by Robert Colby
“I’m sorry,” said Myra.
“Don’t be. How could you know exactly where those mugs were going to sit? From what you tell me, it’s a big room. No, we got a lot here to think about.”
“We might have had it all,” said Myra, sipping the long shot of bourbon I had poured for her. She had fixed her hair and covered the bruise with powder. She looked more like her old self again.
“Tomorrow night I’ll be down there, Myra. When they move those cases to the yacht, I’ll be watching.”
“Don’t you know what time it is, Rod? It won’t be tomorrow night. It’ll be tonight. And I’ll be right there with you.”
“Oh no you won’t. You’ve had it, kiddo.” “That’s what you think, lover. Who’s going to show you how to find that warehouse?” “You’ll draw me a map.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I couldn’t possibly. I don’t remember the route. But I could find it. I think.”
I gave her my know-it-all smile and went for the phone book. I hunted Markos Supply. Nothing doing. If they had a phone, it wasn’t listed.
“Okay,” I said. “You’ll be along. But you’ll wait in the car.”
“Sure, Rod. With the motor running.”
“The perfect gun moll,” I said. “We’d have made headlines together.”
“Well, darling, it’s not too late, you know. Just say the word.”
“Shut your swollen face and write down all the items you can remember on that inventory list.”
I got paper and my ballpoint. For a minute or two she wrote. Then I studied the items.
“How about those bars?” she said. “I know he’s supposed to be in the business of selling them. But twenty-six cases! Isn’t that a lot of bars?”
“You bet your ever-lovin’. Especially at twenty bars per case. Ha! You’d have a case two stories high.”
“Then what in God’s name does it mean?”
“I have a hunch it means just what it says, Myra. Bars. But not the kind of bars you serve drinks across.”
“Tell me.”
“Can’t for sure. I’m just guessing Listen, you’d better hit the sack, sweetheart. Tonight the wheel spins even faster and you’ll need your wits.”
“Why,” she said at the door, “do we even bother with Markos when he doesn’t figure in this case at all?”
“Because,” I said, “Markos has a little lamb whose name is Tarino. And everywhere that Markos goes …”
“First time I ever heard Tarino called a lamb.” She leaned over and kissed me.
“ ‘Night,” I said.
“Morning, Rod.” She went off with a wave.
I climbed back into bed with the light on. For a few minutes I mulled over the inventory. Bars, bars and more bars. Tmgs and Grs. What the hell … I folded the paper and set it on the night table. What the hell … I was reaching for the light when I got it! I snapped my fingers. It was so simple it had vanished with too much effort.
The light went out and I fell into a dark hole. I slept like a baby.
For three hours.
Then the phone rang. I was down on the canvas for the ten-count and they were trying to reach me with that stupid bell. What a joke. What a fog! I groped around and came up with the receiver.
“Yeah, yeah! What now.”
“Rod! Rod Striker, is that you!”
“Mmmm?”
“Rod, for God’s sake answer me, answer me!”
She was screaming into the phone. She was hysterical. It was Kim Rumshaw.
“This is Rod. Calm down, honey. Calm down and tell me what’s up.”
There was a pause and now when she spoke her voice came low and vibrato.
“Rod, I … I’m over at my Aunt’s house. Will you please come to me? Oh hurry, hurry!”
“Sure. Sure, Kim. I’ll be right there. Have you called the police?”
“No. But how did you — ”
“It was obvious. And I’m sorry, Kim. Are you sure she’s — “
“Yes, yes, she’s dead. Shot.”
And then she broke down. I told her to hold on, I’d be there in a few minutes. I hung up.
I looked at my watch. It was five minutes to six and still dark. I placed a call to Ben Ulrich.
Then I threw on my clothes and hurled myself out of the apartment.
I made it in six minutes.
The first police car had just arrived.
Nineteen
Martha Rumshaw was in her bed. She might have been asleep. Until you saw the blood-soaked pillow and the hole in her head just above the left eye. She lay on her side, covered to the neck. She must have been asleep when it happened. Someone gave her a lead pill that would continue her sleep — forever.
A patrol car cruising in the area was first on the scene. Then came Lieutenant Ulrich and two of his boys from the homicide squad. These were followed by the medical examiner, the police photographers, the lab crew, and finally the reporters. Soon the place was swarming.
“Doc says she hasn’t been dead much over two hours,” Ulrich told me. “Three at the most.”
He was standing at the foot of the bed making notes, a brown-haired, middle-sized guy of forty-three with small neat features and careful brown eyes. There was an air of dignity about him with a dash of humor in the set of his full mouth. He had a good bearing and though not a flashy dresser, he was fussy about his clothes, never used the climate as an excuse to slop around. Put a mustache on him and he would remind you of Tom Dewey a few years back.
He took me aside and he said, “Rod, I want you to tell me anything and everything you know about this case. You might have left out a few items last night, but now it’s all important.”
I gave him the complete scoop, including the latest from Myra. He made notes but, typical of him, he never raised an eyebrow. You could tell this guy that Markos was stocking his warehouse with stolen atom bombs and he’d probably say — A-bombs? Okay. How many and what size are they? Just give him the details.
“You think Tarino did this?” Ben asked me.
“No. Not personally. He just hired a gun to do it for him, that’s all.”
“Well,” said Ben, “we’ll find out one way or another. I’ll have Tarino picked up in an hour. When he pulled this one he got deep into my territory. That was a mistake he’s not gonna forget.”
“What about Markos?”
“Unless he’s part of this, I can’t touch him. But I might just find somebody who can.” He winked. “Any prints, Ben?”
“Nope. Just hers.” He nodded towards the bed. “Not even a button on the floor. A neat job. Professional.” “How did he get in?”
“Easy. The Florida Room door. He poked a hole through the screen, reached a mitt inside and turned the knob. These houses are a joke. Any house is if a pro wants in.”
“What about the servants over the garage?” “Nothing, Rod. Didn’t hear a sound. They were dead to the world.”
“Okay,” I said, “and thanks. I’m gonna have a talk with Kim Rumshaw. Hell, I guess it’s Massey, now. Kim Massey.”
“Later,” said Ulrich. “She’s in the study on the day bed. She’s a mess. Perfectly calm one minute, goes to pieces the next. Better make it later.”
Later was around one in the afternoon when Kim had gone back to her own apartment. Howard Massey, the bridegroom, was there. She was quite composed, he was nervous. With good reason, I found out.
They sat together, across from me on one of those facing sofas in her living room. Massey held her hand and looked remorseful. He felt that he was to blame for what had happened. Since they were married and he was a rather solemn type who would frown on any familiarity with his bride, I decided on the formal approach. No sense hinting that Kim and I had once been a little too cozy.
“Now, Mrs. Massey,” I said, “I’d like to know just what happened last night. That is, if you still want me to continue on this case. It’s only fair to tell you that since a murder has been committed, you’ll have the full cooperation
of the police. They’ll investigate all the way.”
“I know that,” she said. “But my Aunt hired you and she would have wanted you to … to carry on to the end. She had great faith in you. And that goes for me, too. Howie?”
He looked at her, seemed to pull himself from a stupor. “Certainly,” he said. “I’m all for it. I can’t help feeling terribly guilty, Mr. Striker. It was my idea to get rid of Tarino by sending him a copy of the marriage license.” He held a hand over his face. I thought he was going to cry.
“Darling!” Kim said. “Please, please don’t blame yourself. Whatever you had in mind, you did absolutely nothing about it. I was the one who showed Eddie Tarino the photostat. Please?”
“All right,” he said in a broken kind of way. “All right, dear. It’s too late now, anyway. Nothing will change it.”
She turned to me. “Don’t worry about your fee, Mr. Striker. My Aunt was very generous. I have some money of my own.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Massey firmly. “Present your bill to me, Mr. Striker. My wife’s debts are my debts.”
I was a little embarrassed. I didn’t give a damn where the money came from. “Now,” I said. “You were with Tarino last night. At a party given by a Nick Markos. You had a fight with Tarino. Tell me about it.”
“He had a few drinks,” she said. “He was riding high on his ego. He began to get — affectionate. Oh, let’s be honest. He wanted me to go to bed with him. Right there in that penthouse with all those people — “
“God!” said Massey. “Oh, God!”
“Well, that was the last straw. I had that photostat in my pocketbook and I had been feeling kind of belligerent, anyway. I was fed up. So on an impulse I’ll regret for the rest of my life, I showed it to him.”
“And what did he do?”
“He was astonished. He turned white. Then red with anger. He struck me across the face. It was the first time he ever touched — hit me. I fell down and he tore the paper up and threw the pieces at me. ‘You think this will do you any good,’ he shouted. ‘You think so? Just wait and see.’
“Then he carried me into a bedroom and he tried to — But I kept fighting him off and he knew he would practically have to kill me. I think he was afraid to go too far.” She looked at Massey. “I just don’t want to talk about what he did. Nothing, really. But someone knocked on the door and that was the end of it. He rushed me outside of the apartment into the hall. He threw a ten-dollar bill at me. ‘Get a cab and go home,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of you later, baby. See if I don’t. I’ve got connections. I’ll get that marriage annulled and you’ll help me. You’ll be glad to do it. You’ll beg me for it. Now beat it!’ “
“That was all he said?” I asked. “He didn’t make any specific threats? About your Aunt? Or Mr. Massey?”
“Oh heavens, no. He never made any specific threats. He was too clever for that. He let someone else do his dirty work.”
“So then you got a cab and you came home. Right?” “Yes.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know exactly. It was close to one o’clock by the time I got here. Then I phoned Howie and he came right over. We talked for a while, trying to decide what to do next. He left and I went to bed. I couldn’t sleep. I tossed for hours. Finally I got up and I called my Aunt. She didn’t answer but I wasn’t terribly worried because she was a heavy sleeper. She had one of those plug-in phones and sometimes she left it in the living room. I slept for an hour or two and then I called again. This time when she didn’t answer, I went over.”
“You told Lieutenant Ulrich it was a little after five-thirty this morning. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“And did you notice anything unusual when you got there?”
“Nothing. I had my own key and I went right into the bedroom. It was dark and I looked and Aunt Martha seemed to be asleep. I called her name and when she didn’t answer, I put on the light. And then I … I …”
She couldn’t go on. She just doubled up, sobbing. Massey put his arm around her and made soothing noises. Abruptly she straightened and wiped her eyes. “Howie,” she said. “Tell him what happened to you.”
Massey got up and paced for a moment, wringing his hands. Though the day was warm, he had on a dark gray suit and he wore a tie. His eyes were gouged with circles of fatigue, his features seemed to sag. Gone was the Joe-college front, the bravado. He was just plain frightened. He looked years older. I liked him better without the cocky air.
“I live in an apartment near my office,” he said. “It used to be my father’s before he died. I was staying there with him. He and my mother were divorced years ago. My father left me the business, though at the time of his death, I was sales manager. The apartment is on the fourth floor and there’s no way into it except by the door. I mean, the windows are not accessible.
“But after this nightmare began, I had a double lock installed. It just seemed like a good idea. Since these threats were made, I’ve never been more than half asleep. Sometimes lately I would jump out of bed in the middle of the night, wide awake, listening. And it would be nothing but the elevator door, or maybe someone passing in the hall, some noisy drunk coming home.
“But this morning about three-thirty something woke me and I lay there listening to an odd sort of scraping noise. I couldn’t place it and so I got up and went to the door. Then I heard it very plainly. Someone was tampering with the lock. Trying to get in, of course.
“At first I was going to open the door and grab whoever it was. But I figured it was Tarino or one of his hoods and he would be armed. I didn’t have a gun and to open that door without one could be suicide. So I called the police. While I was waiting for help, that noise went on and on until my nerves were raw. Finally I got a carving knife from the kitchen and stood holding it in the dark, ready for anything.
“A squad car arrived in about three or four minutes. But you could hear that goddamn siren a mile off. And at the first sound of it, the noise stopped. Something like twenty seconds later I heard a car start under my window. I looked out and a big convertible was roaring away from the curb.”
“Cadillac?”
“Could have been, I don’t know.” He stopped pacing and sat down beside Kim. “What did the cops find?”
“Some tool had been used on the lock. It was plain enough. One of the officers took a statement and I told him the truth — that I had been threatened because of Kim. Threkel, I think his name was. Yes, Officer Threkel. He and his partner waited around while I called Bud Griffin, my service manager and a mighty tough character. Used to be a pro boxer. Bud said I could stay with him for the night and I drove right on over there.” Massey looked sheepish. “Maybe it was sort of cowardly, but after that business with the lock, I couldn’t make myself stay in that place.”
“Not cowardly,” I said. “Smart. Anything else?”
“No. Kim reached me at the office a little after eight. I went right out there. I hadn’t phoned her about what happened because I didn’t want to worry her. Stupid. I should have known that guy would head for her Aunt’s next. But, oh God, it just never entered my mind that anyone would really kill her.”
At which point Kim began to weep again and the atmosphere was so goddamn morbid I couldn’t take it any more. So I left. But on the way out I told Massey he had better play it safe and go right on staying with his friend, Bud Griffin.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he said. “It’s time I moved in with my wife. Kim is through with Tarino. She’ll never see him again. The only way she wants to see him is dead. So now anything can happen and she might need protection.”
“She might,” I said. “But I doubt it. You’re the one I’m worried about. For reasons we both understand, your wife has been quite safe from the beginning, and I don’t think she’s in any danger now.”
That’s what I told him. Because an attack on Kim didn’t make sense.
But in this business you learn not to believe i
n what makes sense.
The hard way.
Twenty
They couldn’t hold Tarino. Not for long. Ulrich tried, but it didn’t work. Tarino had been at The Frolic from about two A.M. until closing at four. He had been seated with Markos at one of his tables and he never left. The entire staff and even a couple of customers known to the girls, backed him. At five after four he was in an all-night beanery down the block. He fed his face and read a paper until nearly five. A short-order jockey and his helper would swear on a stack of wheatcakes.
Martha Rumshaw was murdered between two-thirty and four-thirty, according to the med examiner. His best guess was close to three A.M. Exit Tarino. A sharpie lawyer had him free in a couple of hours. He knew nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing. Naturally. He never threatened anyone in his whole life. Naturally. Kim was just “a friend.” He had no special interest in her. Naturally.
Well, none of us were much surprised. Of course he would have a flawless alibi. And of course he sent his hired gun. Just a phone call would take care of it. The gun would catch hell for goofing up Massey’s erasure. He’d be told to try again if he wanted his dough. Likely he’d lay off until the heat cooled and Massey got careless. One thing puzzled me. What made Tarino think that after he buried the Aunt and hubby, too, Kim would fly into his arms? Unless he was a hopeless egomaniac or a total idiot, he would have some reason to expect a little cooperation. It would be mighty damn interesting to know that reason. I was going to give it a lot of thought.
Meanwhile, there was work to be done. Put Tarino in an eight-by-ten cubicle with floor-to-ceiling bars and find out which of his playmates pulled trigger for him, that’s all. Nothing to it.
Myra found the Markos warehouse in daylight. We spent part of the late afternoon hunting it down. She had never been too familiar with that district and it was a job. We didn’t stop. We slid right on past the place and came back after dark.
I needed a look-out while I cased the building. So Myra sat in my car half a block away around the corner of a side street. She had my binoculars and could spot anyone approaching, even without them. She was to beat the horn — one short and one long if there was trouble.