The April Robin Murders

by Craig Rice

  “I doubt it,” Bingo said. “Not with that Perroni thinking he might know where Julien Lattimer is.”

  It had grown dark now, the sudden California darkness. As they turned in the driveway the enormous house loomed ominous and shadowy, only a faint light showing through the vines that overhung the front windows. Bingo shuddered.

  “It looks sort of haunted,” Handsome said. He laughed, a strained little laugh. “Maybe April Robin haunts it.”

  “We don’t know whatever happened to April Robin,” Bingo reminded him, keeping his voice steady somehow. He pushed open the front door and said, “It’s haunted by somebody, anyway.”

  There was a girl stretched out on one of the davenports, reading a movie fan magazine. From the door they could see very brief lime-green shorts, halter and matching sandals, a lot of very white skin and a heavy mass of copper-red hair. She sat up as they came in, put down the magazine, and smiled.

  There were a great many things to say, Bingo reflected, and none of them really seemed to fit the occasion. He stood by the doorway, deciding between “How did you get in?” “What are you doing here?” and “Who are you?”

  Handsome said, “Well, hello again!”

  The smile widened. Bingo noted dimples, attractive ones. “Oh, you did see me this morning.”

  “Sure,” Handsome said easily. “And you ought to have more clothes on now. It gets colder than you’d expect after the sun goes down out here.”

  “I have a coat,” she said, gesturing.

  A mink, of a pale bluish gray, had been thrown over the arm of the sofa.

  “After all,” she said, “if I’m going to ask you gentlemen for a job posing, or acting, you need to see my figure, don’t you?”

  “It’s a nice figure,” Handsome said judiciously. “But you’ll have to watch your weight. People with that color eyes and hair tend to put on weight. They freckle, too.”

  At least, Bingo said, he hadn’t told her she ought to wear glasses. He sat down on the other davenport before his knees gave way completely, lit a cigarette, and tried to look as though this sort of thing happened every day of his life.

  “This morning was an accident,” she said. “I’d been posing for some pictures up in the model bureau, and I got tired. It was a late, late night last night. So I slipped down the back stairs and was just catching a quick nap in the vacant offices. I didn’t know anybody was going to come in, honest.”

  Bingo found himself smiling back at her, and repressed it quickly. “But tonight—”

  She shrugged her shoulders. Lovely shoulders, Bingo observed. “I knew you were just out here from the East, and you probably hadn’t seen any faces yet. And this seemed a good way to bring myself to your attention.” She added, “I’m a very ambitious girl.”

  “I can see that,” Bingo said. “And just how did you get into what are now going to be our offices?”

  “Oh that,” she said, as though it weren’t in the least important. “I used to use that empty office a lot. I’d snitched a key. From Pa.” She took a slim platinum cigarette case from a pocket of the mink. “I forgot. You don’t know who I am—”

  Before Bingo could say, “You must be Janesse Budlong,” Handsome said, “We recognized you from your picture.” He paused. “It isn’t a very good picture, though.”

  “I’ll say it isn’t,” she told him. “I hope you can take a better one.”

  “I hope so too,” Handsome said earnestly.

  “Look here,” Bingo said. “Why?” He felt a little helpless. “You don’t need to—” He gestured feebly. “What I mean is, a girl like you shouldn’t have to be an actress or a model or anything.” He gestured again, toward the platinum cigarette case and the mink. “It’s like this. You’ve already got all these things.”

  “I told you I was ambitious,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “Just because Pa’s rich doesn’t mean I can’t be ambitious. I photograph well, and I can act, too. I guess I’ve been to about every dramatic school there is out here. Only nobody wants to give me a chance. Everybody figures, if a girl has a rich Pa, she can’t act.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you could,” Bingo said mildly.

  “Pa told me about you boys,” she said. “About you renting the office, and about your big picture and television company, and about you buying the April Robin house.” She sighed. “Golly, she must have been wonderful! And to think of you living here!” She said it with a kind of awe.

  “She was indeed,” Bingo said. He found himself liking this girl. He likewise found himself wondering if Pa had told her the little complication involved in their purchase of the April Robin mansion. No, most likely not.

  “Pa said he told you about me, and he’d arrange for us to meet,” she told them, “only I guess I got a little impatient, and so here I am.” She smiled again, this time appealingly. “I didn’t tell Pa, but he won’t mind. He’s very ambitious for me, too.”

  “He is indeed,” Bingo said. “And it was very nice of you to drop in.” He thought fast. “And your father is going to have the surprise of his life.”

  Victor Budlong had been very helpful to them. There was a better than average chance that he was going to be needed for more help in the future, while the actual ownership of the April Robin mansion remained undecided. “We’re going to take a few test pictures of you right now.” She had not, it seemed, come unprepared. While Handsome got out lights and a camera, she pulled a tiny suitcase from behind the davenport, a suitcase that contained an amazing amount of wardrobe.

  Handsome took pictures in the shorts and halter, in the mink, in a ginghamish little housedress, and finally, in a demure navy blue sheath with a tiny white collar.

  “You know,” she said thoughtfully, as she emerged from the improvised dressing room wearing the latter, “I bet I look a little like April Robin looked! And here I am, having my picture taken in what used to be her house!”

  Watching her pose, Bingo had a sudden feeling that she might be right. She might put on weight, as Handsome had predicted, but she didn’t have it now. And she was small, with tiny, beautiful hands and feet. Wearing the demure navy blue dress, she could indeed be imagined as April Robin had looked.

  “Whatever did happen to her?” she said at last, the pictures over, and the wardrobe back in its case.

  “I don’t know,” Bingo said. “Nobody seems to know.” He paused. “Why not ask your father?”

  She shook her head. “He doesn’t know. In fact, he didn’t even know this had been her house, until this morning.”

  A sudden thought struck Bingo. “Look here,” he said sternly. “Look here, Miss Budlong.”

  “Please call me Janesse,” she begged prettily.

  “All right. Look here, Janesse. You said you snitched a key from your father to get into our offices. Before they were our offices, I mean. Only,” he said, and very sternly now, “you didn’t snitch a key to get into this house from your father, because he didn’t have one, because his company didn’t handle this house.”

  There was a rather dreadful silence.

  “The door—” she began weakly.

  “The door was not unlocked,” Bingo said, scowling at her. “I locked it myself.”

  This time there was a longer silence.

  “Well?” Bingo demanded.

  “Oh, all right,” she said. There was an almost sullen note in her voice. “I snitched a key from somebody else. He doesn’t know it, because I snitched it and had a copy made and put his back again.”

  “Why?” Bingo asked.

  “Honest,” she said, “it was only because I was curious to see the inside of the house.”

  “Because of April Robin?” Bingo asked.

  “No. I didn’t know about April Robin having built the house until today, either. It was because of the Lattimers. The murder and everything. I read about it, and I was curious.”

  Handsome had paused in the middle of putting away his equipment. Bingo said, trying to hide his intere
st, “Did you ever find anything interesting here?”

  “No. Because I never got in. That housekeeper was always here. The one that was murdered last night.” She looked up suddenly. “I bet Mrs. Lattimer murdered her, too. I bet Mrs. Lattimer came back because that housekeeper could have proved she murdered Mr. Lattimer, and murdered the housekeeper so she wouldn’t tell!” Her brown eyes were glowing.

  “She waited a long time to do it,” Bingo said. “And don’t change the subject.” He’d almost said, “We know who murdered the housekeeper,” and caught himself just in time.

  “Well, she might have,” Janesse Budlong said.

  “Who did you snitch the key from?” Bingo almost roared.

  She stared at him, her face suddenly unhappy. “A friend of mine. A sort of a boy friend of mine. Not exactly a boy friend, either. I just sort of romanced him along a little because he was sure he could get me in pictures. He’s a real big shot. And—I think, last week—we were driving past here in my car and he bragged he had keys to it.” She drew a long breath. “He even promised to show me through it sometime, but he never did. I guess he was just a show-off. So when I saw a chance to snitch one of the keys and get it copied and get it back, why, that’s what I did.” Her tone of voice added that she was glad she did.

  A grim and suspicious thought had been growing in Bingo’s mind. “Tell me,” he said very gently, “did you ever provide him with any writing paper and office supplies?”

  She grinned. Then she grew very sober. “How did you know about that?”

  “Never mind,” Bingo said. He gave her his friendliest and most reassuring smile. “We’re going to be friends, Janesse. And something is going to come of those lovely pictures we took tonight.” Just what, he had no idea, but he’d worry about that later. “So as a friend, you really ought to tell us—”

  “It was for a joke he wanted to play on someone,” she told him. “A few pieces of letter paper and some forms and some envelopes from Pa’s office. It was just for a harmless joke.”

  Two thousand bucks’ worth of harmless joke, Bingo thought. But at least, that cleared that up.

  “All right,” he said, “who was he?”

  She shrugged her shoulders again. “I don’t see any harm in telling you. It was Clifford Bradbury. You may meet him sometime.”

  Bingo and Handsome glanced at each other. “We’d like to,” Bingo said. “We’d like to very much.”

  Another thought struck him. “I don’t suppose he ever told you how he happened to have the keys to this house?”

  She stared at him. But before she could say a yes, a no, or just look stubborn, there was a startlingly loud ring at the door.

  Janesse Budlong jumped up, collecting the mink, the cigarette case and the small suitcase in one quick move. She looked around a little helplessly.

  Handsome pointed wordlessly toward the empty library. Janesse nodded and fled. The doorbell rang again.

  “Damn it, Handsome,” Bingo said, ignoring the doorbell, “how did he get keys to this house? Nobody seems to worry much about that, either, except us. And,” he added, scowling, “he may still have a set.” It wasn’t a cheering thought.

  sixteen

  It was Chester Baxter who stood in the doorway. He looked tired and a little dusty, and there was a faint odor of beer on his breath. But he looked pleased.

  “You’ve found him?” Bingo said excitedly. “Where is he? What’s his real name?”

  “Give a guy a chance to catch his breath, willya?” the small man said, puffing. “I walked all the way here from the bus stop.” He came in and sat down. “Why people want to live miles and miles from a bus stop, I don’t know. I ought to have a car.”

  “We’re not going to buy one for you,” Bingo said. The next moment he relented. Chester Baxter did look very tired indeed. “Handsome,” he said, “do we have any beer left?”

  They did. Handsome brought it out. Bingo offered a cigarette. The little man seemed to revive considerably.

  “All right,” Bingo said. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know where he is right this minute,” Chester Baxter said. He finished the beer in a gulp. “But I know where he’s going to be later tonight. That’s what I need the extra expense money for.”

  “Who said anything about extra expense money?” Bingo demanded.

  “I did,” Chester Baxter said. “Just now.” He raised a placating hand. “Wait a minute. I don’t need very much. Five dollars will do it. I have had expenses I didn’t anticipate, making my investigation this afternoon. But since I succeeded in my objective—”

  “How do we know you’re going to find him?” Bingo said, trying to be stern. “How do we know you won’t just keep coming back with more stories and your hand out for more expense money?”

  Chester Baxter gave him a wounded look. “Sir,” he said stiffly, “there is a matter of honor. Especially in my business.”

  Bingo could see the justice of that. He reached for his wallet, took out a five-dollar bill and handed it over. “Is it any of our business what you’re going to use it for?”

  “Expenses,” the small man said, pocketing the money. “Frankly, buying drinks for various people in the place where your Courtney Budlong, whose real name is probably Twivelpiece, or Ripsling, or Slidge, or something like that, is going to be, later in the evening.”

  Bingo eyed him thoughtfully. “If you know exactly where he’s going to be—” he began slowly.

  Chester Baxter shook his head. “It would not do at all. Yes, certainly you could inform the police and they could pick him up at this place I am speaking of. Or you could go there yourselves. But,” he said firmly, “the proprietor of this place is a friend of mine, and so are many of his regular patrons. It would not do for the police, or the general public, to get the impression that this is a favorite recreation place for—” He paused.

  “All right,” Bingo said, “we get what you mean. And when he turns up at this thieves’ hangout, what do you plan to do?”

  Chester Baxter looked pained at Bingo’s choice of words. “I shall tag along and find out where he holes up,” he said. “And immediately let you know.” He added, “I may even engage him in conversation at the bar, though it might be better not.”

  “Much better not,” Bingo agreed. He wondered if he ought to tell the small man that Courtney Budlong-Charlie Browne-Clifford Bradbury was not only a con man, but probably a murderer.

  “And don’t worry about me,” Chester Baxter said, “I can take care of myself.” His lips pulled back in an unpleasant grin. He was silent for a moment. “You know,” he said reflectively, “I’ve been thinking. There is more to this than the matter of the little job he pulled on you.”

  “Five dollars,” Bingo said firmly, “is all!”

  Chester Baxter waved his hand deprecatingly. “Who said anything about more money? No. I have been doing some looking into the future, yours and mine.”

  “When I need our fortunes told—” Bingo began.

  “You don’t follow me at all,” Chester Baxter said. “This man gave you papers in exchange for your money. I saw them at the police station. They had Julien Lattimer’s signature on them. His genuine signature.”

  “Well?” Bingo said.

  “So,” Chester Baxter said, with a look of triumph, “Julien Lattimer must still be alive somewhere. There must be a reward for finding him.”

  “No doubt,” Bingo said.

  “All right then,” Chester Baxter said gleefully. “Our man, your Courtney Budlong fella, he must know where Julien Lattimer is. It only remains to sweat it out of him. Therefore,” he finished, “since I find him, I’m entitled to half the reward.”

  “Ten percent,” Bingo said automatically, and before he’d had time to think it through.

  “Now, now, now,” Chester Baxter said. “I will have done all the work. And I will have taken all the chances.”

  Bingo remembered again that the man they were seeking had, in all probabili
ty, killed Pearl Durzy, and said, “Twenty-five percent, and that’s final.”

  “Oh, all right,” the small man said. He smiled and said, “I probably would have settled for ten.”

  “Only,” Handsome said, “look. What’s to stop you from going right to the police when you find him, and collecting all the reward yourself? If there is a reward?”

  It was another of the times Bingo wished Handsome would have kept his good-looking but big mouth shut.

  Again Chester Baxter wore a pained look. “My dear young man,” he said, “I don’t want to be mentioned in connection with this, in any way. I will give you the information. You can give it to the police, or follow it up yourselves. If there is any money coming, I will drop around and collect.”

  There would be no doubt of that, Bingo told himself.

  “However,” Chester Baxter said, “think how it would look in my profession if it became known that I had, so to speak, put the finger on this guy? I have a reputation to maintain.”

  “I would never, never damage anyone’s professional reputation,” Bingo said very solemnly. “Your name will never be mentioned.”

  After the small man had gone, Handsome sighed and said, “Bingo, do you think he really knows where our Mr. Courtney Budlong is, or did he just want another five bucks?”

  Bingo had been wondering the same thing, but he said, “He sounded like he knew. And if he does, it’s worth five bucks.”

  A moment passed. “Bingo,” Handsome said, “it’s like you were saying this afternoon. If he finds our Mr. Courtney Budlong, and then the police find where Mr. Julien Lattimer is, what if he wants his house back?”

  Bingo had been thinking that, too. He said crossly, “Don’t bother me with trifles.” Then, in a milder tone. “Remember, we’d get our two thousand bucks back.”

  “Less what might’ve been spent out of it,” Handsome said gloomily. “And less the ten percent to this little guy.”

  “Don’t be a defeatist,” Bingo said severely. “Think big. And there are other houses.” In the depths of his heart, he knew he was going to be a little relieved to get out of this one, but he wouldn’t have admitted it to Handsome, or even to himself. He called, “Janesse!”