by Jerry eBooks
Crandall’s tone hit a new high in insults, “This man has been here several times. He has made love to my secretary and she has completely lost her head. In fact, I think she probably was his accomplice. Jefferson Werner stole those securities, Or my secretary, Mary Taggart, or both of them working together.”
Dink sat back in the car. “Werner won’t get away,” he said slowly. “We’ve already got him—at the morgue.”
Crandall stared. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Just that,” Dink said. “Werner’s dead. My men have gone over his apartment with a fine tooth comb. There’s no negotiable securities there.”
“Then Mary killed him and ran away,” Crandall said flatly.
Dink’s voice lowered dangerously. “How long has Miss Taggart been with you?”
“Ten years.”
“Aren’t you pretty fast accusing someone who’s been with you that long?”
Crandall drew up. “You dolts wouldn’t understand how a genius thinks. I know she has killed Werner, he probably jilted her. She has run off.”
Dink sighed, counted to ten and then could talk again. “You seem to have a lot of dough for a novel writer,” he suggested.
Crandall flushed angrily. “I do not sully my art. My father left me a sizable fortune, so I write as I please. It just happens they sell.”
Dink nodded. “So I hear. Where does Miss Taggart live?”
Crandall told him. Dink obtained a list of the securities, looked at the wall safe in the over-rich office in the house. He discovered Werner had been eager to sell Crandall some mining stock. The novelist kept bringing the talk back to his secretary.
Dink left with the definite impression that Crandall was burnt up because Werner had taken Mary Taggart’s interest.
Finally he came back to the, car and climbed in. “Let’s get out of here,” he growled at Donegan. “One more minute with that inflated crackpot and they’ll be giving me the hot seat at Michigan City.”
Donegan wheeled the car around. “Nature sure went off the beam when that guy was planned,” he said acidly.
CHAPTER IV
THEY drove back to town and. Dink directed Donegan to Mary Taggart’s address. It proved to be a big house on a curving, tree-lined street. Dink opened the front door to a small lobby and saw the girl’s name and apartment number on a mail box. The old. mansion had been remodelled and cut up into small apartments. Dink walked up a winding stairs to the second floor. The girl’s door was the second down the hall.
He knocked gently and waited. No one answered. Dink shifted his cigar and knocked again, just as softly. He thought he heard a furtive movement but couldn’t be sure. He tested the knob and the door cracked open a little.
Dink shot a quick glance up the hall and slipped into the apartment. He closed the door and turned into the room. He froze.
A girl stood in a far door and she held a deadly little revolver, She was a beautiful girl but fright made ugly lines around her blue eyes and red mouth. Dink’s bulging green eyes swiftly told him that he could never get across the room before she fired. She stared at him, wordless.
Dink slouched back against the door and took off his hat. He grinned amiably. “You’re Mary Taggart?” For a moment she didn’t answer. Then she nodded, “Yes.”
Dink sighed deeply. “Boy, I’m glad I found you! You’re lucky I did, too.”
The gun wavered a little, “What do you mean?”
Dink stepped carefully to a chair and sat down, crossing his thin legs, “Jefferson Werner has been killed. That prince of heels, Stanley Crandall, claims you stole a lot of securities.”
She gasped, “I didn’t! Werner stole them. That’s why I—” she broke off sharply. “Who are you?” Dink ignored the question. “Did Werner have them?”
She shook her head and suddenly dropped the gun. She started crying, Dink crossed the room, picked up the weapon and led her to a chair. “Tell me about it, Miss Taggart. I’m here to help you if I can.”
She sobbed on and he could only catch phrases, “Werner said he loved me . . . tried to sell Crandall stock, Werner stole the securities . . . Stanley was always careless with the safe . . . I went to Werner to get them back. I wanted to kill him and I took a gun.
Dink listened, soothing her, trying to bring her around to tell a coherent story. He finally got it, and the reconstruction fitted in with what he knew, Werner had used his evident charms on Mary Taggart, becoming a constant visitor to the Crandall home. He had seen opportunity in the open safe door and had taken advantage of it, Mary realized who had stolen the securities when Crandall had discovered the loss.
She choked when she thought of the theft. “I couldn’t believe that Jefferson would do such a thing. I was crushed. I guess I lost my head. Anyhow, I got Crandall’s gun and went to Jefferson’s apartment.”
Dink broke in. “He was alive?” She nodded miserably. “Yes, but I wish he hadn’t been, I accused him of the theft, and he didn’t deny it to me. I told him that I could not marry a thief.” She buried her face in her hands and her words came muffled. “He laughed and said that he could not remember any words of marriage. That’s when I pulled the gun. He was frightened for a moment and then he took it away from me. I couldn’t stand it any longer and I ran out of the apartment.”
Dink looked down at the gun he had taken from her. “You evidently know of his murder.”
She gasped. “Murder! The papers say he killed himself.”
Dink shook his head. “That’s what the papers say until I tell them different. I’m just working on a hunch at that. There was a note in his typewriter accusing you of breaking his heart. He had taken the easiest way out.”
Mary stared hard at him. “He didn’t care for me at all.”
Dink arose. “I can see that and it means my theory is right. You stick around close, Miss Taggart. We might want to talk about things later.”
“I’m under arrest?” she asked fearfully.
Dink grinned. “Not unless you’ve got another one of these playthings around. They’re bad business for nice young girls. I’ll be seeing you.”
He rejoined Donegan in the car and leaned thoughtfully back against the seat. Donegan waited for instructions and started fidgeting under the wheel.
Dink pulled a cigar from his pocket, “Let’s go to the station. I think Jefferson Werner had concealed talents.”
Donegan grunted as he started the car. “He ain’t no more. Leastways, there ain’t much he can do on a slab.”
AT THE station, Dink made out a rough report and then read it carefully, He kept trying to rearrange the few clues he had so that they would make a logical pattern. He frowned, looking uglier than ever. Two things were clear in the summary, There was nothing to prove that Werner hadn’t done the highdive of his own volition. If it was murder, everything pointed to Mary Taggart with the exception of one important item. She didn’t look strong enough to knock a man out and then push him through a window.
Dink called the laboratory for the fingerprint man. He asked about Werner’s prints.
The man sounded excited. “Yeah, I got ’em, and I got a surprise for you. Werner’s prints were on file. Yeah, we got ’em about five years ago from the FBI. He worked a fake securities racket in New York under the name of James Fenton, Seems he had a partner in those days, John Ordren. They split up and Fenton dropped out of sight.”
Dink asked about Ordren. “We ain’t got a thing on what happened to him. He might be in prison somewhere.”
Dink replaced the receiver and thoughtfully tugged at his ear. He wished to hell he knew where this Ordren person could be found. He decided to check the modus operand! file and spent most of the afternoon there. He couldn’t say that he learned very much.
CHAPTER V
LEADS in a case have a bad habit of suddenly going dead and Dink recognized the symptoms. Nothing new developed in the Werner case. He asked questions, went over and over the information he had and he might as well h
ave been on a vacation for the week that passed.
He questioned Porter Stanfield at length again. The man wanted to be helpful, but he had little to offer. He did identify Mary Taggart from a photograph that Dink showed him. but that in itself meant little. It confirmed her presence just before the murder and it also confirmed Mary’s own confession, that she had been there.
Dink questioned the desk clerk at the Mardott, the housekeeper, the bellhops. Nothing came but what he already knew. Jefferson Werner was constantly going and coming and he had many visitors, the greater number women. Mary Taggart’s photograph brought immediate recognition several times.
He went over the apartment again, very carefully. Jacobs sat in one of the easy chairs and watched him.
Finally Dink slammed the closet door and faced the fat man, his green eyes glinting angrily,
“Not a damned thing!”
Jacobs shrugged and looked up hopefully. “Look, can I rent this suite now?”
Dink popped a cigar in his mouth and bit viciously down on it. “Sure, go ahead. But, Jacobs, be careful of your tenants. I don’t like ’em getting killed.”
Jacobs shuddered, “You should be telling me! Lieutenant, I shall personally look them over, each and every one.”
Dink nodded, grinned, and went to the door. “The place is yours again, friend. Better luck next time.” Porter Stanfield was just coming from his apartment. He smiled at Dink. “You’re very busy on a suicide case, Lieutenant. Has anything new come up?”
Dink grunted and shifted his cigar. “It’s still suicide, I just wanted to make sure.”
Stanfield stepped into the elevator. “That’s good news.”
Dink growled, “Why?”
Stanfield shrugged, “Who would want a, murderer running around loose in the hotel?”
Dink didn’t answer. He drove from, the hotel to the dirty gray stone Headquarters. He pushed upstairs to the Homicide room. No one was in and the telephone was ringing. He picked it up and snapped his name.
“This is the First American Bank,” a deep voice said, “We have just received, a line on those stolen securities.”
Dink shouted. “I’ll be over. Hold everything.”
In a short time he sat in a somber office while a somber man behind a somber desk answered his questions. “One of our clients purchased these securities from a dealer who called on him.”
Dink felt his heart sink. This would come right back to Werner and he’d be no better off than before. The Fifth Vice-President folded his hands and went on. “The dealers name was John. Ordren and he does not seem to be licensed.”
Dink’s jaws clamped on the cigar.
“I have a line on Ordren, He’s not exactly a righteous citizen. Where did your client meet him?”
The man shrugged. “The usual manner, a securities salesman calling on an executive. My client recognized the securities, and so believed the salesman was bona fide enough. The catch came at the discount offered on face value. My client became suspicious and checked with us.”
Dink leaned forward, “I’d like to know what this Ordren looks like.”
The Fifth Vice-President reached for a piece of note paper. “I asked the same question. Here’s a brief description. Stocky, with gray hairs at the temples. Square-jawed, forceful personality. Wears diamond ring.”
DINK smiled and hastily arose. “I got it, and thanks. I think I can put the finger on friend Ordren. I’ll let you know.”
He fairly shot from the office and through the crowded bank. Donegan dozed in the car and Dink punched him awake, “The Mardott Hotel and use the siren. We got to get there.”
Donegan flashed him a surprised look and his big foot came down on the starter. The motor roared to life and the red blinker light flashed on. They shot from the curb, the siren starting its high wail.
Traffic quickly parted for the car and Dink grimly stared out the windshield at the flashing street. He cursed himself for being sound asleep. He should have seen the connection long before. Donegan wheeled the car into the curved drive and Dink jumped toward the hotel doors.
Jacobs came running forward, horror on his face. Dink grabbed the man’s lapels. “I want Porter Stanfield.”
Jacobs looked blank and then startled. “Mr. Stanfield checked out this morning.”
Dink stared at him, still holding tightly to the black lapels. His bulging green eyes grew desperate. “Checked out? He couldn’t. You shouldn’t have let him.”
Jacobs angrily pried Dink’s fingers from his coat. “I believe we handle our own business, Lieutenant. There was no order to that effect from the police department. Something else, that red light and siren has done the hotel no good. I shall complain very strongly to the proper—”
Dink wasn’t listening. He turned on his heel and ran to the desk. The clerk stared as though Dink was about to gibber. He was. “Did Stanfield say where he was going?” It took the clerk a minute to catch up, then he shook his head. “No, sir, he did not. He simply checked out.”
“What cab did he take? Did he go to the railroad station?”
“He had his own car, sir. It was brought around from the garage.” Dink held onto the counter and glared at the clerk. Then he snatched his hat from his head and slammed it to the floor. He cursed fluently, damning himself as a numbskull. His angry eyes happened to rest on the switchboard.
He paused in mid-action, sanity slowly returning to his green eyes. He crossed to the stunned girl and out of his anger somehow managed to drag a grimace that passed for a smile.
“Did Mr. Stanfield make any calls just before he left?”
She shook her head. “None, sir.” Dink came close to losing his temper again but he counted to ten. “How about last night?”
The girl consulted a black notebook. “There was one made last night. Broadway 6592.”
Dink grabbed the phone and dialed Headquarters. “Whose phone is Broadway 6592?”
There was a long pause. Then the official voice answered. “That’s listed to Mr. Stanley Crandall. Woodbine.” Dink slowly lowered the phone. He impatiently waved Jacobs aside and walked slowly out of the hotel. He didn’t answer Donegan’s questioning look. “Headquarters,” he said briefly, and sank back against the seat.
He began to have faint ideas of what might have happened the day Werner, alias Fenton, was found smeared over the Mardott grounds. There were several big pieces missing, but if he could find Ordren, Dink felt certain he’d have the complete picture. He growled to himself at letting Ordren fool him in the guise of Porter Stanfield.
They arrived at Headquarters at last and Dink stumped up the stairs to Homicide and his own office. He slumped down in the chair and stared morosely out the window to the freight yards just beyond. Ordren’s call to Stanley Crandall stumped him.
It was easy to see that Ordren might have worked with Werner in stealing the securities and later disposing of them. That would be smart. But if that were true, why had Ordren called Crandall?
Dink shifted uncomfortably and stared at the phone. He twisted his thick lips thoughtfully and rubbed his hand over his high, bald forehead. He snapped his fingers and picked up the phone.
Crandall answered and Dink tried to make his voice concerned. “This is the First American Bank. I believe you were worried about some missing securities?”
There was a second’s hesitation, then Crandall’s haughty voice snapped back. “I am. not. I have changed my mind. They were not stolen.”
Dink gasped and then remembered who he was supposed to be. “But we had word to look out for them. They have just turned up.”
Crandall roared into the phone, “I don’t give a damn what word you had or where they are! I said I’ve changed my mind. That is quite sufficient.”
The receiver banged in Dink’s ear. He stared into the mouthpiece and then slowly put the phone back in the cradle. He pulled at his upper lip. He picked up the phone again and asked that a prowl car be brought around for him.
A half hour
later he wheeled the car into a side road and turned it around. From where he sat he could watch Crandall’s drive, and there was little likelihood that he himself would be noticed. He made himself comfortable for a long vigil.
The afternoon wore on and Dink was close to the end of his cigar supply. He felt the first vague stirrings of hunger. He began to wonder if he had made another mistake in playing this hunch to watch Crandall. He looked at his watch and decided he’d stay on until dark.
A quarter of an hour passed. Dink felt definitely hungry and he kept himself from breaking the jacket on his last cigar. Suddenly he caught a glimpse of metal through the trees. He straightened. A roadster pulled out of Crandall’s driveway and rolled smoothly toward the city. Dink caught a glimpse of Crandall’s haughty face. Dink started the motor, waited a few seconds, then rolled out on the highway. Crandall’s car was far ahead and Dink made no attempt to catch up for a while.
He closed the gap when the city limits came and the further they drove into the city proper, the more safe Dink felt. The man ahead drove without once looking back. He was headed for the heart of town. At last they were in the business district and twilight was upon them. Dink clung close to the roadster. At; the famed Monument Circle, Crandall turned into a parking garage.
DINK hastily found an empty space along the curb and climbed from the car. He hurried across the street and caught a glimpse of the novelist as he left the garage. Dink stepped into a doorway as Crandall searched the street. Then the man turned around and headed around the Circle, walking fast.
Dink had to scurry to keep up with him. Crandall went into a large cafeteria. Dink slowed up and cautiously approached the door. The place was crowded and Crandall wasn’t in sight. Dink pushed in. He saw Crandall far ahead in the line and Dink picked up a tray, ducking behind a heavy woman who eyed the steam tables with an avid gleam.
Crandall ordered and Dink watched a girl take his tray and follow him among the tables. In a short while Dink cautiously went along the wall, his eyes probing the tables. He spotted Crandall, and Dink had to suppress a shout. Porter Stanfield, alias Ordren, sat across the table from the writer.