I'll Sing at Your Funeral

by Hugh Pentecost

  “He didn’t say what?”

  “No. But the fact that he wouldn’t talk any more … ”

  “Don’t think I haven’t back-checked on everyone,” Bradley said. “There’s not a spot of evidence to point to Royce … but nothing that definitely clears him either.”

  “I just thought I ought to pass it on,” said Cain. “Another thing. There’s a point about Carol.”

  “I know,” Bradley interrupted. “She wrote a letter to Brackett. We picked it up this morning. Any other tidbits?”

  Cain said: “I also had a chat with Mrs. Wilder. She had Margo and Julie Rosokov taped for the Brackett killing. Protecting their men.”

  Bradley and the commissioner exchanged glances. “If I told you, Cain, that we were particularly interested in Julie Rosokov, what would you say?”

  “I’d say you were nuts,” said Cain.

  “Julie had a lesson appointment with Summers for three o’clock this afternoon,” Bradley said. “She says she didn’t keep it.” He shrugged.

  Cain shook his head. “Being a detective seems to be nice work if you can get it.”

  “It’s a picnic,” said Bradley. He rumpled his close-cropped red hair. “One thing, Cain. If you can, get Carol to watch her step, will you?”

  “Watch what step?”

  “Look,” said Bradley, “Brackett knew. She was close to Brackett. I’m worried about her, and I’m worried about Margo Reed. She was close to Summers.”

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?” Cain asked, “Just wait for someone else to get knocked off?”

  Bradley groaned. “That’s not as silly a question as it sounds,” he said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  1

  Cain rode uptown from headquarters in a taxi. It was after midnight and the driver made good time. Cain, twisted sideways in the seat so that his injured hand and arm rested more comfortably, was aware of a curious tension of his nerves.

  Bradley and the commissioner were not alarmists. The inspector had from the start conveyed a feeling of competence and assurance to Cain. Yet he was plainly worried. He had repeated his forebodings about Carol and Margo at the door of the office as Cain left.

  “I’m giving those two girls the benefit of the doubt,” he said. “They may not know anything that’s dangerous for them to know. But they won’t be able not to think back, Cain. Some chance remark that Brackett made to Carol or that Summers made to Margo Reed may pop out of the subconscious. If that remark, however, indefinite, points to the murderer, they may not be able to help showing it in their attitude toward him.”

  “And this guy isn’t taking chances,” Cain said.

  “Not any at all,” said Bradley. “He’s tried, in a vague sort of way, to make these two deaths look like suicide. It hasn’t washed with us. He won’t waste time trying that again.”

  “You keep saying ‘he’,” said Cain.

  “Figure of speech,” said Bradley. “As a matter of fact … well, the hell with guesswork. Thanks for coming clean. It makes me feel better to think there’s someone who might play ball in a pinch.”

  “It’s just that I felt there was a circumstantial case against Carol,” Cain said. “Not that I care, personally, but … ”

  “Perish the thought,” said Bradley dryly. “But keep an eye on her, no matter how impersonal, will you?”

  “I will,” Cain said.

  Richards was waiting up for him at the Stoddards’ since he had no key.

  “There was a phone call for you, sir, just a few minutes ago,” Richards said, “Miss Reed. She asked you to call her as soon as you came in.”

  Margo! What could she want of him? “The family all in, “Richards?”

  “Yes, sir. They’ve retired.”

  “I’ll telephone from the library,” Cain said,

  “You’ll find some whisky there, sir. Would you like some cold beer to go with it?”

  “Thanks, no,” said Cain.

  In the library he called the number of Summers studio. Margo answered so promptly she must have been sitting by the phone.

  “Pat Cain here.”

  “It was nice of you to call,” said Margo. Her voice had not lost that flat quality. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Any time you say.”

  “Now,” said Margo.

  “It’s pretty late, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you be better off for a little rest?”

  “Good God, Cain, you don’t think I can sleep!”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Cain said.

  He went out into the hall. Richards had left his hat and raincoat on a chair by the front door. As he bent to pick them up Cain grinned. In the crease at the top, of his hat was a door key.

  Cain hesitated a moment, fidgeting with a cigarette, and then went upstairs. He paused outside the door of Carol’s room. He could hear no sound from inside. He didn’t want to disturb her, yet he wanted to be sure she was all right. He turned the doorknob as quietly as he could, found the door unlocked, and eased it open. The lights were on in the room. Carol was stretched out on the chaise-longue, her eyes closed. The faint squeak of the door hinge brought her bolt upright.

  “Now look here, you big ape!” she said angrily. “Don’t you ever knock?”

  “Sorry,” said Cain. “I didn’t want to disturb you if you were asleep.”

  “Well, what do you want?”

  “To see if you were okay,” said Cain. “It wouldn’t be such a dumb idea if you’d lock your door. Good night.”

  “Hey!” Carol called after him. “What do you mean, lock my door?”

  “You know,” said Cain. “Key … you turn it. Reduces the possibility of unannounced visitors.”

  “Meaning you?”

  “No,” said Cain without a smile. “Meaning someone less kindly disposed.”

  “What are you talking about?” Carol demanded. But there was an uncontrolled catch in her voice.

  “Look, Carol, there’s someone around who’s cracked on his safety. If he got the notion you knew something that would make him less safe, would he stop to knock on your door?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Carol said, but Cain noticed she was twisting a handkerchief around her fingers as she had in the commissioner’s office.

  “Let’s face it,” said Cain. “It sounds like a pulp magazine, but there it is. So lock your door like a good girl. And get some rest if you can. God knows what we’ll be up against tomorrow.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Bill’s funeral,” she said. “His family are pretty well smashed up. I couldn’t tell them the truth … about me and Bill.”

  “Which reminds me,” said Cain. “Bradley picked up your letter.”

  “What did he say?”

  Cain grinned. “He said you weren’t a bird dog.”

  “What!”

  “You’re not on his list of suspects,” Cain said, “It seems you have an honest face. But he’s worried about your staying in one piece.”

  “He doesn’t think that Edgar … or Emily … ”

  “He doesn’t think anything. He just doesn’t want you taking chances. Good night.”

  “Good night,” Carol said. “Good night, Pat.”

  Cain went out in the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. It was the first time she had called him Pat and he felt pleased. Maybe he was getting soft, but he stood there until he heard Carol’s key turn in the lock.

  2

  Margo was alone in Summers’ reception room when Cain got there. He rang the doorbell and heard her call out to him to come in. She was sitting at her desk. She hadn’t taken off her hat. She was just sitting there, smoking, a nerveless look on her face and in her eyes.

  “There’s liquor in the kitchenette if you want a drink,” Margo said.

  Cain thought she was the one who needed a drink. He went into the kitchenette and came back with two.

  “Not for me,” Margo said, pushing aside the glass he put down on the desk. “I’ve got to keep a clear
head, Cain.”

  He reached out and touched her hand. It was cold. “Drink it, and no back talk,” he said.

  She looked up at him, her eyes dark under their slanting brows.

  “Come on, drink it,” Cain said. “In your state of mind you wouldn’t get cloudy on a quart.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She picked up the glass and emptied it.

  “And when you come out of your trance,” Cain said, “you’ll realize you’re being a sucker to play detective.”

  “I’ve a reason,” she said. “You heard what Bradley said. Arthur had called up to say he had information.”

  “You didn’t know that at the time?”

  “I was asleep … doped.”

  “Incidentally,” said Cain, “maybe you can explain why everyone refuses to give at all.”

  “Because they’ve nothing to give,” said Margo. “I don’t know who Lydia’s man was. That’s on the level, Cain. I don’t think anyone else does. And you can’t blame them for keeping quiet now. Bill knew and he’s dead. And Arthur had … had...”

  “No hysterics,” said Cain, “or I’ll slap you down.”

  Margo drew a deep breath. “I’m all right,” she said. “Arthur talked to you about Bill this morning, didn’t he? That’s why I wanted to see you. Did he hint to you that he knew anything?”

  “I gathered,” said Cain, watching her closely, “that he thought Royce was Lydia’s choice.”

  “Robert?” Margo laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Robert is everyone’s boyfriend. You’re serious?”

  “It was just an idea,” Cain said. “Summers seemed to like it.” Cain saw her hands clench and he knew the points of her scarlet nails must be biting into hen palms. “Let it alone,” he said. “Bradley knows all this. Let him deal with it.”

  “But does he really know what happened here, Cain? Arthur had a little dish in which he poured his eye solution. He used to bend over and blink both eyes.” Her voice broke on a dry sob. “Do you think I can wait for Bradley to have an idea? Do you think I can rest, or sleep, or live until I see this God-damned dirty rat caught and smashed? Do you think I … ”

  “Get your coat,” Cain ordered. “We’re going for a walk.”

  “A walk?”

  “I’m going to tire you out, toots. You’ll go nuts sitting here torturing yourself.”

  He expected her to put up a fight, but she didn’t.

  “Where’s Beany?” Cain asked, as they went out into the hall.

  “At his friend’s. He didn’t think it would be proper for him to stay alone here with me.”

  Cain never forgot that walk. It was he who wound up on the ropes, so tired he could hardly drag one foot after the other. They walked through Central Park, Margo striding along as though she was in a hurry to get somewhere, round and round, for miles and miles. And after the first bit Margo talked. That was perhaps what she needed most.

  “You didn’t know Arthur … you hadn’t a real chance.” A street light shone on her face for an instant and Cain couldn’t tell whether it was rain or tears on her cheeks. Her voice had a rough edge of emotion, but it never again rose in the direction of hysterics. The only way Cain could follow the ups and downs of what she was feeling was by the pace she set.

  “He was so damned honest!” Margo said. “When I first came to New York I was career-minded … thought I was a singer. That’s funny, Cain. I used to sing in the choir. I was as straight-laced a little prig as ever set foot on Broadway. I was like … like Lydia Egan in a way. And I wound up without my career and living in sin. And I wouldn’t have changed it, Cain. I wouldn’t have taken back a minute of it.” She was walking so fast at that moment that Cain had to stretch his long legs to keep up.

  “He told me the truth about my voice and he told me the truth about himself. He had never married and he never would. Women were always after him and he took his pick. I think he fell in love with me, in his own way. In the five years I’ve lived with him he took a flier here and there. But he always came back. He always told me that I would have to give everything and get nothing in return. That wasn’t true. I got plenty. I’d ten times rather have a man who cheated and was on the level about it, than one who pretended to be a little tin Jesus and played around behind my back. I always knew where I stood with Arthur.”

  “What about it?” Cain asked. “Could he have been Lydia’s man?”

  “Arthur?” She walked for a long time in silence. “I suppose he could have been. But I don’t think he was, Cain. The fact that he was killed rather proves that, doesn’t it? … Robert! God, if I thought it was Robert I’d … I’d settle this account myself.”

  “Take it easy,” Cain said.

  “Take it easy! I’d devise an agony for him, Cain, that would make those last horrible moments of Arthur’s life seem like bliss!”

  “Shut up!” Cain said. “You’re talking like an idiot.”

  She stopped to look at him. “Thanks, I guess I was.” Then: “Arthur was like that when I used to go off half-cocked. Oh, Cain, Cain, it wasn’t fair that he should die. It wasn’t fair. He had so much to give to everyone, and they killed him just to keep him quiet about some cheap love affair. Maybe I am talking like an idiot, but so help me, when I know who it was … ”

  “Come on,” said Cain. “You’re slowing down. Keep walking.”

  They walked, on and on, until a faint gray light came over the city and at last they were in front of Carnegie Hall once more. Margo rested a hand on Cain’s arm.

  “You’ve been sweet,” she said. She seemed a little more relaxed now. “Come upstairs and I’ll make you some coffee and eggs.”

  “Lady, you’ve got a customer,” Cain said.

  3

  They went into the building together.

  Margo was first through the revolving door. As she stepped through, a man lunged from the shadows and took hold of her arm. Cain jammed his shoulder against the door and spun into the clear. He caught the man by the shoulder and jerked him around.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said.

  “Yeah, it’s me!” Sergeant Snyder, Bradley’s assistant, had a gun halfway out of his pocket. “Don’t never make no more passes at me from behind, brother, if you don’t want to get a gutful of lead. Where’ve you two been?”

  “Walking,” said Cain. “What’s wrong?”

  Rube ignored him and turned back to Margo. “You all right, Miss? This guy ain’t tried nothin’ on you?”

  “This ‘guy’ has been very kind and considerate, Sergeant. What are you doing here?”

  “All hell popped loose,” said Rube. “Somebody phoned the inspector you was missin’ and he’s got half the police force lookin’ for you. He’s gonna be kind of sore when he finds there ain’t nothin’ wrong. Come on. We better get upstairs so’s Red can go home and get some sleep.”

  Rube ran the spare elevator himself. He took them along the corridor to the door of the studio and pushed it open. “False alarm, Red,” he said. “She’s okay.”

  Bradley had been pacing the rug. He stopped, pipe in hand, to look thoughtfully at Margo. Beany Cook, his suit rumpled, his hair disheveled, was sitting at Margo’s desk. Mrs. Wilder, wrapped in a flamboyant Japanese kimono, was rocking back and forth in a chair by the desk. Royce, as neat as ever in a silk polka-dot robe with a white ascot scarf at his throat, came out of the kitchenette, drink in hand.

  “Well, Margo, this is the limit!” Beany said, “You mean to say nothing has happened to you?”

  Cain tossed his hat in the direction of the couch. “What gives, Inspector?” he asked.

  Bradley slipped his pipe into his pocket. “I was just about to send out your description on the police tape … wanted for murder,” he said.

  “Oh, Margo, we’ve been so worried!” Mrs. Wilder said. “So terribly worried.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand any of this,” Margo said.

  “Oh, it’s my fault,” Beany said, “and I suppose you’ll all have a he
arty laugh over it! But, really, Margo, with things the way they are, you might have had the consideration not to simply disappear.”

  “It seems Mr. Cook came around to make sure you were all right, Miss Reed, and let himself in with a key Summers had given him. You weren’t here. He phoned Mrs. Wilder and Mr. Royce. They had no idea where you were. Then the elevator man said you’d gone out with Cain … man with his arm in a sling. Mr. Cook waited a while for you to return and then got in touch with me.”

  “But I never dreamed anyone would be paying me a call,” Margo said. “I asked Mr. Cain to come and see me because I wanted to talk to him. We decided to go for a walk. That’s all there is to it.”

  “So you thought I was Jack the Ripper?” Cain grinned at Bradley.

  The inspector rewarded him with a deadpan stare. “I decided it was a possibility,” he said.

  “Alibis notwithstanding?”

  “Alibis notwithstanding,” Bradley said.

  Cain’s stomach knotted. The inspector’s steady look was trying to tell him something.

  “After all, what do we know about you, Mr. Cain?” Beany said. “Just another of Emily Stoddard’s pick-ups. Personally, I don’t trust a man just because he’s nice looking.”

  “Which of my profiles do you prefer?” Cain said.

  Bradley picked up his trench coat and put it on, buckling the belt around his waist. He gave his hat a downward tug. “I’m leaving a man here in the building,” he said. “When any of you go out later in the day I’d be glad if you’d tell him where you’re going and when you expect to return. Good night.”

  Royce drained his glass. “I’ll be toddling off,” he said. “You certainly gave us a fright, Margo. Can I see you upstairs, Naomi?”

  “Thank you, Robert,” Mrs. Wilder looked imploringly at the others. “Please, do be careful. The position of the heavenly bodies is still most unfavorable for all of us.”

  Margo, Cain, and Beany were left alone.

  “Does the invitation for coffee and eggs still go?” Cain asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Count me in,” said Beany. “Since I’ve been up all night on your account, Margo, I don’t mind imposing on you. When I found you weren’t here … and after all the inspector’s warnings … well, I nearly died!”