was stolen. Peterson thought so because it was in Jimmie’s safe and because he was misled by the signature. As Miss Harmon has just stated, the signature was actually her father’s—his name is the same as Jimmie’s. It wasn’t Jimmie who was leaving everything to his sist
er—it was James D. Harmon Sr. In his father’s will, Jimmie was completely disinherited.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE REAL MCCOY
eever’s words seemed to echo in the still room. Suddenly he whirled again upon Jimmie Harmon.
“Do you dare deny it?” he barked.
The youth admitted hollowly: “It’s Dad’s will, all right. I found it after his death and hid it in my safe.”
Louise Harmon gave a startled gasp.
“Jimmie! How could you do such a thing?”
Jimmie Harmon lost his hangdog look as anger reddened his face.
“Wipe that look of righteous indignation off your face! I wasn’t doing anything you wouldn’t have done! What you did was worse—you sold Dad the idea I was a spendthrift playboy who couldn’t look out for himself. If only Dad would leave everything to you, you’d take care of me. Yes, you would! You’d have doled out a nickel at a time and made me crawl for it! When I hid that will, I was only protecting my rightful property!”
“And you were doing the same thing when you killed Shorty Waxman!”
Everybody subsided at Keever’s accusation. Keever pressed home the advantage his shock had given.
“You killed Waxman because he had the will and because he had been blackmailing you! Though Peterson failed to understand the significance of the will, thinking it was your own, Waxman knew better. That’s why he took Peterson’s case, though Peterson didn’t have any money to pay him. He knew he could collect plenty by threatening you with exposure. But he didn’t know you’d get so desperate that you’d kill him! And you did kill him, didn’t you?”
Keever had his long forefinger under Jimmie Harmon’s nose now, and Harmon slapped it away with a sharpness that made Keever wince.
“Damn you, no! Sure, Waxman was blackmailing me. The dirty skunk started it even before Peterson’s trial. He insisted that Peterson knew nothing about it, that only he knew the truth about the will. I paid and paid. I might have dropped the prosecution against Peterson if I hadn’t been sore about the hell he had caused me. That’s why I turned in his penitentiary record. Last Saturday afternoon I got half soused and spilled the beans to you. It wasn’t very bright, but then I felt I had to take it out on somebody—I couldn’t touch Waxman.”
“But you did, Jimmie, this noon! You touched him deeply—with a knife! You killed him because his relentless blackmailing had made you desperate! You can’t look me in the eye and deny it!”
Something inside Jimmie Harmon seemed to snap. Before Keever could dodge, Harmon had landed a solid punch on his jaw. Keever reeled and would have gone down if Carrothers hadn’t caught him. Shaking with anger, he roared: “See? See, what he did—it all goes to show how he resorts to violence when cornered! I’m warning you, Harmon, that anything you say will be held against you!”
I took a deep breath.
“Might I say a word?”
Keever growled: “Well, Ben, what is it?”
I took another deep breath.
“I don’t want to upset your little playhouse, but I think you ought to know that this will hasn’t been locked in the safe since Waxman’s murder. It was planted there. I happen to know because a couple of hours ago I saw it in Mickey O’Hara’s apartment. It was hidden back of her photo of Jimmie Harmon. I’d just removed it when I got conked. I passed out cold—that explains why I didn’t show up with Miss O’Hara as scheduled.”
Keever’s jaw hung open.
“Ben, are you sure about that? Are you sure this will was at Mickey O’Hara’s apartment?”
“Positively. I read the whole will by my flashlight.”
Keever looked lost. He turned slowly to face Mickey O’Hara.
“Is this true?”
Jimmie Harmon stepped forward, firmly grasping Mickey O’Hara’s arm.
“Just a moment, Keever. Supposing Mickey did have the will and did conceal it the same as I did. I believe that the concealment of a will is a criminal offense. If she admitted that she had it, would she be laying herself open to a criminal charge?”
Keever nodded reluctantly. “That’s right. Miss O’Hara, I’ll have to warn you that your answer may be held against you.”
Mickey O’Hara replied coolly and without hesitation: “This detective is right—the will was at my place, hidden in a picture frame. A short time after I met Jimmie he told me about the jam he was in and asked me to help him. I didn’t have any trouble going through the files of the Peterson case—that’s how I was able to find out about Peterson’s criminal record and turn it over to Jimmie. It took me longer to find an occasion when the safe was unlocked and get into the strongbox. But I did find the opportunity, and I’ve had the will for a couple of weeks.”
Jimmie Harmon’s eyes widened as they stared.
“Why, Mickey—why didn’t you tell me you had it?”
“Because I love you, you wolf! Your only interest in me was to get me to help you recover that will. Once I’d delivered it, you’d have dropped me like a hot potato. So long as I had the will, I had you.”
“But, Mickey, I wouldn’t have—”
“That doesn’t change anything,” Keever interrupted Harmon. “The fact that Miss O’Hara had the will doesn’t alter the fact that you thought Waxman had it. Your motive remains as strong as ever.”
I indulged in another deep breath.
“But that doesn’t explain why Harmon would slug me to get the will and plant it in this safe where it was bound to be found! You’ve just heard him confess that he had concealed it and paid blackmail to prevent its exposure.”
Keever had no comeback for that one. I pressed my advantage.
“The person who planted that will wanted it to be found, wanted it to be exposed. That person had the most to be gained from the will’s exposure. It was that person that Waxman phoned this noon just before he left Mike’s restaurant. He—”
“What phone call?” Keever demanded. “You said nothing about seeing Waxman at Mike’s! Why are you always holding out on me?”
I shrugged.
“I didn’t think it was important at the time. Now I realize what upset Waxman when I told him Peterson had been picked up on the Habitual Criminal Act. He guessed that Harmon had turned him in, and that showed him Harmon was getting too desperate to be blackmailed. It was time to make a deal with the one person who had most to benefit by the exposure of the will. So he called that person and made a noon appointment at his office.
“Waxman quickly made a deal with his visitor, selling the will for a cash price. But when he went to his safe and opened it, he found that the will was missing. It was never like Waxman to give up any money once he had his hands on it. He stalled. But the purchaser of the will suspected trickery, was angered into murderous fury. A paper knife was convenient. You can guess the rest.
“Later the murderer, aware of the romantic connection between Jimmie Harmon and Waxman’s secretary, guessed that the girl might have got the will from Waxman’s safe and might have it in her possession. So the murderer went to the girl’s apartment, found that I had discovered the will, slugged me and took it from me. Then the murderer, who had memorized the combination of Waxman’s safe, came here and planted the will where it would be found.”
I paused. Keever had listened intently. Now he said: “But whoever planted that will had to have a key to the building and a key to Waxman’s office.”
I regarded Louise Harmon.
“Miss Harmon, do you have a key to this building?”
The girl was pale.
“Yes. Father gave me one several years ago. His office is now Jimmie’s. I still have the key.”
“And you admit that you visited the building this noon?”
“Of course. I told you that when you called this afternoon.”
“But there was nobody here to corroborate your alibi?”
“No. I also told you that Jimmie wasn’t here; nobody was here but me.”
I turned to Keever.
�
�There you are. Getting a key to Waxman’s office wouldn’t be such a hard stunt for the murderer. It might have been taken from Waxman’s pocket, or one might have been loose around Mickey O’Hara’s place.”
eever had been staring incredulously at Louise Harmon. Slowly he turned to me.
“Then you think the murderer is Louise? She’s the only one to gain from the exposure of the will.”
“No, Burt, you’re wrong. You glanced at the beginning of the will, the part that left everything to Louise outright. Read the last paragraph. It’s a little vague, but the meaning is clear. Old Man Harmon knew how he wanted to leave his estate, all right. He meant that Louise should have it all but should pay out to Jimmie whatever he actually needed.
“But he didn’t know how to say it. When he got through pecking out his homemade will on his typewriter, he had left everything to Louise but in trust for Jimmie! When Jimmie discovered the will after his father’s death he didn’t understand it any better than his father had, and he was afraid to go to a lawyer.
“So he hid the will in his safe. Peterson stole it, failed to realize that it was the old man’s will and turned it over to Waxman, who understood it at a glance. Then Waxman contacted Jimmie and explained that the will really made him the sole beneficiary of his father’s estate, that all Louise could ever get out of it was a nominal fee for administering the trust.
“Waxman had Jimmie over a barrel. Jimmie had concealed the existence of the will—he couldn’t prove its existence now unless Waxman turned it over. Waxman held out for a price. Jimmie refused to meet it. They haggled for a year, Jimmie finally using Mickey O’Hara in an attempt to get his fingers on the precious paper. In a fit of meanness, he exposed Peterson’s criminal record, and that scared Waxman. He knew that he was dealing with a desperate man. He phoned Jimmie, and they got together on a price. When they met in Waxman’s office, and he couldn’t produce the will, Jimmie blew his top and knifed Waxman to death.”
Keever had been reading the last paragraph of the will as he listened. Now he stared at Jimmie Harmon.
