I chuckled. “The hell it did,” I stated. “Dot was left-handed.”
Baker’s lower lip dropped away from the upper. His eyes stopped squinting, widened. He sucked in a breath of air.
I grinned at him. He was swearing under his breath.
I said: “And still—it wasn’t suicide, Baker. I knew that gal. She wouldn’t have had the guts to go out that way. And why? Because she called me a flock of names and I didn’t ride with her anyway? Not so good.”
The prison town’s chief of police was clicking his teeth together. He looked sore, and then he looked thoughtful.
“Left-handed!” he muttered. “You may be wrong, Ourney—she might have passed herself the dose, at that.”
“She didn’t. But whoever did—that human knew her well enough to know she was left-handed. And he gave you fellows credit for having more brains than you have. He thought you’d learn that fact, too.”
“How in hell would we know?” Baker snapped. “She isn’t local.”
I lighted a pill. “She’s local, all right,” I stated. “She wasn’t—but she is. If you don’t want me anymore—I’d like to look at her. Rather, I wouldn’t like to, but maybe I’d better.”
“She’s at the morgue,” Baker said. “Tell me where I can get you if I want you.”
I told him I’d give him a name and a box number after I got back to New York. I told him I didn’t think I’d go through with my plans—the ones I’d spoken to Warden Collahan about. I said I wasn’t a crook, and I was getting sick of being close to them. By the time I got through I had put on a good show for him and almost believed what I was saying myself.
I went over to the morgue and looked at Dot. She didn’t look so bad. There wasn’t anything I could learn, but I felt better after I’d seen her. A morgue official told me her sister was expected from Rochester. I went down to a florist’s and ordered up two dozen roses, white. The florist was tall and severe-looking; he got a jolt when I said they were for Dot Ellis, over at the morgue. He asked about a card, and I told him they were just from one virgin to another—so a card wasn’t necessary. He didn’t like that. I asked him about a speakeasy, and he brightened up.
He stalled around a few minutes and then took me in back. The whisky wasn’t so good, but it helped. I bought him a drink and after a while bought him another. Then I asked him if he knew a flat-faced cab driver in town. He said that might be “Bun” Leary, that Leary had been a prizefighter and that he had driven the cab in which Dot Ellis had been murdered. He said that Leary was a good guy, only a little rough. But he didn’t mix up with women. Then he tightened up and stopped talking.
“Maybe you’re a detective,” he guessed.
I told him that I hadn’t got that low, that I’d known Miss Ellis some years ago, and that it was just too bad. He agreed, and I went down and found that the next train was due in two hours, but that I could get a bus in something like thirty minutes. Outside the railroad station I waited fifteen minutes and then picked up Leary. His face was as flat as ever.
He glared at me as I went over to his cab. I just grinned.
“Listen—” I said—“you didn’t do for Dot Ellis. And I didn’t. You’re a tough guy, and when you were scrapping you didn’t have much of a guard. But they didn’t hit your eyes so hard. I’ve got a twenty-dollar bill in my pocket that I don’t care about keeping there. I’m going to show you something, and I’m going to ask you something. All I want is the truth. Will I get it—or won’t I?”
It was a long speech, but he understood most of it.
“Maybe you’re crazy,” he stated. “But I ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. Give me the twenty first—show me, and ask. I’ll answer you straight.”
“Fair enough,” I said, and reached for the twenty-dollar bill.
3
It was dark when I got back to the city. It was colder. I went in somewhere and bought a fall overcoat—one that was short enough for leg movement without contact with the material. I looked up the name of Garren in the phone book and was a little surprised to find it. I’d figured it might be necessary for me to go down to his place.
He was in, and I talked nonsense, along with a few words that meant something.
“I’ve been up the line to look at that store location, and I’ve learned something you’ll be interested in. Supposing I come up around nine?”
“It’ll be all right, DeGroot,” he replied. “And if you can get your hands on some cash, I could use it.”
“Sure,” I said, “almost anyone can do that, if they can get their hands on it.”
I had some oysters that tasted like a million, washed them down with something that passed for beer, tackled a steak that was supposed to be medium-well and wasn’t, drank two cups of black coffee, called the Third Precinct—and went to a movie. I had two hours to kill, and I picked a bad way to do it. After about a half hour I got out and walked down to the boardinghouse in which Donner had taken the dose. The fat landlady answered my ring, but she only opened the door a few inches.
She recognized me right away. I told her that I was looking for the woman who had let us in the night of the murder, last night. She looked blank—as though she’d never heard of any murder. I described the woman in the faded negligee. The landlady nodded.
“Oh, Ella,” she said. “She went to Pittsburgh this mornin’. Went to visit her aunt. She was upset, she was. I don’t know where her aunt lives. Ella Bock—that’s her name. She’s a good girl, Ella is. Maybe I can find you the address. It ain’t just right, but maybe—”
She let her voice trail off. I assured her that everything would be all right. She was lying, and I knew it. She came back with a piece of paper on which something had been scrawled. She read it off.
“Six hundred and four, Third Street, South Side, Pittsburgh. Her aunt’s name is Emily Munn. I guess it’s—all right. It seems funny, but you’re the police, ain’t you? You was just bluffin’ about that room, wasn’t you?”
I nodded brightly, got out the stub of a pencil, and scrawled the address. I thanked her, went down the steps. A half block away I threw the slip of paper on which I’d scrawled the number into the gutter. I remembered the names. Ella Bock. Emily Munn. They might mean something. The address didn’t. I wasn’t so sure about Pittsburgh. The landlady had used the name of that city pretty quickly.
At Broadway I got the time from a store window. It was twenty minutes of nine. I called the Third Precinct again and was told that Donelly had left the station ten minutes ago. After that I hailed a taxi and gave the driver an odd number on Sixty-seventh Street, east of Columbus Avenue.
Ben Garren let me in and smiled cheerfully. There was a bottle of Scotch in the living room, ginger ale and ice. We downed the drinks. Ben snapped the latch on the inside of the door.
“What’s new?” he asked.
I sat down and took a pill, tossing the pack on the table.
“I’ve been up the river,” I said. “Had a talk with Baker, the Big House town chief of police. He’s a good guy, but dumb.”
Garren grinned. “Most good guys are dumb,” he said.
I let that pass. “He’s lined up the gent that did Dot in,” I told Garren. “Got the goods on him right.”
Ben widened his bloodshot eyes. He ran left-hand fingers through his hair nervously. He smiled.
“Yeah?” he muttered. “Who did the work, Mal?”
I looked serious. “Herb Steiner,” I said slowly: “Figured it that way, myself.”
“Hell!” Ben put a lot of feeling in the word. “Steiner, eh? Can you beat that! I’ll be—damned!”
I shook my head. “Steiner was working for Cherulli, Ben. Someone spread the word that when I got out I was coming gunning for him. Because he was playing around with Dot, see? So Cherulli told Steiner to get Dot—and frame me. He came damn near doing it.”
Ben Garren half closed his bloodshot eyes. He whistled softly.
“Can you beat that!” he muttered. “How’d he s
lip up?”
I grinned. “I had a perfect alibi,” I stated. “I didn’t ride with her, Ben. And Herb stuck around the town too long after he was turned loose. And then again—he forgot something. Something important.”
Ben lighted one of my pills and waited for me to tell him what Herb Steiner forgot. I didn’t tell him because I couldn’t think of anything. Instead I leaned back in the chair and pulled on my cigarette.
“Ben—” I said slowly—“someone up in the Big House talked about what I was thinking of doing—when I got out.”
Garren swore again. “It looks that way,” he stated. “Donner, eh?”
I frowned. I took a sip of the Scotch and ginger ale and made a face.
“Can’t down this stuff,” I stated. “How about some water—and I’ll take it straight.”
Garren headed for the kitchen. “Sure thing,” he stated.
I went over to the door and made no sound snapping the latch off. Then I went back and sat down. Garren came in with the water. He was grinning. He’d shaved, but there wasn’t much pink in his face. He fooled with his hair, and the diamond glittered in the light again.
He sat down with his back to the door, shook his head slowly.
“Herb Steiner!” he muttered. “I didn’t figure it that way.”
I looked at the Scotch, but I didn’t drink any of it. I half closed my eyes.
“Went over to the boardinghouse where Donner crashed,” I said slowly. “I was looking for a sloppy blonde. Found out she just left for Pittsburgh this morning.”
Garren’s hands were at his sides—they came up convulsively. The muscles of his mouth twitched. Then he yawned. It was a poor job.
“What for did you want to see one of those dames?” he asked almost sleepily.
I grinned. “Wanted to ask her what she was doing up here last night,” I replied.
He took it pretty well—all things considered. He stared at me, sucked cigarette smoke down into his lungs—let it come out slowly. He laughed hoarsely.
“That’s not so bad,” he said in a thin tone. “Now I’ll tell the one about—”
“Don’t.” I let the one word come out sharply. “Don’t tell any story even half so funny.”
“I couldn’t,” he came back. “What in hell made you think any dame from a boardinghouse came up here last night?”
“My eyes. I saw her come up.”
I lighted one pill from the stub of the other. My hands were at my sides—I was slumping comfortably in the chair. Garren blinked at me. Then he grinned.
“Aw, cut it out, Mal!” he muttered. “You’ve been drinking.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “With a florist up the river. And with a flat-faced cab driver named Leary.”
Ben Garren got up from the chair. He went over and turned on the radio. It was a power set, and it just hummed. It had to warm up before it racketed.
“Ben—” I said slowly—“you’re a rotten liar. You had a blonde up here last night. She was the one that Donelly grabbed, over at the address where Wirt Donner was put out. She was sort of hysterical up here, and you were damned sore at her. Why don’t you come clean?”
He stood in front of me. He got a sheepish smile on his face.
“Mal—” he said—“I just didn’t want you to think that dame had sucked me in. She’s been playing me—and I’ve been playing her. She doesn’t know what it’s all about. I gave her my last coin and told her to break for the dirty burg. She just happened to be there.”
I nodded. “Sure,” I said. “And you just happened to be up the river yesterday afternoon.”
“I don’t get you, Mal,” he said hoarsely.
“I’ll make it clear. Very clear, Ben. You were wise to the fact that when I got out of prison I was going to shove in on some big-time crime breeders. Donner figured you were white—and he made a mistake. I figured the same way—and I made a mistake. When you lied to me last night I knew I’d made the mistake. But I hadn’t gone all the way with you, Ben. You thought I was starting at the Donner kill end. I wasn’t. You got a dame that knows something out of town—maybe to Pittsburgh, maybe not. That’ll show up later. But you got her out of the way because you figured I was working the Donner kill.”
“Jeez—you’re drunk!” Garren’s voice was hoarse.
I shook my head. “I’m outside, Ben,” I said slowly. “And you’re not. You’re inside, Ben. You’re not a cheap crook anymore. You’re a killer.”
He was breathing hard. His eyes were on mine. I kept smiling.
“You might have been a big guy someday, Ben,” I said. “You might have sucked in the little crooks, used ’em—let ’em take the raps. Let ’em burn. They never seem to get wise to the fact that the coppers aren’t as dangerous as the big guys on the inside, on their side. But you won’t be a big guy, Ben.”
“You’re nuts!” Garren’s voice was a whisper now—a hoarse whisper.
“You’re dumb,” I told him grimly. “You let the flat-faced cab driver look at your face while you were trailing Dot. You stuck close to her. You watched other guys—but you got careless about Leary. You figured they’d grab me, Ben. You figured I’d be a sucker. You knew Dot was left-handed, and you gave her a small-caliber dose at close range, while the cab driver was gabbing with your pal, the driver of a light truck. You slipped off the back end—and gave Dot the works. Your pal did a lot of yelling—and two engines were running. You stuck the gun in her left-hand—then shoved it back of the seat. You—”
I stopped. Garren’s right-hand was sliding up past his belt, toward his left shoulder.
“Donelly!” I yelled.
The door crackled under a blow. Garren whirled. I got up and slugged him just under the right ear. He went to his knees as Donelly came in.
“You—stoolie!” he screamed.
His rod came up—Donelly’s gun crashed. Once—then once again.
Garren let his right-hand drop. He raised his left a little. He sat down. He started to cry. It was pretty bad. Then he rolled over on his face. Donelly’s face wasn’t so red. He pulled Garren over on his back.
I took a picture out of my pocket. Ben’s eyes were on it as I held it down so that he could see. It was a photo of Ben, with a straw hat shoved back on his forehead. Donner had given it to me, up at the Big House.
“I showed it to Leary,” I said slowly. “And he said you’d been tagging Dot. You murdered her, Garren—and you tried to double-cross me. You—”
I stopped. Garren was trying to say something. There was a lot of racket outside the flat—people were running around. Donelly and I bent over Ben.
“The big—guys—wrote her—out.” Garren was slipping off, going deep for air. “I couldn’t—get clear—they had me—both ways—”
He quit talking. His body shook and then stopped shaking. Donelly fingered his right wrist.
“All done,” he muttered thickly. “Christ—I don’t like that.”
I stood up, shut the door of the flat, snapped the latch, shut off the radio. I went over and opened a window. After a few seconds I came back and looked at Donelly. His face was getting red again.
“He had a rod out,” he muttered. “I had to—let go.”
I nodded. “That was your play,” I said.
“Christ,” Donelly breathed. “We figured he was going—straight.”
I was staring at the back of the picture Donner had given me, up the river. Donelly looked over my shoulder at the words Wirt had scrawled. He read them slowly. “‘Ben’s a good guy, Mal—look him up when you get outside.’”
I looked down at Ben Garren. Donelly said in a grim voice. “Well—you looked him up, Ourney.”
I went over and poured two drinks. We didn’t use chasers. Donelly nibbled on a mint. After a little while he went to the phone and called a number. I stood near the window. Two things were certain. Ben Garren had done for Dot, in the cab. There had been orders for the job.
Donelly’s voice reached me. Between words his teeth cra
ckled the peppermint he was chewing.
“Yeah, sure—that’s right. Yeah, dead as hell. Sure—I’ll be waitin’ outside.”
4
STEINER
The third night outside went better. My nerves were less jerky. But the hotel rooms were small, and even with the windows opened the walls kept closing in. There was a radio playing somewhere, and I kept thinking about the one Ben Garren had been playing before Donelly’s lead shoved him out of the land of dials and loudspeakers forever. I got some sleep, at that. The telephone bell woke me at ten minutes after eight; Donelly choked for a while, then got his words straightened out.
“Lentz wants to see you, down at Headquarters,” he stated. “About the party last night—and maybe some other things. You’ll be all right, Ourney.”
I told him I hadn’t much doubt about that, and that I’d show at Headquarters. It took me a half hour to get dressed, not rushing things, and with a shower thrown in for good luck. I didn’t get so much kick out of brushing my teeth as I had in stir. After breakfast I cabbed down to Headquarters and met Donelly outside of Lentz’s office.
“How’d you doze?” I asked.
He used up a few cuss words first, and then said that he hadn’t slept much. He said he never slept well after killing a guy, and his eyes looked bloodshot.
“You’d have slept better if Ben had used his rod first,” I said. “More permanently.”
Donelly nodded and didn’t say anything. We went into Lentz’s office and a fuzzy-haired girl asked us to wait a little while in an anteroom. She had a neat trick of chewing gum and humming at the same time. We waited ten minutes before she got the buzz. Donelly acted nervous. I got the idea that maybe he’d never met Lentz before.
We went in and Lentz gestured toward a couple of chairs. He was a man of about fifty with gray hair and a good chin. He looked more like a small-town merchant than the head of the New York detective bureau. His eyes were blue and wide.
“I’ll save time and make a speech,” he said in a rather thin voice. He picked up a sheet of paper from the surface of his desk and read in a monotone. “Thirteenth—Herb Steiner out of Sing Sing. Fence. Sixteenth—Malcolm Ourney out of Sing Sing. Two years—manslaughter. Ourney generally believed to have taken sentence for Dot Ellis, who drove car through safety aisle, killing two. Sixteenth—‘Angel’ Cherulli gunned out in alley back of his club—nightclub owner and big-shot gambler. Sixteenth—Dot Ellis murdered in cab at Ossining. Sixteenth—Wirt Donner, under name of Ross, shot to death in West Fifty-sixth Street boardinghouse. Served recent sentence in Sing Sing. Seventeenth—Detective Donelly shot Ben Garren, not long out of Sing Sing, to death in flat on West Sixty-seventh Street. Note—Malcolm Ourney was in Ossining at time of Ellis woman’s death. Ourney was on the scene when Donner was murdered. Ourney was present when Detective Donelly shot Ben Garren in self-defense.”
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