Brannigan grinned and stubbed his cigaret. It was only half-smoked, but he could afford it seeing it was mine in the first place.
“My my, we’re a touch bitter today. You don’t have to tell me about those dames. Finding out something close to the truth about them is part of my stock in trade. I’ve seen ‘em all. Old Southern colonels, big tycoons, Wall Street brokers. They always turn out to be running a drug store in Squaresville Minnesota in the end. No, this one was the genuine article. Big New York family. There’ll be a lot of questions asked when the big lawyers get here.”
“Big lawyers?”
And I didn’t have to pretend to look interested. The reporter chuckled.
“You’re pointing like a bird dog. Maybe you catch the scent of a fine fat fee in the distance? Forget it Preston. Those guys won’t go for any one-man outfit. They’ll most likely bring in some big firm from L.A.”
“I don’t know,” I dissented. “It’s my town, I know people. Can’t beat the local man, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. So you know a few people. Those guys’ll bring money, fat folding money. That kind of money knows every people.” Which was true. By tomorrow, or the next day at latest, I was going to find myself tripping over private operatives by the dozen. As if that wasn’t bad enough by itself, it was just possible they could tie me far enough into the caper for Randall to be able to slap some kind of rap on me. Time, it seemed, was fading fast away.
“You got any more good news like that?”
He finished the last of his beer and got up.
“Nope. And if I had, I wouldn’t tell you. Way I hear it, you don’t even read the Record.”
“No point,” I shrugged. “I get all your stuff in my own paper the day before.”
He flipped a cheerful hand and was gone. It was cool in the bar, but all the action was out on the sun-baked streets, and if I was going to earn a living it was time I got on with it. I made for Charlie Martello’s apartment. He was there, shirt-sleeved, and showing thick black hair all over his arms and from his unbuttoned collar.
“Kinda soon for a return visit. You got something?”
“In this business I never know,” I admitted.
“Take the weight off and get it said.”
There was nobody else on view. I looked questioningly at the other closed doors.
“Where’s the squad?” I asked.
“Out,” he ejaculated. “Places. Talking to people.”
“Uh huh,”
I mopped at my face with what started out as a white handkerchief, then stuffed the soggy rag in my pocket.
“It’s a hot one,” I observed sociably.
“For weather reports, I got television and radio,” he said tartly. “Just come up with whatever you got.”
“I have to make a condition.”
“Conditions?” he queried darkly. “That don’t sound to me like a guy on the up and up. Try holding out on me Preston, and you’d be sorry.”
“Hear me out. First of all, you heard what Jake said, he trusts me.”
“I heard him. I also seen him down at the hospital with some iron in his chest.”
If I was going to get through to this big brawler, I’d have to try another tack. I took a roll of bills from my pocket.
“Either I’m in or I’m out. Here’s Jake’s money. I had to spend a little, not much. Tell him I’ll give him a note of what I did with it. My time he can have for nothing.”
I put the roll on the table.
“Wait a minute.”
He sat glowering at me, thick beads of perspiration rolling down the blue cheeks.
“You’re quitting? Why?”
“I’m working for Jake. He knows me, he trusts me. We have one special thing in common. Our word is good in this town. If you’re standing in for him, you’d better get somebody you can trust.”
I got up to leave. He continued to stare at me.
“People don’t walk out on Charlie Martello,” he said softly.
“Don’t talk tough to me, Charlie. Not without your goons. You’re getting too old for that kind of talk. That belly is all lard, and if you need a demonstration, come and get it.”
He began to rise from the chair, measuring me carefully. Then suddenly he laughed, and sat down heavily.
“Aw, what’re we getting sore about? We’re supposed to be helping Jake, ain’t that right?”
“That’s how I got into this.”
“So siddown. Siddown.” He waved an arm like a ham. “Let’s cut out this foolish talk. And pick up that dough. Jake trusts you, O.K. I trust you. Now, spill it.”
I hesitated. Then I picked up the money again, weighing it in my hand.
“I mentioned conditions.”
“I don’t guarantee nothing. But let’s hear ‘em.”
“First, you have to hear me out, and not lose your temper.”
“Sounds fair. It’s too hot, anyway. What else?”
“If you get any ideas from what I say, anything that sounds it might lead somewhere, you keep those gorillas on a leash. I don’t want their big fists fouling up my investigation.”
“H’m. That’s a tough one. I mean, if all we gotta do is break a few heads, why don’t we get on with it?”
I sat back down again, tossing the bills from one hand to the other.
“I’ll tell you why. Because I have a feeling about all this. I have a feeling there’s more to it than a straightforward murder and robbery. There could be plenty behind this. Now you’ve been around, Charlie. What happens if everybody jumps on the front man, the one who makes the contact?”
He concentrated his mighty brain power on that one.
“Why that’d be stoopid. All the big men, the ones who put the fall guy to work, they all do a fast fade.”
“Right,” I nodded approvingly. “And in this case, that isn’t even all. In this case, we might never even get to know who the big guys are.”
“Sure. I get that. That makes sense. But who says there’s any big guys? I never heard of nobody who was anybody knocking off punks for a lousy eight grand?”
“That’s what makes me think there’s more behind it. Now, you promised to keep your temper?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said tetchily. “Get to it.”
“It’s about Jake. Your brother has been making book around this village for years. He’s a big operator, he’s tough and he’s smart.”
“So?”
“The dead man, this Brookman, he owed Jake money. Did you ever hear of a guy named Legs McCann?”
He was very interested now.
“Hear of him? Why, I been tearing this town apart looking for him.”
“We’ll get back to that. About a month ago, Jake sent McCann to give Brookman the hard word. The guy owed Jake three grand.”
“Three? Jake said it was eight——”
“I know what Jake said. But he was talking about now, this week. McCann leaned on Brookman a month ago. Think what usually happens. The guy gets warned. He has two days, three, maybe a week to get the money up. Right?”
“Sure, but I don’t get it. If it was three g’s a month ago, how could it be eight now?”
I was glad to see the point was getting across.
“Exactly. Jake is no fool, he knows the score. If a guy’s credit is up to three, he isn’t going to let him run up a tab of eight thousand dollars. You don’t get to where Jake Martello is today making dumb plays like that.”
Charlie shook his head from side to side, pondering. With one of the huge hands he wiped sweat from his face and rubbed it on his shirt.
“It don’t make no sense,” he muttered. “No sense at all. How d’ya figure it?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “To me it doesn’t make any sense either.”
“Well, I’ll tell you something,” he breathed. “This here McCann has some talking to do. I figure he probably pulled this himself. He knew the guy owed Jake money. Yeah, I’d sure like a nice quiet little talk with M
cCann. He ain’t hiding out for nothing, you know.”
“I do know,” I agreed. “He’s hiding because of exactly what you’re thinking. He’s afraid Jake will think just what you’re thinking. The guy’s scared.”
“Nah,” he pooh-poohed. “He’s probably down in Miami or like that with Jake’s roll in his pocket. I got people down there watching out for him. These cheapskates are all the same. Get a stake and blow it. We’ll pick him up, you see.”
“This is where you don’t have to get sore,” I reminded. “McCann is right here in town. I talked with him today.”
“Where is he?” demanded Martello.
“I can’t tell you that. But he didn’t do this. If he had, he’d have done what you say. He’d know Jake would never rest till he picked him up, and all he’d be thinking about would be how many miles he could get between himself and Monkton City before Jake came looking.”
“Maybe he’s smart. Figures to stick around and bluff it out.”
“Smarter than that. He’s going to stay in his hole until somebody finds out who really did kill Brookman.”
Charlie breathed heavily and looked at me in exasperation.
“You’re smart, I’ll say that. All right, I won’t lose my temper. Not for about an hour. Tell me about the other thing.”
“Other thing?”
“Sure. You said you had a feeling this was a big operation. Why?”
“Because if it’s any more than a straight robbery and murder, there has to be something else.”
“Nah. Who’d wanta kill a punk like that? The guy was nowhere.”
“Not quite. I know at least one person who wanted him dead for personal reasons. There could be others, many others. Because the nowhere punk, as you call him, was a blackmail artist.”
I watched the differing expressions come and go on his face.
“Blackmail?” he repeated. “You’re sure?”
“I talked to one of his victims, a woman. She’s been paying regularly for some time, you know how those creeps are. Once they find out how easy it is, they look around for more suckers. Everybody has something to hide. What I’m trying to find out now is, who else was on Brookman’s list.”
“I see what you mean. Cheez, this is terrible. Here’s us looking for some stick-up artist. That’s tough enough, but there ain’t so many of them around. But blackmail. That could be anybody in town. Some ordinary joe, a clerk, a doctor, maybe this dame you talked to. This is terrible.”
I nodded.
“It certainly isn’t going to make the job any easier,” I agreed.
Charlie looked at me with something that could have been respect.
“Say, you’re not so dumb at that. Jake said you was a smart guy. You certainly got plenty done in one day. What do you aim to do now?”
“Keep poking around. This business is one per cent brain only. The rest is split down the middle, luck and getting the feet sore. But I do have one thing I’m waiting for.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“If Brookman was killed by somebody who knew he was a blackmailer, they might try to pick up where he left off. Most of these guys you know, they keep some kind of papers. Maybe a notebook, or letters, something like that. Sometimes it’s photographs. If the killer got hold of the stuff, and figured to set up in business for himself, then I’ve got him.”
“I get it. Through the dame, huh? She’ll tip you off?”
“Right. Mind, it’s just a chance, but I have hopes.”
Charlie stood up and paced around, thinking. I didn’t interrupt.
“Preston, I gotta hand it to you. So far it’s O.K. But there’s one thing bothers me. If it’s the way you tell it, and I ain’t saying it ain’t, why would such a guy wanta knock off my brother Jake? He ain’t after no blackmailers. He has enough trouble with his own business.”
That was the one question to which I didn’t have a real answer. Instead, I answered one Charlie hadn’t asked.
“That worried me for a while,” I admitted, “Then I decided I was beating my brains out for nothing. If I’m right, the killer has nothing against Jake, probably doesn’t even know him. But he could know about me, could know I’m getting close to him. Maybe I am for all I know. What I’m saying is, the bullet wasn’t meant for Jake at all.”
“Ah-h.”
He let out a deep sigh and nodded.
“Could be. That just could be, couldn’t it? Mind, I don’t say I go for it one hundred per cent, but it just could be. And it would make the rest of your ideas stand up too, huh?”
“It would. The only thing I don’t like about it is, if it really was intended for me, he’ll have to have another try. Because as of now, I’m still walking around asking questions.”
Suddenly, and to my surprise, he stuck out his hand.
“Good luck to you, Preston. I tell ya, since Jake got hit, I been banging my head against walls. All the help I’m getting around here it’s enough to drive a guy nuts. Now, things don’t look so bad. What can I do for you? You want more dough?”
I shook my head.
“No thanks. I have more than enough for now. But if I get in a jam where I could use those muscle men of yours, I’d sure appreciate it.”
“You got ‘em,” he beamed. “Just say the word.”
I left him then. I was glad he was feeling so cheerful. It should happen to me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE AFTERNOON SUN was really going to work by this time. The inside of the Chev felt like a baking tin on Thanksgiving Day as I rolled unhurriedly along the Beach Road. Only a few of the really hardy characters were out there surfing and splashing around. Most people were supine on the blinding sand, with unheeded newspapers and novels by their sides. The Somerset house gave no sign of life as I pulled up outside. If there were any visitors today, they hadn’t left any cars on view.
I got the same unenthusiastic response from the doorbell, and once again as the door stood invitingly open, I stepped inside. I went on through to where Somerset did his music listening, but he wasn’t there. The verandah door was open, and I peeked through to see him lying full length at the side of a small pool. There was a big striped umbrella doing its best to protect him from the worst of the sun. At the sound of my footsteps he lifted one corner of the gaudy cloth that covered his face, dropped it back in place when he saw who it was.
“Ah,” he greeted. “The ballet expert. Why don’t you sit down?”
I looked around, but there wasn’t another chair on view.
“What on?”
He sighed, and again I was fascinated to watch the last ripples of it dying away as they traversed the successive bulges of fat all down his front. Somerset was very formal today. In place of the usual skin covering, he had gone to the lengths of donning a violet pair of Bermuda shorts.
“The green stuff on the ground all round you,” he explained, “is called grass. People have been known to sit on it before.”
I squatted down close to him.
“Have you got the police off your back yet?” I asked.
“One never knows. They’re terribly persistent aren’t they? I mean one would think they can’t be all that intelligent.”
“One would be wrong,” I assured him. “Why do you say that?”
The bright cloth floated up and down on his face as he spoke, but I had no chance to see his expression.
“They ask questions,” he explained. “You tell them the answer, and then five minutes later they ask the same thing again.”
“It’s a technique. People sometimes forget what they said the first time around. Especially people who are trying to hide something.”
He chuckled.
“Well, that hardly applies in my case.”
“Doesn’t it?”
The cloth moved gently as he breathed. Then he lifted it from his face and turned his head to look at me.
“Is that supposed to have some deep meaning?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “
You know more about what you have to hide than I do.”
He regarded me carefully from the heavy lidded eyes.
“One has the impression you have something to say.”
“Let’s talk about Flower,” I suggested.
“Ah, that poor child,” he sighed. “What do you think happened to her?”
“You’re forgetting,” I reminded. “It was me told you what happened.”
“I don’t mean that,” he corrected. “I mean why would anybody want to do it, and who was it?”
“I was hoping you could help a little there. Did the police admit to you they had it pegged as murder?”
“Not in so many words, but that was the way their enquiries were directed. Of course, I could tell them little.”
“Of course. But I’m a different proposition.”
“Really?” he raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“Because I know things the police don’t know. I know she was more than just a casual visitor around here. They’d like to know that. I know you were waiting for somebody last night. Waiting with a gun. Not the kind of thing Randall would ignore.”
“Randall? Was he the big, sleepy looking one?”
“Yes.”
“I got the impression he was a lot more clever than he wanted me to think.”
“You got the right impression. And he’d make a whole lot of bricks out of those little things I could tell him.”
Somerset seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something.
“Then, my dear fellow, why don’t you go and see him?”
“Because I’m not especially interested in making trouble for you. I’m getting paid to find out who knocked off your poet friend. It’s not my job to run a one-man crime-busting syndicate.”
“H’m.”
He reached beneath him and came up with a tall glass which tinkled with ice cubes. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I watched him pour the amber liquid down his throat.
“Brookman was neither a poet nor my friend, but these are merely words. I gather you have something to say, to come out here on a hot day like this?”
“Right. I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re running a blackmail business on the side, and Brookman was your collector. That could explain why he was killed.”
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