When the door is closed behind him, Abrams sits down with a sigh of relief and says: “It’s a lot better in here without them—especially that little shyster. Now maybe we can get somewhere!” He turns and sees that Nick, Nora, and David are huddled together whispering in a far corner of the room. David is telling Nick about Selma and the gun. Abrams says, gloomily: “There it is again. If people got anything to say, why don’t they say it to me?”
The huddle breaks up, Nick saying: “Just a little family gossip.”
Abrams says: “I’d even like to hear that.” He asks Polly: “Did you ever see Mr. Graham before?”
Polly says: “I saw him tonight, when we went to get the bonds.”
Abrams asks: “You and Robert Landis went to get them?”
Polly says: “Yes. He was waiting for us on the corner of _______Street—and he gave them to Robert.”
Abrams asks: “And then what?”
Polly says: “And then nothing. We left him and Robert went home.”
Abrams asks: “And what did you do?”
Polly, after a moment’s hesitation, says: “I went with him.”
Abrams asks: “He took you home with him?”
Polly says: “Well, not in the house. I waited for him a block away—around the corner.”
Abrams asks: “And then what?”
Polly says: “I waited a long time and then I heard a shot—only I thought it might be an automobile backfire—it was foggy and I was too far away to see anything—and I didn’t know what to do—then after a while a policeman went past the doorway where I was standing—and a police car came—then I honestly didn’t know what had happened, but I thought I’d better get out of the neighborhood if I didn’t want to get in trouble—so I came back here—”
Abrams says: “Phooey!” and looks at Nick.
Nick says: “I think somebody ought to ask her where she was too far away from—”
Polly stammers: “From wherever it was it happened. If I hadn’t been too far away, I’d have known where it was, wouldn’t I?”
Nick says: “I give up.”
Abrams: “All right—we’ll come back to that later. So you were waiting for him? What were you going to do if he hadn’t been killed?”
Polly glances uneasily at the door through which Dancer went, then shrugs and says: “We were going away.”
Abrams: “Where to?”
Polly: “New York first, I suppose—then Europe, he said.”
Abrams (looking at her evening gown): “Dressed like that?”
Polly: “We were going to stop at my place for me to change.”
Abrams: “Dancer know you were going?”
Polly: “No.”
Abrams: “Think he found it out, and knocked Landis off?”
Polly, shaking her head quickly from side to side: “No!”
Abrams: “You’re supposed to be Dancer’s gal, aren’t you?”
Polly: “I work for him.”
Abrams: “That’s not what I asked you.”
Polly: “You’ve got it wrong—honest. He knew I was running around with Robert—ask anybody.”
Abrams: “How long?”
Polly: “A month—three weeks anyhow.”
Abrams: “Get much money out of Landis?”
Polly, hesitantly: “He gave me some.”
Abrams: “How much?”
Polly: “I don’t know exactly. I—I can tell you tomorrow, I guess.”
Abrams: “Did you split it with Dancer?”
Polly: “Why, no!”
Abrams: “Maybe you’re lying. Maybe Dancer found out you were going away where you could keep all the sugar to yourself—and he put a stopper to it.”
Polly: “That’s silly!”
Abrams: “Sure. And hanging up in the air with a hunk of rope around your neck is silly, too.”
After a little pause to let that sink in, he says: “Landis hadn’t been home for a couple of days. Was he with you?”
Polly: “Most of the time.”
Abrams: “Drunk?”
Polly: “Yes.”
Abrams: “In your apartment?”
Polly: “There and here.”
Abrams: “Anybody else with you in your apartment?”
Polly: “No.”
Abrams: “Let’s get back to the money. How much did you get out of him—roughly?”
Polly stares at the floor in silence.
Abrams: “As much as a grand or two? Or more?”
Polly, not looking up: “More.”
Abrams: “More than five grand?” (Polly nods.) “All right, kick through—about how much?”
Polly shrugs wearily, opens her bag, takes out a check, and gives it to Abrams, saying: “A couple hundred dollars besides that, I guess.”
Abrams looks at the check, then up at the girl and asks: “What’d he give you this for?”
Polly: “Well, I was chucking up a job and everything to go away with him, and I didn’t want to take chances on being stranded somewhere off in Europe.”
Abrams: “Looks like you didn’t all right.” He beckons to the others, who come to look over his shoulders at the check. It is to the order of Polly Byrnes for $10,000 and is signed by Robert Landis. They look at one another in amazement.
Nick says: “Where do you suppose he got hold of that much?”
Abrams: “Why? Aren’t they rich?”
Nick: “The money is his wife’s, and she found out some time ago that she had to stop giving him too much at a time—just on account of things like this.”
Abrams: “Yeah? How about the signature?”
Nick: “Looks all right to me.”
David: “And to me.”
Abrams (as if thinking aloud): “But he don’t usually have this much money, huh?” He asks Polly: “Sure you didn’t take this to the bank today and find out it was no good?”
Polly: “I did not.”
Abrams: “That’s something we can check up. You know you’re not going to have any easy time collecting this—unless his wife’s as big a sap as he was.”
Polly: “Why? He gave it to me.”
Abrams: “Maybe. But his bank account’s automatically tied up now till the estate’s settled, and then I got an idea you’re going to have to do a fancy piece of suing—taking a drunk for his roll!”
Polly: “I’ll take my chances. Just the same, if his dying makes all that trouble, that shows we didn’t have anything to do with killing him, doesn’t it? Why wouldn’t we wait till after we’d cashed it?”
Abrams: “We, we, we! So Dancer was in on it! How about the Chinaman?”
Polly: “Nobody was in on it. There was nothing to be in on.”
Abrams: “Phooey!” He addresses the remaining detective: “Okay, Butch. Take her and her two playmates down to the hall and let the district attorney’s office know you’ve got ’em there. We’ll be along in a little while.” He turns to Nick: “Or do you want to ask her something?”
Nick: “Yes. Did Robert Landis know Pedro Dominges?”
Polly shakes her head and says: “Not that I—” She remembers something. “Once when Robert and I were going out together we passed him and he said good evening to both of us by name and we couldn’t figure out how he knew Robert’s, and Robert made some joke about nobody being able to hide anything from a landlord.”
Nick: “Thanks.”
Polly and the detective go out.
Abrams: “That mean anything to you?”
Nick: “Not too much.”
Abrams: “Now, Mr. Graham, I’ve got to—” He breaks off to look at Nora and Nick, saying thoughtfully: “I don’t know whether you two ought to be in here while I’m doing this or not.”
Nick, yawning, says: “I know where we ought to be. Come on, darling.”
Abrams: “Maybe you ought to stay. Now, Mr. Graham, I got to ask a lot of questions that you’re not going to like, but I got to ask ’em.”
David: “I understand.”
Abrams
: “First off, you’re in love with Mrs. Landis. Right?” David starts to protest, then simply nods. “She in love with you?”
David, trying to speak calmly in spite of the painfulness of this inquiry: “You’ll have to ask her.”
Abrams: “I will. Did she ever say she was?”
David: “Not—not since she was married.”
Abrams: “Before?”
David: “We were once engaged.”
Abrams: “Until Landis came along?”
David, in a very low voice: “Yes.”
Abrams: “Ever ask her to divorce him and marry you?”
David: “She knew how I felt—it wasn’t necessary to—”
Abrams: “But did you ever ask her?”
David: “I may have.”
Abrams: “And what did she say?”
David: “She never said she would.”
Abrams: “But you hoped she would. And you thought with him out of the way she would.”
David looks Abrams in the eye and says: “I didn’t kill Robert.”
Abrams: “I said you did? But you did pay him to go away.”
David: “Yes.”
Abrams: “Did she know about it?”
David: “No, not unless he told her.”
Abrams: “Were you and Landis on good terms?”
David: “Decidedly not.”
Abrams: “On very bad terms?”
David: “Very bad.”
The lights go out. In complete darkness Abrams’s voice is heard saying: “Stay where you are—everybody!”
From the distance come the sounds of doors crashing, of glass breaking, of feet running, of men shouting; then close at hand furniture is knocked over, a door is slammed open, feet pound on the floor, two shots are fired, bodies thud and thrash around on the floor. Presently a cigarette lighter snaps on, held in Nick’s hand. Behind him, in the dim light, Nora’s and David’s faces can be seen. The three of them are looking down at their feet. Abrams lies on the floor on his back. On top of him, mechanically chewing gum, his face serene, is Harold. One of his feet is on Abrams’s throat; both his hands are clamped around one of Abrams’s feet, twisting it inward and upward in the old Gotch toehold.
Nick says gently: “Harold, Harold, get up from there. Lieutenant Abrams isn’t going to like this.”
Harold, cheerfully: “You’re the boss.” He jumps up.
As Abrams gets up, a hand to his throat, Nick says: “My chauffeur. Stout fellow, eh?”
Abrams goes toward Harold saying: “What do you think you—”
Harold sticks his face into the Lieutenant’s and says: “What am I supposed to do? I’m sitting out there and I see the lights go off. Nick and Mrs. Charles are up here and I know what kind of dump it is. Think I’m going to sit out there like a sissy till they throw the bodies out? How do I know you’re a copper?” Then, more argumentatively, as he goes on: “Suppose I did know it? How can I tell Nick ain’t got hisself in a jam with the police?”
Nick: “All right—but don’t you boys think you’d better stop wrangling long enough to find out who turned out the lights and did the shooting?” He asks Harold: “Did you run into anybody else on your way up?”
Harold: “Only the copper, here.”
The lights go on.
They are standing in the passageway outside of Dancer’s apartment. As they start toward the front of the building, out of the restaurant comes one of Abrams’s men with Polly, Lum Kee, and Caspar, and behind them another detective, dragging a Chinese waiter.
Abrams asks in a complaining voice: “Well, now what have you been letting them do?”
One of the detectives, indicating the waiter, says: “Dancer had this monkey pull the switch and beat it out a window. Butch is hunting for him now.”
Abrams asks: “And what was that shooting?”
The other detective says sheepishly: “I guess it was me, I thought there was somebody running at me but I guess it was only me in the mirror.”
Abrams says wearily: “All right—but this time take them down to the Hall like I told you.”
David has taken Nick a little aside and is asking: “Should I tell him about Selma and the gun?”
Nick: “It depends on whether you think she did it.”
David: “Of course not—do you?”
Nick: “No. Then the only thing to do is to tell him everything.”
At this point, Abrams, returning from seeing his men off, says: “I asked you people not to go off whispering in corners all the time.”
David: “Lieutenant Abrams, I’ve something to tell you. I happened—”
Abrams interrupts him: “All right—but we’re all going down to the Hall where we can talk in peace. I don’t like the high jinks that come off here.”
Nora yawns.
Abrams: “Sorry, Mrs. Charles. I won’t keep you any longer than I have to but we’ve got to do things regular.”
A CHEAP HOTEL ROOM
Phil is sitting at a table playing solitaire with a gun on the table. He is smoking nervously and there is a pile of cigarette butts on a saucer near him. Presently there is a knock on the door. He picks up the gun and stares at the door with frightened eyes but doesn’t answer. The knock is repeated, louder. After a little pause, Dancer’s voice comes through, saying: “This is Dancer—will you open the door or will I kick it in?”
Slowly, as if afraid to open the door and afraid not to, Phil gets up and, holding the gun behind him, goes to the door and unlocks it. Dancer pushes the door open violently, knocking Phil back against the wall, then kicks the door shut; and standing close to Phil, says with threatening mildness: “What did I tell you about trying to cut yourself in on somebody else’s game?”
OUTSIDE THE HALL OF JUSTICE—BROAD DAYLIGHT
Harold is asleep in Nick’s car. Nick, Nora, and Abrams come out of the building surrounded by a flock of reporters.
Abrams is saying to the reporters: “Lay off us. I told you anything you get, you’ll have to get from the D.A.” He then says to Nick and Nora: “I could use a lot of breakfast. How about you folks?”
Nick looks at his watch and says: “I could use a lot of sleep.”
Nora is too sleepy to say anything.
Abrams insists: “Yeh, but you got to eat anyhow, don’t you, and there’s a pretty good place not far from here.”
Nick asks: “You mean you want to ask some more questions?”
Abrams: “No, not exactly, but there are a couple of points.”
Nick: “We’ll drop you wherever you’re going and you can ask them on the way—but if you get wrong answers it’s because I’m talking in my sleep.”
As they are about to get into Nick’s car, a taxi-cab drives up and Dancer gets out. Abrams goes over and grabs him by the shoulder, asking: “Where have you been?”
Dancer: “Hiding—where’d you think I’ve been? The lights go out and somebody starts shooting—I haven’t even got a gun—I don’t know whether somebody’s trying to get me or if I’m being framed by you people, or what—so I did the only smart thing I could think of and played the duck and waited for daylight so I can at least see who’s shooting at me.”
Abrams turns to Nick and Nora and says: “Phooey! I won’t be more than a minute. I’m going to turn him over to the boys. I’m afraid to trust myself with him this morning—I’m liable to slap him around too much.” He and Dancer go back into the Hall of Justice.
Abrams returns almost immediately, gets into the car with Nick and Nora complaining: “What stories these guys think up.” They drive off.
INTERIOR NICK’S CAR
Nick, Nora, and Abrams are sitting together. Nora is nodding sleepily, her head keeps bobbing in front of Nick, interfering with his vision. Whenever Nick turns to speak to Abrams, her head falls back, concealing him.
Abrams: “Sure I believe David Graham—I guess, but how do I know he ought to have believed Mrs. Landis? Well, I’m going to talk to her today if I have to lock up that lame ‘nut’
doctor while I do it. On the level, Mr. Charles, what’s she doing with him around if she isn’t at least a little bit punchy?”
Nick: “I don’t think she is—just very nervous. You know how idle wives get—look at Mrs. Charles, for instance.”
Abrams looks at Nora, who by this time is sound asleep, her chin resting on her chest.
Nick goes on: “And then, living with Robert wasn’t doing her any good.”
Abrams: “You honestly don’t think she did it?”
Nick: “No.”
Abrams: “She had the best reason. Graham had paid him to go away and he was going away, so he didn’t have much reason—Dancer and the Chinaman and the Byrnes gal were taking him all right, but killing him made it tough for them on the check. Besides, why didn’t they grab the bonds and that jewelry of his wife’s that he had on him? And that goes for the Byrnes gal even if she was double-crossing the others.”
Nick asks: “How about Phil—her brother?”
Abrams: “There’s no telling exactly until we get hold of him, but he figures to be out for the dough, too—so why don’t he grab the bonds? He don’t sound to me like a lad who would kill somebody just because he was running off with his sister.”
Nick: “Lots of stickups go wrong—perhaps he had to leave before he could get the stuff.”
Abrams: “You mean on account of Mrs. Landis running around the corner with a gun in her hand like she said she did? If he saw her, why didn’t she see him, and she didn’t say anything about that, did she?”
Nick: “Back in the office, you said Landis and Pedro were killed with bullets from the same gun. She doesn’t fit in very well with Pedro’s killing; but Polly lived in his house, which ties his killing up at least a little with her and the others.”
Abrams: “That’s right enough and I guess there’s not much doubt that he was killed because he was on his way to tell you something. It’s a fair bet that that something he was going to tell you had to do with Robert Landis, but there’s something funny about that house that I want to show you. Maybe, if you’ve got a few minutes—”
Nick: “You don’t mean the goats in the hallway?”
Abrams, surprised: “What goats?”
Crime Stories Page 112