by Larry Kent
“You gave me the impression you had something to sell. I want you to take it out of the bag.”
“Out of the bag. I like that. You want to see the merchandise, eh? Well, I don’t blame you for that. But I’m sure you understand that in delicate matters like this, all you can reasonably expect from a man is a little glimpse. Right now we’re just having a preliminary conference, sort of. If you’re interested enough, maybe we can do business.”
“You’ll have to make yourself a lot clearer than that, Peller.”
“Well, I don’t mind opening the bag just a little bit ... I feel sorry for Mr. Delmar, I really do. I guess I feel sorry for all men who can’t do the things they want because a woman’s got ’em tied up in knots. I know this for a fact. I’ve been over the route twice. Two divorces. Cost me a lot of time and trouble, but not much money. No, sir, not much money at all. But it would have cost me a bundle if I didn’t make the moves myself. As you know, Mr. Kent, a judge sees things from the woman’s angle as long as she can sit there in the courtroom and look innocent. But when a judge has proof that a woman isn’t all she should be ...”
“What kind of proof, Peller?”
“Oh, it can be a lot of things. Letters, photos, reliable witnesses to certain ... indiscretions. Matter of fact, if a man is lucky enough to have the right kind of evidence, he can get what he wants without going to court.”
“What have you got on Eve Delmar?” I asked.
“Let me ask you a question,” Peller countered. “How badly does your client want a divorce?”
“Jack Delmar isn’t my client.”
“That’s right. You said so before, didn’t you? You—er—you came down here to see Mrs. Delmar for—er—old times’ sake, or something like that?”
My disgust for this slimy little worm must have sent out a strong signal, for he took a few backward steps and removed his hands from his pockets as though getting ready to ward off a blow. I got out my cigarettes, set one alight. Seeing I had no intention of cuffing him around, Peller advanced again to his former position about three paces from me.
“There’s one thing I’d like you to understand,” Peller said, his manner clearly subservient now. “In these things, I’m always on the man’s side. But ...” He coughed, worked his shoulders. “I’m a businessman. I’ve got to be. Hotel detectives don’t get paid much money ...”
“How much?” I asked.
“Eh?”
“How much would Jack Delmar have to pay for whatever it is you’ve got on his wife?”
“Well now, Mr. Kent, I wouldn’t use those exact words.”
“Let’s not go into that. Just tell me how much.”
“I’d like to know how much it’s worth to Mr. Delmar.”
I flipped my cigarette past his face. He jumped to the side, let out a little sound of surprise.
“Look,” I said. “I’m not going to bargain with you. There won’t be any negotiation of any kind, at least not with me. I don’t make deals with blackmailers.”
“Blackmail!” Peller staggered back, apparently stunned by the impact of the word. “I don’t know what makes you think of blackmail, Mr. Kent. All I’m selling is service. Just a little moonlighting on the side. Spare-time private detective work, that’s all.”
“I don’t care what you call it. Put a price on it. Five hundred?”
Peller laughed at the night sky. “Who do you think you’re kidding? I could get five hundred—” He snapped his fingers. “—like that! Easy. In no time at all. In fact, I—” He sucked in his breath.
“Finish it,” I said. “Tell me how much you’ve already collected.”
“I haven’t collected anything. You’ve got no call to make remarks like that. And who are you to look at me like I’m some kind of a dirty bug?”
“That is a fine thumbnail self-portrait,” I said.
“I’m as good as you are,” Peller muttered. “We both dig in the muck, only I don’t get paid as high as you do.” He backed into the darkness. “Well, now I’m onto something and I’m not going to let go. You want a price—all right, I’ll give it to you. Twenty thousand.”
“You’re crazy.”
I started to walk to the parking lot—but Peller, thinking I was going after him, reached under his coat and pulled out a gun.
“Don’t you touch me,” he said, his voice high and cracked.
“That’s not likely,” I said. “I haven’t had a rabies shot.” He kept backing away, holding the gun on me. The darkness swallowed him. A moment later I heard his running feet.
Benny was waiting for me in the parking lot. He had the Corvette parked under a light and he was going over the body with a clean rag. The car gleamed.
“You didn’t have to clean the car,” I said. “I didn’t expect you to do that.”
“No trouble,” Benny said. “I didn’t have anything else to do. It’s a real nice car. There ain’t a mark on the body. A car like this should be looked after.”
“I pay fifteen bucks a week for that in the city.”
Benny put the rag in his back pocket. He seemed strangely reticent.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Wrong? No, nothing’s wrong, Mr. Kent. Your car took only four gallons of gas. The oil and water and battery are okay. Here ...” He reached into his pocket. “You’ve got eight bucks and some change.”
“Forget it, Benny.”
“I couldn’t do that, Mr. Kent.”
“Look, you polished my car. That alone is worth eight bucks.”
“But you’re a friend of mine. I can’t take money like this from a friend.”
I accepted the money from him. Benny had always been reluctant to take tips from Jack Delmar or me, though I had seen him accept money from others. He had rules about friendship.
“Thanks a million,” I said. “I’m grateful, Benny.”
“Aw, that’s all right.” He hesitated. “I guess you saw Mrs. Delmar, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Funny about her. I guess you can’t tell what a woman is just by how she looks, eh? I mean, she looks so nice and she’s got such nice manners and all that ... but she sure wasn’t nice to Mr. Delmar, was she?”
“He’ll be all right, Benny. I think she’s going to let him have a divorce.”
“Did she say that?”
“More or less.”
“And is that what Mr. Delmar wants?”
“Yes. He has a very nice girl. As soon as he’s free, he’s going to marry her.”
“As soon as he’s free,” Benny said, his voice barely audible. “Then she better let him go free, that’s all I can say. If she doesn’t, I’ll—” He winced.
“What’s wrong, Benny?”
He shook his head as though to clear it. “It’s nothing, Mr. Kent. Just a little jab of pain, that’s all. It’s gone already.”
“How often do you get these pains?”
“Only every now and then, it ain’t like it used to be, when my head used to pound and pound and nothing would stop it. Now it’s just like somebody stuck a pin in me and pulled it out fast. It comes and goes like greased lightning. Doesn’t hardly bother me at all.”
“When was the last time you saw your doctor?”
“Oh, it wasn’t long ago. I don’t remember exactly. Two weeks, three ... I don’t remember. It’s like I told you. Some things I forget.” He smiled broadly. “Anyhow, there’s no reason for me to bother my doctor. He works hard enough at the V.A. hospital without me making it tougher for him. Besides, every now and then they send me a card and I’ve got to go to the V.A. for a check-up.”
“Well, the next time you go, mention these little jabs of pain you get.”
“Sure, sure, Mr. Kent.”
I put out my hand. “So long, Benny. I’ll give your best to Jack Delmar.”
“You do that, Mr. Kent.”
I got in the car. Benny waved goodbye as I backed and turned. I hit the horn. I saw him in the rear vision mirror. He stood
under the light, still waving, as I turned out of the parking lot.
Poor Benny. He had been a pretty good ball-player when the army drafted him. He was in triple-A ball, one notch under the major leagues, and was due to go up to the parent club, the New York Mets, when Uncle Sam pointed the finger. Then, a year later in Korea, a hand grenade tore off part of his skull and that was the end of his baseball career. It was almost the end of Benny.
I stopped for a red light. On the other side of the light an Impala with a blue body and white top screeched to a halt. It carried a New York plate. I looked at the last three numbers on the plate. 365. Jack Delmar! The light changed to green. A guy behind me honked his horn. As the Impala went by I saw Jack’s profile. For a moment I considered turning around and following the Impala. But it was none of my business if he wanted to see his wife. The man behind me held his hand on the horn. I stepped on the accelerator. The guy caught up with me shortly before the turn-off to the turnpike. He drew alongside and shook his fist. I let him pull ahead.
The next morning I turned on the radio for the eight o’clock news—and cursed myself for not following Jack’s Impala.
Eve was dead ...
Chapter 3 ... who? ...
Her body had been discovered at about ten minutes to eleven—less than an hour after I left the Sunshine Garden Hotel premises—by Stanley Peller, who entered Eve’s suite via a window after hearing a gunshot. He found her body sprawled on the floor. A .38 revolver lay a foot or so from her body. There was a wound just below her heart. Death had been instantaneous. The police were not sure whether it was suicide or murder.
I switched off the radio, lit a cigarette. The phone made noise. I picked it up, said my name.
“This is Stanley Peller,” said the voice at the other end. “I found your card in Mrs. Delmar’s suite and copied down your number. Have you heard the news yet?”
“Yes,” I said. “Why are you calling?”
“I just thought you might like to know that her husband visited her at about twenty minutes after ten.”
“Why tell me, Peller? That’s the kind of information you ought to give to the cops.”
“Oh, I have, Mr. Kent. I told them all about it. And I told them about you, too. By the way, I understand the police down there have been trying to reach Jack Delmar. He doesn’t seem to be home. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Stop trying to be so damn cute,” I said, letting my anger show in my voice.
Peller chuckled. The sound of it cut right across my nerves. I was about to hang up when he said:
“Listen to me, Mr. Kent. I can be a real big help to Delmar. I can say he left his wife fifteen minutes before I heard the shot.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see him leave.”
“Don’t give me that, Peller. If you saw him arrive, you’d have stayed close to the suite.”
“I intended to—but I heard a woman scream on the other side of the property. Naturally, being the hotel detective, I went to investigate. Turned out she and her husband were having a fight. They were stone drunk and But that ain’t important. The important thing is, I heard a shot on the way back. It came from the Delmar suite. I rang the bell but nobody answered. I hammered on the door. By then a few people were around. I had to do something, so I let myself in the window. As soon as I saw her body I phoned the cops and then I went outside and waited for ’em to arrive. There was a back window open, by the way. That’s how her killer got away. The cops think it was her husband.”
“And what do you think?”
“I don’t think. But I can say I saw him leave the suite before I heard the shot.”
“For how much.”
“Oh, I’m not greedy, Mr. Kent. The same price I mentioned last night. But in cash. And quick. Put the money in my hand and I’ll tell the cops I remember seeing Jack Delmar go to his car long before the shot was fired. I’ll tell ’em I was so excited over what happened that I forgot about seeing him leave. A thing like that is understandable—especially when you’ve got a ready-made suspect for the cops.”
“Who?”
“We won’t go into that right now. Get me the money and I’ll tell you all about it. But time’s important right now. If you get the money to me before one this afternoon, we can do business. You see, I didn’t get to bed until about six this morning. The cops won’t be expecting me to show up for more questioning until a little after one. If you get here before that with the money, fine. If not ... well, it’s up to you. And, of course, your friend, Jack Delmar.”
I said, “Do you know what I think, Peller?”
“It’s not important what you think, Mr. Kent. It’s a case of helping your friend or not.”
“I’m going to tell you anyhow. I think you know that Jack Delmar is innocent. I think you actually saw him leave the property before the shot was fired. As for this other suspect of yours—if you don’t tell the police about him, you’ll be committing a crime.”
“Did you say ‘other suspect’, Mr. Kent? I don’t know what you’re talking about … By the way, I’ll take that money in small bills. Nothing bigger than a fifty. If you’re not here by one o’clock—with the money ... well ... goodbye, Mr. Kent.”
He hung up. I hit the cradle rest, dialed Jack Delmar’s home number, let the phone at the other end buzz a dozen times or so before cradling the phone. It was too early yet to call Jack’s ad agency. But there was a chance that Jack had decided to spend the night there—he sometimes did—so I dialed the number. Negative. Where was he? It was certainly beginning to look as though he may have shot Eve. A .38 revolver had done the job. I had seen a .38 in Jack’s apartment. And I saw Jack only a few miles from the Sunshine Garden Hotel in his car, about forty minutes before Eve was shot. In addition to this there was Stanley Peller, who saw him enter Eve’s suite.
Lila! Of course. He may have spent the night at her apartment. Lila was his secretary, the girl he loved. Lila Reynolds. I found her number in the directory, dialed it.
“Hello,” her sleepy voice said through the receiver.
“Lila? Larry Kent here.”
“Oh.” A slight pause. “Hello, Larry. What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
“I’ve overslept.”
“Is Jack there, Lila?”
“Why, Larry—”
“This is no time for observing the usual conventions, honey. If he’s there, put him on the phone.”
“What’s this all about?” She was wide awake now.
“Eve is dead.”
She gasped.
“It could have been murder,” I said. “Is he there?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
“Just a moment.”
The ‘moment’ lasted about thirty seconds. Which told me that Jack had been asleep. His voice certainly sounded fuzzy when it came on the line:
“Hello? Larry? What’s up?”
“Eve was shot dead last night, pal.”
“No!”
Just one word. If one word over the phone can tell you anything, then Jack was genuinely shocked and surprised.
I said, “I heard it on the eight o’clock news.”
“Did you say ... dead?”
“That’s what the newsreader said. You’re free, Jack.”
There was nothing but the crackle of the line in my ear for a moment, then Jack said: “That’s a hell of a way of putting it. I wanted to be free, but not ... not this way.”
“When was the last time you saw Eve?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. Five months ago, I guess, here in the city. I bumped into her.”
“You haven’t seen her since then?”
“No.”
“Where were you last night, Jack?”
“I was with Lila.”
“Are you sure?”
“What the hell is this?” He sounded angry now. “Are you cross-examining me?”
“It’s
nothing compared to what the cops are going to do. Look, Jack, this is Larry Kent talking, not some stranger. I’m trying to help you—but I can’t help if you don’t co-operate ... or if you killed Eve.”
“You ... don’t think I—”
“If you did, then the only man who can help you is your lawyer.”
“No, Larry—I didn’t kill her.”
“Let’s start over again. Where were you last night?”
“I ...” He gave out a long sigh. “I drove down to see her last night.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”
“Well, when you said she was dead—shot dead—I ... well, I panicked. But she was alive when I left her, Larry, and that’s the truth.”
“What did you talk about?”
“I asked her for a divorce. At first I—well, I was surprised; she seemed very co-operative. But then the devil in her took over and she started drinking. She must have had eight ounces of bourbon in ten minutes. And she started to get nasty. She made insulting, remarks about Lila and—well, you know Eve. I just couldn’t take any more of it. I felt that if I stayed there any longer I’d ... I’d kill her. But I didn’t. I swear to you that she was alive when I left.”
My door buzzer made a racket. A steady buzzing.
“Someone’s at the door,” I said into the phone in a low voice. “Hold it.” I called out: “Who’s there?”
“Police. Open up.”
“Police,” I whispered into the phone. Aloud: “Just a second!” Into the phone: “Listen, Jack. The boys in blue are here. Go to the office with Lila. When the police get in touch with you, admit you spent the night with Lila. Right?”
“Right,” Jack said.
I hung up, went to the door, unlocked and opened it.
The man who looked at me was no stranger. He was Lieutenant Orville Grady, Homicide, Central Division. As far as I was concerned, there were two things about Grady that were of interest:
He was one of the toughest cops on the force, and he hated my guts.
Chapter 4 ... questions and answers ...
Grady entered my apartment. Trailing behind was another plain-clothes man. The second man was new to me. A young fellow with a crew-cut head whose intelligent eyes looked out of a blank face. A college boy, I guessed. These days very few detectives came out of the uniformed ranks unless they were ambitious enough to get a higher education in their spare time.