by Maxwell Cynn
“So you think the deputy killed all three? The motive being professional hits ordered by the Chicago mobsters.”
“That or his violent temper. He didn't like Daniel at all, or me for that matter, but Daniel really got under his skin, and Daniel was getting close to the Chicago gang. He harasses prostitutes in Biddleville so maybe he did the same with Dunhill's daughter and it got out of hand. Or maybe Miss Dunhill was a message to the locals to back off in Biddleville. He was seen with Butch right before he was shot, and the Gold Club is run by the locals. It's all coming together."
“He beat up Locklear, raped and killed Dunhill, then conveniently discovered the body and made the arrest." She summarized. "I'll talk to Locklear in the morning. He's probably scared to talk because he's in the jail. Mechum could walk right in and kill him. I'll try to convince him that telling us who beat him up is the best way to remain safe.”
“Hopefully the detective on the case will move fast and bring charges on Mechum. It's going to be a touchy business between the city boys and the Sheriff's Department. If they charge him on this murder, that might clear your client on the Dunhill murder, but we need to dig up some more evidence.”
“We know what we're looking for now,” Helen said, hopefully. “We can find out where Mechum was that night, up until he reported finding the body.”
“I'm going to make another visit to KLH, and see if I can rattle Mr. Kellum a little more. I thought he was going to have a stroke over the train car, maybe I can shake some information out of him with the threat of a possible contract murder charge. I want to bring Mechum down, but we need to get who hired him, or they'll just bring in different muscle.”
“Here.” Helen smiled and handed Jack some papers. “Look that over and see what you think.”
“My resignation?”
“I'm not well versed in literary law, but I think I have all the bases covered. You can wait and have Nathan look at it when he gets back if you like.”
Jack read over what Helen had written. Even with the legal jargon of a contract he was impressed by her style and use of language.
“Looks like you did great, if they'll accept it. This makes a clean break and lets me write whatever I want, but they'll want to keep some hooks in me if they can. I'll go by in the morning and see what happens.”
“Would you like for me to go with you in the morning? I'm not technically a lawyer yet, but you're not required to be licensed to represent someone as a literary agent in North Carolina. It might make them more willing to talk if you're represented.”
“That would be swell, Helen, but I hate to keep asking for help. If you're going to be my agent, you should get an agent's fee. What do you think? You want to be my literary agent?”
“I don't know. Like I said, I'm not that knowledgeable of the publishing business.”
“You know more than I do about the legal side. I've always hated the business. That's why I preferred being on staff, but if I'm going to be freelance I need someone to negotiate contracts for me so this doesn't happen again.”
“I'll look into it, and talk to Nathan. I can represent you tomorrow, though, if you want me.”
Jack's eyes drifted down at the soft gown. She was standing so close and he wanted her in ways that were very improper and might not be strictly legal.
“Yes, I would feel better with you there.” His eyes returned to hers. “This story might get complicated since part of it was assignment and part is already in print. They very well might want to claim rights to the finale.”
“You should be free to do whatever you want, Jack.” He noticed her voice was a little breathy, or was it his overactive imagination.
Without knowing who moved, they were suddenly closer together, almost touching.
“We can go together after breakfast, before you visit Locklear.”
“That would be good.”
Jack was lost again in her deep, smoldering eyes. A sharp intake of air would bring their lips together. He wanted to taste them, to know if they were as warm and sweet as they looked. He struggled to keep his hands from reaching out to her, to stroke along her soft shoulder, to cup her long delicate neck.
“I guess we should go to bed, then,” Jack said. He struggled to smooth the burning need from his voice.
“I think so,” she said, in a breathy whisper with a slight curl of her lips.
“See you in the morning?”
“Yeah,” she agreed, but neither moved.
There was a knock on Jacks door.
“Yeah, be right there,” Jack said, almost closing that last inch between them.
“I better go,” she said, dipping her head and breaking eye contact.
“Yeah,” Jack agreed, disappointed.
Jack walked to the door and Helen moved quickly into their shared bathroom. He opened the door after Helen had closed the other.
“Hey, Steve,” Jack greeted his friend.
“How about a drink,” Steve said, walking in. “I hate murder scenes.”
He saw Jack's bottle on the bedside table and picked it up. “You mind?”
“Help yourself.”
Steve upended the bottle and took a deep swallow.
“I about puked my guts at the scene,” Steve admitted. “It's sick what a gun can do to a man's head.”
“Glad I didn't see it.”
“You found Daniel.”
“Yeah.”
“Damn, I'm glad I didn't see that. Gotta be worse when it's a friend.” He took another swig. “I knew Butch, but we weren't close. Not like Daniel.”
“I hope you're not still on duty,” Jack took the bottle.
“The captain gave me the rest of the night off.”
Jack took a drink and handed the bottle back.
“I drank till I passed out the night I found Daniel. You want to stay here?”
“I'll be fine. I just needed to slow my heart down and get it out of my throat.” He put the cap back on and set the bottle down. “I told McNally what we had on Mechum.”
“What did he say?”
“He's the prime suspect. They're going to question him as soon as they can find him. He's not on duty tonight.”
“I'm going to lean on Kellum in the morning. Maybe he'll give me something. Helen is going to try Locklear again. He still won't say who beat him unconscious.”
“You want me to go see Kellum with you?”
“No, you'd need a warrant. I can be as obnoxious, or as threatening as I want. You'd be intimidating a witness.”
“Yeah, sometimes the uniform has limits. Call me after you talk to him, though. Maybe we can get that warrant.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks for the drink. I'm going to go home and take a hot shower, maybe open another bottle.”
“Talk to you tomorrow,” Jack said, patting his friends shoulder affectionately.
He shut the door behind Steve and walked to the bathroom. He needed a shower himself, a cold shower. He imagined opening the door and Helen standing there, then he shook his head and laughed.
He opened the door and the laugh faded as he looked into his bathroom. There were silk stocking hanging over the curtain rod around the tub, the flat part of the sink was filled with various forms of make-up, his razor was on the soap dish by the tub for some reason, and there was a woman's bra and garter hanging from the towel rack.
Jack started to knock on Helen's door, but stopped. He gently put her stockings over the towel rack and turned on the shower. If that was the worse she could do to their shared bathroom it was more than compensated by seeing her in that nightgown. He liked her being that comfortable around him, being so uninhibited. He didn't want to spoil it. If she wanted to use his razor, that was fine. He pulled the razor across his cheek, thinking how it had glided across her legs. After he shaved, he put in a fresh blade and set it back where she'd left it. He stepped into the shower and let the water pound his back, seeing her face every time he closed his eyes.
Chapt
er Fourteen
After a breakfast of grits, toast, and eggs, Helen liked hers sunny side up, Jack and Helen walked up Morehead toward Tryon. It was a beautiful morning despite the chill in the air. Jack was wearing his overcoat, open, and Helen was in a very conservative dark skirt and jacket. He smiled at how stern and imposing she looked. Her hair was in a tight bun, her briefcase in her hand, so much different than the soft cotton gown and long flowing curls.
“Do your folks still live in Charlotte?” he asked.
“No. They moved to Raleigh about four years ago.”
“How about your brothers?”
“They're still in school. Matt's going to NC State, Harold is going to school up north, and Roy graduates high school this year. How about yours?”
“Dad died while I was in college. Mom moved down to Charleston a couple of years ago to take care of my aunt.”
They jumped the trolley and rode the short trip to the newspaper building. They walked in and went straight to Bill's office.
“Morning, Jack,” Bill rose from his chair.
Jack put the resignation on Bill's desk. Bill looked down then picked it up.
“What's this?” he asked.
“My resignation. Let's make it official.”
Bill put his glasses on and read it, then looked up at Jack over the glasses.
“Damn Jack, did you get some New York lawyer to write this up?”
“I want to make sure everything is clean.”
Bill handed the paper back to Jack.
“We'll need to go see Mr. McKnight. He'll have to okay this.”
“Then let's go,” Jack said. He turned to walk out.
Bill nodded his head politely toward Helen. “You gonna introduce me, Jack?”
“Sorry, Bill. This is Helen Jameson. Helen this is my former editor, Bill McWhirter.”
“You're killin' me Jack. Nice to meet you, Miss Jameson.”
“It's a pleasure Mr. McWhirter.”
“Sally!” Bill barked when they walked out of the office. “Ring up McKnight. Tell him I'm on the way up with Jack.”
They stepped into the lift and Bill pulled the steel gate closed. After a slight jerk, they ascended slowly.
“The old man wasn't too happy when I told him you quit, Jack. He said to do whatever it takes to get you back.”
“Too late for that. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't sell this rag another article. From now on I'm freelance.”
The lift jolted to a stop and Bill opened the gate. They walked out into a bright lobby. The floors were richly tiled and potted plants lined the walls. It was a world away from the newsroom, or the press area. A heavy wooden desk sat in the middle of the space that was larger than the one in Bill's office, and much cleaner. The woman behind the desk greeted them.
“Sally called up,” she told Bill. “He's waiting for you.”
They walked into a spacious office with expensive chairs and a teak wood desk that wouldn't have fit into Bill's office. There was a wide window overlooking the street below, a sofa and table, even a small bar off to the side. The man behind the desk stood, a practiced smile on his face, and walked around the desk to meet them.
Roy McKnight was still an imposing man at sixty, with a full head of silver-gray hair and a lean straight frame. He was wearing the slacks of an Italian pin-stripe suit, the jacket hung on a mahogany coat rack near the desk, a crisp white shirt with a silk tie, and shoes that probably cost more than Jack made in a year.
“Mr. McKnight,” Bill said. “You know Jack Spaulding, and this is Miss Helen Jameson.”
McKnight shook Jack's hand briskly and Helen's courteously. He motioned toward a group of comfortable looking chairs around a small low table. “Please, have a seat. What can I do for you, Jack.”
“This won't take long, Mr. McKnight,” Jack said, not sitting. He handed McKnight the resignation. “I'll need you to sign my copy, just to keep everything clear.”
McKnight quickly skimmed the document.
“Can we talk about this in private, Jack,” McKnight asked, still studying the paper.
“I don't mind if Bill stays, and Miss Jameson is representing me.”
“She's your lawyer?” The man looked up. He had suspicion in his eyes.
“I am Mr. Spaulding's literary agent.”
“Ah,” he said, looking back at the document. His tone was condescending.
“Miss Jameson, is it?” He looked at Helen. She nodded. “Miss Jameson, if you had taken the time to read Mr. Spaulding's contract you would have noticed that it contains very specific clauses regarding termination. This was really not necessary, though very well written.”
He held the document out to her. She didn't take it, but stepped forward in two staccato strides that left the click of her high-heels echoing off the tile.
“I've read the contract, Mr. McKnight, I assure you. It was untenably vague in many aspects. We feel it necessary to clarify the termination clause in order to protect both Mr. Spaulding's rights and your paper's interests. It was written quite clearly, but I would be happy to explain the provisions if you wish.”
Jack tried to keep a straight face as he watched McKnight's face blush hot.
“The contract clearly states that whatever Mr. Spaulding writes while on staff becomes the sole property of this paper. Upon termination of said contract Mr. Spaulding retains no rights to stories initiated during his employment. This,” he held up the resignation, “would return all rights back to the writer. That is not a clarification, Miss Jameson. This is a fundamental change in the contract Mr. Spaulding signed when he joined the paper.”
“You know as well as I do, Mr. McKnight, that your contract's wording could leave an open door to a claim that almost any article Mr. Spaulding might write for another publication is a continuation of an article or assignment initiated while on staff with the News. That would place Mr. Spaulding at unreasonable legal risk. This termination agreement only states that there are currently, at time of termination, no outstanding assignments, nor ongoing articles. Are there any current assignments or ongoing articles which Mr. Spaulding has been commissioned to write under his current contract with this paper?”
McKnight looked harshly at Bill, then back at Helen. Jack had to smile at his panicked expression.
“I am not aware of any outstanding assignments, but the provisions of the contract are there to protect this paper against a writer profiting on work started while on staff and subsequently published without the paper receiving the rightful proceeds. We cannot allow someone to use the resources of this paper, which include the status of being a staff writer, to produce an article which is then sold to another outlet.”
“Let's cut to the chase, McKnight,” Helen stepped even closer, her face pressed inches from his. “A young girl has been murdered, and you're afraid to print the story because her daddy is rich and influential. This paper is unwilling to publish an article written by a prize winning author whom they are lucky enough to have on staff, but also doesn't want someone else, with more manhood in their pants than you seem to have, printing it.”
Helen looked down, then back up into his eyes and continued.
“Let's be honest here. Your paper's little stunt of using Mr. Spaulding's words without credit, which was in violation of your own ludicrous contract, was ample grounds for termination and the basis for a nice lawsuit against your paper. Mr. Spaulding is looking for an equitable, clean, termination of his agreement with this paper. You rejected his article, he's going to keep writing it, and someone, with more intestinal fortitude than a gnat, is going to publish it."
Helen was pressed so close that McKnight's back was arched, and she almost seemed to lean over him.
“You can sign the agreement and let Mr. Spaulding do what he does, or we can take this to court and I can do what I do. The publicity will no doubt hurt your paper as much as it will help Mr. Spaulding's career, because I will win. It's your choice.”
Helen pulled a pen from h
er breast pocket and offered it to McKnight. He glared at her with fire in his eyes, but he took the pen and signed the agreement.
On the way down in the lift Bill leaned over to Jack.
“I meant what I said, Jack. Give me a shot at the story when you're done. If that pencil dick won't publish it, I'll resign.”
“I'll give you first look, Bill.”
“You wanna represent me if I have to resign?” he asked Helen.
“Maybe I should pass the Bar before I threaten anyone else with a lawsuit.”
Bill burst out laughing and the lift jolted to a stop.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack and Helen parted at the trolley. Helen took the trolley east to the County Jail and Jack traveled north and jumped off near Kellum's office. He trotted up the stairs and barged through the door.
“I need to see Kellum,” he barked at Patty. She sat, unperturbed, and filed he long fingernails.
“What'cha need to see Mr. Kellum about?” She spoke coolly, hardly looking up.
“You want to tell him I'm here, or should I just walk on back?”
“Cool your cute buns, Jacko. I'll see if he's available. So impatient.”
Patty stood and walked out. She came back after a few minutes.
“Mr. Kellum will see you now,” she said in a bored tone then sat back at her desk and returned to her nails.
Jack walked briskly back to Kellum's office. The door was open. He walked right in and closed the door behind him.
“How's business, Kellum?” Jack's tone was harsh.
“What do you want, Mr. Spaulding?” Kellum sat nervously behind his heavy oak desk. He seemed almost frightened, but Jack hadn't even started to be intimidating yet.
“Your Yankee friends have upped the ante,” Jack said. “It's not just a little liquor now, Kellum, there are three murders that led me straight back to your door.”
“What the hell were you talking about?”
“I know about your mob connections, Kellum. I haven't put it together yet whether you're a criminal or a victim, but I don't mark you as a killer. Hall, or whoever he's working for, ordered a hit on three different people. The police are closing in on the trigger man, but I want to know who gave the order.”