Whistle Past the Graveyard [= Give the Girl a Gun]

Chapter Eleven

My next logical move should have been a visit to Evelyn Karnes in an attempt to discover just how far she thought Ed Friday’s jealousy of Walter Ford might have taken him. While it was a little difficult to visualize the cynical Friday in an Othello role, he had exhibited jealousy of Walter Ford, and it was at least conceivable he had ordered him killed because Ford was making a play for Evelyn.

But Evelyn Karnes lived halfway across town. And since Bubbles Duval’s apartment was only a mile or two from El Patio, I tried the blonde first.

It was pushing five when I left Fausta, and I stopped at the first drugstore I saw in order to use the phone. I found a Miss Beatrice Duval with a Dove Street address listed in the book, but there was no answer. Recalling that Mrs. Jennifer Ford had referred to Bubbles as a dress model, it occurred to me she might know where the girl worked. Mrs. Ford was at home, but apparently she had been pursuing the gin bottle steadily ever since I had left her. In a thick, nearly incoherent voice she told me she didn’t know where any of her deceased husband’s tramp girl friends worked, and cared less.

As a last resort I again phoned Howard Quentin, the private cop Mrs. Ford had employed to check on Walter’s love life. I caught him, he informed me, just as he was walking out the door for the day.

He also informed me Bubbles Duval modeled dresses at Saxon and Harder’s.

There was a little delay in getting Bubbles to the phone at Saxon and Harder’s, the store apparently being unaccustomed to having its models receive calls while working. When she finally answered, she sounded out of breath.

“Manny Moon,” I said. “Remember me?”

“Of course,” she said with what sounded like a mixture of pleasure and misgiving. Then quickly, “You better make it fast. We aren’t supposed to get personal calls.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I tried your home first. I want to see you. When do you get off work?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Not till seven, Manny. And I have to get home to dress after that. Informal?”

“No,” I said, suddenly realizing she was misinterpreting my request to see her and thought I was calling for a date. “You’ve got the wrong idea. I just...”

“My supervisor’s heading this way,” she interrupted in a quick tone. “Formal then. But don’t call for me. A couple of reporters have been hanging around trying to get my statement about last night, and they’d only bother you with a lot of questions too. I’ll meet you somewhere. Where?”

“May I get a word in edgewise?” I asked.

“Oh, gee! She’s looking right at me and tapping her foot. I have to hang up, Manny. Make it El Patio at eight.”

The last words came in a rush and were followed by a sharp click. Exasperatedly I glared at the dead phone for a moment before slamming the receiver back on its hook. El Patio the girl had said. It wasn’t bad enough to be roped into a date I had no desire for, it had to take place right under the interested eye of Fausta.

Then I got sore at Bubbles. After Fausta’s reaction the evening before, she should have known better than to pick Fausta’s own club for a rendezvous, even though she was rattled by her supervisor’s observation. If the girl was that empty-headed, she deserved whatever Fausta did to her.

And since I did want to talk to Bubbles, I phoned El Patio, got hold of the headwaiter and reserved a table for two at eight.

Evelyn Karnes was listed in the phone book at 1114 Grand. Dropping another dime in the slot, I dialed the phone number listed.

After a few rings, the enameled brunette’s clear but lifeless voice said, “Hello.”

“Evelyn?” I asked. “Manny Moon.” Then before she could get the same misapprehension Bubbles had suffered as to the reason for my call, I added distinctly, “I’d like to talk to you for a few moments about last night. You going to be home for a while?”

“Until seven. I have a rehearsal scheduled at seven-thirty.”

“I’ll be right over,” I said, and hung up.

Evelyn Karnes lived in the lower right flat of a four-family building. The neighborhood was moderately quiet and the building fairly new and modern. From the outside, it was nothing you might not expect a chorus girl to be able to afford, however.

But inside, the apartment was at a fantastically different economic level than the neighborhood. Evelyn’s wages had never paid for the thick Oriental rugs, the deep-cushioned modern furniture or the luxurious drapes at the windows. The furnishings were fabulously expansive. The place was not a home, it was the love abode of an Oriental satrap. Everything in it was either soft or sensual, from the white bear rug in front of the fireplace to the excellent nude originals on the walls.

As she mixed drinks for both of us at the bar, I wondered what Friday saw in the girl. She was beautiful, of course, but the ex-racketeer’s wealth could have bought him any number of beautiful women. Beneath Evelyn’s beauty there seemed to be nothing: no humor, no conversational ability, no interests beyond the shallow interests of self. And, judging by last night, no personal regard for Ed Friday beyond a rather abject recognition of duty due him as her provider.

But apparently she possessed whatever it was Ed Friday wanted in a woman. I noted she again wore the diamond bracelet he had ripped from her wrist the evening before.

Sliding a rye and water across the small bar to me, she asked, “Want to go into the front room, or stay in here?”

“This is fine,” I said, seating myself on one of the three slim bar stools.

“Okay,” Evelyn said indifferently. She stayed on the other side of the bar, leaning against the back bar and eyeing the drink in her hand with more interest than she had so far exhibited in me.

“Madeline Strong has engaged me to look into Walter Ford’s murder,” I told her. “I thought maybe you could give me a little background on Ford,” I said. “Seeing he was such a good friend of yours.”

“Of mine?” She looked at me in surprise. “He gave you a birthday present.”

“Oh, that.” She shrugged, took another sip and looked at me without expression. “I guess he gave away a lot of those little guns. It didn’t mean anything.”

“It did to Ed Friday. He didn’t like it a bit. Anyway, I, didn’t mean just the gift when I said Walter Ford was a good friend of yours. Did you know Ford’s wife was planning to name you co-respondent in a divorce case?”

She looked at me blankly. “Me?”

“You,” I assured her. “She had a private detective tailing Ford, and on several occasions he tailed him to this apartment. At least once Ford spent the night here.”

Her body straightened haughtily. “You’re being insulting, Mr. Moon.”

“I frequently am,” I admitted. “Sometimes it’s hard to be polite when you’re working on a murder case. Murder itself is not polite. So to get on with our conversation, Walter Ford was a good enough friend to spend the night here when Ed Friday was busy elsewhere. Right?”

Behind me a slurred voice said, “Right, if it’s any of your business, Mr. Moon. Now let’s drop the subject.”

Swinging around on my stool, I saw Ed Friday standing motionless in the doorway leading from the front room. In his hand he held a door key, which he dropped into a pocket as I watched.

Behind the ex-racketeer stood his bodyguard, Max Furtell. Friday moved his thick body into the room and across to Evelyn, who came from behind the bar to meet him. Max stayed in the doorway.

Friday dipped his head to give Evelyn a perfunctory kiss, then turned to face me. Neither he nor the girl seemed in the least perturbed over his having overheard my remark about Walter Ford’s clandestine visits to the apartment.

Correctly interpreting my puzzled expression, the ex-racketeer said, “We had the subject of Walter Ford all out last night after I brought Evelyn home, Mr. Moon. He was a chaser and Evelyn was enough of a sucker to let him play around a little. But the man’s dead and I can’t work up much jealousy over a dead man. As far as I’m concerned, the subject’s closed.”

“It isn’t your jealousy of dead men that interests me,” I said. “I’m more concerned with how jealous you were of Ford before he got dead.”

For a moment he merely examined my face. Then he said in a quiet voice, “I didn’t happen to know about Ford and Evelyn until after he was dead.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t much approve of you, Friday, because I’ve got a silly prejudice against crooks. Even rich crooks who get their pictures in the papers for heading up charity drives. But I’ve got a lot of respect for your intelligence. Five minutes after I joined your party last night, I could see your date was carrying a torch for Walter Ford and he was playing her along for the laughs. I really don’t believe you’re so dumb you missed it.”

“I caught the play between them,” he admitted heavily. “But I didn’t know about Ford’s visits here until after he was dead. What are you getting at? You got some fantastic theory dreamed up that I had Ford bumped because he passed at Evelyn?”

“It’s a motive. And Max had plenty of opportunity.” When both Friday and Max snorted at this, I said, “Don’t bother to protest your bodyguard’s unsullied virtue. You know and I know and Max knows that if you had told him to bump Ford, he’d have done it without batting an eye.. Maybe he didn’t kill Ford, but spare me your indignant protests that he’s incapable of murder. I’d bet he’s got at least six notches on his gun.”

Max made a growling noise deep in his throat. When I looked at him, he said huskily, “Give me the word, boss, and I’ll add a seventh notch.”

In a testy voice Friday said, “He’s just trying to needle you into saying something to bolster his empty theory, Max. Clam up. Don’t even answer him again.” To me he said, “I think you’d better leave.”

“Just when the conversation’s getting interesting?” Draining my highball, I set the glass on the bar. “Something else that’s been puzzling me is why you were so eager to get me out of town. Since our single relationship had to do with Ford’s death, I have to assume it was because you didn’t want me messing in the case. You got some other explanation?”

Friday’s face set in hard lines. “I don’t think I’m required to explain my actions to you, Mr. Moon. For your own good I suggest you get off my back and stay off. Max, show Mr. Moon to the door.”

“Sure,” the big man said with pleasure. He took a step toward me, but stopped when Friday said definitely, “I said show him. I don’t want any trouble in Evelyn’s apartment.”

Disappointed, Max shrugged and politely moved aside to let me precede him. I was a little disappointed myself.