Crimson Clue

by George Harmon Coxe

  After that a lot of ideas hit Murdock in a very short space of time and his first reaction was one of simple excitement at his discovery. He tried to listen to the song but found he could not concentrate so he shut off the machine while he began to build his speculations on the one factor he knew to be true:

  Klime had made a recording.

  Sergeant Unger did not know this because he was not aware of the reversible properties of this particular tape and machine. The killer—if this actually was the motive for murder—could not have known either, otherwise he would have taken the tape when he took the original, apparently tearing the reel from the machine in his haste and leaving only that two-foot strip behind.

  Murdock walked across the room and came back to give his nerves a chance to quiet. He told himself the thing to do was to concentrate, and when he was ready he turned on the machine once more, standing a little stiffly, his head cocked.

  This time he recognized the tune but as he followed the words they did not seem to fit. He could not be sure of this, because, though he could recall and hum a thousand tunes, he had seldom paid much attention to lyrics. He did not know this one; he only knew enough to sense that what he heard was not right.

  Then, like that, he had the answer he’d been groping for. He was in business at last.

  The tune was familiar, the words were not. And what better way for a man like Klime, who knew about music, to disguise what he had to say than by putting it down to a musical accompaniment.

  If one were looking for a clue to murder or blackmail he would not expect to find it in a hit tune. If, on the other hand, the voice was Neil Garvin’s, and Murdock could not be sure since he had never heard it, the same reasoning would apply. Garvin may have had some things to say, important enough to record, important enough to disguise in case the tape was played.

  Murdock stopped the machine with nervous fingers, the thought expanding unrestrained as his imagination took hold. He was excited all over again. He couldn’t help it. He had a clue and it meant nothing to him now because he did not know the original lyrics. What he needed was someone who did, someone to write them out so a comparison could be made. And having progressed that far, two names came to mind immediately: Audrey Wayne, who had been a singer, and Sydney French.

  He telephoned the Copley first because it was a thing he had promised to do that morning and had forgotten about it. He heard the distant ringing of a telephone and presently the hotel operator cut in on the line.

  ‘I’m ringing Room 519, sir. There is no answer.’

  ‘No answer?’ Murdock scowled into the mouthpiece, wondering if that was the proper room, then knowing he was right. ‘You sure you’re ringing 519?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Well ring again, please.’

  He waited another fifteen seconds, trying now to put down the growing concern inside him by telling himself Audrey had gone downstairs to get something—cigarettes, or papers maybe. She’d be back.

  ‘Hello’, he said when he had the operator again. ‘I’d like to leave a message for Miss Ann Wright.’

  He gave his name and said if Miss Wright came back in the next half hour she was to come to this address. He would appreciate it if the operator would keep ringing the room every few minutes; it was terribly important.

  He told himself Audrey would be all right, that the thing to do now was to get Syd French on his way over here. He looked up the number, dialled, hung on impatiently and then with a mounting annoyance as the ringing went unanswered. Finally he consulted the directory again and dialled Vivian Keith’s number. This time he got a response.

  ‘Hello’, she said brightly. ‘Oh, yes, Mr. Murdock. Yes, Sydney’s here. Just a minute.’

  ‘Hi’, French said. ‘What’s new, kid? What happened to your friend, the Wayne girl? She was supposed to call back for another appointment.’

  Murdock said Audrey had been busy. ‘I’m over at Lew Klime’s apartment’, he said, and mentioned the address. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘My help? You mean the guy I read about in the paper?’

  ‘He was Saul Damin’s partner’, Murdock said. ‘I think he pulled a fast one, Klime, I mean, and got killed for it. I think I’ve got a lead on it, a tape recording that sounds screwy to me. I need someone like you who knows the music and lyrics to help me decipher the damn thing. Can you come over right away?’

  ‘Well——’ French hesitated. ‘I’ve got to fly out to the coast tonight on a little deal. I’m kind of busy. Couldn’t you bring the tape over here?’

  ‘I don’t know whether it will fit your machine’, Murdock argued. ‘I know it will play on this one.’

  ‘All right.’ French said something in an aside to Vivian. ‘I only hope it won’t take too long.’

  Murdock walked slowly back to the recorder, feeling a little jumpy inside now and not knowing why. Here, his instinct told him, was something important. He had the feeling that he was close to a discovery of some sort but as yet it was only a hunch and had little substance in fact.

  He stood looking down at the machine and then he rewound it carefully so that he could start at the very beginning and see what sort of prelude there was to the music. Leaving only enough tape on the reel to engage it, he turned on speaker control. What he heard then he had heard in part that morning when Sergeant Unger played the two-foot strip.

  ‘Recorded at Alpert and Leeds’, the voice said. ‘West Los Angeles——’

  Murdock listened with growing bewilderment, his jaw slack. He stood stock still for perhaps fifteen seconds and then reached out and stopped the machine. He discovered his mouth was open and closed it, swallowing deliberately because his throat was dry, and aware of an odd emptiness that had begun to work inside him.

  He shook himself mentally and out of the confusion of his thoughts the answer came to him. He had made a mistake; a bad mistake, and the only thing he could do was to try to correct it—if he could.

  Heretofore he had been mucking about, trailing the police and picking up the pieces where he could, knowing some things they didn’t and holding out a bit here and there. Now, understanding his discovery in its true perspective, he knew that he was getting in beyond his depth. This sort of thing was not his job. It was time to deal Lieutenant Bacon in and let the professionals take over.

  The sound startled him, not because it was loud but because it was so unexpected. At the point of turning toward the telephone he stopped, breath held, and every sense alert. He knew then what the sound was and where it came from.

  Someone was at the door, working on the lock. Even as he knew this he heard the latch click and he stood immobile, seeing the door swing and then the blue-coated figure with grey felt obscuring the face as the man turned to close the door softly behind him.

  He took a step forward before he glanced up, and then he saw Murdock and froze that way. For a second more surprise held him there, gaze intent and swart face tautly still. Just as suddenly he smiled and moved slowly into the room.

  ‘Hello, Saul’, Murdock said. ‘Klime leave you a key?’

  Damin’s little eyes took in the room and everything in it. He pushed his hat back with an index finger. When he was ready he made his reply, his voice quietly unconcerned.

  ‘Not exactly’, he said. ‘How about you? Or did the cops leave it unlocked for you?… Looking for anything special?’

  ‘I found it. I was just about to call Bacon.’

  Damin eyed him through half-closed lids; then he shrugged. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’

  Murdock stepped to the telephone, keeping one eye on Damin and the other on the recorder. When he heard the lieutenant’s voice he explained where he was.

  ‘I’ve got a lead’, he said. ‘I think you can crack this thing this afternoon … Yes … It could get rough though. Maybe you ought to bring some help, if you know what I mean.’ He listened, spoke impatiently. ‘Do as you like but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Damin’s here now … Yes … Okay.’


  ‘Maybe Damin ought to push off’, Damin said dryly.

  ‘I think you ought to stay, Saul.’

  ‘You mean you think you can stop me?’

  ‘Have you got a gun?’

  ‘I hardly ever carry one.’

  ‘Then I think you ought to stay.’ He hesitated, watching Damin measuring him as he sensed the other’s indecision. He digressed quickly. ‘What were you looking for?’

  ‘The slug Lew was supposed to have fired. I’ve got some friends at Headquarters. I understand they haven’t found it yet. I thought I’d have a look.’

  Murdock did not know whether Damin was telling the truth or not but he did not particularly care. He backed up to the recorder.

  ‘Give a listen, Saul’, he said. ‘Tell me what you think.… Ever hear it before?’ he added when the voice and piano became audible.

  ‘I might have.’ Damin opened his coat and sat on the arm of a chair. He found his cigarette case and opened it like a man suffering from acute boredom.

  Murdock suspected the pose. He thought it more simulated than real but it angered him nonetheless because the tension was still there inside him and he could not quite control it. Now, doing the best he could with his own voice, he said:

  ‘Does it mean anything to you?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  Murdock reached over and stopped the machine.

  ‘Some guy’s singing, or trying to’, Damin continued. ‘Is it important?’

  Murdock thought so.

  ‘You heard the record’, he said flatly. ‘It’s a copy of the one Klime and one of your hoods took away from me the night Garvin was murdered. You helped Canning and Elliott get the body out of the house and they were afraid Garvin had some more letters and you went to the hotel room to get them.’

  ‘Remember.’ Damin blew smoke at the ceiling. ‘This is your story.’

  ‘You were waiting in the bathroom’, Murdock said. ‘You heard Audrey Wayne come in—you couldn’t see what was in her hand from where you stood—and heard her mention the envelope. You probably thought it was another letter and when you had a chance you clipped me——’

  He broke off as Damin stood up and started through the rest of the apartment. He did not know why until Damin came over to the two recorders and inspected the microphones. When he was satisfied he went back to his chair.

  ‘Okay’, he said indifferently. ‘If it will make you feel any better. I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  Murdock swallowed against his rising anger and resentment. He felt he was losing control of the situation, that Damin was baiting him. He wanted to step close and jerk the man to his feet and clip him on the mouth; instead he stood where he was and continued stubbornly.

  ‘You didn’t know what the envelope was,’ he said, ‘but you wanted it. You went up to Audrey’s room to wait and you missed it again when I barged in on you in the darkness. But you still wanted it. You called Klime and he got another guy. You hung around the hotel and you saw us coming out with me hanging on to the envelope.’

  He paused and said: ‘So Klime got it and you found out it was a tape recording. You’re the senior partner and you knew Klime’s a crook at heart and you certainly wouldn’t trust him with that recording until you heard it played. You heard it.’

  He stopped abruptly, aware of the change in Damin’s manner. He no longer looked so bored. He smoked in small puffs and his heavy-lidded eyes seemed never to be still. He stood up and seemed about to reply when the knock came.

  He wheeled with the sound, his gaze intent, his hands slipping into his coat pockets. He gave Murdock a hard, suspicious glance.

  ‘Go ahead’, he said. ‘See who it is.’

  Murdock went over and opened the door. When he stood back Sydney French moved stiffly inside, the collar of his covert-cloth coat turned up against the chill fall air, his hands in his pockets. He stopped when he saw Damin, glanced uncertainly at Murdock.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said. ‘Is this going to take long?’

  Murdock put the door on latch and said he didn’t think so. He asked if French knew Saul Damin and French said hello while Damin nodded suspiciously.

  ‘I’ve got a tape recording’, Murdock said. ‘I think Lew Klime made it. I want you to hear it.’

  French was watching Damin. He opened his coat, shifted his weight, and slid his hands inside his hip pockets, arms akimbo.

  ‘Klime was your partner, wasn’t he?’ he said. ‘Somebody killed him last night. Here?’

  ‘Behind that desk’, Damin said.

  ‘Do they know who did it yet?’

  Damin shook his head and Murdock, thinking he heard someone on the stairs, turned away. A moment later the knocking came, loud and authoritative.

  ‘Come in’, Murdock called.

  Bacon opened the door, took in the room in one quick glance, and then inspected the lock on the door.

  ‘Who put this on latch?’ he demanded, always the cop. ‘Unger never left it like this. How’d you get in?’ he said to Murdock and then, continuing as though he expected no answer, he studied French a moment and said: ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘He’s the musical expert.’ Murdock started to open the door, hesitated only briefly as Bacon demanded to know where he was going.

  ‘To get a camera out of the car’, Murdock said. ‘Just in case.’

  Chapter 20

  WHEN Kent Murdock re-entered the apartment with his camera and a pocket full of flashbulbs Bacon was staring stonily out of the window. Sydney French was leaning sideways against the wall, contemplating the design in the carpet. Damin had remained where he was and all three turned silently to watch Murdock put his camera and topcoat aside.

  Bacon cleared his throat and it was instantly apparent that he was not in one of his better moods. His long face was severe, his grey eyes suspicious. Everything about him seemed to indicate not only that he considered such proceedings highly unorthodox, but that he disapproved of himself for coming here at all. When he spoke his voice was curt, impatient, and hard.

  ‘You’re going to crack this for me, is that it?’ he said.

  ‘I said I had a lead’, Murdock answered, knowing how it was with Bacon. You’re going to do the cracking if the lead is any good.’

  Bacon wasn’t buying anything yet. ‘All right’, he said. ‘Let’s have it.’

  Murdock had walked over to the recorder and now he indicated the tape on the two reels. ‘I’ve got a recording I want you to hear.’

  ‘Where’d you get it?’ countered Bacon, still suspicious.

  ‘In this drawer.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘Oh no, you didn’t.’ Bacon advanced slowly. He had his chin out an inch and a half and he was not Murdock’s friend now; he was a cop who, having hitherto been ineffective and thwarted in his investigations, no longer cared whose toes he stepped on. ‘I know how many reels of tape there were in that drawer last night’, he said. ‘I know how many Sergeant Unger checked this morning. I listened to them. I know what was on them.’

  He rocked on heel and toe, his jaw ridged. ‘If you’ve got a new recording you didn’t get it here today. You got it here last night before we came. You found the tape and you took it out and hid it until you could check on it yourself. Don’t ask me why. You’ve done it before—held out because you wanted to cover for someone or thought you could wind up with exclusive pictures—and you saw a chance to do it again. Now you tell me the reel was here all the time, hunh?’

  Murdock took it. He did not like it but he was honest enough to recognize the soundness of Bacon’s assumption; for he had, in fact, done exactly as Bacon had said, the only difference being that what he had held out was the two negatives he had found on Klime. He wished now he had not done so even though the pictures no longer seemed important. He could feel the flush moving up along his neck and the stiffness working on his jaw, but he met the lieutenant’s gaze and spoke evenly.

  ‘Th
at’s exactly what I’m telling you. The reel was here. Unger played one side of it. What he didn’t know was——’

  He broke off to look at the door. Bacon was already striding toward it, intent on answering the sudden knocking. When he jerked it open Audrey Wayne and Jeff Elliott were standing side by side in the hall.

  Bacon looked them over. He stepped back and glanced at Murdock. ‘What is this?’ he asked querulously.

  Murdock did not have to answer because by now the girl had seen him and was coming in, her smile tentative, her green eyes a bit anxious. She was wearing her brown suit and alligator shoes with reasonable heels. A scarf was knotted loosely about her throat and she looked out of breath and a little windblown, her two-toned hair awry with stray wisps that brushed the tawny cheeks.

  ‘I got your message’, she said. ‘I came as soon as I could.’ All this was for Murdock. She walked up to him as though he were the only one in the room. ‘I’m sorry’, she said, lowering her lashes. ‘I couldn’t stand staying in that room alone any longer.’

  Murdock let his breath come out, a little surprised that he could be so pleased to see her. He found himself returning her smile until he remembered why he was here.

  ‘How did he find you?’ He glanced at Elliott who had opened his coat and was passing his hand over his close-cropped hair as he looked about the room.

  ‘Oh, he didn’t. I telephoned him. I thought he might take me to lunch and he did … Oh, hello, Mr. French. I’m sorry about the audition. I told Jeff and he said maybe we could fix up another appointment.’

  French shifted his weight and pushed away from the wall, his round face bewildered. Then Bacon took over and called the meeting to order.

  ‘All right’, he said impatiently. ‘All right. I guess we got a quorum so let’s get down to business. You two over there on the couch’, he said, gesturing to Audrey and Jeff. ‘Sit down, French. You, too, Murdock. Now what’s this about the recording?’

  Murdock sat down and thought it over, aware that he had a great many things to say and hardly knowing where to start, now that he had the opportunity. When he discovered that everyone was watching him, he looked up at Bacon.