Point of Contact

by J. T. Edson

  ‘So?’ Brad asked.

  ‘Austin had him run out of New York two years ago, just after he’d started to show there.’

  ‘Why?’ Brad demanded.

  ‘Because he was a Fascist, war-mongering racialist!’ Judith explained. ‘Austin had him cancelled in one spot and blacklisted everywhere in town that counted.’

  ‘And you think that Mr. Grayne would want to kill your husband?’ Brad asked.

  ‘Of course he would!’ Judith replied. ‘You know what his kind are! ’

  ‘I reckon I do,’ Brad drawled quietly, walking across the room. He paused at the door. ‘By your standards, I’d likely be one myself.’

  Closing the door behind him, Brad saw Tiburcio walk from the kitchen. Apparently unaware that he was observed, the sergeant slammed his right fist viciously into the palm of his left hand.

  ‘—all—soft shells! ’ Tiburcio growled and then noticed Brad. A sheepish grin flickered on the sergeant’s brown face. ‘Damned if I didn’t have to come out and hit something.’

  ‘I know just how you feel,’ Brad assured him. ‘And I’d do the same, but the last time I tried, I made me a discovery. Pain hurts.’

  ‘Now you tell me! ’ sniffed the sergeant. Damn it, Brad, I’ve come in for my share of racial-discrimination. But I’d sooner have some hombre who says “The hell with you and all greaser bastards”, than have a lousy soft-shell dripping friendship that’s smug patronage because of my race.’

  ‘Shall I say it to you?’ Brad asked with a grin.

  ‘If you do, I’ll retaliate,’ Tiburcio warned, also grinning. ‘I’ll look you right in the chin and say, “Nyah! Nyah! Nyah, gringo!” That’s what I’ll do, ’cause I’m a noble, forgiving member of a minority group—and ’cause you’re too big for me to do anything physical.’

  ‘Did you learn anything?’

  ‘Sure. I learned that he’s a yellow-bellied crud and lower than a rattlesnake’s gut crossing soft ground—’

  ‘Which we both knew before you gave him a shoulder to cry on,’ Brad pointed out.

  ‘When I think of the Limeys I fought alongside in Normandy, I wonder what the hell’s gone wrong!’ Tiburcio growled, then he shook himself like a hound-dog coming from a stream. ‘He doesn’t know sic ’em, amigo. Well, one thing maybe. It seems that Hagmeyer had read in Variety that Virg Grayne was playing here and figured to get some of the lefties among the Cardell students to go over and queer his act.’

  ‘Why’d Hagmeyer want to do that?’ Brad grunted.

  ‘Shacklin claims he doesn’t know, but that it sounded like Hagmeyer and Grayne have a real hate for each other. All Shacklin wants to do now is grab the first flight back to New York.’

  ‘I’d say take him “Code Three” to catch it,’ Brad drawled, turning to go to where the telephone on a stand buzzed. ‘Only we’ll hear what the boss-lady has to say about it first.’ Taking up the receiver, he listened and said, ‘Counter here. He does, huh, Mac? Sure. We’ll go over and see him as soon as we’re through here.’

  ‘What’s that all about?’ Tiburcio inquired as Brad hung up.

  ‘It was Mac McCall from the Office,’ Brad replied. ‘He says that Virgil Grayne’s called and asked if the deputies handling the Hagmeyer killing could drop by and see him at the Queen of Clubs.’

  Ten

  ‘I’ve been misleading all you good folks,’ Virgil Grayne told an appreciative audience at the Queen of Clubs. ‘I’ve been telling you that the reason Castro doesn’t shave is because he daren’t let even him come that close to his throat with a razor. It’s not true. Richard and Liz told me so. The real reason is that if he shaved, everybody would know he’s really Vanessa Redgrave.’ He paused for the laughter and applause that rose. The British actress—noted for her anti-American sympathies—had recently been nominated for a Hollywood acting award and many people in the United States resented it. ‘Oh well, as Vanessa says when she waves her banner outside our Embassy in London, “Blessed are the pacifists, for they’ll always get good reviews for their movies.”’ Again the laughter rolled and died. ‘Don’t think I’m knocking her. That girl’s got talent. With her face and figure, it has to be talent.’

  ‘Mr. Grayne said that you might come, Mr. Counter,’ the head waiter told Brad as he and Alice stated their business. Neither of them needed to show their id. wallets, for they had visited the club as customers on several occasions. ‘Not you personally, but somebody from your Office.’

  ‘Where do we wait until he’s through?’ Brad inquired.

  ‘If you come this way, he has reserved a table for you and said that I was to put whatever you cared, to order on his tab.’

  ‘That’s good of him,’ Alice smiled. ‘I could use a meal.’

  ‘And me,’ Brad agreed, then nodded to the center of the floor. ‘He’s going real well tonight.’

  ‘He always goes well, sir,’ the head waiter replied. ‘Do you know that he can play six instruments? And that he got the Big One [xvi] for valor in Korea?’

  ‘We’ve heard,’ Alice admitted. ‘You sound as if you like him.’

  ‘Everybody here likes him,’ the head waiter stated. ‘He’s a real gentleman. No tantrums, or temperament. You can’t imagine what a pleasure and change that is.’

  While talking quietly, the man led the deputies to an alcove table with a good view of the floor. Diplomatically he selected an inconspicuous route, for which Alice was grateful. Her working clothes did not come up to the elegant standard of the room’s other female occupants. Of course it was unlikely that any of them had come to the Queen of Clubs straight from several hours of driving around the streets interviewing suspects and stool-pigeons. After taking their orders for a meal, the head waiter left them to enjoy the show.

  Despite continued questioning by both deputies, when Brad had returned with the news given by Tiburcio, Judith Hagmeyer had been of no help in the investigation. She considered that her husband’s death had been at the hands of somebody consumed with out-dated, misguided ideas of patriotism, or mad with jealousy at his success. Neither motive appealed to the peace officers; nor did they point to a connection with the murder of the old moonshiner. Judith insisted that her husband had never mentioned being concerned in any way with the combine. On learning that the deputies and police officers intended to leave, and of Shacklin’s intention of returning as soon as possible to New York, the widow had showed such distress that Alice had suggested she went into a private sanatorium for a few days. Judith had agreed when Alice, showing her usual compassion, promised to tell the newspapers that it was due to the shock of her husband’s death.

  While the two sergeants escorted Judith to the sanatorium, Brad saw Shacklin into a cab and dispatched for the airport. Before they parted, Brad had given the actor a warning. Clearly Shacklin took it to heart, for he remained in the Airport Detail’s offices until a seat on a flight east could be arranged and said nothing to reporters of what had happened at the East Shore Drive house.

  Alice had called Yorke, asking the broker to contact his bosses and learn if Hagmeyer had ever been a member of the combine. To her annoyance, she discovered that Buck Shields had beaten her to it. Calling early in the afternoon, the old First Deputy had just received an answer. To the best of the combine’s bosses’ knowledge, the producer had had no connection with their organization.

  ‘Which rules out our combine war tie-in,’ Alice remarked with emphasis as she laid her knife and fork on a denuded plate, v

  They had watched Grayne continue his act with a well-sung song, then a dance and he had wound up by playing in turn a piano, trumpet, the band’s set of drums and a clarinet. In each aspect, he had displayed an ability that would have carried an act by itself.

  For once Alice had insisted on discussing the case while they ate. In her present condition, she felt that she could hardly stand the competition of a scantily-dressed chorus line, or oppose the charms of Zippy Sharon.

  ‘It looks that way,’ Brad admitted,
dutifully keeping his attention on his partner. Only by such sacrifices could the smooth functioning of an investigation team be maintained.

  At which point their host made his appearance, having been delayed by numerous well-wishers and by helping Zippy unwind from a diaphanous sari. Reaching the alcove, he was about to say something. At the sight of Alice, instead of the expected pair of male deputies, he chopped off his words. Glancing at where Zippy Sharon was gyrating in an ever-decreasing volume of clothing, he grinned.

  ‘If I’d known, I’d have had you put at another table, Miss—’

  ‘Fayde,’ Alice supplied, accepting the hand Grayne offered. ‘Woman Deputy Fayde. This is my partner, Deputy Counter.’

  ‘Man, you’re a big one,’ the comedian remarked as Brad rose and shook hands. Then he settled himself in the third chair at the table. ‘Do I have to keep saying “Woman Deputy Fayde” and “Deputy Counter”?’

  ‘Alice and Brad,’ the girl said, warming to the man.

  For all his comment, Virgil Grayne was no midget. Six foot tall, he had a powerful muscular development which did not come from a tailor’s padding. He had close-cropped brown hair, tinged grey at the temples, and a rugged, cheery face. Even wearing a well-cut tuxedo, he gave the impression of being a man who would enjoy out-door pursuits.

  ‘Say “Virg”, will you,’ Grayne requested and looked at Brad. ‘That Zippy’s some talent. I could watch her sing all night. This is culture.’

  ‘Does she sing?’ Alice sniffed disbelievingly.

  ‘You know, Brad, my wife says the same thing and sounds just like that. Well, I suppose you’re waiting for me to tell you why I asked that you come?’

  ‘The idea had entered my mind,’ Alice admitted directing a cold glare at Brad. ‘Of course, I’ve nothing to distract me.’

  By that time Zippy Sharon had reached the minimum amount of clothing possible without being completely naked. As she was plentifully endowed with all the necessary equipment of her profession, the beautiful blonde dancer possessed sufficient sensual attraction to make the members of General George Armstrong Custer’s ill-fated command come in from the banks of the Little Bighorn River. Certainly she managed to catch Brad’s eye and there were limits to how much sacrifice any human being could be called upon to make.

  ‘That’s why I asked you to come here, rather than to my hotel,’ Grayne told Alice, with merry, twinkling eyes. ‘If I’m going to be interviewed by the law, I want them distracted while they’re doing it. Only I didn’t figure on the county being sneaky enough to send an incorruptible officer like you, Alice.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ the girl said frankly.

  ‘It’s easy enough. You have the Hagmeyer killing. Well, I’m a suspect; as you’ll find out when New York’s finest send their run-down on him. So I figured I’d beat them to it; have you here and bribe you with a meal, or corrupt you by having you listen to my Fascist act and watch Zippy’s culture.’

  ‘Did you kill him?’ Alice asked.

  Before Grayne could answer, Zippy Sharo went into the climax of her dance. The vision of her going to her knees and bending over backwards with arms outstretched above her head, while a circular inlaid turn-table carried her around, was such that even Grayne—who had seen her act many times before—fell silent and watched. Drumming her fingers on the table top, Alice conceded defeat. She sat back and waited until, with a final drum-roll and series of bumps and grinds, the floor lights went out to signify that the dancer’s performance was over.

  ‘Like I said,’ Grayne remarked, when the applause ended and the lights came on again. ‘I could watch her sing all night.’

  ‘Man, I’ve never seen such a voice,’ Brad went on, darting a grin at his partner’s indignant face. ‘How about it, Virg. Like Alice said, did you kill him?’

  Alice let out her held-back breath in a contented sigh. Grayne looked impressed by the fact that Brad had followed his conversation with Alice while watching Zippy Sharon. Contented or not, Alice still intended to give her partner hell as soon as they logged off watch that night. Until then, she gave her attention to the work in hand and waited for Grayne to answer.

  ‘I’ll come clean with you,’ the comedian said. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Darn it!’ grinned the big blond. ‘And I thought that we’d wrap the case up with your confession.’

  ‘Do you mind telling us why you reckon you’re a suspect?’ Alice went on.

  ‘Hagmeyer and I didn’t get on,’ Grayne explained. ‘We were like fire and water. Or, better still, like a naked flame and gasoline. We had a run-in back in New York and he was fixing to queer my act while he was here in town.’

  ‘You know about that?’ Alice could not stop herself saying. ‘Sure. Seems he’d been writing to some girl in Cardell since she wrote him saying what a great guy he was and how much good his work was doing for the country. She must be his kind of people. From, what I heard, when she read in the Mirror that he was coming, she wrote asking if she could meet him. When he answered, he said for her to get some of her set and he’d bring them to the Queen of Clubs.’

  ‘So?’ Brad said.

  ‘You think maybe he was going to bring them to watch Zippy, or to enjoy my act? I know that kind are always preaching tolerance, but they’re only tolerant to folks who follow their beliefs. No sir. He was bringing them here to queer my act. He did the same in New York.’

  ‘We’d heard that he had you run out of town,’ Alice commented.

  ‘I suppose you could call it that,’ Grayne admitted. ‘It was around the time he hit the top in New York and I’d just opened at the Starlight Room, it’s a top-flight night-spot just off Broadway. I hadn’t just broken into show-biz, I’d been topping the bill in houses all over the country. But I’d only just reached the big city. The act was going down well, and I was doing the same bit that I still do. Social comment with a right-wing slant, it’s been called—among other things. I attack the liberals and intellectuals the same way they attack other folk, and it doesn’t go down with them. One night just after I’d opened, Hagmeyer and two of his soft-shell comrades dropped in. He started to heckle me. Great, I’ve handled hecklers from way back and he got laughed out of the rooms. When I left after the show, the three of them were waiting for me in the alley. I can handle that too. I learned with the Rangers in Korea. I got knocked around a mite, but I left the three of them face down in the dirt. For me it was over. Only Hagmeyer tried to bring an assault suit against me.’

  ‘Did he get away with it?’ Alice asked.

  ‘No. The police picked up his comrades and they told what had really happened. I didn’t press charges, so the affair dropped. Well, not quite. A whisper went around that there’d be trouble every time I showed. The management at the Starlight didn’t want that, and I don’t blame them; so they asked me to leave when my booking ended. Nobody else wanted to know me, or the ones who did I liked too much to bring grief on.’

  ‘And you blame Hagmeyer for the rumor?’ Alice guessed.

  ‘I know he started it,’ Grayne corrected. ‘One of his comrades needed the price of a fix and when Hagmeyer wouldn’t come through with it, came to peddle his story to me. I kicked him out.’

  ‘What happened after that?’ Brad asked.

  ‘I went back to my circuit, playing around the country.’

  ‘Do you hate Hagmeyer for spoiling your chances in New York?’

  ‘Not too much, Alice. Maybe I could make more bread there, but the cost of living’s higher. And I’m not reduced to sleeping on a park bench. If it comes to a point, I prefer playing in the South and West. I like to play towns where I can take off after a show and spend a morning hunting quail or deer, or go fishing. That’s not easy to do in New York.’

  ‘What did you plan to do if Hagmeyer tried to queer your act here, Virg?’

  ‘I’d already fixed it with Henry, the head waiter, that any time Hagmeyer tried to make a reservation, the rooms would be booked up. Only, from the kid who came to warn
me, I got the idea that the Hagmeyer fan-club isn’t numerous at Cardell. I didn’t worry too much about him this time. You see, out here’s my country.’

  ‘Why did you ask for us to come?’ Alice inquired.

  ‘Like I said, I knew that you’d get around to me and figured to save you some time. I thought that you wouldn’t say no to a meal after you’d been on watch since this morning, or a chance to suck in some culture. There’re some things I think you should know. First, I’m a good shot with any kind of gun. Second, I’ve got a .30 Luger and use soft-points when I take it hunting. It’s with the rest of my gun collection while I’m on the road. Locked in a box that’s stored in the sheriff’s office in Hood County.’

  ‘You could have another one,’ Alice said. ‘And I’m only saying it because I hate singers with blonde hair.’

  ‘I could,’ Grayne said calmly, but showing no offence. ‘Only from midnight last night until nine this morning, I was fishing out Hoseville way.’

  ‘Something tells me I’m going to hate myself for asking this,’ Alice sighed. ‘But I’m going to. Do you have any witnesses to verify that?’

  ‘Two. Only I don’t know if they’d be what you’d call reliable or not. They’re a couple of shiftless no-accounts who think about nothing but hunting and fishing, and the biggest liars you could ask for about anything to do with hound dogs, bird-dogs, who got the biggest buck or best fish.’

  ‘Who are they? If you had said one of them’s an automatic pistol nut, I’d swear you meant Brad and the other could be Buck Shields.’

  ‘How you do talk, woman,’ Brad grinned.

  ‘One of them’s called Phineas Hagen,’ Grayne went on. ‘The other sweeps out the offices or something in your department. His name’s Jack Tragg. How’s that grip you for an alibi?’

  ‘I knew I’d be sorry for asking,’ Alice sighed. In addition to having the county sheriff for a fishing partner, Grayne had also been in the company of Gusher City’s chief of police. ‘Can you tell us anything about Hagmeyer’s background?’

  ‘Not much,’ Grayne replied. ‘I asked around about him after our first run-in. From what I heard, he’d been touting for stag shows around the country for years. Which meant that he’d maybe been tied in with the mobs. Not too deep, or important, or they’d not’ve let him go. Until he met up with his wife, he was nothing. She’d been around the production side of show-biz since river-boats and minstrel shows. It was she who steered him into the big-time. She was smart, but most backers don’t want to chance their money on a woman producer. So Hagmeyer fronted for her. He caught on fast. With his background, he knew what would catch the soft-shells and ‘liberal’ critics. We’ve never met since New York, but in show-biz nobody has a private life. I’ve heard rumors that he’d got a roving eye. It’s called not conforming with the conventions of out-moded society in their set.’