Ethel Brighton was asleep and smiling when I left. It was a good night, but not at all what I had come for. She giggled and wrapped her arms around the blankets. Maybe Ethel would quit being mad at the world now.
I climbed into my raincoat and walked out, looking up once at the sky overhead. The clouds had closed in again, but they were thinner and it was warmer than it had been.
It took twenty minutes to reach the highway and I had to wait another twenty before a truck came along and gave me a lift into town. I treated him to breakfast and we talked about the war. He agreed that it hadn't been a bad war. He had gotten nicked too, and it gave him a good excuse to cop a day off now and then.
I called Pat about ten o'clock. He gave me a fast hello, then: "Can you come up, Mike? I have something interesting."
"About last night?"
"That's right."
"I'll be up in five minutes. Stick around."
Headquarters was right up the street and I stepped it up. The D.A. was coming out of the building again. This time he didn't see me. When I rapped on Pat's door he yelled to come in and I pushed the knob.
Pat said, "Where the hell have you been?" He was grinning.
"No place." I grinned back.
"If what I suspect goes on between you and Velda, then you better get that lipstick off your face and shave."
"That bad?"
"I can smell whisky from here too."
"Velda won't like that," I said.
"No dame in love with a dope does," Pat laughed. "Park it, Mike. I have news for you." He opened his desk drawer and hauled out a large manila envelope that had CONFIDENTIAL printed across the back.
When he was draped across the arm of the chair he handed a fingerprint photostat to me. "I took these off the corpse last night."
"You don't waste time, pal."
"Couldn't afford to." He dug in the envelope and brought out a three-page document that was clipped together. It had a hospital masthead I didn't catch because Pat turned it over and showed me the fingerprints on the back. "These are Oscar Deamer's too. This is his medical case history that Lee was holding."
I didn't need to be an expert to see that they matched. "Same guy all right," I remarked.
"No doubt about it. Want to look at the report?"
"Ah, I couldn't wade through all that medical baloney. What's it say?"
"In brief, that Oscar Deamer was a dangerous neurotic, paranoiac and a few other psychiatric big words."
"Congenital?"
Pat saw what I was thinking. "No, as a matter of fact. So rest easy that no family insanity could be passed on to Lee. It seems that Oscar had an accident when he was a child. A serious skull fracture that somehow led to his condition."
"Any repercussions? Papers get any of it?" I handed the sheets back to Pat and he tucked them away.
"None at all, luckily. We were on tenterhooks for a while, but none of the newsboys connected the names. There was one fortunate aspect to the death of Oscar . . . his face wasn't recognizable. If the reporters had seen him there wouldn't have been a chance of covering up, and would some politicians like to have gotten that!"
I pulled a Lucky from my pack and tapped it on the arm of the chair. "What was the medical examiner's opinion?"
"Hell, suicide without a doubt. Oscar got scared, that's all. He tried to run knowing he was trapped. I guess he knew he'd go back to the sanitarium if he was caught . . . if he didn't stand a murder trial for Moffit's murder, and he couldn't take it."
Pat snapped his lighter open and fired my butt. "I guess that washes it up then," I said.
"For us . . . yes. For you, no."
I raised my eyebrows and looked at him quizzically.
"I saw Lee before I came to work. He called," Pat explained. "When he spoke to Oscar over the phone Oscar hinted at something. He seems to think that Oscar might have done other things than try to have him identified for a murder he didn't do. Anyway, I told him you had some unusual interest in the whole affair that you didn't want to speak about, even to me. He quizzed me about you, I told all and now he wants to see you."
"I'm to run down anything left behind?"
"I imagine so. At any rate, you'll get a fat fee out of it instead of kicking around for free."
"I don't mind. I'm on vacation anyway."
"Nuts. Stop handing me the same old thing. Think of something different. I'd give a lot to know what you have on your mind."
"You sure would, Pat." Perhaps it was the way I said it. Pat went into a piece of police steel. The cords in his neck stuck out like little fingers and his lips were just a straight, thin line.
"I've never known you to hang your hat on anything but murder, Mike."
"True, ain't it." My voice was flat as his.
"Mike, after the way I've been pitching with you, if you get in another smear you'll be taking me with you."
"I won't get smeared."
"Mike, you bastard, you have a murder tucked away somewhere."
"Sure, two of 'em. Try again."
He let his eyes relax and forced a grin. "If there were any recent kills on the pad I'd go over them one by one and scour your hide until you told me which one it was."
"You mean," I said sarcastically, "that the Finest haven't got one single unsolved murder on their hands?"
Pat got red and squirmed. "Not recently."
"What about that laddie you hauled out of the drink?"
He scowled as he remembered. "Oh, that gang job. Body still unidentified and we're tracking down his dental work. No prints on file."
"Think you'll tag him?"
"It ought to be easy. That bridgework was unusual. One false tooth was made of stainless steel. Never heard of that before."
The bells started in my head again. Bells, drums, the whole damn works. The cigarette dropped out of my fingers and I bent to pick it up, hoping the blood pounding in my veins would pound out the crazy music.
It did. That maddening blast of silent sound went away. Slowly.
Maybe Pat never heard of stainless-steel teeth before, but I had.
I said, "Is Lee expecting me?"
"I told him you'd be over some time this morning."
"Okay." I stood up and shoved my hat on. "One other thing, what about the guy Oscar bumped?"
"Charlie Moffit?"
"Yeah."
"Age thirty-four, light skin, dark hair. He had a scar over one eye. During the war he was 4-F. No criminal record and not much known about him. He lived in a room on Ninety-first Street, the same one he's had for a year. He worked in a pie factory."
"Where?"
"A pie factory," Pat repeated, "where they make pies. Mother Switcher's Pie Shoppe. You can find it in the directory."
"Was that card all the identification he had on him?"
"No, he had a driver's license and a few other things. During the scuffle one pocket of his coat was torn out, but I doubt if he would have carried anything there anyway. Now, Mike . . . why?"
"The green cards, remember?"
"Hell, quit worrying about the reds. We have agencies who can handle them."
I looked past Pat outside into the morning. "How many Commies are there floating around, Pat?"
"Couple hundred thousand, I think," he said.
"How many men have we got in those agencies you mentioned?"
"Oh . . . maybe a few hundred. What's that got to do with it?"
"Nothing . . . just that that's the reason I'm worried."
"Forget it. Let me know how you make out with Lee."
"Sure."
"And Mike . . . be discreet as hell about this, will you? Everybody with a press card knows your reputation and if you're spotted tagging around Lee there might be some questions asked that will be hard to answer."
"I'll wear a disguise," I said.
Lee Deamer's office was on the third floor of a modest building just off Fifth Avenue. There was nothing pretentious about the place aside from the switchboard operator. She wa
s special. She had one of those faces that belonged in a chorus and a body she was making more effort to show than to conceal. I heard her voice and it was beautiful. But she was chewing gum like a cow and that took away any sign of pretentiousness she might have had.
There was a small anteroom that led to another office where two stenos were busy over typewriters. One wall of that room was all glass with a speaking partition built in at waist level. I had to lean down to my belt buckle to talk and gave it up as a bad job. The girl behind it laughed pleasantly and came out the door to see me.
She was a well-tailored woman in her early thirties, nice to look at and speak to. She wore an emerald ring that looked a generation older than she was. She smiled and said, "Good morning, can I do something for you?"
I remembered to be polite. "I'd like to see Mr. Deamer, please."
"Is he expecting you?"
"He sent word for me to come up."
"I see." She tapped her teeth with a pencil and frowned. "Are you in a hurry?"
"Not particularly, but I think Mr. Deamer is."
"Oh, well . . . the doctor is inside with him. He may be there awhile, so . . ."
"Doctor?" I interrupted.
The girl nodded, a worried little look tugging at her eyes. "He seemed to be quite upset this morning and I called in the doctor. Mr. Deamer hasn't been too well since he had that attack awhile back."
"What kind of attack?"
"Heart. He had a telephone call one day that agitated him terribly. I was about to suggest that he go home and at that moment, he collapsed. I . . . I . . . I was awfully frightened. You see, it had never happened before, and . . ."
"What did the doctor say?"
"Apparently it wasn't a severe attack. Mr. Deamer was instructed to take it easy, but for a man of his energy it's hard to do."
"You say he had a phone call? That did it?"
I'm sure it did. At first I thought it was the excitement of watching the Legion parade down the avenue, but Ann told me it happened right after the call came in."
Oscar's call must have hit him harder than either Pat or I thought. Lee wasn't a young man any more, a thing like that could raise a lot of hell with a guy's ticker. I was about to say something when the doctor came out of the office. He was a little guy with a white goatee out of another era.
He nodded to us both, but turned his smile on the girl. "I'm sure he'll be fine. I left a prescription. See that it's filled at once, please?"
"Thank you, I will. Is it all right for him to have visitors?"
"Certainly. Apparently he has been thinking of something that disturbed him and had a slight relapse. Nothing to worry about as long as he takes it easy. Good day."
We said so-long and she turned to me with another smile, bigger this time. "I guess you can go ahead in then. But please . . . don't excite him."
I grinned and said I wouldn't. Her smile made her prettier. I pushed through the door, passed the steno and knocked on the door with Deamer's name on it.
He rose to greet me but I waved him down. His face was a little flushed and his breathing fast. "Feeling better now? I saw the doctor when he came out."
"Much better, Mike. I had to fabricate a story to tell him . . . I couldn't tell the truth."
I sat in the chair next to his and he pushed a box of cigars toward me. I said no and took out a Lucky instead. "Best to keep things to yourself. One word and the papers'll have it on page one. Pat said you wanted to see me."
Lee sat back and wiped his face with a damp handkerchief. "Yes, Mike. He told me you were interested somehow."
"I am."
"Are you one of my . . . political advocates?"
"Frankly, I don't know a hoot about politics except that it's a dirty game from any angle."
"I hope to do something about that. I hope I can, Mike, I sincerely hope I can. Now I'm afraid."
"The heart?"
He nodded. "It happened after Oscar called. I never suspected that I have a . . . condition. I'm afraid now the voters must be told. It wouldn't be fair to elect a man not physically capable of carrying out the duties of his office." He smiled wistfully, sadly. I felt sorry for the old boy.
"Anyway, I'm not concerned with the politics of the affair."
"Really? But what . . ."
"Just a loose end, Lee. They bother me."
"I see. I don't understand, but I see . . . if you can make sense of that."
I waved the smoke away from in front of him "I know what you mean. Now about why you wanted to see me. Pat gave me part of it already, enough so I can see the rest."
"Yes. You see, Oscar intimated that no matter what happened, he was going to see to it that I was broken, completely broken. He mentioned some documents he had prepared."
I crushed the butt out and looked at him. "What kind of documents?"
Lee shook his head slowly. "The only possible thing he could compound would be our relationship as brothers. How, I don't know, because I have all the family papers. But if he could establish that I was the brother of a man committed to a mental institution, it would be a powerful weapon in the hands of the opposition."
"There's nothing else," I asked, "that could stick you?"
He spread his hands apart in appeal. "If there was it would have been brought to light long ago. No, I've never been in jail or in trouble of any sort. I'm afraid that my attention to business precluded any trouble."
"Uh-huh. How come this awful hatred?"
"I don't know, actually. As I told Pat and you previously, it may have been a matter of ideals, or because though we were twins, we weren't at all alike. Oscar was almost, well . . . sadistic in his ways. We had little to do with each other. As younger men I became established in business while Oscar got into all sorts of scrapes. I've tried to help him, but he wouldn't accept help from me at all. He hated me fiercely. I'm inclined to believe that this time Oscar had intended to bleed me for all the money he could, then make trouble for me anyway."
"You were lucky you took the attitude you did. You can't pay off, it only makes matters worse."
"I don't know, Mike; as much as he hated me I certainly didn't want that to happen to him."
"He's better off."
"Perhaps."
I reached for another cigarette. "You want me to find out what he left then, that's it."
"If there is anything to be found, yes."
When I filled my lungs with smoke I let it go slowly, watching it swirl up toward the ceiling. "Lee," I said, "you don't know me so I'll tell you something. I hate phonies. Suppose I do find something that ties you up into a nice little ball. Something real juicy. What do you think I should do with it?"
It wasn't the reaction I expected. He leaned forward across the desk with his fingers interlocked. His face was a study in emotions. "Mike," he said in a voice that had the crisp clarity of static electricity, "if you do, I charge you to make it public at once. Is that clear?"
I grinned and stood up. "Okay, Lee. I'm glad you said that." I reached out my hand and he took it warmly. I've seen evangelists with faces like that, unswerving, devoted to their duty. We looked at each other then he opened his desk drawer and brought out a lovely sheaf of green paper. They had big, beautiful numbers in the corners.
"Here is a thousand dollars, Mike. Shall we call it a retainer?"
I took the bills and folded them tenderly away. "Let's call it payment in full. You'll get your money's worth."
"I'm sure of it. If you need any additional information, call on me."
"Right. Want a receipt?"
"No need of it. I'm sure your word is good enough."
"Thanks. I'll send you a report if anything turns up." I flipped a card out of my pocket and laid it on his desk. "In case you want to call me. The bottom one is my home phone. It's unlisted."
We shook hands again and he walked me to the door. On the way out the cud-chewing switchboard sugar smiled between chomps then went back to her magazine. The receptionist said so-long and I
waved back.
Before I went to the office I grabbed a quick shave, a trim around the ears and took a shower that scraped the hide off me along with the traces of Ethel's perfume. I changed my shirt and suit but kept old Betsy in place under my arm.
Velda was working at the filing cabinet when I breezed in with a snappy hello and a grin that said I had money in my pocket. I got a quick once-over for lipstick stains, whisky aromas and what not, passed and threw the stack of bills on the desk.
"Bank it, kid."
"Mike! What did you do?"
"Lee Deamer. We're employed." I gave it to her in short order and she listened blankly.
When I finished she said, "You'll never find a thing, Mike. I know you won't. You shouldn't have taken it."
"You're wrong, chick. It wasn't stealing. If Oscar left anything that will tie Lee up, wouldn't you want me to get it?"
"Oh, Mike, you must! How long do we have to put up with the slime they call politics? Lee Deamer is the only one . . . the only one we can look to. Please, Mike, you can't let anything happen to him!"
I couldn't take the fear in her voice. I opened my arms out and she stepped into them. "Nobody will hurt the little guy, Velda. If there's anything I'll get it. Stop sniffling."
"I can't. It's all so nasty. You never stop to think what goes on in this country, but I do."
"Seems to me that I helped fight a war, didn't I?"
"You shouldn't have let it stop there. That's the matter with things. People forget, even the ones who shouldn't forget! They let others come walking in and run things any way they please, and what are they after--the welfare of the people they represent? Not a bit. All they want is to line their own pockets. Lee isn't like that, Mike. He isn't strong like the others, and he isn't smart politically. All he has to offer is his honesty and that isn't much."
"The hell it isn't. He's made a pretty big splash in this state."
"I know, and it has to stick, Mike. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"Promise me you'll help him, Mike, promise me your word."
One Lonely Night mh-4 Page 8
