The Case of the Murdered Madame (Prologue Books)

by Henry, Kane,

  I said, “Just stay where you are, pal.”

  “What was all the screaming about?” This was a woman’s voice from behind him in the hallway. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  I grabbed the young man by the arm, hustled him out, shut the door hard, said, “Miss Nelson.”

  “Yes?”

  “Get hold of yourself, will you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Those people out there. They your tenants, or boarders, or whatever it’s called?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, go out there now, and quickly. Tell them to go back to their rooms and to stay there.”

  “Yes, sir.” She went to the door, opened it, said, “Please, everybody, go back to your rooms. Olga. Olga’s … been … she’s been hurt. Now please, please, back to your rooms, and please stay there.”

  I could see them dimly in the hallway, moving away slowly, whispering amongst themselves, and then Mary Nelson closed the door and stared at the corpse and then stared at me.

  “Who’s the lady?” I said.

  Foggily she said, “What?”

  “The dead lady?”

  She shuddered. “Olga. Madame Olga Dino.” Then suddenly she was stooping, sniffing, looking about, and then she was on her knees, looking into corners of the room, and up on her feet again, opening closet doors, searching, and then she said, “It’s gone … gone …”

  “What’s gone?”

  “The bag.”

  “What bag?”

  “The little black bag.”

  “Look, Miss Nelson, let’s get organized here …”

  “It’s gone.”

  “What the hell is gone, Miss Nelson?”

  “There was a hundred thousand dollars in it. Cash money. A little black bag. And it’s gone.“

  Sharply I said, “Just a minute.”

  “Yes? Yes sir?”

  “One thing at a time, huh? First, who’s the lady here, the lady on the floor? Let’s talk it up, Miss Nelson.”

  “Olga Dino.”

  “And who is Olga Dino?”

  “An opera singer. She’s been here, in this country, for a year. She’s from Italy …”

  “Olga Dino?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The Olga Dino?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s a great soprano. That’s a famous singer. Is she … do you mean … is she that Olga Dino?”

  “Yes. Yes. That Olga Dino.”

  “What’s Olga Dino doing in a dump like this?”

  Mary Nelson’s voice roughened like water in the wake of a steamship. “Dump? Now look here, Mr. Chambers. This is a theatrical boarding house, a correct, respectable boarding house. Madame Dino was recommended here and she loved it. She didn’t like hotels like she didn’t like banks …”

  “Banks? Didn’t like banks? Now what are you talking about?”

  She passed a hand over dazed eyes. “That’s how the money came to be here in the first place. That’s what I was looking for. It was in that little black bag. A hundred thousand dollars. That’s why I called you — ”

  “Look, Miss Nelson, I think you’d better go down and use that phone again. Call the police. After that, you and I can pick it up all over again, if you wish.” I looked about. “Don’t your people have phones in their rooms?”

  “No, sir. Just the one downstairs.”

  “Go use it, Miss Nelson. Go call cops.”

  She shuddered. “The kind of publicity this is going to give me. Cops.”

  “Good publicity it won’t be, but that’s life, Miss Nelson. Go call cops — and wait for them downstairs. I’ll dig around up here. Maybe I’ll find your little black bag.”

  “If you do — ”

  “I’ll turn it over to the gentlemen of the law, whom you’re going to arouse right now. Now, Miss Nelson. They get kind of sore if there’s too much delay. And tell them everything, including the part about this missing bag. That way, they’ll bring the search crew with them. Saves time.”

  “Yes, sir. Whatever you say. And since this is your kind of business, until they come, if you please, you’re in charge.”

  IV

  A fast frisk of the room produced no bag. I had neither the time nor the inclination for anything more thorough than a fast frisk: that was cops’ business. So I bent for the gun, carefully lifting it with pinky through trigger-guard, but all my careful care was wasted — because there was an interruption and the interruption was slightly from mayhem. Rugged knuckles snuggled beneath my right ear and as I reared from that, a fist caught the point of my chin and I went over and a heavy body went over on top of me. My knee pumped upward, meeting its mark, and the initial enthusiasm of my assailant was considerably reduced. The quarry seemed to be the gun because that was what he was clawing for, between grunts. We scrambled on the floor, squirmingly, and then, as luck would have it, knee-cap met chin-flap, and my opponent’s teeth clicked like he was auditioning maracas for a mambo band. He keeled to horizontal, face up and panting, while I managed to get to my feet and found, to my surprise, that I still held the gun, so I pointed it at the figure on the floor. He had rolled over to a prone position and now he was on his knees, getting up.

  He got up.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said.

  He smiled rather sadly. “Naughty, naughty.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I said.

  He said, “Why?”

  “Because it’s an expression of surprise and I’m surprised, that’s why. Shocked. Monte Marvin. What in the depths of hell are you doing here?”

  “Bill Brown,” he said.

  “Who’s Bill Brown?”

  “Me.”

  “You’re Monte Marvin.”

  “I’m Bill Brown, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Monte Marvin, who wanted to be Bill Brown, was square-shouldered, square-faced, brown-haired and brown-eyed. Monte Marvin, who wanted to be Bill Brown, operated a plethora of well-placed slot machines in select spots in New Orleans, and a Grand Jury in New Orleans was eager to propound pertinent questions to Monte Marvin relative to the self-same slot machines as well as kindred other gambling devices. But Monte Marvin had vanished from the jurisdiction of the queries of New Orleans’ Grand Juries, and without the presence of the boss-man, the proposed investigation had turned softer than zwieback in hot soup. I kept the gun pointing at Monte Marvin and I said, “Bill Brown, hiding out in a theatrical boarding house in New York. Monte, in a way, you’re a genius.”

  “Genius, huh?” He snorted. “So how come if I’m such a genius, you’re holding my gun and pointing it at me?”

  “Your gun, is it?”

  “My gun. It is.”

  “I don’t get it, Monte. You were never one who went in for murder, and murder like this” — I indicated Olga — “murder like this is stupid, and you’re especially a guy who doesn’t figure to go in for murder that’s stupid.” I said, “Cover her, please.”

  He pulled a blanket from the bed and threw it over Olga Dino. He said, “Thanks for all the compliments. Good thing we know each other.”

  “What are you doing here, Monte?”

  “You said it before, little pal. Hiding out.”

  “From the Grand Jury?”

  “Also from some of the gentlemen of the syndicate. They don’t like it when a guy suddenly gets hot with the law, when all of a sudden Grand Juries get interested. They think he’s losing his touch in the political angles. They can’t figure there’s reform-guys that nobody can buy.”

  “You mean you’re hot two ways, Monte?”

  “Right. And both’ll blow over. I got people working on both problems right now.”

  “How’re you fixed for dough, Monte?”

  “Pretty bad.” He winked. “Why? You want to stake me, pal?”

  I sighed. “When you and I got acquainted, Monte, in New Orleans, you were a real big man, remember? Showed me the town, even helped me on the case I was working on.”

  “The r
ight guy sent you. That’s the way I work, when the right guy sends them. By the way, you’re gonna find another acquaintance here too.”

  “Let’s stay with this acquaintance for the time being.”

  Disconsolately he said, “You got the gun, pal.”

  “And it’s your gun. We’re going to have cops here soon. Do you want to explain to me, before we get cops, how come I find your gun lying alongside a dead body? Or would you prefer not to?”

  “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re leading up to.”

  “It was your gun that was lying alongside her.”

  “Sure, but the first time I seen it — I mean near her — was when the bunch of us was outside looking in — when that Miss Nelson started that howling — and then I seen this Dino spread out here on the floor and this heater’s lying there near her and it kind of looks like a heater which I own. So when I go back to my room, I kind of gander in my suitcase and, sure enough, no heater.”

  “When’d you look in that suitcase last?”

  “Maybe a couple of weeks.” He grinned. “Bill Brown ain’t particular needing no heater.”

  “You trying to say that somebody heisted your revolver?”

  “I ain’t trying, pal. I’m saying.”

  “Anybody in particular? Any ideas on that?”

  “Anybody in this whole damn house, if that’s anybody in particular. I didn’t lock my door often, Bill Brown didn’t have no cause to. Nothing special of value in that room.”

  “Well, did you think I pulled this heist?” I rubbed at the back of my ear.

  “You? You kidding? Course not.”

  “Then why’d you jump me?”

  “Maybe I kind of lost my head. When I seen this thing missing from my satchel, I come back here to this room. I learn a long time ago, you don’t let cops fall on that kind of evidence, no matter how good a story you got, and mine ain’t the best. Then, when I seen you holding it, I figure I’ll take it away — and then maybe you and me can talk it over. So how’s about it, Mr. Peeper?”

  “I’m hanging on to it, Bill. Till we get cops.”

  He shrugged. “Like I said before, you got the gun.”

  And then the voice from the doorway said: “But why are you pointing it at Mr. Brown?”

  The lady who owned the voice was tall with curly black hair hanging in a horse’s tail, and wide dark eyes, and a fine full figure accentuating the excellent tailoring of a maroon form-fitting suit. The lady was familiar except that my memory was of short-cut hair which was blonde. My memory also included lovely legs exposed from heels to hip in a dancer’s brief costume. And if my memory was holding up, the last time I saw the lady, she was in my arms, and I was kissing her for the first time, and then someone had touched my shoulder, and I had never seen the lady after that. I said, “Joan Bradley? Are you Joan Bradley?”

  When she smiled, she was supposed to have dimples. She smiled and she had dimples. She said, “And how are you, Mr. Chambers? And why the gun pointed at Mr. Brown?”

  “I told you,” Monte said, “you’d find another acquaintance. Joanie’s been living here the past six months. She’s the one recommended the joint to me. Knows I’m Bill Brown and knows why.”

  “Still dancing?” I said.

  “No more, Mr. Chambers. I’m in another phase of show business now. I’m doing a single.”

  “No more chorus line?”

  “No. I’m a lady magician.”

  “Fine. I hope we’ll have time to talk about that later. For now” — I gestured with the gun toward the blanket-covered figure — “you know what happened here?”

  Her eyes moved to the lumpy blanket and quickly moved away. The dimples faded from her face. “Is she …? Is she …?”

  “Yes. She is.”

  Monte said, “Look, she could have killed herself, committed suicide …”

  “Not with three holes in her forehead. You kill yourself — the first hole in the forehead prevents the other two.”

  Ruminatively he said, “You got a point there, pal.”

  I looked at the lady magician. “Who else lives here? Outside of you and Monte — excuse me — Bill Brown?”

  “Mr. Ralph Hardwood, Mr. Rocky Green, and Sir Cedric Ormsby.”

  “Real class trade. Let’s see now. With Dino and Nelson, it makes a grand total of seven. You mean to say seven people in the entire house? No more?”

  My lady nodded her magical head. “And all of us here on this floor. You see, the house is being renovated. The two upper floors are closed off. And here, they’re doing sound-proofing. As a matter of fact, only two rooms were finished — with the sound-proofing I mean. This one and Sir Cedric’s.”

  “The way it figures,” Monte said, “if this door was closed when she got it — no wonder none of us heard no shots.”

  “But you heard Mary Nelson screaming.”

  “That’s because the door was open.”

  Joan Bradley said, “That’s right. All of us heard her screams. Rocky, Ralph, Bill, and myself. The four of us were gathered outside in the hallway when you told Miss Nelson to send us back to our rooms.”

  “You didn’t mention Ormsby. Wasn’t he out there with you?”

  She frowned. “No, he wasn’t.”

  “Figures,” Monte said, “with the sound-proofing. If his door was shut, he probably ain’t heard none of this.”

  “Or he’s not at home. Look, Miss Bradley, would you check on that? And if he’s there, please tell him to stay there, till the cops call him. And keep the others in their rooms too.”

  She looked at Monte as though for instructions. Monte said, “You’re a friend, Joanie, and a nice kid, but don’t worry about the peeper here with the gun on me. First I’m not looking to take a powder, and second he ain’t really holding the gun on me — all he’s doing is holding the gun out on me, and I can’t blame him for that. This thing’ll get settled when the cops come. So do as he tells you.”

  “Yeah,” I repeated. “'Do as he tells you.’ What goes between you two?”

  “Nothing goes,” Monte said. “She’s a good kid. I helped her out with what is known as the career. So she thinks she’s got to show appreciation. Now do like the man tells you, Joanie dear.”

  “All,” she said suddenly, “except Hardwood.”

  “All” — I blinked — “except Hardwood — what?”

  “All, except Hardwood, are in their respective rooms. That’s not true either. I mean I’m here, and Bill is here — ”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Let’s try not to make with the dizzy talk. Let’s try hard. Who’s Hardwood?”

  “He’s a young man who was engaged to Miss Dino.”

  “And where’s Hardwood?”

  “He’s in Rocky’s room. He’s … he’s just afraid to come here for a look. He’s sort of, well, the tender type. Rocky’s been feeding him a few drinks. I … I hate to be the one … but it seems I have to be the one to break it to him. It was Rocky who knocked on my door and asked me to come here to find out just what was what — while he went back to stay with Hardwood. They’re good friends, those two.”

  “Okay. So after you check on Ormsby, and after you report to Rocky, at least you go back to your room. Which one is that?”

  “First door to the right.”

  “Fine. See you later.” She went out and I said, “Monte, let’s lay it on the table.” I flicked at the revolver with the fingernails of my left hand. “This certainly figures to be the heater that de-heated our lady here.”

  “I got the same figure, little pal.”

  “You say you had nothing to do with it. Mind if I ask you a question then?”

  “Why should I mind now — after all you’ve been asking.”

  “That was rhetorical, Monte.”

  “Was — what?”

  “Skip it. Question. Where were you this evening?”

  “Took in a movie, and a lousy one. Cops and robbers.”

  “When’d you get back?�
��

  “Maybe a half hour ago. Something like that. Check that with Miss Nelson. She seen me when I come in.”

  “You going to stick around for the cops, Monte?”

  “You bet your sweet ass I am. I’m running from a Grand Jury, and I’m running from a syndicate, and I got good reason for running from them. I ain’t going to start running from cops now in the bargain — for no reason.”

  “Good enough. Know anything about a little black bag?”

  “Sure.”

  “Know what was in it?”

  “A hundred thousand clams.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Everybody in the house knew.”

  “Including Joan Bradley?”

  “Including Joan Bradley.”

  “Then what am I wasting my time with you? I can get the same information from her. And she’s prettier.”

  “It’s your time, Mr. Peeper.”

  V

  Joan Bradley’s room was nicely furnished, the nicest piece of furniture being a nice portable bar, nicely laden. I helped myself to one nice drink and then I said, “Look, I’m holding a gun and I’m only holding it for safekeeping. Is it all right if I put it down?”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean — since you’re now a lady magician — you won’t make it disappear.”

  “I have no reason to.”

  I placed the gun on the nice little bar and had a nice little drink once more. I said, “You and I have some personal things to talk about — but first let’s get past the impersonal ones.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Chambers.”

  “I remember when you called me Peter.”

  “Whatever you say, Peter.”

  “You’re very obliging.”

  “Am I?”

  I went to the nice little bar but this time I did not have a nice little drink. I looked at the gun, murmured, “Even if it had fingerprints, which I doubt — they’re all smudged now. Which may be the real reason he jumped me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” I came back to her. “Did something to your hair, didn’t you?”