by Craig Rice
“Quite right,” old Rodney Fairfaxx said. “I’ll have Orlo Featherstone draw them up. A doddering old fool, but thorough.” He drew a three-tiered checkbook from the desk drawer, dug a fountain pen from another drawer and began writing. “If there are any additional expenses, Mr. Malone, please bill me.”
Malone rose and said, “Hold it, chum. You don’t owe me anything. So far, I haven’t done a damned thing for you, and I get the general impression I’m fired, as of now. I’ll draw up an expense account and I think it will come to about thirteen dollars and eighty cents.”
“I believe in paying my debts,” old Rodney Fairfaxx said, rising. He handed Malone the check, tactfully folded.
“Well,” Malone said. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then slipped the folded paper into his pocket.
“Believe me, you’ve earned it,” Rodney Fairfaxx said. He smiled again and said, “If anyone in this household should be tried for the murder of those three unfortunate postmen, I would like to engage you for the defense. For a suitable fee, of course.” He opened the door into the living room.
It seemed to Malone as though everyone had been playing a game of living statues. No one had moved. The mutt had been brought back from the pantry and was sitting at Helene’s knee, waiting hopefully for Malone. Otherwise, everything was the same.
“Mr. Malone and I have decided,” Rodney Fairfaxx said pleasantly, “that Orlo Featherstone should draw up the necessary papers for the Annie Kendall Foundation. Which severs the business relationship between Mr. Malone and myself—or, I should say, ourselves—unless at some time in the future we should find ourselves in need of a criminal lawyer.”
It seemed to Malone that the vacant space above the mantel looked bigger than the Grand Canyon on a rainy day, and just about as dismal.
Then suddenly everybody began to talk at once. Helene gave Malone a despairing look. He walked over to her, little old Rodney Fairfaxx at his side.
“Jake,” Helene said.
“Right away.” Malone said, reassuringly, wishing with all his heart that something would happen to delay their departure.
“You’ll have a drink before you go,” old Rodney Fairfaxx said cordially.
Helene shook her head silently.
“It’s cold outside,” Malone said.
The mutt gave a wistful whimper.
Helene shook her head again, and reached for her furs. “I’ve got to get back to Jake. He’s sick.”
Malone crossed his fingers. It worked. Bridie appeared, her face pale.
“Mr. Malone. ’Tis the police. The Captain von Flanagan. He says y’re to be at headquarters faster than possible. And that the Mrs. Justus should be drivin’ you down, if she’s at all available.”
“She is,” Helene said, in the startled silence that followed.
Old Rodney Fairfaxx went to the door with them. “Sorry you couldn’t have stayed for that drink,” he said cordially. And then, with a parting smile, “But I have a feeling we’ll meet again, and soon.”
27
“Someday I must make my will,” Malone said dreamily. “And remember von Flanagan handsomely.”
Helene glanced at him anxiously. “Malone, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep—”
“I’m perfectly sane,” Malone said, “And sometime I’ll tell von Flanagan why he’s remembered in my will. I might even tell you.”
The little lawyer switched his mind to a more cheerful subject. That neatly folded check in his pocket. He wondered how much it was. It hadn’t seemed quite delicate to look at it in Rodney Fairfaxx’s paneled library, and since then he hadn’t had an opportunity. He had a curious feeling that he wanted to be alone when he did look at it.
He hoped that it would be enough to settle accounts with Joe the Angel, and some left over.
Von Flanagan seemed unusually subdued. He smiled almost absent-mindedly at Helene, said a polite word to the mutt, and then said, “I’d like a word with you in private, Malone.”
Helene said, “While I’m waiting, I’ll just phone Jake and see how he is.”
“No, no, no,” Malone said hastily. “You’ll wake him up. Remember, the doctor said he wasn’t to be disturbed.” He added, “And anyway, we’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
He walked into an adjoining office with von Flanagan and shut the door. The big police officer mopped his brow.
“Malone,” he began, “you’ve known me a long time. What makes you think you can keep secrets from me?”
Malone looked surprised, started unwrapping a cigar, and said nothing.
“Have you had any luck finding Jake?” von Flanagan asked.
This time Malone really did look surprised.
“I know all about it,” von Flanagan said irritably. “You’ve got half the guys in town looking for him. I know this unofficially, you understand. And Max Hook said you were trying to keep her from finding out he was missing until you found him. That’s why I said she should come down here with you. I thought it’d give you a little more time.”
“By God,” Malone said, “I am going to remember you in my will!” He added, “Never mind, I’ll explain that later. Mind if I use your phone?”
Half a dozen phone calls later, he faced von Flanagan defeated.
“He’s got to be somewhere,” von Flanagan said. His broad face paled. “Him with all the things wrong with him she was telling that doctor this morning, walking around in weather like this!”
Malone chewed on his cigar and said nothing.
Von Flanagan muttered something about the Missing Persons Bureau.
Malone shook his head. “If these guys can’t find him, nobody can,” he said. “And right now there’s no point in making this official.” He glanced toward the closed door.
“But Malone.” The big police officer’s face was furrowed with anxiety. “What are you going to tell her?”
“Don’t worry,” Malone said. “When the time comes, I’ll think of something.”
“It’s not that I give a damn what’s happened to the bum,” von Flanagan roared. “It’s just that I want to know where he got that hammer.” He reached for the doorknob. “Tomorrow, Malone, we start looking for him.”
Helene looked up from removing a flea from behind the mutt’s right ear. “Looking for who?”
“Von Flanagan thinks his department ought to have a mascot,” Malone said. “He’s going to start looking for a dog just like this one.”
“There isn’t another one like this in the world,” Helene said, “but good luck.”
Von Flanagan sat down behind his desk. “It’s like this.” he said. “We are all through with these postmen being murdered. It was our case on account of, it was figured they got murdered as private individuals and not in their official capacity as postmen. Because, nothing had been stolen. Only now, it looks like somebody might of wanted to rob the United States mails but had been scared off.”
Malone opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again.
“So,” von Flanagan said, “naturally we’ll cooperate with the Federal guys if and when they ask us to, but meantime we got nothing official to do with the case, and that means, Malone, you got nothing to do with it either. You got Mr. Fairfaxx out of jail, and that was all you was engaged to do, so I figure that winds up your connection with the case, and I hope you got paid.” He drew a long breath.
“I did,” Malone said.
Helene said, “But—” and then stopped short.
“If you should find out where Jake got that hammer,” von Flanagan said, “I’d thank you very kindly if you’d let me know. Not on account of it’s any of my business anymore, but on account of I’m curious.”
“I will,” Helene promised. She rose, stood scowling, opened her mouth to speak, shut it again, and finally said, “Well, it must be a load off your mind to have this case off your shoulders. Come on, Malone, I’ve got to go home and see how Jake is.”
Malone and von Flanagan exchanged a last anxious look as
Helene opened the door.
“Three more unconvincing liars I never did see,” Helene complained on the way to the car. “The answer to the murder of those three postmen is in the Fairfaxx house, and you know it, and von Flanagan knows it, and I know it.”
Malone said, “Look, we have nothing more to do with it, according to von Flanagan. Let’s just forget that it ever happened.”
Helene sniffed. As she slammed the car door she said. “This time I am going home, and no nonsense about it.”
“I’ll go with you,” Malone said miserably. “I’d like to see how Jake’s feeling.”
A few blocks later he said, “Would you like to stop somewhere for a drink on the way home?”
“Well have a drink at the apartment,” Helene said firmly.
Malone sighed. Six blocks later he said timidly. “I really ought to stop at my hotel and pick up a clean shirt. Maybe gel a shave.”
“Both Jake and I have seen you in dirtier shirts,” Helene said, “and you can borrow Jake’s razor, if you’re really that fussy.”
He made one last, hopeless try as they crossed the Michigan Avenue bridge. “Let’s stop somewhere so that I can pick up some cigars.”
“We’ll send a bellboy out for them,” Helene said. “This time I’m going home, and no stops.”
The little lawyer rode the rest of the way in an unhappy silence. For the first time in his life, he knew, he was going to be at a loss for words. But he was going to have to say something to Helene when she walked into the apartment and found Jake unaccountably missing.
Perhaps he could think of some plausible excuse. Some place that Jake might be.
No. Helene would see through that in a minute. She’d insist on talking to Jake in person, no matter where he was.
Perhaps he ought to warn her in advance. Prepare her for the news.
“Helene,” he said, “there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
“Later,” Helen said. “Right now I’m in a hurry.”
She skidded around a few corners, pulled to a stop in the hotel garage, and was half way to the elevators before Malone and the mutt could catch their breath.
There wasn’t to be even a moment’s respite. Malone realized. The elevator shot up to Helene’s floor without so much as a single stop.
The little lawyer braced himself as Helene unlocked and opened the door. The mutt gave a faint, worried whine.
“Jake—”
She moved toward the bedroom door. Malone closed his eyes for an instant, then followed. At the door he paused, frozen to the floor.
There in the bed was Jake, looking very well and very comfortable, a tall glass in his hand. In the chair by the bed sat Glida, a glass in her hand. Spread out on the covers was the remains of a gin rummy game.
“Darling,” Jake said. “I thought you’d never get home.” He looked up. “What did you say, Malone?”
“I said,” Malone muttered, “neither did I.”
28
Everyone agreed that Jake looked much better. Jake described, in detail, how much better he felt. Everyone agreed that Malone looked terrible. Malone scowled and said nothing. The mutt jumped up on the bed and began licking cocoa butter from Jake’s neck. Glida displayed her gin rummy winnings, and announced that visiting the sick was a far more profitable practice than she’d dreamed.
Not until Glida had gone into the kitchen to mix a tray of drinks, and Helene had gone to the telephone to order dinner, did Malone trust himself to speak.
“Where—were—you?”
Jake blinked. “Right here. Why?”
Malone told him, briefly and profanely, what had gone on during the day, and about the search that was being conducted even at this moment.
“I didn’t want that damned doctor bothering me.” Jake said. “Especially after the list of symptoms Helene gave him. So I simply hid in the closet. After he’d gone, I came out and went back to bed.”
Malone described, in unpleasant detail, exactly what he was going to do to Jake as soon as the latter was up and on his feet again. He broke off suddenly as Helene came back in the room.
“Don’t mind me,” Helene said serenely. “And I don’t blame you.” As Malone stared at her blankly she added, “Of course I knew it all the time. While you were making those first phone calls, I found another phone and called Jake.”
For the second time that day, Malone was speechless.
Helene went away and returned a few minutes later in a long rose housecoat that whispered softly when she walked and that was approximately the color of sunrise over a minor Alp. Her pale hair was brushed loose and shining over her shoulders. Malone took one look at her and decided to forgive everything.
Glida came back from the kitchen with a tray of martinis and a saucer of beer. She looked like an amiable teddy-bear. Malone had nothing against her at the moment, but he decided to forgive her too, just in case he ever had reason to.
By the time dinner arrived he’d had a warm bath, a shave, and three of Glida’s martinis. Dinner was the final touch to restore sunshine to a sorrowful and snow-bound world. That, and the pleasant knowledge of the check tucked in his pocket. He still wondered how much it was.
“So the case is all over,” Jake said at last. “And you and von Flanagan can forget it. Must be a great relief to you.”
Malone shifted uneasily in his chair, and stared at the lighted end of his cigar.
“It isn’t over,” Glida said suddenly. “It’s only beginning!”
“Look,” Malone said, unconvincingly. “Officially, it’s over, as far as I’m concerned. And frankly, I’m glad of it.”
There was a little pause. Helene said coldly, “I never knew you to give up that easily before, Malone.”
“I’m not giving up,” Malone told her. “I’ve been given up. There’s a distinction.”
Helene looked away, and said nothing.
“Damn it,” Malone said. “I’m a lawyer, not a policeman. If someone is arrested for the murders, and if I’m called on to handle the defense—”
He paused. No one said anything. Glida opened her purse and began repairing her make-up. Jake stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. The mutt took his nose off Malone’s left shoe, walked to a corner, curled up and went to sleep.
“Besides,” Malone said defensively, “right now, there’s nothing I could do.”
Helene rose and patted Malone on the cheek.
“It’s all right,” she said soothingly, “we understand.” She began picking up the glasses. “It isn’t really any of your affair now.” She carried the tray into the kitchenette, her housecoat whispering flattering remarks to her perfect ankles as she walked.
“You just need a good night’s sleep,” Glida said in a warm and sympathetic voice.
“And besides,” Jake said, “curiosity is a vice, and a dangerous one. Look at the cat.” He paused. “I’ve always wondered what the cat was curious about.”
The mutt came back from the corner, put his head back on Malone’s foot and went to sleep again.
“It is a funny thing,” Malone said thoughtfully. “Everybody in this mess seems more than anxious to give me information. Only, none of it gets me anywhere.”
“You have nothing more to do with the case,” Helene reminded him, coming back with a refilled tray.
“I can dream, can’t I?” Malone growled. He looked at Glida. “Tell me something, now that it’s all over. Just who telephoned you and told you that Rodney Fairfaxx was going to be arrested for murder, and that Kenneth might need you?”
Glida stared at him. Her face turned pale.
“You can trust him,” Helene said. “As long as you can see him, that is.”
“It was—” She caught her breath. “It was Rodney Fairfaxx himself. Of course.”
“I thought so,” Malone said. He brushed a few ashes off his vest, relit his cigar, and went on. “And why did you not only let Kenneth divorce you but, when you thought he wouldn’t have enough evidence, go out
and deliberately manufacture more?”
Glida jumped to her feet, upsetting her drink. “Helene, you rat—”
“Sit down and shut up,” Malone said. “Helene never said a word to me. And that’s a terrible way to waste good liquor, even if it does keep moths out of the carpet.” The mutt rose, strolled across the room, and began licking the carpet. “I just happen to know Kenneth’s lawyer, and my curiosity got the best of me.”
“Kenneth doesn’t know it,” Glida said.
“No,” Malone said, “and if you don’t tell him, I won’t. All I want to know is, why?”
Glida looked at her watch, made a pretty pretense of a gasp, and said, “I’m going to be late at the Casino.” She salvaged her coat from the back of a chair, threw it over her shoulders, and raced to the door. “I’ll talk about this with you another time, Malone,” she said. One hand on the doorknob, she added, “And it wasn’t Rodney Fairfaxx.”
The door slammed behind her.
“For a man who isn’t even curious,” Jake said at last, “you seem to be doing fine.”
“It isn’t curiosity,” Malone said. He drew a long, slow breath. “Say that it’s—well, that I’m just trying to get myself a client. Because eventually, someone is going to be arrested for murder.”
He rose, picked up his overcoat, wincing slightly as he thrust his arms through the sleeves. Every inch of his body seemed to have a separate and distinct ache.
“Malone,” Helene said suddenly. “The business this afternoon. The Annie Kendall Memorial. What’s going to happen if Uncle Rodney finds out she’s still alive?”
“If?” Malone said, “you mean, when. He’s bound to find out sooner or later, even if the city runs out of postmen. Or some lucky fool catches up with the killer.”
“But what will happen, Malone?”
“I don’t know,” Malone said, “But I hope I live to see it.”
He gave a last glance into the warm and cheerfully lighted apartment. Jake comfortably tucked up on his pillows. Helene, in the rose-colored housecoat, smiling at him.
Malone closed the door softly and said to the mutt, “Never mind. We have a home of our own.”