The Wrong Murder Page 8

  “I live right here, lady,” Blunk said hastily.

  “This is the park, you idiot. You’ll have to walk a mile—”

  “I live here—I mean, I like to walk, honest, lady,” said Blunk with heart-wringing sincerity.

  The last they saw of him was a smallish figure trudging down the edge of the drive through the still-falling snow.

  “Tell your pal I’ll see him at revival meeting,” Jake called after him.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m saved,” Jake declared happily. “In fact I’m an assistant prophet now. But I’ll do my testifying later. First, tell me—”

  Helene said, “This yegg got in the back seat and poked a gun at my neck and told me to drive him around Grant Park for a few minutes. So we drove around Grant Park. I had a notion it might be wise to get back to you, so I did.”

  “You leave a gap,” Jake said a little weakly, “between the time when you were driving around with his gun at your neck and the time when you picked me up.”

  “Oh that,” Helene said cheerfully. “I threw the car into a skid on Columbus Drive, and the man-killer fainted.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I don’t want to sound complaining,” Jake said, “but I spent the night in the can, and I’ve just put in a very busy few minutes. I’m beginning to feel like the corpus delicti in this case, and I refuse to lie down and testify until I’ve had a drink.”

  “It’s not the worst idea in the world,” Helene said reflectively. “Malone and I put in a busy night ourselves.” While she drove in the direction of Oak Street she described the visit to the Casino and the meeting with Mona McClane.

  Jake scowled. “I don’t see that you’ve proved anything, except that the Casino is a damned nice place to own and that we’ll probably get very, very rich running it.”

  “It proved that Mona McClane meant that bet,” Helene said. “If you’d seen her face when she said so—”

  Jake said, “Hell, I could have told you that. If you had any doubts, why didn’t you go out to the morgue and take another look at the late Joshua Gumbril.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Also I found out she didn’t have any alibi for yesterday afternoon.”

  Malone said a rude word about alibis. Helene said a ruder word about Malone, swung the big car into Oak Street, and parked it in front of the Ranch.

  After a secluded booth had been found, and the waitress had gone to fetch three ryes, Helene said, “Now about this business of Jake’s being so popular with the underworld. Anyone care to make a guess?”

  Malone lit a cigar, stared through its smoke, and said slowly, “There’s two possibilities, both based on Max Hook’s crediting Jake with Gumbril’s murder. One is that these yeggs were pals of Gumbril’s, and Jake has been elected as the leading character in a revenge murder.”

  “Rats,” Jake said scornfully. “Are you trying to tell me that little buzzard had any pals who loved him enough to revenge his murder?”

  “You never can tell,” Malone told him.

  “I’m going to like the other possibility better, whatever it is,” Helene said. “Go on, Malone.”

  “The Hook believes Jake found something of value in Gumbril’s room and wants to make a deal with him.”

  “Maybe I did find something of value,” Jake said, “and it’s parked on the window ledge outside Gumbril’s room. The problem seems to be what to do next.”

  “If you’re asking your lawyer’s advice,” Malone said, “take the first plane for Bermuda and stay there until this blows over.”

  Jake glared at him. “Do you have the faintest idea I’m going to leave Chicago until I find out why Max Hook’s yeggs are playing tag with me?”

  “You’ll find that out all right,” the lawyer said grimly, “if my first guess is correct. You’ll end up with more holes in you than a pair of ten-cent socks.”

  Jake ignored him. “Besides,” he said irritably, “after all I’ve gone through because of that damned box of Gumbril’s, you aren’t going to get me out of Chicago until I make sure there’s nothing in it. No gunman is going to scare me out of town.”

  Helene cheered. “A bit on the hammy side, but a nice sentiment.” She added thoughtfully, “It seems to be a question of who came first, the ham or the yegg.”

  “Something might be locked up in that box,” Jake said, “now all we need is to get it.”

  “That shouldn’t be so all-fired difficult,” Helene hazarded. “We know right where it is.”

  Malone said, “Don’t forget Von Flanagan probably suspects that all this sudden interest in Gumbril’s room may mean something. In which case there will be a reception committee for future visitors. Of course, if you don’t mind going back to jail again—”

  “Von Flanagan can’t keep a bunch of cops parked up there forever,” Jake said. “Sooner or later room 514 in the Fairfax Hotel is going to be open to the public. I’ll just have to wait until then to get the box.”

  “Unless I think of something,” Helene said in a small but very ominous voice.

  Jake and Malone both offered a fervent prayer that she wouldn’t.

  “In the meantime,” Jake said, scowling, “I’ve got to do something. The question is what to do first.” He paused, rubbed his forehead, and added, “I can’t make up my mind, that’s all.”

  “Maybe one of the pieces is missing,” Helene said acidly.

  “That’s the piece he laid aside to give Von Flanagan,” Malone said. “Hell, let’s order lunch before those Indians painted on the wall start shooting at us instead of the deer. When that’s done, I’ll tell you what to do first.”

  Lunch and another round of rye was ordered, and Malone moved out of the Indians’ line of fire.

  “Now,” the little lawyer said firmly, “first, you count me out. Then you go ahead and do as you damned please.”

  Helene glared at him. “A fine pal!”

  “You forget I’ve got a living to earn,” Malone snapped. “I can’t spend my time helping Jake play games with Mona McClane.”

  Jake looked at him long and fixedly. “I’d just like to ask one question,” he said mildly. “How much dough have you got in the kitty right now?”

  The lawyer turned red. “None of your damned business.”

  “All right,” Jake said, “it’s none of my damned business. But I do know you haven’t had a big client since the Nelle Brown case—which I gave you, you ungrateful so-and-so—and I also know all about the brunette girl you met at Chez Paree. If you’ve paid your office rent, I’m an Indian.”

  “Then get up on the wall and shoot deer with the other ones,” Malone said, “because I have paid it.” He paused a minute, frowned, and added, “Well, for November anyway.”

  Jake drew a long breath. “If you’ll just fix your low, grasping mind on the fee you can charge Mona McClane for defending her if I can pin this on her, you may change your attitude toward playing games.”

  The little lawyer chewed savagely on his cigar for a moment. “All right,” he said crossly, “I’ll play. Within limits. At least, I’ll go along with you to her party tonight.”

  The waitress arrived with their order before Jake could answer. When she had gone, he said, “What’s the idea of that party anyway?”

  “Maybe she’s going to make a confession,” Helene suggested.

  Jake snorted. “That would be damned unfair.” His eyes began to glitter. “She might be scared I’m going to win the Casino from her, and make a quick confession to gyp me out of the bet. That would be a dirty trick.” He added angrily, “But no ding-danged dirtier than choosing this particular time to murder that guy. Why couldn’t she have waited till we got back from Bermuda?”

  “Maybe it was something urgent,” Malone said, attacking his salad. “Murder often is.”

  Jake finished his lunch in a gloomy silence. Then he ordered one more drink all around and waited for the waitress to clear the table before he spoke.


  “The more I think about it, the madder I get,” he said, looking at Helene. “If I didn’t give a whoop about the Casino, I’d win this bet just to get even with Mona McClane for choosing the time she did.” He turned to Malone and added wildly, “If you do get to defend her, I hope to God you lose the case. That’s how I feel about it.”

  Helene said quietly, “You sound just like Von Flanagan. The murder was committed just to annoy you. Why don’t you retire and raise mink?”

  “It’s pecan orchards now,” Jake said morosely. “Damn it, darling. Do you realize we’ve been married for—” he looked at his watch, “over forty-eight hours, and I haven’t been alone with you for as much as five minutes?”

  “Well, if you will go around making crazy bets when my back is turned, and getting drunk with strange women and getting thrown in the can—”

  “Hell’s bells,” Jake roared, “I’m doing it all for you—”

  Malone said, “There’s nothing I enjoy more than a good old-fashioned family brawl, but if that’s the best you can do I’m going back to the office.” He paused, and added without moving his lips, “You might look at what just came in.”

  “Another Indian?” Jake murmured hopefully.

  His eyes followed Malone’s to the doorway. Daphne Sanders stood there irresolutely, a trifle unsteadily. Her dark eyes were blazing, her cheeks flamed scarlet.

  “It looks like a vendetta,” Helene whispered.

  The tall girl suddenly sat down at the nearest table and sent the waitress for a drink. She didn’t look as if she needed it. While the three watched she got it down with one breath, banged the glass down on the table, and sat glaring at it as though it were the sole object of her wrath. It looked to Jake as though in another moment she would burst into furious and noisy tears.

  Suddenly she lifted her head, as though aware that she was being observed. Her eyes roved around the room for an instant, finally found the three who had been watching her. For a divided second she seemed to hesitate, then with an air of quick decision she rose, crossed the little distance to their table, and sat down beside Helene.

  When she spoke, however, she seemed to be addressing the empty air.

  “Some day, by God,” she said in a half-choked voice, “some day I’m going to kill her.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Malone took his cigar from his mouth. “Not a bad idea,” he told the distraught girl calmly. “If you’d like me to defend you, you can probably get away with it.” He paused, and added, “By the way, whom do you mean by ‘her’?”

  “The little bitch!” Daphne Sanders said, as though she hadn’t heard him. “I’ll show her. She ought to be ashamed of herself. She knows she hasn’t anything but money to offer, damn her. And when I think that I introduced them! All right, she’ll be sorry.”

  Malone sighed, and said, “Just who are you going to kill, and how?”

  “I’m going to cut her throat,” Daphne Sanders told him, “I’m going to drop acid on her face just a little at a time, and then I’m going to cut off her hands, and then I’m going to cut her throat slowly so she won’t miss a thing. Tell that silly waitress to bring me a drink.”

  Malone signaled to the waitress, and then said, “All that is very interesting and highly instructive, but who?”

  “Ellen Ogletree,” the girl said calmly, as though she were a little surprised he hadn’t known it all the time. Her drink arrived and she sipped it slowly, while the crimson faded from her cheeks. After a moment or so she said, in a more normal tone, “She really has it coming to her, you know.”

  “Who is he?” Helene asked, in a vague attempt to be helpful.

  The dark-eyed girl drew a long, quivering breath. “Leonard Marchmont. He’s an Englishman, and he hasn’t any money of his own, but—” Suddenly the color blazed in her cheeks again. “All right, he is nothing but a good-for-nothing grafter who takes expensive presents from girls. I don’t care. And I hate to see Ellen Ogletree get away with anything.” A hard, vicious note came into her voice. “The last couple of years she’s been giving him money. She even paid for his car. He’d never look at her if she didn’t have money.”

  “I thought Ellen Ogletree was engaged to Jay Fulton,” Helene said in a mildly surprised tone. “Or doesn’t that count?”

  “The engagement is off,” Daphne Sanders said. “She broke it last night. She’s out somewhere with Len right this minute.” This time her face turned really pale. “If I ever run into them together, I’ll kill her.”

  “There’s a certain sameness to this monologue,” Helene murmured. “We finally get the idea that you’re going to kill her.”

  “Better fix up an alibi first,” Malone said calmly, “Having your rival out of the way won’t do you any good if you’re tucked away in the hoosegow.” An idea seemed to strike him suddenly. “Why don’t you let me take you home, and we’ll talk it over on the way. Then you can take a little nap and think about it coolly and sensibly, and maybe you’ll get another idea.”

  The girl relaxed a little, and almost smiled. “Maybe that’s a good plan. I don’t know why I should bother you with my troubles.” Her voice was just a trifle thick.

  “Because I’m a lawyer,” Malone said, “and people always bother lawyers with their troubles.” He rose and helped her to her feet. “Wait for me here, you two. I’ll be right back.”

  Jake watched Malone guiding the girl toward the door. “Has Malone got another client, or is he just taking a girl home to sleep it off?”

  “She’s not going to do any damage,” Helene said. “She won’t like Ellen any better when she sobers up, but people who talk as good a murder as that seldom commit one.”

  “A nice sentiment,” Jake said pleasantly, “and I’m glad you agree with me.” For a few minutes he sat looking at her admiringly. The honey-colored silk of her dress almost matched her hair, and it fitted over her shoulders closely, revealing interesting lines and curves. “As I said a few minutes ago, we’ve been married more than forty-eight hours.”

  “I’m on a train of thought. Mona McClane—”

  “Damn Mona McClane. Listen, dear. When people are married—” he paused, grinned at her, and said, “Maybe nobody ever told you.”

  She didn’t seem to have heard him. Her blue eyes were fixed on some point far out in space. “The conditions of the bet and the conditions of the murder were the same. You saw her starting for the scene of the crime. She says she was wandering up and down State Street all afternoon.” She paused, frowned. “None of that does any good if there isn’t a link between her and Joshua Gumbril. And there is such a link. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s there. We touched on it, I’m sure, and we didn’t recognize it.”

  “Helene,” Jake said patiently, “if you’ll stop thinking about the murder for a minute—”

  “I don’t dare. I’m too close to something we need to know.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Jake, we’ve overlooked something.”

  “You’re damned right we have,” Jake said soulfully, “and it’s nothing to do with murder, either.”

  She looked at him across the table and a faint pink came into her cheeks.

  “How do you expect to solve a murder case if you go chasing after women all the time?”

  “I’m only chasing one,” Jake said, “and if I never win the Casino—” He stopped suddenly, staring at her.

  There was a blue, blazing light in her eyes. “Wait a minute. Let me think. I’ve almost got it. The Casino—”

  Before she could say another word Malone arrived, a little out of breath, and plumped down in his chair.

  “Well, she won’t carve up Ellen Ogletree for a few hours, anyway. But I’d hate to have that girl take a dislike to me.”

  “Damn you, Malone.” Helene glared at him. “I’d almost remembered something.”

  “It’s about time,” the lawyer said gloomily. “Sorry I interrupted you.” He leaned on the table and spoke in a lower tone. “Don’t look now, but I think Vo
n Flanagan has decided he was a little previous about letting Jake go.”

  Jake stared at him. “What the hell?”

  “Anyway, he has a couple of plain-clothes men sitting in the bar waiting for you to leave. Evidently he wants to keep you in sight.”

  “Why?” Jake asked wildly.

  “Maybe he’s planning to pick you up for murder,” Malone told him quietly, lighting a cigar.

  Jake declared indignantly that Daniel Von Flanagan was the unaccounted-for and irregular product of mixed parentage, part Oriental, adding furiously, “Imagine him accusing me of a murder. I’m a friend of his.”

  “I’d hate to offer that to a jury as defense,” Malone said. “Especially when you got mixed up on the alibi you gave him.”

  “What in blazes are you talking about?”

  “You told Von Flanagan that at the time Gumbril was being murdered, you were in a tailor shop on Division Street having your pants pressed.”

  “Well?”

  “So Von Flanagan probably called the tailor shop and found out you left at one-thirty. I don’t know how you could have made a fool slip like that, but at the time the late Mr. Gumbril was getting himself shot, you were on your way to the travel bureau.”

  “Oh God,” Jake said. He thought for a moment. “I’ll call him up and explain.”

  Malone snorted and wondered audibly if marriage could produce softening of the brain in two days’ time.

  Helene lit a cigarette, blew some smoke through her slender nose, and said, “Well, that gives you an added incentive for proving who did murder Joshua Gumbril.”

  “How in the name of heaven am I going to get a chance to prove it, if I’m going to have a couple of cops on my tail?”

  “I’ll fix that,” Helene said smoothly.

  The two men stared at her. She looked at her watch, buttoned her gloves, rose, and pulled her furs about her shoulders.

  “It’s time to go home anyway,” she observed, “and I don’t feel like taking a brace of plain-clothes men with us. Malone—” She paused only a moment. “You’re going to Mona McClane’s party with us tonight. Meantime, take my car—” she handed him the key, “and park it near the hotel for me.”