Big Shots Die Young

by Richard Deming

  Warren Day had been glaring steadily at Beth McCauley while I spoke. Now he said, “What made Davidson think she’d have enough influence to keep hoodlums out of jail, just because she’s engaged to the district attorney?”

  “Who said anything about Miss McCauley?” I asked. “Sam D’Arcy is the third person.”

  Four pair of eyes swung to Sam D’Arcy’s face. Only Beth’s remained straight ahead.

  Sam said, “Haven’t we had enough of this foolishness, Inspector? The fifteen minutes are up.”

  “I’m extending it five more,” Day snapped. “Get on with it, Manny.”

  “That’s about all,” I said. “Except for the details of the smart plan. Miss McCauley gave me the lead on that. She said Sam sent her home at eight-thirty because he had a meeting at nine. But he didn’t phone me until five after nine, and then he told me the meeting was at nine-thirty.” I asked Day, “How was your invitation worded?”

  “Kind of funny,” Day said slowly. “Sam insisted we wait in front of the place until you arrived. Said you didn’t know how to find his apartment.”

  “That was so you’d be sure to hear my shot and come running. What happened was this: before Sam returned from what was supposed to be a questioning of Ned Hassenwaffer, but was probably a conference with Tim, he phoned Byron Wade to come to his apartment. Wade must have arrived just before nine, and Sam fed him a drink containing a Mickey Finn.

  “When Sam phoned me, Wade was probably already unconscious. Sam must have taken him down on the self-operating elevator and through the side door into the alley. He switched off the alley light and wedged the door open with a pencil or some such object. Then he carried Wade behind the ashpit.

  “While I was parking my car, he simply leaned Wade’s unconscious form against the ashpit, stuck a silenced gun past him from behind and fired over my head when I approached to within ten feet. Then he scooted down the alley to the side door, slipped on the chain from inside and ran up to his apartment. It was actually my bullet that killed Wade, but under the circumstances any court would call it self-defense on my part and murder on Sam’s.”

  Sam D’Arcy said, “This is complete nonsense, Inspector. You going to arrest this lunatic?”

  “No,” Day said.

  “I really should have guessed it sooner,” I said. “Tiny Tim bragged about having a local fix. I even argued with him that he couldn’t have, because the cops here aren’t fixable. But of course a crooked D.A. is even a better fix than a crooked police force.”

  “This is interesting talk,” Sam said. “But where’s your proof?” His face was pale, but he didn’t seem particularly afraid.

  “Haven’t got it yet, but maybe we’ll find a gun equipped with a silencer if we poke around a bit.” I added pleasantly, “If we don’t I’m going to ask the inspector to lock me in a closet with Tiny Tim for a few minutes.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Tim said, opening his mouth for the first time.

  “Let’s take a look around first,” Day suggested, and started toward the bedroom.

  A snub-nosed automatic suddenly appeared in the district attorney’s hand. “That’s far enough,” he snapped at Day, and began to back toward the door.

  Beth rose from her chair, her face pale and a strange light shining in her eyes. “I’m going with you, Sam.”

  “So am I,” Tiny Tim said, jumping to his feet and moving quickly over next to his local partner.

  “I’ll sit this one out,” said Rex Davidson dryly.

  Sam’s gun arced back and forth covering the rest of us as Beth passed behind him and reached for the doorknob. At the same time she grabbed a heavy vase from an end table, using the hand not on the knob, spun around and burst it over the back of D’Arcy’s head.

  Sam’s snarl became a vacuous grin, his knees buckled and the gun dropped from his fingers. He pitched forward on his face with a crash that shook the windows.

  After that everything happened at once. Tiny Tim scooped up the fallen gun at the same time Day’s and Hannegan’s hands slashed at their armpits and mine snaked toward my lower vest pocket. As my hand touched the butt, Tim’s gun roared and hot wind breathed in my ear.

  Then I was firing in return, the pop of my little pistol drowned by the crack of police Positives on either side of me. It was impossible to tell which of the three slugs reached Tim first. Any one of them would have been enough.

  I glanced over at Beth, who was backed against the door, the neck of the broken vase still clutched in her hand.

  “You can buy me that drink now,” she said in a voice that cracked slightly.