Beagle Scented Murder

13

Firing Joe Peel hadn’t been easy. They had flashed iron bars in front of Otis Beagle’s eyes and his deep instinct of self-preservation had caused him to sabotage Peel, but he felt very badly about it. He perked up a little, however, when he took the thousand dollar bill to the bank and deposited it to his credit. On the way back he bought a couple of fifty-cent cigars and lit one.

A man had to look out for himself first of all. Joe Peel was a good guy, but…

Lieutenant Becker and Sergeant Fedderson were waiting outside of Beagle’s office. Beagle bore down on them, a glint in his eye.

“Now, look here, Lieutenant, this is carrying things a bit too far. I just had lunch with Pinky Devol—”

“I know,” said the lieutenant calmly. “He told me about it.”

“Well, didn’t he tell you to lay off of me?”

“That he did,” Sergeant Fedderson said, cheerfully. “He told us to lay off of you, that he did.”

Beagle took his key from his pocket and put it into the door lock. “Then why’re you here bothering me now?”

“Why,” Lieutenant Becker said, “Pinky told me to lay off, but then I told him something.”

“I can imagine you telling Pinky.” There was scorn in Beagle’s tone.

“I told him about a murder.”

“Jolliffe was a suicide…”

“Sure — I’ll settle for a suicide on him. But somebody else has been murdered and no mistake about it.” Beagle’s stomach suddenly felt as if butterflies were fluttering about in it. “Wh-who…?”

“A girl. She lives — lived — at the Lehigh Apartments.”

Beagle choked on a mouthful of fifty-cent cigar smoke. Lieutenant Becker reached past him and pushed open the office door. Beagle went in and the two detectives followed.

“Where’re the Lehigh Apartments?” Beagle asked them.

“Don’t you know?”

“I don’t know every apartment in town.”

“You ought to know this one, because you sent Joe Peel there.”

Beagle laughed but there was a false note in it. “I sent Peel to the Lehigh Apartments?”

“Mike Rafferty picked him up there last night. He made a report on it; that’s how I know.”

Beagle shook his head. “If Peel was at the Lehigh Apartments last night he was there on his own time.”

“He didn’t go there to call on a Helen Gray?”

Beagle started to heave a sigh of relief, then caught himself. Gray — that was the name of the girl who shared the apartment with Wilma Huston! Wilma would come into it. And Wilma had a receipt signed by Joe Peel, as a representative of the Beagle Agency.

“As a matter of fact,” Beagle said, “I know very little of the personal life of Joe Peel. He used to work for me…”

That got a rise from both of the detectives. Fedderson even took his fingers out of the files into which they had been dipped.

Becker said, “Used to work for you?”

“Didn’t Devol tell you? I fired Peel.”

“When?”

“Oh, just a little while ago. I found out some things about Peel — things he was doing on the side. Using this agency’s name for his, ah, personal schemes.”

Becker regarded Beagle steadily. “You and Peel were closer than pork and beans.”

“Oh, no, we weren’t. Our relationship was strictly that of employer and employee.”

“All right, then you won’t mind giving me Peel’s home address.”

“Why, I don’t believe I remember it off hand…”

“Cut it out, Otis!” Becker reached for the card file on Beagle’s desk. Beagle headed him off. “Keep your hands off that!”

“I want Peel’s address and I want it now.”

“It isn’t in there…”

“I’ll look for myself.”

“No you won’t. You won’t do anything of the kind. You haven’t got a search warrant…”

“What makes you think I haven’t?” Becker took it out of his breast pocket and Beagle surrendered. If there was one thing in all the world he did not want, it was for Becker to go through that card file.

“I don’t remember Peel’s exact address, but he lives in a cheap hotel not very far from here. I know the place when I see it, but…” he drew a deep breath. “I’ll go there with you.”

Becker seemed a trifle disappointed. He took another look at the card file, then shrugged. “Come on.”

Beagle locked the office and the three went down Ivar, crossed Hollywood Boulevard and presently entered Joe Peel’s hotel. Beagle led the way to the desk.

“Joe Peel lives here, I believe,” he said, to the clerk. “I don’t suppose he’s in now, though…”

“Why, yes, he is,” was the reply. “He don’t usually come in so early, but today…”

“What’s the number of his room?” Becker cut in.

“I’ll announce you…”

Becker flashed his shield and the clerk swallowed hard. “Uh, Room 204…”

They climbed to the second floor and Sergeant Fedderson banged on the door of Room 204. There was no audible response for by that time Joe Peel was at the bottom of the whiskey bottle and was, frankly speaking, stinkeroo.

Fedderson pounded the door again, then tried the knob. It turned and the three detectives, two municipal and one private, entered the room.

Joe Peel was on the bed, lying on his back. He was wearing only shorts, socks and shoes. The bottle on the night table beside the bed, told the story.

Beagle stepped to the bed and placing a hand on Peel’s shoulder, shook him violently. “Joe!” he cried. “Wake up…”

“G’way,” mumbled Peel.

Sergeant Fedderson went into the bathroom. When he returned carrying a sopping wet towel both Becker and Beagle were trying to rouse Peel.

“Excuse me,” said Fedderson, politely. He swished the towel past Beagle, catching his face with the tail of it and flopped it on Joe’s bare stomach. Peel gasped and half sat up. Fedderson swung the towel again, this time into Peel’s face.

“Goddamit!” roared Peel, swinging his feet to the floor.

Fedderson chuckled and draped the cold, wet towel over Peel’s shoulder. Peel snatched it off and flung it into Fedderson’s face.

“Joe!” exclaimed Beagle. “Listen to me… Helen Gray’s been killed…”

“I’ll do the talking,” Lieutenant Becker snarled, shoving Beagle aside.

Peel blinked owlishly for a moment, then his eyes came into focus. He stared at Becker, then shook his head and got wobbily to his feet. He reeled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He stuck his head and torso under it, growled like a sea lion and taking a dry towel from the rack, returned to the bedroom.

“Who killed her?” he asked.

“Guess,” said Sergeant Fedderson.

“I’m not in a guessing mood,” Peel retorted. He began to rub himself dry with the towel.

“Who was Helen Gray?” Lieutenant Becker demanded.

“My girl friend,” said Peel.

Becker made an impatient gesture. “Get your clothes on.”

“What for?”

“You’re coming down to the station, that’s what for.”

Peel gave Beagle a bitter look. “Fink!”

“No, Joe,” protested Beagle. “I’m your friend. I always have been.”

“Yah,” said Peel slipping out of his shorts that had become soggy during the sobering up process. He went to an ancient bureau, got out clean shorts and a fresh shirt. He dressed slowly. He hadn’t been out long enough for his system to absorb the booze.

While Peel dressed, Sergeant Fedderson seated himself on the edge of the bed and picking up Peel’s copy of Malaeska from the night table, began reading it.

He chuckled, “So this is the kind of reading you go in for, eh, Peel?”

“No,” said Peel. “I generally read Vogue, and Harper’s Bazaar, but the newstand was sold out this month before I got around.”

Peel knotted a necktie, then went to the closet and got out his other suit. He put it on and finally turned to Becker. “Will I get this outfit dirty in your jail?”

“Joe,” said Beagle, “You’re not going to stay in jail. Not longer than it will take me to telephone a couple of friends. I never let you down yet and I’m not going to now…”

“Is it that bad?”

Beagle winced. “You shouldn’t have needled me this afternoon, Joe. I was suffering from indigestion. Forget it, will you?”

“Forget what?”

“What I said about your, uh, not working for me any more.”

“Aren’t you forgetting your promise to Pinky Devol?” Becker asked sarcastically.

“I made Devol no promise.”

“What’s the score, Otis?” Peel asked.

“Becker’s trying to make something out nothing…”

“Fedderson,” Becker cut in, “keep this walrus here. And don’t let him use the phone for at least an hour.” He caught Peel’s arm and propelled him through the door into the lobby. Peel heard Beagle bellow all the way down to the lobby.