Deadly Image

by George Harmon Coxe

  “This is what he meant when he said over the telephone that he could prove I had been framed.”

  “Right.”

  “This is what he was going to give me for twenty-five hundred dollars?”

  “If he’d been able to keep the appointment, yes,” Casey said. “I guess we forgot to tell you that Delemater found the blonde in the picture just before we came here. She gave us the whole story of her part in the operation,” he added and explained how Jackson had come to Gloria Vance’s room with three hundred dollars. “I guess you wanted to get her out of town pretty bad,” he said to the orchestra leader. “Was that your idea or was it another collaboration?”

  “It was my idea,” Jackson said. “What happened to Geiger shook me plenty. I had a session with Lieutenant Logan too, and that didn’t help. I knew if somebody happened to identify Gloria I’d be in the soup, so what the hell—”

  He gestured emptily with one hand and let it drop to his side and now Louise Mayfield said: “What’s this about your buying these pictures for twenty-five hundred dollars, Donald?”

  Farrington looked at his sister and then at Casey. When he had considered the question for two or three silent seconds, he uttered a small throaty sound and said: “Casey seems to know all the answers. Why not let him tell it?”

  Casey didn’t like the suggestion. Neither did he like what he had to do. But there was a certain ingrained stubbornness in his make-up and with it a reluctance to back away from any situation for which he was responsible.

  “All right,” he said and explained each infrared print as he tried to reconstruct Marty Bates’s movements. He pointed out the equipment bag the blonde Gloria Vance was carrying and indicated the last black and white print as proof that Bates had actually come to the apartment after Geiger and the girl had left.

  “Marty Bates telephoned Geiger the next morning,” he said, and spoke of the number Geiger had written on the margin of the Racing Form. “I think it’s safe to assume the call was returned and that Bates told Geiger what he had. He probably made an appointment to see him later because Bates admitted he went to Geiger’s office around one thirty. He told Logan he couldn’t get in and apparently that’s the truth.”

  He hesitated, saw that the others had finished ‘their inspection of the prints, and said: “Mrs. Mayfield went to see Geiger somewhere around eleven thirty that morning. I saw her go in and I saw her come out about five minutes later. Right after that, you went in,” he added, and pointed his finger at Jackson. “Why? How long did you stay?”

  “About three minutes,” Jackson said. “I had no way of knowing how Geiger had made out the night before, and I stopped in to check with him. He didn’t seem very glad to see me. He acted as though he wanted to get rid of me. He said everything was okay but I couldn’t get any details out of him.”

  “He wouldn’t talk,” Casey said.

  “No.”

  “So you”—Casey looked at Mayfield—“went to see Geiger around twelve or twelve thirty?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He gave you the negatives and prints—if any.”

  “Naturally. That was the deal. If he hadn’t given them to me, how could I hand them over to Shirley?”

  “I don’t think so,” Casey said.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I don’t think you went there at twelve thirty. I think you went there around one thiry.” He turned to Farrington. “Mayfield was right here when the special-delivery envelope came?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He stayed with you when you came to my place and then went to see Delemater. You went back to the office together.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then right after that,” Casey said, giving his attention to Louise Mayfield, “you went to the office and bullied the truth out of your brother.”

  “I most certainly did.”

  “Your husband was there when you left?”

  “He was.”

  “Did you see him leave the office at any time?” Casey asked turning again to Farrington. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “He was still at his desk when I went out to lunch, and that was around a quarter of one.”

  “So what?” Mayfield’s blue eyes had narrowed slightly and beneath his cultivated tan the tension had begun to show. “So I made a little mistake about the time. You’re trying to say I went to Geiger’s office at one thirty and I say I didn’t. What can you prove?”

  “Maybe nothing,” Casey said, “but when I put the finger on you for Logan and he gets a picture of you and starts showing it in the building and up and down the street, maybe somebody else can put you on the spot at the right time. But that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that I say Geiger never turned those negatives over to you.”

  “Why shouldn’t he?” Mayfield said, bristling. “That was the deal. He was paid and he delivered. You don’t know a damn thing about what Geiger did.”

  “But I know Geiger, and I know Marty Bates. Geiger was in business for money and Bates was looking for some. Your wife went to see Geiger around eleven thirty and she gave him a postdated check for one thousand dollars. She didn’t know that Geiger was behind this thing, but I had mentioned Geiger’s name to Farrington and he told her. She went to see him and spoke her piece—call it a hunch or woman’s intuition or whatever you want—and the fact that Geiger accepted that check, even temporarily, was enough to indicate that she was right.”

  Mayfield laughed abruptly, a dry derisive sound. “Get to the point, Casey.”

  “I’ll make it now,” Casey said. “Your wife brought that check as evidence of good faith. She intimated that there might be more in it for Geiger if he would play along. And knowing Geiger, I say he’d never turn those negatives over to you under those circumstances. I think what Marty Bates told him scared him a little. He knew that if Bates had pictures to prove Farrington had been framed he’d not only lose his license but probably wind up in a cell for a few months. Why take that chance when he had a thousand dollars in his hand—and maybe he could get more—for telling the truth and playing it safe?”

  He swallowed and said: “I say Geiger turned you down. The police found a checkbook on his desk. He’d started to make out a check for two hundred and fifty dollars. He had the amount and the date filled in. He was going to return your money, wasn’t he? And you lost your head and started looking for that negative because you saw your half of that hundred thousand dollars slipping out the window. He pulled a gun on you to get rid of you and you made a grab for it. In the struggle it went off—twice. You found the negatives and you got out of there, taking Geiger’s gun with you.”

  Mayfield laughed again. “This man is crazy,” he said and looked at the others in the room so see if they concurred. Casey felt their inspection and knew from their expressions that he had not yet convinced them. He saw Delemater give a small nod to indicate that he was still on Casey’s side, but it was Farrington who asked the next question.

  “What about this Marty Bates? How would Arthur know anything about him?”

  “I think Geiger told him,” Casey said. “I think that was one of the reasons why Geiger told Mayfield he couldn’t turn the original negatives over to him. And then this morning you got this proposition over the telephone. Mayfield knew about it. He knew who had made that call, and when you made that deal to get Bates’s pictures for twenty-five hundred dollars Mayfield must have known about the date you’d made at eight o’clock. There was only one way to make sure Bates couldn’t keep that date, and Mayfield went to see him with a gun. Bates’s apartment was ransacked and the only reason Mayfield didn’t get these pictures I’ve just shown you is because Bates had taken the precaution of leaving the negatives with his wife.”

  He was a little out of breath when he finished, but as he glanced from face to face he could tell they were beginning to be impressed by what he had said. All but Mayfield.

  “This man is out of
his mind,” he said and then turned on Casey, a new ugliness showing in his voice. “I don’t have to take that kind of crap from you.”

  “You don’t have to take anything from me,” Casey said. “You can try throwing me out if you want to.”

  “You make these wild accusations and you can’t substantiate any of them. You can’t prove a damn thing and you know it.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything,” Casey said. “I made the mistake of trying to be a right guy and make it easy for a friend of mine. And what happens? I wound up in the middle. Okay, maybe I don’t have the kind of tangible proof you’re talking about, but I’ve got enough now to give Logan the lead he’s been looking for.”

  He stepped away from the table and glanced about the room. “I’m going to catch hell from Logan anyway, so let’s get him over here right now. Let’s see what happens when he carries the ball. Where’s the telephone?”

  He heard someone say: “In the hall,” and he was halfway there when a voice that was quick, hard, and threatening stopped him in his tracks.

  “That’s far enough, Casey!”

  Casey turned slowly, and there was something in the cadence of that voice that brought a vague but noticeable tingling at the tips of his nerves. By the time he could focus on the gun that Mayfield had pointed at him, there were sounds in the room as the others gave expression to their shock and dismay. Aware of the ragged chorus of complaint but making no attempt to sort out the voices, Casey concentrated on the gun. He saw then that it was a short-barreled revolver, and from where he stood, it looked like a .38 caliber.

  21 After the first spontaneous outburst of sound, the room was strangely silent. Casey took a slow breath and forced the tension from his muscles. He glanced at Delemater, knowing him from other times and wanting to be sure he did not have any idea about trying to get the gun away from Mayfield.

  “Take it easy, Sam.”

  “Sure,” Delemater said. “I’m just an innocent bystander.”

  Jackson, who stood not far from Delemater, was still staring at the gun, his thin face taut and pale. Shirley’s smooth face was open-eyed and concerned but showed no outward expression of alarm. Farrington still looked shocked and incredulous, but his sister seemed the least surprised of all. Her dark eyes were steady and contemptuous as she watched her husband, and there was a tight, twisted expression around her mouth.

  “I always knew there was a vindictive streak in you, lover,” she said disgustedly. “Even little things that went wrong made you furious.”

  “Shut up,” Mayfield said.

  “I will when I finish,” she said. “I was just thinking how awful these last couple of years must have been for you. Because you must have known that if you ever gave me any trouble you’d be out in the street.”

  Donald Farrington found his voice when his sister finished. “Why?” he asked hoarsely. “Why did you have to kill him?”

  “Why?” Mayfield said. “Why you idiot, Geiger brought it on himself. It was his gun. All I wanted was what I’d paid for.”

  “What did he say?” Casey asked, wanting to keep Mayfield talking.

  “He said there were complications. He said somebody had followed him the night before and had takea some infrared pictures and we’d have to forget the whole idea. I thought he was lying. I told him so. His whole attitude infuriated me and I made up my mind I was going to get what I came for. I went into that closet he uses for a darkroom, and while I was going over the films that were there he called to me. When I turned around he had the gun pointed at me.”

  “He offered you your money back, didn’t he?” Casey said.

  “He sat down behind the desk and got his checkbook out. He put the gun down beside it and started to make out a check.”

  “By that time you must have been frothing at the mouth,” Louise Mayfield said.

  “I couldn’t let him get away with it,” Mayfield said as though he had not heard. “I grabbed for the gun and so did he. He got it but I had him by the hand and we were standing up then and it went off. Right then I knew I’d be a dead man if I let him twist it any more. I guess I was stronger than he was. It went off again and he let go. When I stepped back he started to sag. He just seemed to fold up and then he was on the floor.”

  “But you got the negatives,” Casey said, persisting.

  Delemater cleared his throat and spoke for the first time: “That’s the same gun, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you been carrying it?”

  “I wasn’t carrying it. It was upstairs. That’s why I offered to get those pictures for Shirley.”

  “Why did you take it in the first place?”

  “Because I was scared. Have you any idea how loud those shots sounded to me?”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Delemater said. “I’ve heard that sound before.”

  “It sounded like two cannons going off. Maybe I was too panicky to think right, but I knew one thing. I just killed a man and I was damn well going to get out of there and nobody was going to stop me. I peeked into the hall and didn’t see anybody and I fixed the latch so it would lock when I went out.” He looked at Casey and his mouth was twisted and mean-looking.

  “You were so goddamn smart with your theory about Bates. Oh, your conclusion was right,” he said bitterly, “but, as for the rest of it, you weren’t even close. Geiger didn’t mention Bates’s name. All he said was that someone had taken some infrared pictures and ruined the whole deal I didn’t know who called Don this morning,” he added, glancing at his brother-in-law. “I didn’t know who made the deal for the twenty-five hundred dollars. All I knew was that someone really did have the information Geiger told me about.”

  He shifted his weight and took a fresh hold on the gun.

  “I didn’t know about Bates or who he was. I didn’t get in touch with him, he called me. When Don got the last call and made the date for eight o’clock I thought I was all washed up. And then, just before I left the office, I got this call. The man said his name was Marty Bates and he wanted to see me. He said he had some photographs he thought I’d want and if I was interested I’d better stop by his apartment around five thirty.”

  “So you went to his place,” Casey said.

  “And you took the gun,” Delemater added.

  “You’re damn right I took the gun,” Mayfield said. “I didn’t know who the guy was or what he wanted but I didn’t like the way he sounded over the telephone.”

  “What did he want?” Casey asked.

  “He never got a chance to say,” Mayfield replied. “I mean he never got a chance to make any concrete proposition, but I knew who he was.”

  “You’re talking like an idiot, darling,” Louise Mayfield said in her cold, contemptuous way. “You already denied you knew who the man was.”

  “I still didn’t know him but I’d seen him. The point is—he knew me! I’d just come out of Geiger’s office yesterday and closed the door, and when I turned to leave I saw his head.”

  This time Farrington, Casey, and Louise spoke in unison. “His head?”

  “He was just coming up the stairs from the street and in that first glance all I saw was his face. I couldn’t tell whether he’d actually seen me come out of the office or not, so I gave a tug at the doorknob, pretending that I’d already found it locked, and then I started for the stairs. I passed him in the hall. He meant nothing to me except that he was a small, seedy-looking character. I had no idea where he was bound and I didn’t stop to see where he went. I knew he might be able to identify me later but I didn’t know of any reason why the police should question him, or even know he was in the building for that matter.”

  “I asked him how he knew who I was,” he added. “He said he’d seen me around, and then everything seemed to fall into place. When I realized what I was up against, I took out the gun. It didn’t seem to scare him much, and when I asked him if he was the one who had called up Farrington and offered to sell some pictures, he admi
tted it. I said I wanted them and he said they weren’t there. I thought he was lying and I said so, but that wasn’t the important thing any longer. What was important was that he could put me in the electric chair.”

  “Didn’t he offer to sell you the pictures?” Casey asked.

  “Finally, yes. But not until I told him to get up and move into the bathroom. He said he didn’t want any trouble. If I was willing to pay more for his pictures, we might do business.”

  The knowledge of what Marty Bates had tried to do left a bad taste in Casey’s mouth. He did not want to believe the things he had just heard about the little photographer, but when he could find no reason why Mayfield should lie he was forced to admit his own opinion of Bates had been more generous than realistic. Bates had said he wanted a stake. He had engaged in petty blackmail before, and somehow the realization that he now had the means of collecting more money than he had expected had warped his judgment. He had made a deal for twenty-five hundred dollars and, deciding he might get still more, had made the mistake of exposing himself to a killer—

  The rising sound of Mayfield’s voice checked the thought and Casey heard him say: “He still didn’t seem to worry. I guess he thought I was trying to scare him into giving me the pictures. He couldn’t have known what happened, or felt a thing.”

  “In the back of the head,” Delemater said and there was a hateful cadence in his words.

  “Naturally,” Louise Mayfield said. “Arthur wouldn’t have the guts to kill a man face to face.”

  “She’s right,” Mayfield said, not looking at his wife. “I had to kill him. He knew I’d killed Geiger. He had to know. With him alive, I could never be safe, ever. But I couldn’t face him. My hands were shaking and I had to shut my eyes before I pulled the trigger.”

  Casey swallowed and tried to ignore his rising sense of revulsion, understanding how Mayfield must have felt and why one of his shots had been wild. For another second, as the others adjusted to the statement, there was a growing silence in the room. Again it was Louise Mayfield who broke it.