Witch Rhymes With ...

by Larry Kent

  Salem lit another Marlboro. “Suddenly a person can remember things that completely slipped his mind.”

  “What are you selling, Mr. Salem?”

  “I think that by working together we can help Mr. Delmar. In fact, I’m confident we can.”

  “Are you guaranteeing it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the rest of it?”

  “Well, there’s the trouble and inconvenience you’ve been through. That should be worth something in hard cash.”

  “There’s also Daisy.”

  “Yes. She changes the value of your—er—package to an alarming degree. From about ten thousand dollars to ... shall we say fifty thousand?”

  “You’re offering fifty thousand dollars for Eve’s letter—is that right?”

  “Yes, but fifty thousand dollars isn’t all I’m offering. I can get Mr. Delmar out of jail. I can—er—influence the police into dropping the murder charge.”

  “With Peller’s help?”

  Salem chuckled. “Why should it matter to you how I do it?”

  “Because I’m an honorable man, Mr. Salem. Honorable men are judged by their actions.”

  “Their public actions.”

  “But what do you tell yourself?”

  Salem filled his lungs with smoke. “Are you refusing my offer?”

  I looked at my wrist watch. “It’s twelve fifty-six,” I said.

  Suddenly there was a gun in his hand. He said, “It’s not every man who can name the time of his own death.”

  “You wouldn’t shoot me here, would you?”

  “Why not? The office is almost sound-proof.”

  “But someone near the door would hear the shot.”

  “Yes. But the man standing on the other side of that door is named Morano. He works for me.”

  “You gave him the nod when you let me in.”

  “Ah, you noticed that.”

  “I try to take everything into consideration. You want to know why I looked at my watch? Timing is everything, Mr. Salem. There’s a pay phone box on the corner, just outside this club. I used it to contact a cop. A Lieutenant Orville Grady. He’s no particular friend of mine, but I figured he’d come in handy. I asked him to get here at exactly twelve fifty seven. It’s that now.”

  “If that’s true—”

  “Oh, it is, believe me.”

  “Then I have nothing to lose by killing you.”

  There was a sound against the door.

  “Come in!” I shouted.

  There was no time to get out my gun. There was only time to throw myself to the side, chair and all. Salem glanced towards the door when he heard the thud, which allowed me to start myself moving. It was only a split-second, but it made him press the trigger, without aiming. The bullet slammed into the wall just over my head. The second slug tore a piece of sharkskin from my sleeve. The third bullet—

  Ah. The third bullet was the one that hit Salem in the chest. It was fired from Grady’s police special. Grady, being a cop, was supposed to shout a warning before pressing the trigger—but he wasn’t a very good cop. For which I said a quick and silent prayer of thanks.

  The band was no longer playing. A wave of people was banked up behind Grady as he stood framed in the open doorway. He yelled something to the men with him and slammed the door shut, entering the office on his own. He held his gun on Salem all the while. I went over to where Salem lay on the floor, kicked his gun away. Salem was bleeding all over his carpet.

  “I gave orders for a doctor,” Grady said.

  Salem laughed at him, spraying blood. Grady put his gun away.

  “Looks like you were right,” Grady said, sounding like it broke his heart to have to admit it. “Looks like he killed the Delmar woman.”

  Salem laughed again. At least, he made a sound that was something like a laugh. It was the very last sound he ever made. He drowned on the blood in his lungs.

  “He admitted it, didn’t he?” Grady said.

  “Huh?”

  “You heard him, didn’t you, Kent? He said he killed the Delmar woman.”

  I shook my head. “He said no such thing.”

  “What the hell is the difference what he said? He killed her, so let’s make it official with a dying statement.”

  “But he didn’t kill her.”

  “Then why’d you phone and—” Grady’s face went mean. “What are you trying to pull, Kent? If this is one of those angles of yours, I’m going to—”

  “Relax, Grady. You’re a hero.”

  “What?”

  “He was going to shoot me. You saved my life.”

  “You said over the phone—”

  “That I’d give you a murderer. Well, there he is. You didn’t kill Earl Salem; you shot a wanted killer named John Bray. He murdered a man named Mason in Richmond, Virginia. The cops down there have been looking for him for about six years.”

  Grady’s eyes lost some of their meanness. He looked thoughtful and a smile was born on his lips, a smile that spread slowly. I guess he was seeing his name in newspaper headlines. But then the smile faded and he reverted to character.

  “What’s this all about, Kent?”

  I told him. The letter from Eve—Daisy Ransom—Joe Greg—Dillon—the hole in the road on 45th Street. He got almost everything. Almost.

  “Where’s this letter now?” he demanded.

  “In the safe in my apartment. Send a man there with me and I’ll give it to him.”

  “I’ll do better than that, Kent. I’ll go with you myself.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Grady had Eve’s letter in his hand. Then he drove me to Central Headquarters—slowly. Slowly because Grady was one of those cops who like to rewrite history. The way he saw it, Larry Kent was a rather stupid private detective who was maneuvered into certain moves by a brilliant homicide detective who had a hunch there was something funny about Earl Salem. Needless to say, the homicide man’s name was Grady.

  Well, I wasn’t complaining. If Grady wanted to get rough, he could throw the book at me for holding onto the letter after Daisy Ransom gave it to me. That part really hurt Grady. But he knew he couldn’t have his glory and eat his private detective, too.

  When I got to headquarters I made out a statement to Grady’s specifications. He was so happy he was almost civil to me. He even let me go when I signed the statement. It was either that or allow me to hog some newspaper space when the reporters and photographers arrived.

  The timing was perfect. Benny Garagiola and Peller were in my apartment when I got there. They arrived, Benny told me only five minutes ago. Peller had a bruise on his face and he held onto his left arm like it had just been mauled by a bear.

  “He wasn’t very happy about coming with me,” Benny said; a magnificent understatement.

  I smiled at Peller. He glared at me. I put out my hand as if to shake with him. Only that wasn’t my intention. I used the hand to slap Peller’s face, aiming at the bruise. It was a good, solid clout. He damn near flew out of the chair.

  “You’ve got no right to belt me around,” Peller blubbered.

  “It amuses me,” I said.

  “I’ll have you charged with assault!”

  “Really?”

  “I can do it, Kent.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to go to all the trouble of charging me with assault just for a little slap on the face,” I said, bunching my hand into a fist. “Let’s make it really worthwhile.”

  He covered his face with his hands. “Don’t hit me!”

  “He’s got a backbone like a rubber band.” Benny observed.

  I clucked my tongue. “You shouldn’t talk like that, Benny. Peller is a real sharp operator. First he blackmailed Eve Delmar with photos and tape recordings. He figured that later on he could shake her down for a real bundle. Either that or he could sell his material to Jack Delmar.”

  “You can’t prove any of that,” Peller said through his hands.

  I stomped on his foot. He let out
a yell. When he bent and reached out for his foot I gave him another slap across the face. He didn’t know which end to grab.

  “Shut up and listen,” I said. Then I lit a cigarette and went on, “A while ago I had a talk with Earl Salem ... the late Earl Salem.”

  Peller made a little sound. His face began to twitch.

  I said, “Salem was wanted for murder in Virginia. Too bad you didn’t know about that, eh, Peller? Think of how much you could have bled him for with that kind of information. But maybe you’re lucky you didn’t know. Maybe you’d have done all the bleeding.”

  “You’ve got nothing on me,” Peller said.

  “Spare me the clichés,” I said. “It’s been a long, long day ... I started to tell you about my talk with Salem. When he learned I knew about the Virginia murder, he ordered me killed—when that didn’t work he made me a proposition. I guess he figured it was a pretty good trade. All he wanted from me was silence. In return he’d give fifty thousand dollars, and—now here’s the interesting part—he guaranteed he’d get Jack Delmar off the hook. Do you know how he intended to do that?”

  “You tell me,” Peller said.

  I gave him another slap, just for the hell of it; then I said, “Salem was going to produce a witness who saw Jack Delmar leave the hotel property before the shot that killed Eve was fired. The witness was you, Peller. What have you got to say to that?”

  He said nothing.

  I said, “This was proof positive that you’d had a talk with Salem. The subject of that talk couldn’t have been anything else but money. I’ve been wondering what kind of information you had that could have been worth money to Salem. I was sure it wasn’t the Virginia killing. It couldn’t be that you saw Salem leave the suite after the shot was fired—his alibi was a little too strong. As for seeing one of his hired killers—how could you have connected a stranger with Salem? Then I started toying with the possibility that you actually saw Jack Delmar leave the hotel property before the shot was fired. Maybe that was what you sold Salem.”

  “Why would he buy something like that?” Peller asked.

  “You tried to sell it to Jack, didn’t you?”

  Peller’s tongue flicked out. “I told you I was willing to lie for Delmar—for a price.”

  “You wouldn’t have been lying, Peller. Salem was sure he could get you to swear you saw Jack leave the property before the shot was fired. He guaranteed it. This means he paid you to keep that piece of information from the police in the first place—he paid you to frame Jack.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Sure it’s crazy. To my knowledge Salem had no reason to hate Jack. So he must have had some other reason for wanting Jack to be found guilty of Eve’s murder. And I think I know what that reason is. I’m sure you know it, too.”

  Peller glanced around, desperately, like he was hoping the cavalry would come to the rescue.

  I said. “I want you to tell me what it was, Peller.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Clichés, clichés,” I chided.

  Now Benny spoke. “He’s lying, Mr. Kent. I can see it in his face.”

  I smiled, grimly. “How can you separate lying from all the other things, Benny? Look at him. Stanley Peller—sneak, blackmailer, Peeping Tom, perjurer, killer…”

  “Killer?” Peller choked on the word. “No! I never killed anybody in my life!”

  “Killer by proxy,” I said. “Three people are dead because of you—make that four, if we count John Bray alias Earl Salem.”

  “You can’t blame any of that on me!”

  “They’d all be alive if you had told the police in Oceanview all you knew. But that wasn’t good enough for Stanley Peller. Your information had a price tag on it.”

  “There’s not a cop in this country who’d blame any of those deaths on me.” Peller said. “Why, I don’t even know—”

  The back of my hand wouldn’t let the rest of the words come out. Blood streamed from his torn mouth. He put a hand to his lips, made a whimpering little sound when he saw the blood.

  “What do you know?” I said. “He bleeds, just like real people.”

  “Have a heart.” Peller pleaded.

  “No, thanks; I already have one.”

  It was a terrible pun, but then I wasn’t looking for laughs. On the contrary. I peeled off my coat, tossed it over the back of a chair. Peller’s eyes were on the big .45 in my shoulder holster. I slid the gun free, tossed it in the air, caught the muzzle on the way down, offered the butt of the gun to Peller.

  “Go on, take it,” I said.

  Peller shrank back in the chair, shaking his head.

  “Don’t you like guns, Peller? If I remember correctly, you pulled one on me.”

  Benny said, “There was a gun in his coat pocket. I took it away from him.”

  “Give me a break,” Peller breathed.

  “Sure,” I said. “Just as soon as you talk.” I paused. “What made you kill Eve, Peller?”

  That got him. He seemed to grow smaller, shrink into himself.

  “No,” he wailed, stretching out the word. “I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Before I went down to see Eve,” I said, “my answering service received a phone call from a woman who said she was Eve Delmar. She wanted me to go straight down. She said she was in trouble. Do you know what I think, Peller? I think you shook her down just as far as she was prepared to go.”

  “No! That’s not true!”

  “It must be. She made that call. It adds up so beautifully. All of it. You saw Jack Delmar leave long before his wife was murdered, yet you withheld the alibi.”

  I paused. He didn’t try to deny that Jack was innocent. Fine.

  “Then you went in to see her,” I said. “You were wondering what I had said to her. One thing led to another, then you had her gun in your hand.”

  “No!”

  “And you killed her. You killed her.”

  The look in his eyes told me that this was the time. I tossed my .45 onto the sofa and started slapping him hard with both hands. When he covered his face I made fists of my hands and went for his soft stomach. I didn’t like it. In fact, it made me a little sick. But it had to be done. I kept at it until there was nothing left in Peller but pain and fear.

  Then I stepped back and said, “Talk.”

  Chapter 11 ... dawn ...

  I pressed the doorbell button.

  The door opened and Anne smiled at me.

  “I was waiting for you,” she said, softly.

  I entered the apartment and her arms went around me. We kissed.

  “Hold me for a while,” she said when the kiss was over.

  I looked over her shoulder. The piranha was motionless in his tank. The birds had hoods over their cages.

  “It was awful,” Anne said, and I could feel the tremor that moved through her body. “I was standing there in the club when they carried Earl’s body out.”

  “John’s,” I corrected.

  “What?”

  “Your late husband’s real name was John Bray. He was wanted for murder in Virginia.”

  “I knew there had to be something like that in his past,” she said after a moment. “He would never talk about the past.”

  “I’d like a drink,” I said.

  “I think I would, too, Larry.”

  I sat down while Anne made the drinks. The piranha seemed to be staring at me through the one big eye that I could see. I lit a cigarette. Anne came over with the drinks, sat on the floor at my feet.

  “I concentrated so very hard,” she said.

  “Hm? I beg your pardon?”

  “I sat in that big chair near the window and I looked out over the city and then I closed my eyes and thought about you. And I said, ‘Come to me, darling, please come to me.’ Well, it worked. Here you are.”

  “It must have been a mental telepathy striptease,” I said.

  She laug
hed, quietly. “A what?”

  “The image of you that came through to me had no clothes on.”

  She squeezed my legs in a sudden embrace. I felt the beautiful softness of her.

  “It’s almost dawn,” I said.

  She turned her head, looked in the direction of the window. “A new day,” she breathed.

  I lifted my glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

  We were quiet for a while after that. The piranha started to swim slowly in the tank. I couldn’t see any movement from the other fish. It would be a hell of a trick, I thought, to net the ugly cannibal fish and dump him in one of the other tanks.

  “Salem,” I said.

  She trembled against my leg.

  “We’ll call him Salem instead of Bray,” I said.

  “Do you really want to talk about him?” she whispered.

  “I think we have to, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” She looked into my eyes. “All right, Larry, let’s talk about him. Let’s say all there is to say about him ... and then let’s never mention his name again.”

  “It’s a deal. Did you have a talk with the police?”

  “Yes. After the shooting I went over to one of the police officers and told him who I was. They took a statement from me.”

  “Did you tell them you suspected that your husband killed Eve Delmar?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell them that you knew me?”

  “I didn’t know what you’d want me to tell them. So I said nothing about our friendship. They didn’t even ask about you. But I did say I left you alone in the office with Earl.”

  I nodded.

  “What happened in there, Larry? I saw the detective shoot Earl from the door, and I heard a shot from inside the office as he opened the door ...”

  “That was Earl, shooting at me,” I said.

  “You accused him of killing Eve, didn’t you? That was why—”

  “No, honey.”

  “You ... didn’t accuse him?”

  I lit another cigarette. “On the night Eve was killed, you told me that he got back to the apartment a little before eleven thirty.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was six or seven minutes earlier than that, Anne. He talked with the garage attendant before going up to the apartment. The time element gave him a perfect alibi. He’d have had to drive back to the city in about thirty minutes. It just can’t be done. You have to stop three times at toll booths, then there’s the speed limit inside the city.”