Lucky Stiff - Craig Rice (good book club books .TXT) 📗

“It probably doesn’t mean a thing,” Helene said. “Just because someone happened to murder Jesse Conway, and someone happened to murder Garrity—” She paused and began refilling glasses.

“Your tone of voice lacks conviction,” Malone said. He chewed on his cigar for a minute. “But I’ll play along with your theory. Purely coincidence, that’s all. In spite of the fact that Jesse Conway was killed in Anna Marie’s apartment, and Garrity seems to have been rushing to Chicago immediately after Conway’s murder. These little coincidences are happening all the time. I remember once in St. Louis—”

Helene made a brief, unflattering remark about Malone, then said, “All right, we’ll play it your way. Who knows that Anna Marie is alive?”

“More to the point,” Jake said, “who knew that Conway and Garrity knew it? And— ” He caught the look on Malone’s face and was suddenly silent.

“I can think of a lot of questions beginning with Who,” the little lawyer said gloomily. An inch of cigar ash landed on his vest, he brushed at it ineffectually, and went on, “Now, if I could only think of the answers to them, I could go home and get some sleep.”

“They can wait until tomorrow,” Anna Marie said.

Malone shook his head. “Not these questions.”

“And I never knew the day,” Jake said acidly, “when his needing sleep couldn’t wait until tomorrow, or even the day after tomorrow.”

“Or even the week after next,” Helene added.

“I’m becoming a respectable businessman,” Malone told her firmly. “Bookkeeping. Office hours. From now on, it’s early to bed for me. Remember about the early worm turning over a new leaf.”

Helene said, “You mean it’s a long worm that has no turning.

“Don’t rattle me,” Malone said. “I know what I mean. It’s the healthy bird—I mean the wise worm—hell! I mean, the early leaf–”

“You mean,” she said, “the old worm is turning over the last leaf.”

“That’s right,” he said. “No—! He paused. Never mind.”

He looked at his watch. Two-fifteen. He remembered his resolution to get to the office every morning at nine and shuddered. Maybe he was making a big mistake. Then he looked at Anna Marie, sitting in the exact center of Helene’s pale blue satin sofa, and became twice as determined about the resolution as he’d been before. After all, he reflected, he could just stay up all night for the first few times, until he got used to the new routine.

“The important question beginning with Who,” Anna Marie said, “is who hired Ike Malloy?”

“Uh-uh,” Malone said. “That’s important, but it’s only one question. I’ve got a whole set. Who planned an elaborate job of framing you? Who shot Jesse Conway? Who shot Warden Garrity? Who has been running the protection racket? Who sent Mr. Tan Raincoat to search that building?”

Helene said, “One name might answer all those.”

“Might,” Malone said. He relit his cigar, “But not necessarily. In fact, I have a feeling that it’s going to take more than one name to answer those Who questions.”

“How do you know?” Helene demanded.

“I don’t know. I told you it was just a feeling.”

“It’s bad enough you have to be a respectable businessman,” Jake said in a complaining tone, “on top of that, you have to be psychic.”

Malone ignored him and went on. “The most important Who to me is still, who might have hated Anna Marie enough to have arranged this whole thing so that she would not only die, but be tortured for weeks before she died?”

He looked across the room at Anna Marie. Her lovely face was pale, and this time it wasn’t a matter of make-up.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I simply don’t know. Why would anyone hate me that much?”

Helene brought Anna Marie a fresh drink, handed her a cigarette, and said, “How about Eva Childers?”

“Possible, but only remotely,” Malone said. “1 doubt if Big Joe meant that much to her. And, anyway, even if that were the motive—getting rid of a rival—it seems to me like an awfully roundabout way for a woman to go about it.”

“If she doesn’t have something to do with it,” Helene insisted, “why was she in The Happy Days saloon with the young man in the tan raincoat? And why did she show up at your office later with a bribe?”

The little lawyer said, “I don’t know, and that goes for both questions. But that reminds me, I’ve got to call her first thing in the morning to tell her I’ve decided to take the bribe.” He sighed deeply. “This business of becoming a respectable and prosperous businessman is going to be a terrible strain on me.”

Helene grinned wickedly and said, “If it’s a good enough bribe it ought to be worth the effort.”

Malone glanced at Anna Marie and said, almost dreamily, “It’s worth it, all right. And don’t bother me, I’m thinking.”

After a few minutes of silence Jake yawned and said, “Maybe what we all need is a good night’s sleep.”

Helene shushed him and refilled Malone’s glass. It was empty again. A fresh cigar had been lighted before the lawyer spoke.

“Why should the unfinished first draft of an unwritten letter be so important?”

This time it was Helene who sighed. “He thinks for twenty minutes,” she complained, “and all he comes up with is another question.”

“Shut up,” Malone said amiably. He turned to Anna Marie. “That is, if it was unwritten. Did he ever finish it and send it to you?’

Anna Marie shook her head. Her lovely eyes were puzzled.

“He wrote—‘If I weren’t ill–’ Do you know anything about the state of Big Joe’s health?”

She shook her head again. “I never knew him to be sick. If there was anything the matter with him, he never told me.

Malone scowled and puffed furiously at his cigar. “It simply doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Not just the letter but the fact that someone apparently went to considerable trouble trying to find it. Or,” he went on, “was something else the object of the search. Did Big Joe have something else hidden? And if so, what?”

“And if he did,” Helene said, “why didn’t we find it when we found this?

“Because it had already been taken away,” Malone hazarded.

Helene said, “But you said yourself that whoever took the place apart couldn’t have found what he was looking for.”

“How can I think when you’re heckling me?” Malone roared indignantly. He added in a milder tone, “Maybe somebody else got there first and took it away.”

“Who?” Helene asked. “And what did he find? And where is it now? And how did he get in if there were only two keys?”

“I don’t know and I don’t know and I don’t know,” Malone said savagely. “It could have been Jesse Conway. He had the other key. But I went all through his pockets and I didn’t find anything that had anything to do with the case except Anna Marie’s key. Maybe he found whatever it was on some previous visit and took it away. But then, why did he come back? And who murdered him? And who took his body away? And why?” He drew a long breath. “Maybe Jake’s right. Maybe I do just need a good night’s sleep.”

Helene said, “I’ve figured out a possible answer to one question all by myself. The question of how the young man in the raincoat got his key.” She leaned back on the apple-green cushions, looking like a smugly pleased child.

“How?” Jake demanded.

“He got it from Mrs. Childers,” Helene said calmly. She added, “Of course.”

Malone stared at her for a moment. “That could be it,” he said thoughtfully. “Big Joe’s effects—whatever he happened to have in his pockets at the time—would naturally be turned over to his widow as soon as the police formalities were over, and she—”

“She is having lunch with me tomorrow,” Helene said “and I have a feeling that Mrs. Childers and I are going to be great, great friends.”

Jake was on the point of saying that he didn’t like the idea. Not from any objection to Mrs. Childers, nor to Helene’s motives for cultivating her, but because he suspected Mrs. Childers was involved in something not only unpleasant, but quite probably dangerous to anyone prying into it. He was interrupted, however, by a thunderous knock at the door, and von Flanagan bellowing, “Open up!”

Helene grabbed Anna Marie’s hat, purse, and rain cape and carried them into the bedroom. As Anna Marie followed, she whispered, “Make yourself comfortable,” and closed the door.

Malone carried Anna Marie’s glass into the kitchenette as Jake opened the door. “I’m looking for Malone,” von Flanagan said, slamming the door behind him. He used a few adjectives before “Malone,” of which “lying scoundrel” was the most complimentary. “He’s not at his hotel. He’s not at any of his hangouts, and if he isn’t here, you two can just come along and help me find him.” He spotted Malone coming out from the kitchen, and his face turned an ominous shade of magenta.

“I’m sorry you had to look for me,” Malone said. He added smoothly, “I haven’t been here long. Jake told me you’d called, but I didn’t know where to reach you. What’s up?”

“I ought to arrest you for obstructing justice,” von Flanagan roared, “and don’t tell me you don’t know anything about these murders, because you do.”

Malone said nothing and looked innocently curious.

“First Jesse Conway dies saying ‘Tell Malone,’” the big police officer said, breathing heavily, “and now Garrity—”

Malone said quickly, “I didn’t even know Garrity was dead until”—he caught himself just in time—“Jake told me.”

“Since you don’t know anything about it,” von Flanagan said with acid politeness, “I’m delighted to be the first to inform you that when Garrity was murdered he was on his way to Chicago—to see you.”