Blue Murder

CHAPTER 19

Tucker sat back, as though believing the worst was over. “Murdering people is not one of the things I do. Tell me why you think so.”

“I’ve got another film I want you to see.” He tossed Armand the core with the 16-mm. footage he had shot in the shopping center. “Can you run this on the same projector?”

Baruch had to rewind it onto an empty reel. He made the necessary adjustments and again the lights went off. They watched in silence.

“That’s my Pontiac,” Tucker said as the convertible approached the camera. “But it isn’t me! It’s an obvious frame-up!”

“I agree with you,” Shayne said when the lights came up. “What was your wife’s blood type, do you know?”

Tucker made a distracted gesture. “O, with some funny Rh business, I don’t remember.”

“Did you find the car in his garage?” Shayne asked Gentry.

“With blood on the carpet. They’re testing it now.”

“I’ll bet you another steak it turns out to be the same type as Gretchen Tucker’s. That gives us a good circumstantial case, but let’s hold it.” He took a step toward Tucker. “Why didn’t you tell me she made a date with you for nine thirty this morning?”

“I wanted to talk to her, make her realize—”

Shayne shook his head. “You were keyed up to kill her. You knew you couldn’t relax as long as she was alive. You knew she hated you so much, you and your ideas, that she wouldn’t stop until she brought you down.”

“Oh, yes,” Peter said. “A determined woman, Gretchen. She knew him better than he knew her.”

Shayne swung to face Peter. “And she thought you ought to hate him just as much.”

“You know it. She kept saying the son of a bitch was responsible for putting me in jail. But was he? He didn’t write the Texas drug laws. That business with Pomeroy wouldn’t have worked. Too far away, too many people involved. If she’d come down and taken on the prosecuting attorney and the judge and all the gentlemen and ladies of the jury, we might have got somewhere. Jail wasn’t really that bad. But I couldn’t get her to see it, she thought Tucker wrecked my life.”

“Then she actually did—” Gentry said. “With Pomeroy—”

“She told me so often enough,” Peter said wearily. “But if it was that repulsive, why did she go on with it? Once, O.K., to keep me out of jail. But it wasn’t just once, was it, Congressman?”

Pomeroy smiled slightly. “I’m not even admitting to once. The girl in the film seemed to enjoy it.”

“Nobody has hangups in my movies,” Baruch said.

“Now is everybody clear about the situation?” Shayne said. “Gretchen and Baruch had come up with a very good blackmail technique. It was a vanity film: she put up the cash. But they weren’t in complete agreement about what they were after. She wanted her husband’s capitulation, and a little money. Armand wanted a lot of money and a success. The difference didn’t matter until Capp came on the scene. Capp is basically a hijacker.” He looked at his old enemy, who looked back through narrowed eyes. “He prefers the old way of making dirty movies, when you didn’t keep books or pay taxes. Armand tried to keep this picture a secret, and Capp couldn’t have liked that. As soon as he found out what they had, he decided to hijack it. Because there was one thing they overlooked. If it was good blackmail against Tucker, it was better against Pomeroy, a much more important figure. So Capp sneaked the film out of the vaults and invited Pomeroy to a private screening. They agreed on a price. Then some dirty dog came along and hijacked the hijacker. Here’s what happened. Maureen Neal, in a new town, picked Capp as the most important person to move in with. Every night she told him about that day’s shooting. But her real loyalty was to Pussy Rizzo, an old friend in LA. She decided that Pussy deserved that quarter of a million more than Capp.”

“I’m trying to follow,” Gentry said. “Capp had the film at this point?”

“Between his bedboard and mattress. Maureen found it. He caught her on the way out. Things were too far along. He was swindling his partner, selling company property. He didn’t want out-of-town hoods moving in on the deal. To keep it under control, he had to kill her.”

Gentry again: “Do we even know she’s dead?”

“She has to be dead. I’ve been working backward. Gretchen had been worrying about Capp, and she had Peter watching the house. This is last night now, the night of the declaration of war. Am I right so far, Peter?”

Peter turned sideward to look at Capp. “I’ve decided to let him have you, Frankie. Maybe he’ll be grateful and send me cigarettes in jail. Because I’m in violation of parole here, aside from the fact that I’ve probably broken a few freaky laws.”

“What did you see, Peter?” Shayne said.

“He knocked her around a little, cut her face. Then he said he was sorry and she let him sponge off the blood. She was sitting in a white chair. He shot her through the head so she’d be hard to identify.”

The room was silent.

“Nothing like that happened,” Capp said.

“Then he whipped her and did one or two other things. I was outside the window shaking like a leaf. The whole thing was out of character for me.”

“Then you tailed him to the Everglades,” Shayne said. “You saw where he ditched her personal belongings, including the key to her car and motel room, and recovered those later. Then you got back to town fast, and grabbed the film.”

“Gretchen did that — I phoned ahead.”

“I was having my first meeting with Tucker just about then,” Shayne said. He took out the photographs Tucker had given him. “These were all I had to go on. In the slides he showed me, the woman was either pretending to be in an advanced state of sex, or her face was partially blocked. But he was careful, so he could move either way. Unless he could persuade me that the woman in the slides was his wife, he’d have to tell me what they were blackmailing him with, and he didn’t want to do that. Now let’s shift to his wife. She knew there was a good chance he could outmaneuver her. He’s an incumbent, with money and press support, important people committed to him, and all she had was the film. That’s why she waited till Peter came out on parole — she needed an actor she could trust. He’s the one who played Tucker, in the scene in the shopping center.”

“I’m glad to see you aren’t totally gullible,” Tucker said.

“I recognized her by her walk,” Shayne said. “The girl who told me she was Maureen Neal moved the same way. Naturally I thought it was a film of Maureen acting Gretchen, which meant that Baruch had to be part of it because he knew both women.”

Gentry said, “You lost me, Mike.”

“It was a simple reverse,” Shayne explained. “Maureen Neal acted the part of Gretchen Tucker in the movie we just saw. At the motel last night, Gretchen turned it around and acted Maureen. Why? Because if Tucker could talk Baruch into selling out for a simple sum of money and the quashing of those subpoenas, all her effort would have gone for nothing. But if Baruch thought she’d been murdered—”

“Wait a minute,” Gentry said. “The letter at the airport. The kidnapping out there. What was that all about?”

“Tucker wrote the letter,” Shayne said. “Gretchen was still alive, but he planned to do something about that promptly at nine thirty this morning. We don’t know what the plans were, because she was smart enough not to show up. But somebody would have to take the heat for the murder he was planning, and from Tucker’s point of view, Capp was the ideal man. Tucker’s going to deny some of this—”

“I deny it all,” Tucker said.

“He wouldn’t have time to fake anything afterward. It had to be done before. That airport scene looked fairly elaborate to us, but it was actually simple. He wrote the letter at home, on his wife’s portable. And it was an ingenious letter. He even included something about his own sexual difficulties. The attitude was right, but the facts were wrong. She hadn’t been sleeping with Capp, she’d been sleeping with Armand, but we wouldn’t believe Armand in the role of a Mafia killer.”

“Thanks, if that’s a compliment,” Baruch said. “Tucker made a reservation in her name on an eleven o’clock plane, and packed one of her suitcases. He took the typewriter, the suitcase and the letter to the motel and walked into the first vacated room. Two minutes later he walked out, leaving a sign on the door, and made the anonymous phone call.

Rourke said, “I knew one of these scenes had to be faked. But both!”

“Everybody’s been making movies,” Shayne said. “Gretchen wanted to make us think she’d been murdered. Her husband had a strong motive, and no alibi for nine thirty, when Baruch was filming the scene at the shopping center. That was your blood in the car, wasn’t it, Peter?”

“We have the same type,” Peter said. “We had to do it beforehand, and it had to be my wrist, because that’s what she decided. It came out like champagne.”

“So that would give us a fair case against Tucker, but with no body. So they drove out to the road where Capp disposed of Maureen and staged a final episode. The body of Maureen Neal would be dragged up, with no identifying papers and without much face. Sooner or later Tucker would be able to establish that it wasn’t his wife, but by that time he’d be under arrest and Domestic Relations would be playing to standing room. And the story would be out. Tucker and Pomeroy would be finished in politics. Don’t sue anybody, Congressman,” he advised Pomeroy. “That would be your worst possible move. Act amused, if you can do it in a wheelchair. Don’t run for reelection, either.”

“That may be good advice,” Pomeroy said agreeably. “Luckily I’ve been skimming a little over the years, according to my enemies. I won’t go on welfare.”

“I’m still confused,” Gentry said. “I thought you were telling us there were two women in the water.”

“There has to be another woman in there,” Shayne said. “That’s the only way to explain Peter’s behavior the last hour or two.”

He looked at the boy, who drew a deep breath. “Of course I knew I’d be going back for something worse than violating parole.”

“Murder takes precedence,” Shayne said.

Gentry moved out quickly from the wall. “He killed his sister?”

“He’s going to make us prove it. The fact that he tried to sell the film to Pomeroy will count against him, but you never know with a jury.”

“But why?” Gentry asked.

Peter stirred, looked at Shayne and then looked quickly away. Rourke and most of the police in the room knew how Shayne worked, and they cleared the side to let him go one-on-one.

“Why?” Shayne repeated. “Because unlike his sister, Peter doesn’t believe everything has to be black or white. Will it really matter if Tucker gets to be president?”

“He believes in dropping the hydrogen bomb, for Christ’s sake,” Peter said. “Of course it matters. It just doesn’t matter to me.”

“Did you always feel this way, or did you change in jail?”

“She had illusions about me. She thought I wanted to be the Count of Monte Cristo or somebody.” He raised a fist. “Revenge!”

“It started as a semijoke,” Shayne said to Gentry, without looking away from Peter. “I think he likes to dress up — another actor. But when Maureen was killed it gave him a scare. Frankie Capp doesn’t fool around, as the rest of us have known all along. It didn’t bother Gretchen. She went right to work thinking of ways she could use it.” Suddenly: “Are you gay, Peter?”

“I swing both ways, but don’t tell Gretchen. Well, you can’t, can you?”

“What I have to say next may embarrass you. Last night” — he was still talking to Gentry — “Gretchen decided to make things confusing for us by using Maureen Neal’s motel room and checking out in the morning in the usual way. Remember — she wanted us to think the dead girl in the water was Gretchen herself, not Maureen, and she wanted the identification to stand up for at least a day. Peter was with her. I happened to coincide with them at the motel.”

“I spotted your car,” Peter said. “I wanted to get the hell out, but to Gretch it was some kind of goddamn challenge.”

“And a funny thing happened.”

“You thought it was funny, did you?”

“Brother and sister had sex,” Shayne said. “I was on the other side of the connecting door.”

“I had to,” Peter said, almost whispering.

“She told you you had to. As Maureen Neal, she could tell me things that would head me the wrong way and keep me busy. She didn’t know I’d never seen a good picture of her. If Tucker had shown me the slides in the right order, I’d know that Gretchen Tucker had a brother. The sex was to make sure I didn’t make the connection. That’s what she told you, anyway.”

Peter muttered, “I can’t deny it happened. She didn’t give me time to think.”

“Thinking back now, was it necessary? When I walked in you knocked me out with a bottle. You kept me tied up till you were sure I didn’t know who she was. You could have played it that way from the start. Or used sound effects. You didn’t actually have to do it.”

“She said you might be photographing us—”

“She tricked you, I believe that. But she liked it. She went off with a bang. I’ve had enough women fake it to know that was real.” He added, “You too, I think.”

Peter looked at the floor. “It disgusted me.”

“But you couldn’t refuse, could you? Because you were already planning your switch. With all this money floating around, none of it was floating your way. She’d worked out a procedure for breaking the story through Rourke. You had the rest of the night to put junk film in the cans, but it had to be real motion-picture film, in case she checked at the last minute. You bought it before the stores closed yesterday.”

“So.”

Now Shayne began to bear down. “I think I know why you had to kill her, but I want to hear it from you. She wanted to have sex again, to calm you down before the scene at the shopping center. You’d done it once, and the world hadn’t come to an end. Sex without hangups, the way it is in Warehouse films. She’s always bossed you, hasn’t she, Peter?”

Peter nodded dumbly.

“And if you’d let her win this morning, she’d have you for life. Under new names, Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, that nice couple from the east. You said it disgusted you. It disgusted you later. It didn’t disgust you then.”

“Yes.”

“No, you liked it as much as she did,” Shayne said calmly. “You knew it was wrong and dangerous. You knew your sister was a sick woman, and you were putting yourself in her hands. After the second time, you couldn’t ever refuse her again. And she was a schemer and planner. Maybe that was the real reason she worked out this movie — not to ruin her husband but to get you under her full control.”

“I couldn’t let her—”

“There was only one way you could break free, turn her own plan around and use it against her. She’d tricked you. Now you had to trick her. That was fair. She was stronger than you.”

“So much stronger, Mike. We used to play around when we were kids. I never wanted to, she was the one.”

“That’s not so bad up to the age of ten. But nobody wants to stay ten years old all his life. And that’s how it would have been, playing house in Omaha. Chicago. Seattle. There was only one way to grow up.”

“That’s it!” Peter said excitedly. “I didn’t know you’d understand. Sooner or later everybody has to grow up. She was wild! We did it this morning in the Everglades, Mike. We did it that second time. And it was immensely exciting! The best time I’ve ever had with a woman. And it was terrible. I didn’t plan to shoot her. I’m not the schemer. She was laughing, you see. Today was the first day of the rest of our lives. She gave me the gun and told me to fire in the air. She had a rock to throw in the water, to make a splash. Realistic.”

He finished dully, “I fired, but not in the air. She made the splash with her own body. The acting was over.”

“That was carefully done, Mike,” Gentry said. “Do you think it’ll stand up?”

Shayne rubbed his mouth without replying.

They were walking through the Warehouse lobby. Lib stepped out to intercept them.

“Is it over? Is it true there were two murders?”

New letters were being put up on the marquee: “Domestic Relations, the picture the whole town is talki—” A higher admission price had been posted.

Baruch and his cameraman came out behind them. Baruch made an apron of his striped robe so he could load the cans of film: Sally, Delinquent Venus, Friends and Neighbors.

“Mike, the coach’s part in the football film. Do you want to talk about it?”

Shayne slammed the trunk and went to the front of the car. Lib was still hanging at his elbow.

“You look tired, Mike. I live a couple of blocks away. I’m told I give a great massage.”

Shayne started the motor. She held on to keep him from leaving.

“And we could—”

Shayne seldom fed the motor too much gas at the start, spinning his wheels and leaving rubber behind him to mark where he had been. But he did it this time. He came down hard on the accelerator and shot off toward the city. He’d spent too many hours of his life among these people.