by Henry, Kane,
“Don’t know.”
“You said something about threats.”
“I don’t know if they were really threats. She sounded hysterical. She shouted, once, ‘Get away from me. Don’t ever come near me, or I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you …’ Then she came rushing out, flew through the drawing room and left, slamming the door behind her.”
“Then?”
“Mr. Keith came out, and I could see he was fighting to control himself. He had a few quick drinks, made a tremendous effort to be cordial, and then, about fifteen minutes later, we left.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Hartley and myself.”
“What time was that?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“You sure of that?”
“Certain. I had looked at my watch, and, tactfully, I hope, had made a remark about the time. I took Mr. Keith aside and told him I’d be back at about eleven, and he asked me to please do just that.”
Parker began pacing, tapping the will against his fingers. “And you came back at eleven. You pushed the downstairs buzzer, there was no answer, so you used the keys you had. Upstairs, you found the door ajar. You came in, and found him, dead on the floor, the candlestick on the floor near him. You fainted. You came to about five minutes later, and you called the police. You didn’t touch a thing. That right?”
“That’s right.”
“Just one more quention, Miss Rollins, if you don’t mind. It’s impertinent, but police, sometimes, must be impertinent.”
“What is it, Lieutenant?”
“Can you explain … about your having keys … to Mr. Keith’s apartment?”
She looked up at him, and one eyebrow arched. She said, “There were many time when Mr. Keith was out of town. There are many business papers here. There are also times when he would want to entertain a client. At such times, I would serve as hostess. I mean, if he were out of town, and needed information which he kept here; or if he were out of town, and there might possibly be a client to be entertained at home, at a private dinner party, anything like that — these were a part of my function, and for that reason I had a set of duplicate keys. Of course, I never used them without his permission.”
“Except tonight.”
“I rang downstairs. I knew he was expecting me. There was no answer. I felt that … that perhaps something was wrong. What would you have done in my place?”
“Exactly the same. And were you the only employee who had such a duplicate set of keys?”
“Yes, as far as I know.” She smiled, tiredly. “After all, I was also the only employee who also happened to be his fiancée.”
“Of course, of course. Now, look, Miss Rollins. I know how unpleasant it is out there, and there’s still work to be done … so, would you like to rest in one of the bedrooms? We’ll call you when we need you.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. You’re very kind.”
“I’ll send a drink in.”
“Thanks again.”
“What’ll it be?”
“Highball. Scotch and soda. A good deal of Scotch and a little soda.”
He led her out, toward one of the bedrooms, and I went to the drawing room. Fleetwood winked at me, said, “Looks like a wrap-up.” He pointed to a couple of photographs on a table-top. I went near and looked. The photographs were of fingerprints.
Carl Walsh said, “Great new world we live in, ain’t it? If you want, pictures get developed and printed practically as soon as you snap them.”
The downstairs buzzer rang. Steve answered it.
Parker returned. Fleetwood said, “Lieutenant — ”
“Hold it a minute.” Parker went to the open liquor cabinet, pointed, inquired, “These glasses clear?”
Fleetwood said, “Yes, sir.”
Parker made a highball and handed it to the man who had been taking the measurements. “Stanley, my boy, do the honors for the lady. Miss Rollins. In the bedroom.” Stanley started for the doorway. Parker called, “And don’t tarry.” Stanley disappeared. The other men grinned. Parker said, “Stanley gets ideas. Bedrooms have an effect on him.”
Fleetwood began again. “Lieutenant — ”
The doorbell rang. It was the litter brigade for the body. Parker supervised. When they were gone, Parker said, “Where’s Stanley?”
Steve smiled. “I’ll get him.”
Parker went to the desk, lifted a sheet. “These the addresses of all the people who were here tonight?”
Walsh said, “Yes, sir. Taken from his address book.”
Fleetwood said, “Lieutenant — ”
Steve came back with Stanley. Parker pointed. “You. Stanley. Pick up Brad Hartley. Doesn’t live far from here. Park Avenue too. Nine-fifty. Bring him here. Any hitch, call me.”
“Yes, sir.” Stanley departed.
Fleetwood said, “Now, Lieutenant?”
Parker grinned. “Go ahead, Bob.”
“These pictures.” Parker crossed to Fleetwood and bent to the photographs. Fleetwood said. “The one on the right is off the candlestick. Only one set of prints on that candlestick. Got that?”
“Yep.”
“The one on the left is off the glass that had the green drink. What do you call it?”
“Crême de menthe.”
“Yeah. They match. Exactly. No question. That’s it.”
Parker whistled, rubbed a hand across his mouth. “The little sister, huh? Opportunity, inclination as expressed by threats, even motive, what with a half-share of the estate. It’s so open-and-shut, I hate it. But the D.A.’ll eat it up. Steve!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pick up Julia Keith. Ten East Twelfth Street. Bring her here. Any hitch, call me.”
“Yes, sir.” Steve went away.
Parker came to me. “All right, let’s you and me have a drink, and get ourselves organized.”
I smacked my palms together. Parker jumped.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“The car.”
“Car? What car? And don’t ever do that again. It makes me nervous.”
“Sorry, Lieutenant. Had a guy, friend of mine, drive me over. Figured I’d just be here a few minutes. Told him to wait. Bet he’s still waiting.”
“I’ll have one of the boys tell him.”
“No. I’d rather do it myself. No sense scaring him, a nice ordinary guy. I’ll be right up.”
Parker shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The policeman opened the door for me, the elevator took me down and my own two feet hustled me around the corner to Lexington Avenue and the nearest public phone booth. I inserted my coin and dialed PL 5-2598. There were three rings, and then the lady’s voice answered. I said, “Hi. Pete. You dressed?”
“Yes. Why? What is it?”
“I’m going to talk fast, because you’re in a hurry.”
“You’re going to talk fast, because I’m in a hurry? You drunk?”
“No. Listen. Pack a bag and get out. But quick. Walk a few blocks and then grab a cab. Check in at the Century. Check in as … Mary Hoover. Stay in, have your meals sent up, don’t go out. I’ll be in touch.”
“What’s the matter with you? What is this?”
“There’s been a murder.”
“Murder?”
“Max Keith.”
There was a gasp, then no sound.
I called, “Julia, Julia …”
Finally she said, “Why? Why am I supposed to run?”
“Because there’s a whole mess of facts that stink. Once it gets to the D.A., he’ll chew you up. Under any circumstances, you’ll be in the clink a long time. There’s no bail for murder, and I heard the facts, and no writ’ll get you out either. Maybe you can beat it at a trial, there’s no question you can, but it’s a long time between arrest and trial, and a hotel room is much more comfortable than the pokey. Get going, will you? They’re on their way down to pick you up right now.”
“But Pete — ”
“Do as I tell you.
Century. Mary Hoover. Move.”
I hung up, pulled a handkerchief, wiped sweat from my face, got out of the phone booth and for the first time I realized I was in a saloon. What could be better? Fortification was in order. I had Scotch twice, chased with water, and then I legged it back to Max Keith’s place. Parker was alone with Carl Walsh. I said, “Where’s everybody?”
“By everybody,” Parker said, “all you can mean is Fleetwood. I sent him after that Ralph Adams, who lives in Queens. Got to get us a quorum. Ever see this joint? All of it?”
“No.”
“Seven rooms, counting the terrace. Let me show you. Tour of inspection.” He said to Walsh, “You’re in charge. Give yourself a drink. Look in on Rollins. Give her a drink. Me and the peeper are going to stroll, then talk. Let’s go, Peter Pan.”
We started with the terrace. Then back to the drawing room. Then the study. Then a dining room. Then two bedrooms, one of which was occupied by Ruth Rollins. Then a kitchen. Lots of corridors. Then we doubled back, and Parker opened a door, and switched on a light, and I did the double-take his pleased expression was waiting for. It was a large room set up as a little theater, a motion-picture projection room. There were black screens, which were down, covering the windows, and a white motion-picture screen, which was also down like an unfurled roll-up map of the world, and a projection table with a projection machine on it, and a small metal cabinet. There were six rows of jump seats, like a movie house, six seats in each row. That’s all there was.
I opened the metal cabinet. It was empty.
“Real class,” Parker said. “This guy treated himself good. One of his clients was Sam Murray, who used to be with Paramount, now a big private producer. Must have run previews here of the top pictures for house parties. Real Hollywood.”
“Why not?” I said. “If the guy could afford it …”
“Sure. Sit down, Pete. Time for talk. Let’s start at the beginning. How’d you come to know this guy in the first place?”
“The name Julia Keith do anything for you?”
He plucked a cigar from his pocket, bit, spit, champed on to it. “Don’t do a thing.”
“It’s an admission, Lieutenant.”
“Of what?”
“Of a lack of appreciation of the arts.”
“Arts? What arts?”
“Music. Musical comedies. Operettas.”
“Shows, you mean?”
“Yes. I mean something like that.”
He grinned around his cigar. “Guy in my business has no time for shows. What’s that got to do with Julia Keith?”
“Nothing, except that she’s probably the most valuable musical comedy property in the entire City of New York. In the last three years, she was the leading lady in Sing For Your Supper, Student Prince and One Night With You. Two hits, one flop, but rave reviews for her in all three.”
“So?”
“She’s Max Keith’s sister.”
“So?”
“In between shows, she works night clubs.”
“So?”
“So that’s how I met her. In a night club.”
“When?”
“About a year ago.”
“So?”
“So, through her, I met Max Keith.”
“When?”
“Oh … maybe seven-eight months ago.”
Parker pushed down a jump seat, slid into it, motioned to me, and I sat beside him. He said, “All right. What kind of a guy?”
“A prig.”
“Prig, huh? That can mean a lot of things. Tell me a few.”
“Well, I suppose I’ve no right to pass judgment. The only real time I spent with him was on that week’s work, six months ago. Struck me as a shrewd apple. Fast with a buck, knew all the right people and knew all the right answers. Classy guy with the dames. On the best of terms with all the big-money party girls. Struck me as the kind of a guy that would throw in his grandmother to make change on a big deal. That kind of a guy Money, period. A money guy. Chief interest, money. Most minor interest, money. Money, up and down the line. I don’t exactly cotton to the type.”
“Ever discuss him with sister?”
“Matter of fact, I tried once. She stopped me. Got a slight hunch she didn’t particularly cotton to him either. She stopped me cold, asked me as a favor that we keep him out of our conversations. We did. I never mentioned him again, and neither did she.”
“And how’d they act together?”
“Like brother and sister. Displayed the usual affections. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Parker finally put fire to his cigar. Blue smoke gathered about us. He said, “And what was that week’s assignment about?”
“Bodyguard.”
“Anything special?”
“Nope. He asked me to stick with him for that week, and to carry a gun.”
“Anything happen?”
“Nothing, except a big round of parties, a lot of drinking and a lot of night clubs.”
“Just you and him?”
“Me, him and a client, a guy from Texas, Jack Schiff. Also, a constant variety of dames.”
“Was it a twenty-four hour deal?”
“What?”
“The bodyguard.”
“Nope. I’d pick him up at the office at whatever hour he specified and I’d stay with him until he turned in for the night. I figured he expected trouble to flare suddenly.”
“You mean between him and this Jack Schiff?”
“That was my figure. That’s the only guy who was with us all the time. I was supposed to be one of Keith’s office associates. He and this Schiff did a lot of talking, out of earshot, but I was always near enough in case of trouble.”
“And do you know what they were talking about?”
“Business. Schiff’s one-year contract had run out, and Keith wanted to sign him for another year. He wined him, and dined him, but I had a hunch he was a little afraid of him too.”
“How’d it turn out?”
“They signed a new contract, and they parted — as far as I’m concerned — the best of friends.”
Parker smoked in silence. Then he said, “Figure there’s any connection?”
“Between what?”
“Between requests for a bodyguard. First time he used you, it was some kind of business thing between him and this Schiff. This lasted a week. Figures Schiff came up from Texas. Figures he stayed a week.”
“That’s right. He stayed a week.”
“Now he wanted you for a bodyguard again. Short haul, this trip. Just for this evening. And again he’s involved in a business deal. Brad Hartley. And Hartley doesn’t live in Texas. Hartley lives here. Any of this make sense to you?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither. I’m just doing the free-association jiggle. Maybe somewhere it’ll strike a chord. Let’s try putting it together this way. Maybe somewhere along the line this guy, this Keith, expects violence from his clients. He hires himself a bodyguard when he figures this violence might come to a head. Any sense to that?”
“Well,” I said, “maybe with a wild man from Texas. This Schiff was big and brawny, an oil man with millions. Guys like that sometimes like to get their names in the newspapers, so they get themselves a publicity guy. Maybe with a guy like that, violence figures. But with the distinguished Brad Hartley …”
“It don’t figure, no question about that. Now about this singer, the sister, Julia. She the type who figures to hit her brother over the head with a candlestick?”
“Everybody’s the type, Lieutenant. Depends upon the provocation.”
“You ain’t being much help, are you, shamus?”
“Not yet I’m not.”
There was a rap on the door. Parker called, “Yeah?”
Stanley stuck his head in. “Got your pigeon, Lieutenant.”
“Hartley?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Want to listen, Pete?”
“And how.”
We trooped back to th
e drawing room. Walsh was sitting on a couch and Stanley joined him. Standing in the center of the room, panama hat in hand, was a tall man with a florid face, upscaled eyebrows and black eyes as bright as a terrier’s. He wore a dark-blue, single-breasted, lightweight suit with perfect shoulders, a button-down, faintly yellow shirt, and a dark-blue tie with small maroon figures. The panama hat was in his left hand. In his right were pale yellow chamois-type gloves and a shiny black walking stick. He leaned gracefully on the stick, a tall slender man of about fifty, but young-looking, sprightly and vital.
Parker said, “Mr. Hartley? I’m Lieutenant Parker.”
“How do you do?” His voice was deep, with a cultured enunciation. “Your man informed me of the circumstances. Terrible, fantastic. But if there is anything I can do, anything whatever, of course …”
“Won’t you come in here, sir, please?” Parker took him to the study and I followed. Parker said, “Peter Chambers, a private detective.”
“How do you do?” He laid away his cane and gloves and we shook hands. His hand was hard, strong and dry. He put his hat on his gloves and sat down. He said, “Absolutely fantastic. We only left here at ten o’clock. Your man tells me the … the thing was discovered at eleven.”
“That’s right, sir. Which means, definitely, the murder occurred between ten and eleven. That’s good for us, sir. It limits it.”
“Yes. I understand.”
Parker relit his dead cigar. He paced, then stopped in front of Hartley. “In a murder investigation, Mr. Hartley, we ask a lot of questions. We get a lot of answers. Then sometimes we get a pattern. Sometimes we don’t. But we try.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve been informed that you had an appointment with Mr. Keith for seven-thirty. Would you please tell us about that? Start from as far back as you like.”
Hartley sighed, stroked the corners of his mouth with thumb and forefinger, said, “How far back, Lieutenant Parker?”
“Let’s say from the beginning of your acquaintance with Max Keith.”
“All right, sir. As you may know, Hartley and Simmons consists of me, Brad Hartley. My former partner, Hiram Simmons, died ten years ago.”
“I didn’t know that, sir.”
“Whatever, several years ago, business began falling off, and I began to bethink myself of ways and means to stimulate the same. The idea of publicity relations came to me. Advertising for an established investment house — I mean the usual garish type of advertising — is out of the question. But a subtle type of advertising — a good press, as a matter of fact, judicious placement of proper items properly but subtly brought to the public eye — this can well serve the type of business stimulation I sought. Do I make myself clear?”