Knocked for a Loop

by Craig Rice

Malone gazed at the ceiling and said, “You of all people should be sympathetic about a thing like that. I remember that night in South Chicago—”

  “My private life,” von Flanagan said stiffly, “is my own business. I’m holding her until I find out what she’s been up to.”

  “All right,” Malone said. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “I’m going to,” von Flanagan said. “She’s being brought here right now. And your friend Jake—”

  “Was looking for his wife,” Malone said. “You and Joe the Angel played pal to him and figured to tuck him in for the night, so he wouldn’t worry. Only you underestimated Jake’s capacity. He went right on looking for his wife after you left him and went straight to the address you’d given him yourself. Naturally he created a little disturbance. Then he headed up to the Estapoole place, figuring Helene might be there. On the way, some dumb cop tried to slow him down, and Jake wouldn’t slow. He was upset. He was trying to find his wife. What would you do if your wife was missing?”

  He caught the look on von Flanagan’s face and added hastily, “All right, don’t answer that. But Jake doesn’t know anything about this Estapoole business, he just flew in from Wyoming yesterday, he’s spent all his time looking for his wife. These little charges against him don’t mean a thing.” He began unwrapping a cigar. “To change the subject, sooner or later I’m going to have to talk to the papers. The question of your having been tipped off to both murders is bound to come up—”

  Von Flanagan met his gaze coldly and silently.

  “Of course,” Malone said, “perhaps I should explain that you and Klutchetsky dropped by my office on the way to go bowling—and that last night—”

  “Believe me, Malone,” von Flanagan said, “I’m your friend. I’m not afraid of anything you might tell the papers or anybody else. Even if I had anything to hide, I know I could trust you. But because I am your friend, and for no other reason—” He picked up the telephone.

  Five minutes and several phone calls later he informed Malone that Jake Justus had been released, the silly little charges against him had been dropped, and he too was on his way over.

  “Fine,” Malone said. “And now about these murders—” “Malone,” von Flanagan said, “I will never understand why people go out of their way to make life hard for me. Deliberately. We got this guy McGinnis, and he’s confessed, and everything ought to be settled. Now comes this second murder, and it ties in because the dead guy was old man Estapoole’s chauffeur, only it turns out old man Estapoole didn’t just hire him as a chauffeur but on account of he could be useful digging up information for old man Estapoole, on account of he wasn’t really one Antonio Clancy, which name I doubted anyway, but Mike Medinica’s cousin.”

  “Second cousin,” Malone said almost automatically.

  Von Flanagan waved one big pink hand in a “Who cares” gesture and went on, “He gets killed exactly the same way the old man was killed, and he gets himself killed in a place lived in by a member of the Estapoole family, a member by marriage anyway, and the same person must of done it, only McGinnis swears his confession is on the level and it checks all the way including the testimony of the elevator operator, but McGinnis was in jail at the time and couldn’t of done it, and where does that leave me? And I’ve got to talk to the reporters at ten and it’s quarter of right now. Do you blame me for wanting to retire and buy a dairy farm and grow milk?”

  “All right,” Malone said. “It was late last night and you were tired, and so maybe you missed something. The circumstances of both murders were exactly alike, yes?”

  “Yes,” von Flanagan said gloomily.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Malone said easily. “They were made to look alike. The scene of one of them showed there had been a genuine struggle. That you can’t doubt. The scene of the other was staged to look like a genuine struggle. Just think back over the details, and you’ll see just what I mean.”

  He crossed his fingers that von Flanagan would see what he meant. The big policeman did, and the look that came over his face was like dawn in Sun Valley.

  “Sure,” he said slowly. “The way a couple of those chairs was upset. And the wastebasket. Sure.”

  He paused, and Malone crossed another set of fingers, tight.

  “Why,” von Flanagan said, almost happily, “any trained observer could see that the way your office was messed up was the real genuine article. There really had been a fight there. It wouldn’t even take a trained observer like me to figure that one out. But that place last night, that was a setup, to look like the other one. Sure. Somebody wanted to make last night’s murder look like the first one.”

  “That’s all you need to tell the reporters,” Malone said. “And don’t forget you’re a trained observer.”

  “Only,” von Flanagan said, scowling, “why?”

  Malone shrugged his shoulders and said, “Oh, you’ll figure that out easily enough. Now, there’s a little bit of information I could use. Did Leonard Estapoole have a gun on him when he came to my office?”

  “He did,” von Flanagan said. He looked thoughtfully at Malone and said, “All right, so that supports your self-defense theory. But here’s something that shoots it all to hell. That little bronze Buddha. McGinnis says he picked it up and threw it in self-defense. Now wouldn’t you think he’d of just took off fast after something like that? But the Buddha don’t have no fingerprints on it. It hasn’t just been wiped off, it’s been washed.”

  “Could have been an instinctive reaction,” Malone murmured. None of this mattered very much now. Because Frank McGinnis wasn’t going to be tried for murder, and there wouldn’t be any need for self-defense.

  “Well,” von Flanagan said, “we’ll ask him.” He bellowed, “Klutchetsky! Bring him in.” He smiled smugly at Malone. “Knew you’d be here sometime this morning, so I thought I’d have your client handy for you.”

  Frank McGinnis came in with Klutchetsky. His night in jail didn’t seem to have done him any visible harm. His dark, wavy hair was as smooth and well-groomed as ever, his lightly tanned, handsome face was freshly shaved. He nodded and smiled at Malone, glanced, as though absent-mindedly, at von Flanagan’s desk clock, and then gave Malone a meaningful look. Malone’s eyes did their best to tell him that he too was aware of how soon the twenty-four hours would be over. He tried to add a little reassurance to the look, but at the moment, his heart wasn’t in it.

  “A couple of minor questions,” von Flanagan said, looking very official, “with your lawyer present. Now according to your confession, you picked up this bronze Buddha from Malone’s desk and hurled it at Leonard Estapoole, with what turned out to be sufficient force to kill him dead.”

  “Self-defense,” Frank McGinnis said.

  Von Flanagan said, “We’re not discussing that now. What did you do after that?”

  Frank McGinnis looked helpless for a moment.

  Malone said fast, before von Flanagan could stop him, “The point is, there weren’t any fingerprints on the Buddha—”

  “Oh,” Frank McGinnis said. “That. I picked it up and washed it off in the washbowl, and then wiped it. Naturally. You don’t think I’d go off and leave fingerprints around after conking a guy, even if it was a clear case of self-defense, like Malone says.”

  “That clears that up,” von Flanagan said sourly. “Now if you took time to clean up your fingerprints, I suppose you also took time to search Estapoole’s body for the envelope of papers he was carrying.”

  Malone managed to cue. him with his eyebrows. McGinnis said, “No. Alter that I got scared.”

  “You mean,” von Flanagan said, in a voice that was deadly and coldly calm, “you took time to get rid of your fingerprints, but then you didn’t take time to look for the very thing you’d come after?”

  “Now look,” Malone said quickly, “I object to these bullying tactics, and stop it right now. If my client says he was scared, he was scared. He’ll be happy to tell a jury just what scared
him and why, when the time comes. If,” he added, catching McGinnis’ eye again, “this absurd case ever gets before a jury, which it won’t.”

  “Oh, all right,” von Flanagan growled. He waved a “Take him back” gesture to Klutchetsky.

  “But,” Malone said, “since my client is right here, you can save me a little time and trouble by letting me have a quick, private interview with him.”

  Von Flanagan shrugged his shoulders, and signaled Klut-chetsky to usher Malone and the prisoner into a small adjoining consulting room.

  Malone closed the door and said, “It’s okay in here. No bugs.”

  “By five o’clock, Malone,” Frank McGinnis said.

  “I’m well aware of it,” Malone said. “And don’t worry. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions myself. About that envelope of papers. Did you—” He’d caught himself right on the thin edge of saying “Did you find them on the body?” McGinnis’ detailed confession had been such a good job that for one moment he’d almost slipped into believing it himself. “What I mean is... when we talked this over—I told you to say you’d found the envelope and destroyed it. Why didn’t you?”

  “Honest, Malone,” McGinnis said, “it was a slip, at first. Then I got to thinking. Maybe after I get out of here tonight it wouldn’t do me any harm if some guys believed I might have it. See what I mean? I don’t want any guys to think I do, and I don’t want any guys to think I don’t. So I was leaving it sort of loose like. Could be, some guys might think I could find it, and put up a little expense money to look for it. See?”

  “I do,” Malone said, “and in that case, I’ll help you look. Now the other question. Do you know Lily Bordreau? And do you know Jane Estapoole?”

  A grin lightened Frank McGinnis’ face. “Do I! That Lily, she’s a cute kitten, and that Jane, she’s a real lady. How did I meet’em? Oh, I get around. I like to circulate among very nice people, Malone. I got really refined tastes, myself. I even went through the Art Institute, once. With Lily. And I went to a concert once with Jane, at Orchestra Hall. Didn’t care too much for the music, and the joint was a little shabby but still, it was what I’d call real nice.” He paused. “Anything else, Malone?”

  The little lawyer shook his head.

  “Okay, Malone,” Frank McGinnis said. “Till five o’clock.” Klutchetsky came in and took the prisoner away. Malone went back into the main office and found von Flanagan making the apology of a lifetime.

  Jake, his arms folded across his chest, was leaning against the wall, looking slightly pale, and more than a little grim. Helene was sitting on the edge of the big armchair, gazing at von Flanagan with reproachful and almost tearful eyes. Her beige linen dress was badly mussed, she had a run in one stocking, her pale blond hair was a little tangled, there wasn’t a speck of make-up on her exquisite face and she was, Malone reflected, probably the loveliest thing on earth.

  “... so anybody can make mistakes,” von Flanagan was saying. “Now please don’t cry. I said I’m sorry. As soon as Malone came in and told me you were being held because of somebody’s stupid error—” He looked up and said, “Didn’t I, Malone?” There was a mute appeal in his eyes.

  “He certainly did,” Malone said blithely. “The minute I came in and told him about it, he fixed things up right away.” He lit his cigar. “And now if everybody’s through kissing and making up, let’s get the hell out of here.” He shooed Jake and Helene gently through the door, murmuring good-bys to von Flanagan as they went.

  “Wait, Malone,” von Flanagan said, “before you go.” Malone paused and turned around.

  Von Flanagan looked at his clock. “That press conference is any minute now. Just how should I explain the difference between those two murder scenes?”

  “In your own words,” Malone said. “As a trained observer, you realized immediately that the signs of a struggle in one place were real, in the other, they were phony. That’s all.” Von Flanagan nodded. As Malone closed the door he could hear him rehearsing: “As a trained observer, I realized—” Von Flanagan was now looking for another murderer. By the time the early afternoon editions hit the stands the public would be convinced that there had been two murders by two separate murderers. Jake, Helene, Maggie, Joe the Angel—everybody believed the same thing.

  Only he knew there was only one. And he had to find that one before the clock struck five.

  CHAPTER 22

  Malone found Jake and Helene out in the corridor, their arms around each other, gazing at each other as though they’d been separated by a trip to Mars. He cleared his throat and tried to think of an appropriate quotation.

  Finally he said, “Absence makes the course of true love run smoother.” He paused. That hadn’t been exactly what he meant. “The course of true love makes the world go round.” He paused again. “When love comes in the window—” He gave up.

  “Never mind, Malone,” Helene said sympathetically. “A week in the country, and you’ll be as good as new.”

  He looked at her fondly and said, “Let’s get out of here before von Flanagan changes his mind and throws you back in the can.” On the way to the car he said, “And just what did you explain to him, Helene?” He did his level best to say it sternly.

  She giggled. Then she said, “I told him the truth. I came back to Chicago on business. While I was here I visited my old friends, the Estapooles. Being very fond of dear little Alberta, I thought I’d give her a treat, and took her to the Museum of Science and Industry. While we were there, she disappeared. The Estapooles told me not to worry, she would be all right and would turn up. Nobody there told me she’d been kidnaped. I spent the night with an old school friend. Von Flanagan didn’t press for names. Last night I decided to go out and say good-by to the family and see if Alberta was all right. I took a taxi up there because I didn’t want to get my car out of the garage. Imagine my surprise when I saw my car parked in their driveway! There was no one around to ask questions of, and it was getting late, so I just got in my car and drove home. That’s all.”

  “Very nice,” Malone said. He caught a look from her that said, “And don’t tell Jake anything else,” and nodded.

  “Von Flanagan was so very sorry about the whole thing,” Helene said smoothly.

  Malone muttered something under his breath. Then he said, “All right, Jake, what did you tell von Flanagan?”

  “Not in front of Helene, I won’t tell you,” Jake growled.

  Helene’s car had been released and was ready for them. They drove a few blocks in silence and then Jake said, “Helene, I was so worried about you. I took the car to go looking for you. I—ran into a little trouble. Never mind that, now. I finally drove up to the Estapooles’. It was me that left the car in the driveway. While I was in the house was when you came and drove it away. There was a lot of excitement going on right then, and I guess I lost my head and reported it stolen. Or somebody reported it stolen. Everybody was all upset and tearing around looking for Alberta. Because that was when she disappeared.”

  Helene reached over and squeezed Jake’s hand. “Never mind, darling. You can have me jailed for car theft any time. As long as you don’t go on getting jailed for trying to break into some blond babe’s apartment.”

  “I was looking for you,” Jake said indignantly. “And how do you know she was a blond babe?”

  Helene sniffed and said, “You mean there’s another kind?” “Alberta,” Malone said. “One of the biggest and firstest questions is, where is Alberta.”

  “That’s easy,” Helene said. “She’s in the laundry hamper in our apartment. At least she was. And I hope she still is. In the apartment, I mean, not the laundry hamper.”

  Nobody spoke for several blocks. Then Malone said, “I don’t suppose you’d care to explain that, too, would you?”

  Helene was perfectly happy to explain, and did. “I should have sent her straight home. But under the circumstances, I wasn’t sure just what to say about the whole thing. And I thought maybe I could pry a l
ittle information out of her. And besides,” she finished, “she wouldn’t go.”

  “I seem to have heard that before,” Malone said wearily. Sooner or later a lot of information was going to have to be pooled. “We’d better go straight there,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Helene said. “Malone, there wasn’t anything else to do. My first thought was to get those cops out of there before they took a notion to go looking around. I thought the minute I got to the station and straightened things out about the car and all that, I could go rushing right back. But it didn’t turn out that way, and now—” Her voice trailed off.

  They rode the rest of the way in a grim and anxious silence. Anything could have happened to Alberta. Or Alberta might have taken any number of notions into her own bright little head.

  Fully prepared for anything, Helene pushed open the door of the apartment. There was a not altogether reassuring silence. There was also a widely distributed collection of empty Coke bottles.

  Helene looked into the bedroom and turned and motioned to Jake and Malone, her finger to her lips.

  In the middle of the big bed was Alberta Commanday, curled up like a kitten and fast asleep, her little face looking as close to angelic as it probably ever would.

  Helene closed the door softly, went back into the living room and sat down limply. After a moment she lit a cigarette. Finally she said, “I suppose we’d better phone Carmena Estapoole and tell her where her wandering child is.”

  “If you can think of a good way to explain how she wandered here,” Jake said.

  “We do nothing of the sort,” Malone said. “Not right now. And not just because of the explanations, either. This beautiful little golden-haired child can do some explaining of her own when she wakes up. And right now, a little worrying is going to do Carmena more good than harm. Besides, I need some help and you’re just the two people who can give it to me.”

  He unwrapped a cigar and sat looking at it for a minute. “Jake, I need some information I can get better from newspaper files than anywhere else. If you think of other sources, run them down, but this is something that has to be done fast.” He paused. “Get all the details, and I mean all, on the sudden deaths of Carmena Estapoole’s previous husbands.”