I, The Jury

“No, Mike, not at all. Have you been like that just since the war? So hard, I mean.”

“I’ve always been like that,” I said, “as long as I could remember. I hate rats that kill for the fun of it. The war only taught me a few tricks I hadn’t learned before. Maybe that’s why I lived through it.”

I checked my watch; it was getting late. “If you want to keep your appointment, you’d better hurry.”

Charlotte nodded. “Drive me back to the office?”

“Sure. Get your coat.”

We drove back slowly, timing it so that we’d have as much time together as possible. We made small talk, mentioning neither the case nor the near affair in the apartment. When we reached Park Avenue, and turned off to stop, Charlotte said, “When will I see you again, Mike?”

“Soon,” I answered. “If the joker that called today to see where I went tries it again, have your secretary tell him that I’m meeting you on this corner. Then try to get hold of me and maybe we can ambush the lug. It was Kalecki, all right; your secretary will probably recognize his voice when she hears it again.”

“Okay, Mike. What if Mr. Chambers calls on me?”

“In that case, verify the story of the shooting, but forget about the phone call. If we can trap him, I want it to be my own party.”

She leaned in and kissed me again before she left. As she walked away I watched the flashing sleekness of her legs disappear around the corner. She was a wonderful woman. And all mine. I felt like I should let out a loud whoop and do a jig.

A car honked behind me, so I threw the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. I was stopped for a red light two blocks away when I heard my name yelled from across the street. The cars alongside me obscured the person, but I could see a brown-suited figure dancing between them trying to get to my jalopy. I opened the door and he got in. “Hello, Bobo,” I said. “What are you doing up this way?”

Bobo was all excited over meeting me. “Golly, Mike. Sure is nice seeing you. I work up here. No place special, just all the places.” Words bubbled out of him like out of a water faucet. “Where you going?”

“Well, I was going downtown, but maybe I can drive you someplace. Where are you going?”

Bobo scratched his head. “Lessee. Guess I can go downtown first. Gotta deliver a letter around .Canal Street.”

“Swell, I’ll drop you off there.”

The light turned and I swung on to Broadway and turned left. Bobo would wave at the girls on the street, but I knew how he felt. “Hear anything more about Kalecki?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Naw. Something’s happened to him. I saw one of the guys today and he ain’t working for him no more.”

“How about Big Sam’s place? No news from there?”

“Nope. Anyway, since you beat up the two jigs nobody will talk to me. They’re scared I might get you after ’em.” Bobo let out a gleeful chuckle. “They think I’m a tough guy, too. My landlady heard about it and told me to stay away from you. Isn’t that funny, Mike?”

I had about as many friends as a porcupine up that way. “Yeah,” I said. “How’s the bee situation?”

“Oh, good, good, good. Got me a queen bee. Hey. That wasn’t true what you said. A queen bee don’t need a king bee. It said so in the book.”

“Then how are you going to get more bees?” That puzzled him.

“Guess they lay eggs, or something,” he muttered.

Canal Street lay straight ahead, so I let Bobo out when I stopped for the red light. He gave me a breezy “so long” and took off down the street at a half trot. He was a good kid. Another harmless character. Nice, though.

Chapter Ten

Pat was waiting for me on the firing range. A uniformed patrolman took me to the basement and pointed him out. Pat was cursing over a bad score when I tapped him on the shoulder.

“Having trouble, bub?” I grinned at him.

“Nuts. I think I need a new barrel in this gun.” He took another shot at the moving target, a figure of a man, and got it high up on the shoulder.

“What’s the matter with that, Pat?”

“Hell, that would just knock him over.” Pat was a perfectionist. He caught me laughing at him and handed me the gun. “Here, you try it.”

“Not with that.” I pulled the .45 out and kicked the slide back. The target popped up and moved across the range. The gun bucked in my hand. I let three go one after the other. Pat stopped the target and looked at the three holes in the figure’s head,

“Not bad.” I felt like pasting him.

“Why don’t you tell me I’m an expert?” I said. “That’s shooting where it counts.”

“Phooey. You’ve just been working at it.” I shoved the rod under my coat and Pat pocketed his. He pointed toward the elevator.

“Let’s go up. I want to check that slug. Got it with you?” I took the .45 out and unwrapped it, then handed it over. Pat studied it in the elevator, but markings weren’t defined clearly enough to be certain of anything. A bullet hitting a stone wall has a lot less shape left than one that has passed through a body.

The ballistics room was empty save for ourselves. Pat mounted the slug inside a complicated slide gadget and I turned the lights out. There was a screen in front of us, and on it was focused an image of two bullets. One was from the killer’s gun, the other was the slug Kalecki fired at me. My souvenir still had some lines from the bore of the gun that came out under magnification.

Pat turned the bullet around on its mount, trying to find markings that would match with the other. He thought he did once, but when he transposed the images one on top of the other there was quite a difference. After he had revolved the slug several times he flicked the machine off and turned on the lights. “No good, Mike. It isn’t the same gun. If Kalecki did the other shooting, he used another gun.”

“That isn’t likely. If he kept it after the first killing he’d hang on to it.”

Pat agreed and rang for one of his men. He handed the bullet over to him and told him to photograph it and place it in the files. We sat down together and I gave him the full details of the shooting and my views on the Kines kill. He didn’t say much. Pat is one of those cops who keep facts in their heads. He stores them away without forgetting an item, letting them fume until they come to the surface by themselves.

It constantly amazed me that there were men like him on the force. But then, when you get past the uniforms and into the inner workings of the organization you find the real thinkers. They have all the equipment in the world to work with and plenty of inside contacts. The papers rag the cops too much, I thought, but in the pinch they called the game. Not much went on that they didn’t know about. There was vice. As much as in any outfit, but there were still men like Pat that no money could buy. I would have been one myself if there weren’t so damn many rules and regulations to tie a guy down.

When I finished, Pat stretched and said, “Nothing I can add to it for you. Wish I could. You’ve been a great help, Mike. Now tell me one thing. You gave me facts, this time give me an opinion. Who do you think did it?”

“That, chum, is the sixty-four-dollar question,” I countered. “If I had any definite idea, you’d have a justified homicide on your hands. I’m beginning to think of someone outside of those we know. Hell, man, look at the corpses we have floating around. And Kalecki on the loose with a rod. Maybe he did it. He has reason to. Maybe it’s the guy behind him again. It could fit in with this syndicate that runs the houses of prostitution. Or the numbers racket George worked. Jack could have found out about that, too. Maybe it was a revenge kill. Hal fouled up enough women in his life. Suppose one of them found out how he did it and made a play for him. When she saw that Jack was going to arrest him she killed Jack, then killed Hal, shooting Eileen to keep her from spouting off what she had seen.

“Maybe it wasn’t a girl like that. Could be the brother or father of one. Or a boy friend for that matter. There’s lots of angles.”

“I thought of that, Mike. For my money, it’s the most plausible idea I’ve had.” Pat stood up. “I want you to come upstairs with me. We have a friend of yours there that you might like to see.”

A friend? I couldn’t begin to guess whom he was talking about. When I queried him about it he smiled and told me to be patient. He led me into a small room. Two detectives were there with a woman. Both of them fired questions at her, but received no answers. She sat with her back to the door and I didn’t recognize her until I stood in front of her.

Friend, hell. She was the madam that ran out the night Hal and Eileen were killed.

“Where did you pick her up, Pat?”

“Not far from here. She was wandering on the streets at four A.M. and a patrolman picked her up on suspicion.”

I turned to the madam. Her eyes were vacant from the long hours of questioning. She held her arms across her ample breasts in a defiant attitude, though I could see that she was near the breaking point. “Remember me?” I asked her.

She stared at me through sleep-filled eyes a moment, then said dejectedly, “Yes, I remember.”

“How did you get out of that house when it was raided?”

“Go to hell.”

Pat drew up a chair in front of her and sat backwards on it. He saw what I was driving at right away. “If you refuse to tell us,” Pat said quietly, “you’re liable to find yourself facing a charge for murder. And we can make it stick.”

She dropped her arms at that one and licked her lips. This time she was scared. Then her fear passed and she sneered. “You go to hell, too. I didn’t kill them.”

“Perhaps not,” Pat answered, “but the real killer left the same way you did. How do we know you didn’t show him the way? That makes you an accessory and you might just as well have pulled the trigger.”

“You’re crazy!” Gone was the composure she had the first time I met her. She didn’t look respectable any more. By now her hair had a scraggly appearance and the texture of her skin showed through in the light. White, porous skin. She bared her teeth and swallowed. “I—I was alone.”

“The charge will still stick.”

Her hands fell into her lap and shook noticeably. “No. I was alone. I was at the door when the police came up. I knew what it was. I ran for the exit and left.”

“Where is the exit?” I cut in.

“Under the stairs. A button that works the panel is built into the woodwork.”

I thought back fast. “All right, so you saw the cops coming. If you ran for the stairs the killer would have been coming down as you ran out. Who was it?”

“I didn’t see anybody, I tell you! Oh, why don’t you let me alone!” Her nerve broke and she sank into the chair with her face buried in her hands.

“Take her out,” Pat directed the two detectives. He looked at me. “What do you make of it?”

“Reasonable enough,” I told him. “She saw us coming and beat it. But the killer had a little luck. We broke in about two minutes after the shooting. The rooms are soundproofed and no one heard the shots. The killer probably figured on mixing with the crowd and leaving when the show was over or before, if there was nobody at the door. He was coming down the stairs and heard us.

“However, when the madam made a run for it those plans had to be tossed overboard. He ducked back long enough so the old hag didn’t see him and followed her through the secret panel. When we examine it I’ll bet we find that it doesn’t close very fast. We ran upstairs, you remember, and the others took care of the guests. The way we set the road block, the killer had time to get away before the policemen could take their places. We were in a hurry and didn’t have a chance to plan this thing.”

I proved to be right. We went back to the house and looked for the panel. It was right where she said it was. The thing wasn’t too cleverly contrived. The button was built into the heart of a carved flower. It activated a one sixteenth horsepower motor connected to the electric circuit with a cutoff and a reverse. Pat and I entered the passage. Light seeping through the cracks in the wall was all we needed. When the place was redecorated this was built in. It ran back ten feet, took a sharp left turn and steps led down to the basement. There we were between walls. A door led into the basement of the house next door. When it was closed it looked like a part of the wall.

It was a safe bet that the people in the house didn’t know that it was there themselves. The rest was easy. Out the basement door to an open yard that led to the street. The time consumed was less than a minute. We went through the passageway with a searchlight, not skipping an inch, but there wasn’t a clue to be found. Generally when someone was in haste he could be counted on to lose something or mark a trail. But no such luck. We went back to the waiting room and pulled out a smoke.

“Well?”

“Well what, Pat?”

“Well, I guess you were right about the tuning,” he laughed.

“Looks that way. What did you get on Kines’ past, if anything?”

“Reports from twenty-seven schools so far. He never spent more than a semester anywhere except at this last place. More often a month was enough. When he left there were several girls who’d dropped from the school too. Add it up and you get a nice tally. We’ve had a dozen men on the phone all day and they’re not half finished yet.”

I thought that over and cursed Hal before I said, “What did he have in his pockets when the boys went over him?”

“Nothing much. Fifty some in bills, a little loose change, a driver’s license and an owner’s certificate for his car. There were some club cards, too, but of the school. He went around clean. We found his car. It was empty except for a pair of silk panties in the glove compartment. By the way, how did he get in here if you had your eyes open?”

I dragged on the butt, thinking over those that came in here. “Got me. He never came alone, that’s a sure thing. The only way he could have done it was to impersonate someone by stuffing pillows or something under his jacket, or ...” I snapped my fingers. “Now I remember. A crowd of six or more came in and they blocked out a few others that were behind them. They all mingled at the foot of the steps and came in together to get off the street as fast as they could.”

“Was he alone?” Pat waited anxiously for my answer.

I had to shake my head. “I can’t say, Pat. It does seem funny that he would come in here deliberately with the murderer, knowing that he was going to get knocked off.”

The afternoon was running into evening and we decided to call it a day. Pat and I separated outside and I drove home to clean up. The case was beginning to get on my nerves. It was like trying to get through a locked door with a bull-dog tearing at you.

So far I had investigated a lot of angles; now I had one more to go. I wanted to find out about that strawberry mark on a certain twin’s hip.

I had my dinner sent up from a place down at the corner and polished off a quart of beer with it. It was nearly rune when I put in a call to the Bellemy apartment. A soft voice answered.

“Miss Bellemy?”

“Yes.”

“This is Mike Hammer.”

“Oh,” she hesitated a second, then. “Yes?”

“Is this Mary or Esther?”

“Esther Bellemy. What can I do for you, Mr. Hammer?”

“Can I see you this evening?” I asked. “I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

“Can’t they be asked over the phone?”

“Hardly. It would take too long. May I come up?”

“All right. I’ll be waiting.”

I thanked her and said good-bye, then climbed into my coat and went downstairs to my car.

Esther was the replica of her sister. If there was a difference, I couldn’t see it. I hadn’t taken time to look for any the first time I met them. Probably all in the personality. Mary was strictly a nymphomaniac, now let’s see how this sister was.

She greeted me cordially enough. She was wearing a dinner dress that was a simple thing, cunningly revealing the lovely lines of her body. Like Mary, she too had a tan and the appearance of having led an athletic life. Her hair was different. Esther had hers rolled up into a fashionable upsweep. That was the only thing I objected to. With me, a girl in upswept hair looks like she needs a pail and mop, ready to swab down the kitchen floor. But the way she was otherwise built more than made up for that objection.

I took a seat on the divan I had before. Esther went to a cabinet and took out glasses and a bottle of Scotch. When she came back with the ice and had the drinks poured she said, “What is it you wanted me to tell you, Mr. Hammer?”

“Call me Mike,” I said politely. “I’m not used to formalities.”

“Very well, Mike.” We settled back with the drinks.

“How well did you know Jack?”

“Casually. It was a friendship that comes with constantly meeting after an introduction, but not an intimate one.”

“And George Kalecki? How well did you know him?”

“Not well at all. I didn’t like him.”

“Your sister gave me the same impression. Did he ever make a pass at you?”

“Don’t be silly.” She thought a moment before continuing.

“He was grouchy about something the night of the party. Hardly sociable, I’d say. He didn’t strike me as being a gentleman. There was something about his manner that was repulsive.”

“That isn’t unusual. He was a former racketeer. Still active in some circles, too.”

When she crossed her legs I couldn’t think of anything more to ask her. Why don’t women learn to keep their skirts low enough to keep men from thinking the wrong things? Guess that’s why they wear them short.

Esther saw my eyes following the outlines of her legs and made the same old instinctive motion of covering up. It didn’t do a bit of good. “On with the game,” she told me.

“What do you do for a living, if you don’t mind?” I knew the answer already, but asked it just to have something to say.

Her eyes glittered impishly. “We have a private income from stock dividends. Father left us his share in some mills down South. Why, are you looking for a rich wife?”

I raised my eyebrows. “No. But if I were I’d be up here more often. What about your home? You have quite an estate, haven’t you?”

“About thirty acres in lawn and ten in second-growth woods. A twenty-two-room house sits right in the middle surrounded by a swimming pool, several tennis courts and generally a round dozen ardent swains who never tire of telling me how lovely I am just to get their paws on half of it.”

I whistled. “Hell, someone told me you occupied a modest residence.” Esther laughed gaily, the sound coming from deep in her throat. With her head tilted back like that she gave me the full view of her breasts. They were as alive as she was.

“Would you like to visit me sometime, Mike?”

I didn’t have to think that over. “Sure. When?”

“This Saturday. I’m having quite a few up there to see a tennis match under lights at night. Myrna Devlin is coming. Poor girl, it’s the least I can do for her. She’s been so broken up since Jack died.”

“That’s an idea. I’ll drive her up. Anybody else coming that I know?”

“Charlotte Manning. No doubt you’ve met her.”

“No doubt,” I grinned.

She saw what I meant and wiggled a finger at me. “Don’t get any ideas like that, Mike.”

I tried to suppress a smile. “How am I going to have any fun in a twenty-two-room house if I don’t get ideas?” I teased her.

The laugh in her eyes died out and was replaced by something else. “Why do you think I’m asking you up as my guest?” she said.

I put my drink down on the coffee table, then circled it and sat down beside her. “I don’t know, why?”

She put her arms around my neck and pulled my mouth down close to hers. “Why don’t you find out?”

Her mouth met mine, her arms getting tighter behind me. I leaned on her heavily, letting my body caress hers. She rubbed her face against mine, breathing hotly on my neck. Whenever I touched her she trembled. She worked a hand free and I heard snaps on her dress opening. I kissed her shoulders, the tremble turned into a shudder. Once she bit me, her teeth sinking into my neck. I held her tighter and her breathing turned into a gasp. She was squirming against me, trying to release the passion that was inside her.

My hand found the pull cord on the lamp beside the divan and the place was in darkness. Just the two of us. Little sounds. No words. There wasn’t need for any. A groan once or twice. The rustle of the cushions and the rasping sound of fingernails on broadcloth. The rattle of a belt buckle and the thump of a shoe kicked to the floor. Just the breathing, the wetness of a kiss.

Then silence.

After a bit I turned the light back on. I let my eyes rove. “What a little liar you are,” I laughed.

She pouted. “Why do you say that?”

“No strawberry mark—Mary.”

She gave another chuckle and pulled my hair down in my face. “I thought you’d be interested enough to go looking for it.”

“I ought to swat you.”

“Where?”

“Forget it. You’d probably like it.”

I got up from the divan and poured a drink while Mary readjusted herself. She took the drink from me and polished it off in one gulp. I reached for my hat as I rose to leave. “Does that date still hold for Saturday?” I asked.

“Damn well told,” she smirked, “and don’t be late.”

I sat up late that night with a case of beer. We were coming around the turn into the home stretch now. With a spare pack of butts and the beer handy, I parked in the overstuffed rocker by the open windows and thought the thing out. Three murders so far. The killer still on the loose.

Mentally, I tried to list the things that were still needed to clean up the case. First, what did Jack have that caused his death? Was it the books, or something else? Why did Hal die? Did he go to that house to kill her, to threaten her, to warn her? If the killer was someone I knew how did he follow him in without me seeing him? Plenty to go over here. Lots of probable answers. Which was right?

And George Kalecki. Why was he on the loose? If he had no part in it there was no reason for him to lam. Why did he shoot at me—just because he knew I was after the killer? Possible, and very probable. He had every reason to be the one.

There wasn’t a single person at the party who didn’t have the opportunity to kill Jack. But motive was another thing. Who had that? Myrna?—I’d say no. Purely sentimental reasons.

Charlotte? Hell, no. More sentimental reasons. Besides, her profession didn’t go with crime. She was a doctor. Only a casual friend of Jack’s through Myrna’s sickness. No motive there.

The twins, how about them? One a nymphomaniac, the other I never studied. Plenty of money, no troubles that I knew about. Where did they fit? Did Esther have a motive? Have to find out more about her. And the strawberry mark. Could Mary have been snubbed by Jack? Possible. The way she was, her passions could get the better of her. Could she have made a play for Jack, been rebuffed, then taken it out in murder? If so, why take the books?

Hal Kines. He’s dead.

Eileen Vickers. Dead. Too late to do anything about it now.

Could there be two murderers? Could Hal have killed Jack, then killed Eileen, and been in turn killed with his own gun there in the room? A great possibility, except that there was no sign of a struggle. Eileen’s nude body. Was she professionally prepared to receive a visitor and surprised when her old lover walked in! Why? Why? Why?

Where was the secret to all this hidden? Who did it? It wasn’t in Kalecki’s apartment; not in Jack’s, unless I couldn’t read signs any more.

Was there an outsider?

Hell. I finished another bottle of beer and set the empty down at my feet. I was slowing up. Couldn’t think any more. I wish I knew just where George Kalecki came in. That tie-up would prove important. To me, it looked as if the next step would be to find him. If Hal were alive…

I cut my thoughts short and slapped my leg. Damn, how could I be so simple. Hal hadn’t operated out of the city. He had been going to school. If he had any record of his operations they were there. And that might be exactly what I needed.

As quickly as I could, I dressed. When I had my coat on I shoved an extra clip of cartridges in my pocket and phoned the garage to bring my car around.

It was almost midnight, and a sleepy attendant drove up as soon as I got downstairs. I stuffed a dollar bill into his hand, hopped in and pulled away. Luckily, there was no traffic to worry about this time of night. I beat out a few lights and turned on the West Side Express Highway and headed north. Pat had told me the town the college was in. Ordinarily it was a good three hours’ drive from the city, but I didn’t intend to take that long.

Twice the highway patrol came out of a cutoff after me, but they didn’t stay with my overpowered load very long. I was a little afraid that they might radio ahead to try to throw up a road block to stop me, but nothing happened.

The signs told me when to turn and I got on an unkept country road that had so many ruts I had to slow down, but when the counties changed, so did the road. It changed into a smooth macadam, and I made the rest of the trip going full out.

Packsdale was five miles ahead. The chamber of commerce sign said it was a town of thirty thousand and the county seat. Huba huba. The college wasn’t hard to find. It sat on a hill a mile north of town. Here and there some lights were lit, probably those in the corridors. I slammed on the brakes in time to swing into a gravel drive and roll up to an impressive-looking two-story house squatting a hundred feet back on the campus. The guy must have been in the army. Along the drive he had a yellow and black sign that read: “Mr. Russell Hilbar, Dean of Men.”

The house was completely blacked-out, but that didn’t stop me. I put my finger on the bell and never took it off until the lights blazed up in the place and I could hear footsteps hurrying to the door. The butler stood there with his mouth open. He had thrown on his working jacket on top of a nightshirt. Most ridiculous sight I ever saw. Instead of waiting to be admitted and announced, I pushed into the room and nearly knocked over a tall, distinguished guy in a maroon dressing robe.

“What is this, sir? Who are you?”

I flashed by badge and he squinted at it. “Mike Hammer, Investigator from New York.”

“Aren’t you out of your territory?” he stormed. “What do you want?”

“You had a student here named Harold Kines, didn’t you? I want to see his room.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. Our county police are handling the affair. I’m sure they are capable. Now if you’ll please . . .”

I didn’t let him go any further. “Listen, buddy,” I pounded on his chest with a stiffened forefinger, “it’s quite possible that right now there’s a murderer loose on this campus. If he isn’t a murderer he’s liable to be one if you don’t use your knob and tell me where I can find the room. And if you don’t,” I added, “I’ll smack you so hard you’ll spill your insides all over the joint!”

Russell Hilbar backed up and grabbed the edge of a chair for support. His face had gone pasty white and he looked ready to fault. “I—I never thought . . .” he stammered, “. . . Mr. Kines’ room is on the lower floor in the^ east wing. The room number is 107, right on the southeast corner. But the county police have closed it pending a further investigation and I have no key.”

“The hell with the county police. I’ll get in. Turn these lights off and don’t move out of the house. And stay away from the phone.”

“But the students—will they . . .?”

“I’ll take care of them,” I said as I closed the door.

Outside I had to orientate myself to find the east wing. I picked a low rectangular building out to be the dorms and I wasn’t wrong. The grass muffled any sounds I made, and I crept up on the corner of the wing. I prayed silently that my hunch wasn’t wrong and that I wasn’t too late. As much as possible, I stayed in the shadows, working my way behind the bushes set against the wall.

The window was shoulder high, and down all the way. I took off my hat and put my ear close to the pane, but I couldn’t detect any sound from inside. I took the chance. My fingers went under the sash and I pushed the window up. It slid without a creak. I jumped, and pulled myself into the room, then slid off the sill and landed on my face.

That fall saved my life. Two shots blasted from the corner of the room. The slugs smashed into the window sill behind me and threw splinters in my face. For a brief moment the room was lit up with the weird red glow of the gunflash.

My hand darted under my coat and came out with my rod. Our shots came almost together. I let three go as fast as my finger could pull the trigger. Something tugged at my jacket and I felt my ribs burn. There was another shot from across the room, but it wasn’t directed at me. It went off into the floor of the room and the guy that fired it followed it down.

This time I didn’t take a chance. I jumped the gap between us and landed on a body. I kicked for the gun and heard it skid across the floor. Only then did I switch on the lights.

George Kalecki was dead. My three shots had all caught him in the same place, right in the chest around the heart. But he had time to do what he came to do. In one corner, and still warm, was a pile of ashes in a green metal box.

Chapter Eleven

The next second there was a furious pounding on the door and voices raising cain outside. “Get away from that door and shut up,” I yelled.

“Who’s in there?” a voice demanded.

“Your uncle Charlie,” I shot back. “Now can that chatter and get the dean up here fast as you can and tell him to call the police.”

“Watch the window, fellows,” the voice hollered. “The door is still sealed and he must have gone in that way. That’s it, Duke, take the rifle. No telling who it is.”

These crazy college kids. If one of them got jumpy with that rifle I’d be a dead duck. I stuck my head out the window as four of them came tearing around the corner at top speed. When they saw me they stopped in a flurry of dust. I waved to the big tow-headed kid carrying a .22 repeater. “Come here, you.”

He marched up to the window with the gun out in front of him like he was going to bayonet somebody. He was scared stiff. I palmed my tin and shoved it under his nose. “See this badge?” I said. “I’m a cop, New York. Now keep your noses out of here. If you want to do something, post a guard around the campus until the cops get here and don’t let anyone out. Understand?”

The kid bobbed his head eagerly. He was glad to get away from there. The next second he was shouting orders all over the place. Good ROTC material. The dean came running up blowing like a sick horse. “What happened?” His voice nearly broke when he spoke.

“I just shot a guy. Call the cops and be sure the kids stay out of here.” He took off like a herd of turtles and I was left alone save for the curious voices outside the door. What I had to do had to be done before a lot of hayseed county cops took over.

I let George lay where he had fallen, taking time only to notice the gun. It was a .45, same as mine, and the one he had in his room when I searched it. I recognized a scratch on the butt.

The green box was my next step. I sifted the ashes carefully, trying to determine what they had been. The blackened cover of a note pad lay on the bottom, but it dissolved into dust at my touch. These ashes had been one or more books. I would have given a million dollars to know what they had had in them.

Not a word was visible, so thoroughly had George burned them. I looked around the spot on the floor where the box was originally. A few ashes were there, too. One was larger than the rest and not as well burned through. It had a string of numbers on it. I wondered how he concealed the fire. From outside it would have lit the room up as much as the overhead light would have.

I found out in a moment. A throw rug lay on the floor. When I turned it over the underside was blackened. Stuck to the mesh of the weave was a half-page leaf of the paper. It would have gone well at a murder trial. George was named as the trigger man in a murder, and where the proof could be found was also revealed—in a safe-deposit box in an uptown bank. It even gave the number and the code word. The key was in trust with the bank officer.

So George was a murderer. I had always thought he went that far back in the old days. Well, here was something to prove it. At least it more than justified my self-defense act in gunning him down. I tucked the charred bit into a small envelope I carry for things like this, addressed it to myself and put a stamp on it. This time I used the door. I broke the seal with my shoulder and nearly bowled over a half-dozen kids. When I shooed them away I looked around for a post box and found one at the end of the corridor. I dropped it in and went back to wait for the arrival of the cops.

It was coming out now. Heretofore I thought Kalecki was the big wheel behind the syndicate, but now I could see that he was only a small part of it. Hal Kines had been the big shot. His methods were as subtle as those he used in obtaining his women. He went to enough trouble, but it was worth it. First he picked on guys with a dubious past, and ones against whom he wouldn’t run into much trouble obtaining evidence. When he compiled it, he presented the stuff, or a photostat, and made the guy work with him. If I could have gotten the information that was burned we could have broken the filthiest racket in the world. Too late now, but at least I had a start. Maybe there were duplicates in the strong box, but I doubted that. Hal probably kept his evidence in different boxes for different people. That way, if he had to put the pressure on the group, he could send a note to the cops to investigate such and such a box without having any of his others disturbed. Nice thinking. Very farsighted.

I felt sort of good over having nailed Kalecki, but he still wasn’t the one I wanted. If this kept up there wouldn’t be anyone left at all. There was an outsider in this case. There had to be. One that nobody knew about, except, perhaps, those that were dead.

The county police arrived with all the pomp and ceremony of a presidential inaugural address. The chief, a big florid-faced farmer, pranced into the room with his hand on the butt of a revolver and promptly placed me under arrest for murder. Two minutes later, after a demonstration of arm waving, shouting and bulldozing of which I did not think myself capable, he retreated hastily and just as promptly unarrested me. However, to soothe his ruffled feelings I let him inspect my private operator’s license, my gun permit and a few other items of identification.

I let him listen to me put in the call to Pat. These county cops have no respect for authority outside their own limits, but when he got on the phone, Pat threatened him with calling the governor unless he cooperated with me. I gave him what details were necessary to keep him busy awhile, then took off for New York.

Going back I took it easier. It was early morning when I stopped outside of Pat’s office and my eyes wouldn’t stay open. He was waiting for me nevertheless. As quickly as I could I gave him the details of the shooting. He dispatched a car upstate to get photographs and see if there was anything to be learned from the ashes of the burned notebooks.

I didn’t feel like going home, so I called Charlotte. She was up and dressed for an early appointment.

“Can you stay put until I get there?” I queried.

“Certainly, Mike. Hurry up. I want to hear what happened.”

“Be there in fifteen minutes,” I said, then hung up.

It took thirty, traffic was pretty heavy. Charlotte was in the door while Kathy was dusting. She took my coat and hat and I headed for the sofa. I relaxed with a sigh, and she bent down and kissed me. I hardly had enough energy to kiss her back. With her there beside me I told the whole story. Charlotte was a good listener. When I finished she stroked my forehead and my face.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

“Yeah. Tell me what makes a nymphomaniac.”

“So? You’ve been to see her again!” Her answer was indignant.

“Business, darling.” I wondered when I’d be able to stop using that line.

Charlotte laughed. “That’s all right. I understand. As for your question, a nymphomaniac can be either a case of gradual development through environment or born into a person. Some people are oversexed, a glandular difficulty. Others can be repressed in childhood, and when they find themselves in an adult world, no longer the victim of senseless restrictions, they go hog wild. Why?”

I evaded the why and asked, “Can the ones with emotional difficulty go bad?”

“You mean, will they kill as a result of their emotional overload? I’d say offhand, no. They find an easier out for their emotions.”

“For instance,” I parried.

“Well, if a nymphomaniac showers a great deal of emotion on a person, then is rebuffed, instead of killing the one who spurned her, she simply finds another with whom to become emotionally entangled. It’s quicker, besides being more effective. If she suffers a loss of prowess from the rebuff, this new person renews her. See?”

I got what she was driving at, but there was still something else. “Would it be likely for both the twins to be nymphomaniacs?”

Charlotte gave me that delightful laugh. “Possible, but it doesn’t happen to be so. You see, I know them rather well. Not too well, but enough to determine their characters. Mary is beyond help. She likes to be the way she is. I daresay she has more fun than her sister, but Esther has seen so many of her escapades and helped her out of trouble, that she has a tendency to turn away from love affairs herself. Esther is a charming enough person, all right. Just about everything her sister has without the craze for men. When a man does drop into Esther’s life, she’ll take it naturally.”

“I’ll have to meet her,” I said, sleepily. “By the way, are you going up to their place this week end?”

“Why, yes, Mary invited me. I’ll be late getting there, but I won’t miss the game. However, I have to come back right after it. Are you going?”

“Uh-huh. I’m going to drive Myrna up. That is, I still have to call her so she’ll know about it.”

“Swell,” she said. That was the last word I heard. I fell into a sleep as deep as the ocean.

When I awoke I glanced at my watch. It was nearly four in the afternoon. Kathy heard me stir and came into the room with a tray of bacon and eggs and coffee.

“Heah’s yo’ breakfast, Mistah Hammah. Miss Charlotte tell me to take good care of ya’ll till she comes home.” Kathy gave me a toothy white smile and waddled out after setting the tray down.

I gulped the eggs hungrily and polished off three cups of coffee. Then I called Myrna and she told me that it was okay to pick her up at ten A. M. Saturday. I hung up and poked around the bookshelves for something to read while I waited. Most of the fiction I had read, so I passed on to some of Charlotte’s textbooks. One was a honey called Hypnosis as a Treatment for Mental Disorders. I skimmed through it. Too wordy. It gave the procedure for putting a patient into a state of relaxation, inducing hypnosis, and suggesting treatment. That way, the patient later went about effecting his own cure automatically.

That would have been a nice stunt for me to learn if I could do it. I pictured myself putting the eye on a beautiful doll and—hell, that was nasty. Besides, I wasn’t that bad off. I chose one that had a lot of pictures. This one was titled, Psychology of Marriage. Brother, it was a dilly. If it weren’t for the big words I would have enjoyed it. I wished they would write stuff like that in language for the layman.

Charlotte came in when I was on the last chapter. She took the book out of my hand and saw what I was reading. “Thinking of anything special?” she asked.

I gave her a silly grin. “Better get the low-down now while I’m able to. Can’t say how long I’m going to have the strength to hold off.” She kissed me and whipped me up a Scotch and soda. When I downed it I told Kathy to get my hat and coat. Charlotte looked disappointed.

“Have to leave so soon? I thought you’d stay to dinner at least.”

“Not tonight, honey. I have a job for my tailor and I want to get cleaned up. I don’t suppose you’d have a razor handy.” I pointed to the bullet hole in my coat. Charlotte got a little white when she saw how close it had come.

“Are . . . are you hurt, Mike?”

“Hell, no. Got a bullet burn across the ribs but it never broke the skin.” I pulled up my shirt to confirm it, then got dressed. The phone rang just then and she took it.

She frowned once or twice, said, “Are you sure? All right, I’ll look into it.” When she hung up I asked her what the matter was. “A client. Responded to treatment, then lapsed into his former state. I think I’ll prescribe a sedative and see him in the morning.” She went to her desk.

“I’ll run along then. Maybe I’ll see you later. Right now I want to get a haircut before I do anything else.”

“Okay, darling.” She came over and put her arms around me. “There’s a place on the corner.”

“That’ll do as well as any,” I told her between kisses.

“Hurry back, Mike.”

“You bet, darling.”

Luckily, the place was empty. A guy was just getting out of the chair when I went in. I hung my coat on a hook and plunked into the seat. “Trim,” I told the barber. After he ogled my rod a bit, he draped me with the sheet and the clippers buzzed. Fifteen minutes later he dusted me off and I walked out of there slicked down like an uptown sharpie. I got the boiler rolling and turned across town to get on Broadway.

I heard the sirens wailing, but I didn’t know it was Pat until the squad car shot past me and I saw him leaning out of the side window. He was too busy to notice me, but cut across the intersection while the cop on the corner held traffic back. Further down the avenue another siren was blasting a path northward.

It was more a hunch than anything else, the same kind of a hunch that put me on the trail of George Kalecki. And this one paid off, too, but in a way I didn’t recognize at first. As soon as the cop on the corner waved us on, I followed the howl of police cars and turned left on Lexington Avenue. Up ahead I saw the white top of Pat’s car weaving in and out of the lanes. It slowed down momentarily and turned into a side street.

This time I had to park a block away. Two police cars had the street barred to traffic at either end. I flashed my badge and my card to the patrolman on the corner. He let me pass and I hurried down to the little knot of people gathered outside a drugstore. Pat was there with what looked like the whole homicide bureau. I pushed my way through the crowd and nodded to Pat. I followed his eyes down to the crumpled figure on the sidewalk. Blood had spilled out of the single hole in the back, staining the shabby coat a deep maroon. Pat told me to go ahead and I turned the face around to see who it was.

I whistled. Bobo Hopper would keep bees no longer.

Pat indicated the body. “Know him?”

I nodded, “Yeah. Know him well. His name is Hopper, Bobo Hopper. A hell of a nice guy even if he was a moron. Never hurt anything in his life. He used to be one of Kalecki’s runners.”

“He was shot with a .45, Mike.”

“What!” I exploded.

“There’s something else now. Dope. Come over here.” Pat took me inside the drugstore. The fat little clerk was facing a battery of detectives led by a heavy-set guy in a blue serge suit. I knew him all too well. He never liked me much since I blew a case wide open under his very nose. He was Inspector Daly of the narcotics squad.

Daly turned to me. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Same thing you are, I think.”

“Well, you can start walking as of now. I don’t want any private noses snooping around. Go on, beat it.”

“One moment, Inspector.” When Pat talked in that tone of voice he could command attention. Daly respected Pat. They were different kinds of cop. Daly had come up the hard way, with more time between promotions, while Pat had achieved his position through the scientific approach to crime. Even though they didn’t see eye to eye in their methods, Daly was man enough to give Pat credit where credit was due and listen to him.

“Mike has an unusual interest in this case,” he continued. “It was through him we got as far as we have. If you don’t mind, I would like him to keep in close touch with this.”

Daly glared at me and shrugged his beefy shoulders. “Okay. Let him stay. Only be sure you don’t withhold any evidence,” he spat at me.

The last time I was involved in a case he was working on I had to play my cards close to my vest, but hanging on to the evidence I had led me to a big-time drug dealer we never would have nailed otherwise. Daly never forgot that.

The head of the narcotics bureau was blasting away at the druggist and I picked up every word. “Once more now. Give me the whole thing and see what else you can remember.”

Harried to the breaking point, the druggist wrung his pudgy hands and looked at the sea of faces glaring at him. Pat must have had the most sympathetic expression, so he spoke to him.

“I was doing nothing. Sweeping out under the counter, maybe. That is all. This man, he walks in and says fill a prescription. Very worried he was. He hands me a broken box that has nothing written on the cover. He says to me he will lose his job and nobody will trust him if I can’t do it. He drops the box he was delivering and somebody steps on it and his prescription is all over the sidewalk.

“This powder was coming out of the sides. I take it in the back and taste it yet, then test it. Pretty sure I was that I knew what was in it, and when I test it I was positive. Heroin. This should not be, so like a good citizen I phone the police and tell them what I have. They tell me to keep him here, but how do I know that he is not a gangster and will shoot me?” Here the little guy stopped and shuddered.

“I have a family yet. I take my time, but he tells me to hurry up and puts his hand in a pocket. Maybe he has a gun. What can I do? I fill another box with boric acid, charge him a dollar and he walks out. I leave my counter to go see where he goes, but before I get to the door he falls to the sidewalk. He is shot. All the way dead. I call police again, then you come.”

“See anyone running off?” Pat asked.

He shook his head. “Nobody. At this time it is slow. Nobody on the street.”

“Did you hear a shot?”

“No. That I could not understand. I was too scared. I see the blood from the hole and I run back inside.”

Pat stroked his chin. “How about a car. Did any go by at that time?”

The little guy squinted his eyes and thought back. Once he started to speak, stopped, then reassured, said, “Y-yes. Now that you remind me, I think one goes by just before. Yes. I am sure of it. Very slow it goes and it was turning.” He continued hurriedly from here. “Like it was coming from the curb maybe. It goes past, then when I am outside it is gone. I don’t even look for it after that, so scared I am.”

Daly had one of his men taking the whole thing down in shorthand. Pat and I had heard enough. We went outside to the body and checked the bullet angle. From the position of where it lay, the killer had been going toward Lexington when the shot was fired. The packet of boric acid, now a blood red, lay underneath Bobo’s hand. We patted the pockets. Empty. His wallet held eight dollars and a library card. Inside the coat was a booklet on the raising of bees.

“Silencer,” Pat said. “I’ll give ten to one it’s the same gun.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet,” I agreed.

“What do you make of it, Mike?”

“I don’t know. If Kalecki were alive it would involve him even deeper. First prostitution, now dope. That is, if Bobo was still working for Kalecki. He said not, and I believed him. I thought Bobo was too simple to try to deceive anybody. I’m not so sure now.”

We both stared at the body a bit, then walked down the street a way by ourselves. I happened to think of something.

“Pat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Remember when Kalecki was shot at in his home? When he tried to put the finger on me?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“It was the killer’s gun. The killer we want fired that shot. Why? Can you make anything out of it? Even then Kalecki was on the spot for something and he moved to town for his own protection. That’s what we want, the answer to the question of why he was shot at.”

“That’s going to take some doing, Mike. The only ones that can tell us are dead.”

I gave him a grin. “No. There’s still someone. The killer. He knows why. Have you anything to do right now?”

“Nothing I can’t put off. This case will be in Daly’s hands for a while. Why?”

I took his arm and walked him around the block to my car. We got in and headed toward my apartment.

The mailman was just coming out when we got there. I opened my box and drew out the envelope I addressed to myself at the college and ripped it open. I explained to Pat I had to get the piece of charred evidence out of the hands of those hick cops while I could and he agreed that I did it right.

Pat knew the ropes. He put in three phone calls and when we reached the bank a guard ushered us into the office of the president. By that time he had already received the court order by phone to permit us to inspect the box listed on the slip.

It was there, all of it. Evidence enough to hang George Kalecki a dozen times over. I was really grateful now that I had put a slug into him. The guy was a rat, all right. He had his fingers in more than I had suspected. There were photostats of checks, letters, a few original documents, and plenty of material to indict George Kalecki for every vice charge there was, including a few new ones. But nothing else. Where George had gone there was no need for a court. Hal Kines had tied him up in a knot with both ends leading to the hot squat if he had tried to make a break.

Pat ran over the stuff twice, then scooped them all into a large envelope, signed for it and left. Outside I asked, “What are you going to do with the junk?”

“Go over it carefully. Maybe I can trace these checks even though they are made out to cash and don’t show the signature on the reverse side. How about you?”

“Might as well go home like I planned. Why, got something else?”

Pat laughed. “We’ll see. I had the idea you might be holding out on me, so I wasn’t going to tell you this, but since you’re still playing it square I’ll let you in on something.”

He took a pad from his pocket and flipped it open.

“Here’s some names. See if you know anything about them.”

Pat cleared his throat.

“Henry Strebhouse, Carmen Silby, Thelma B. Duval, Virginia R. Reims, Conrad Stevens.” Pat stopped and waited, looking at me expectantly.

“Strebhouse and Stevens spent a stretch in the big house,” I said. “I don’t know the others. Think I saw the Duval girl’s name in the society columns once.”

“You did. Well, you’re not much help, so I’ll tell you. Each one of these people is in city or private sanitariums. Dope fiends.”

“That’s nice,” I mused. “How did it get out?”

“Vice squad reported it.”

“Yeah. I know they’ve been on something like that, but it’s funny it didn’t reach the papers. Oh, I get it. They haven’t found the source yet, huh? What is it?”

Pat gave me a wry grin. “That’s what Daly would like to know. None of them will reveal it. Not even under threat of imprisonment. Unfortunately for us, some of them have connections too high up for us to try to extract information the hard way. We did get this, though, the stuff was delivered to them via a half-witted little guy who didn’t know from nothing.”

I let my breath go out hard. “Bobo!”

“Exactly. They’ll be able to identify him—if they will. Maybe his death will make them clam up even tighter.”

“Damn,” I said softly, “and while they’re under treatment we can’t push them. Our hands are tied very neatly. There’s a tie-up, Pat, there has to be. Look how closely all this is connected. At first glance it seems to be loose as hell, but it’s not. Bobo and Kalecki . . . Hal and Kalecki . . . Hal and Eileen . . . Eileen and Jack. Either we’ve run into an outfit that had a lot of irons in the fire or else it was a chain reaction. Jack started it going and the killer knocked him off, but the killer had to cover up something else. From then on it was a vicious circle. Brother, have we run into something!”

“You’re not kidding. And we’re standing right in the bottom of the well. Now what?”

“Beats me, Pat. I see a little light now, a few things are falling into place.”

“What?”

“I’d rather not say. Just little things. They don’t point in any direction except to tell me that the killer has a damn good motive for all this.”

“Still racing me, Mike?”

“You can bet your pretty white tail on that! I think we’re in the home stretch, but the track is muddy now and bogging us down. We’ll have to plod through it to firmer ground before we can start whipping it up.” I grinned at him. “You won’t beat me out, Pat.”

“What do you bet?”

“A steak dinner.”

“Taken.”

I left him then. He grabbed a cab back to the office and I went up to my apartment. When I took off my pants I felt for my wallet. It was gone. That was nice. Had two hundred berries in my billfold and I couldn’t afford to lose it. I put my pants back on and went down to the car. Not there, either. I thought. I might have dropped it in the barber shop, but I paid that bill with change I had in my side pocket. Damn.

I climbed back in the car and turned it over, then headed south to Charlotte’s apartment. The lobby door was open and I walked up. I rang the bell twice, but no one answered. Someone was inside, though, and I could hear a voice singing Swanee River, I pounded on the door and Kathy opened it up.

“What’s the matter,” I asked her, “doesn’t the bell ring anymore?”

“Sho’ nuff, Mistah Hammah. Ah think so. Come in. Come in.”

When I walked in the door Charlotte came running out to meet me. She had on a stained smock and a pair of rubber gloves. “Hey, honey,” she smiled at me. “You sure made that trip fast. Goody, goody, goody.” She threw her arms around me and tilted her head for a kiss. Kathy stood there watching, her teeth flashing whitely in her mouth.

“Go ‘way,” I grinned. Kathy turned her back so I could kiss her boss. Charlotte sighed and laid her head against my chest.

“Going to stay now?”

“Nope.”

“Oh , . . why? You just got here.”

“I came to get my wallet.” I walked over to the sofa with her and ran my hand down behind the cushions. I found it. The darn thing had slipped out of my hip pocket while I was asleep and stuck there.

“Now I suppose you’re going to accuse me of stealing all your money,” Charlotte pouted.

“Idiot.” I kissed the top of her blonde head. “What are you doing in this outfit?” I fingered the smock.

“Developing pictures. Want to see them?” She led me to her darkroom and turned out the lights. As she did so, a red glow came from the shield over the sink. Charlotte put some films in the developer, and in a few moments printed up a pic of a guy sitting in a chair, hands glued to the metal arms, and a strained expression on his face. She flicked the overhead on and looked over the photo.

“Who’s this?”

“A clinical patient. As a matter of fact, that is one that Hal Kines had released from the charity ward of the city hospital to undergo treatment in our clinic.”

“What’s the matter with him? The guy looks scared to death.”

“He’s in a state of what is commonly known as hypnosis. Actually there’s nothing more to it than inducing in the patient a sense of relaxation and confidence. In this case, the patient was a confirmed kleptomaniac. It wasn’t found out until he was admitted to the city ward after being found nearly dead of starvation on the streets.

“When we got to the bottom of his mental status, we found that in childhood he had been deprived of everything and had to steal to get what he wanted. Through a friend, I got him a job and explained why he had been like that. Once understanding his condition, he was able to overcome it. Now he’s doing quite well.”

I put the pic back in a rack and looked the place over. She had certainly spent enough fixing up the darkroom. I saw where I was going to have to earn more than I did to support a wife who had such a lavish hobby.

Charlotte must have read my mind. “After we’re married,” she smiled, “I’ll give all this up and have my pictures developed at the corner drugstore.”

“Naw, we’ll do all right.” She grabbed me and hung on. I kissed her so hard I hurt my mouth this time. It was a wonder she could breathe, I held her so tightly.

We walked to the door arm in arm. “What about tonight, Mike? Where will we go?”

“I don’t know. To the movies, maybe.”

“Swell, I’d like that.” I opened the door. When I did I pointed to the chime behind it. “How come it doesn’t ring any more?”

“Oh, phooey.” Charlotte poked under the rug with her toe. “Kathy has been using the vacuum in here again. She always knocks out the plug.” I bent down and stuck it back in the socket.

“See you about eight, kitten,” I said as I left. She waited until I was nearly out of sight down the stairs, then blew me a kiss and shut the door.

Chapter Twelve

My tailor had a fit when he saw the bullet hole in my coat. I guess he was afraid he was coming close to losing a good customer. He pleaded with me to be careful, then told me he’d have the cloth rewoven by next week. I picked up my other suit and went home.

The phone was ringing when I opened the door. I dropped the suit over the back of a chair and grabbed the receiver. It was Pat.

“I just got a report on the bullet that killed Bobo Hopper, Mike.”

“Go on.” I was all excited now.

“Same one.”

“That does it, Pat. Anything else?”

“Yeah, I have Kalecki’s gun here, too. The bullet doesn’t fit except with the ones he let loose at you. We traced the serial number and it was sold down South. It went through two more hands and wound up in a pawnshop on Third Avenue where it went to a guy named George K. Masters.”

So that was how George got the gun. No wonder there was no record of it before. Kalecki was his middle, and probably a family, name. I thanked Pat and hung up. Now why the hell would Kalecki be using that name? Not unless he was liable to be traced through his real one for a crime committed some time ago. At any rate, the question would have to remain unanswered unless Pat could make some sense out of the evidence we found in the safe-deposit box. You can’t prosecute a corpse.

After I ate, I showered and was getting dressed when the phone went off again. This time it was Myrna. She wanted me to pick her up earlier, if I could, tomorrow morning. That was all right with me and I told her so. She still sounded pretty bad and I was glad to do what I could to help her out. Maybe the ride into the country would do her good. Poor kid, she needed something to cheer her up. The only thing that had me worried was that she might try going back on the junk again to get Jack’s death out of her mind. She was a smart girl. There were other ways. Some day she would settle down with a nice fellow and Jack would be but a memory. That’s the way nature made us. Maybe it’s best.

Charlotte met me in front of the apartment house. When she saw me coming she tapped her foot impatiently as though she had been waiting an hour. “Mike,” she said fiercely, “you’re late. A whole five minutes. Explain.”

“Don’t beat me with that whip,” I laughed. “I got held up in traffic.”

“A likely excuse. I bet you were trying to see what makes a nymphomaniac tick again.” She was a little devil.

“Shut up and climb in. We’ll never get a seat in the show otherwise.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m in the mood for a good ‘who-dun-it’ if you are. Maybe I can pick up something new in detecting techniques.”

“Swell. Let’s go, Macduff.”

We finally found a small theater along the stem that didn’t have a line outside a mile long, and we sat through two and a half hours of a fantastic murder mystery that had more holes in it than a piece of swiss cheese, and a

Western that moved as slowly as the Long Island Rail Road during a snowstorm.

When we got out I thought I had blisters on my butt. Charlotte suggested having a sandwich, so we stopped in a dog wagon for poached eggs on toast, then moved on down to a bar for a drink. I ordered beer, and when Charlotte did the same I raised my eyebrows.

“Go ahead, get what you want. I got dough.”

She giggled. “Silly, I like beer. Always have.”

“Well, glad to hear it. I can’t make you out. An expensive hobby, but you drink beer. Maybe you aren’t going to be so hard to keep after all.”

“Oh, if it comes to a pinch, I can always go back to work.”

“Nothing doing. No wife of mine is going to work. I want her at home where I know where she is.”

Charlotte laid her beer down and looked at me wickedly. “Has it ever occurred to you that you’ve never even proposed to me? How do you know I’ll have you?”

“Okay, minx,” I said. I took her hand in mine and raised it to my lips. “Will you marry me?”

She started to laugh, but tears came into her eyes and she pushed her face against my shoulder. “Oh, Mike, yes. Yes. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, kitten. Now drink your drink. Tomorrow night at the twins’ place we’ll duck the crowd and make some plans.”

“Kiss me.”

A couple of wise guys were watching me leeringly. I didn’t care. I kissed her easy like.

“When do I get my ring?” she wanted to know.

“Soon. I have a few checks coming in this week or next and we can go down to Tiffany’s and pick one up. How’s that?”

“Wonderful, Mike, wonderful. I’m so happy.”

We finished the beer, had another, then started out. The pair of wise guys threw me a “hey, hey” as I passed. I dropped Charlotte’s arm for a second, then put my hands on each side of their heads and brought them together with a clunk like a couple of gourds. Both the guys were sitting upright on their stools. In the mirror I could see their eyes. They looked like four agate marbles. The bartender was watching me, his mouth open. I waved to him and took Charlotte out. Behind me the two guys fell off their stools and hit the deck like wet rags.

“My protector.” She squeezed my arm.

“Aw shadup,” I grinned. I felt pretty good right then.

Kathy was sleeping, so we tiptoed in. Charlotte put her hand over the chime to stop its reverberations, but even then we heard the maid stop snoring. She must have gone over on her back again because the snoring resumed.

She took off her coat, then asked, “Want a drink?”

“Nope.”

“What then?”

“You.” The next second she was in my arms, kissing me. Her breasts were pulsating with passion. I held her as closely as I could.

“Tell me, Mike.”

“I love you.” She kissed me again. I pushed her away and picked up my hat.

“Enough, darling,” I said. “After all, I’m only a man. One more kiss like that and I won’t be able to wait until after we’re married.” She grinned and threw herself at me for that kiss, but I held her off.

“Please, Mike?”

“No.”

“Then let’s get married right away. Tomorrow.”

I had to smile. She was so damn adorable. “Not tomorrow, but very soon, honey, I can’t hold out much longer.”

She held the chime while I opened the door. I kissed her lightly and slipped out. I could see where I wouldn’t get much sleep that night. When Velda heard about this she’d throw the roof at me. I hated to tell her.

My alarm went off at six. I slapped the button down to stop the racket, then sat up and stretched. When I looked out the window the sun was shining—a beautiful day. A half-empty bottle of beer was on the night table and I took a swallow. It was as flat as a table-top mesa.

After a shower I threw a robe around me and dug in the pantry for something to eat. The only box of cereal had teeth marks in it where a mouse had beaten me to it, so I opened a sack of potatoes and onions and stripped them into a pan of grease and let the whole mess cook while I made coffee.

I burned the potatoes, but they tasted good just the same. Even my coffee was agreeable. This time next month I’d be eating across the table from a gorgeous blonde. What a wife she was going to make!

Myrna was up when I called her. She said she’d be ready at eight and reminded me not to be late. I promised her I wouldn’t, then buzzed Charlotte.

“Hello, lazy,” I yawned.

“You don’t sound so bright yourself this time of the morning.”

“Well, I am. What are you doing?”

“Trying to get some sleep. After the state you left me in last night I didn’t close my eyes for three hours. I lay in bed wide awake.”

That made me feel good. “I know what you mean. What time will you be at the Bellemy place?”

“Still early in the evening unless I can break away sooner. At least I’ll be there for the game. Who is it that’s playing?”

“I forget. A couple of fancy hot shots that Mary and Esther imported. I’ll be waiting for you to show up, so make it snappy.”

“Okay, darling.” She kissed me over the phone and I gave her one back before I hung up.

Velda wouldn’t be in the office yet, so I called her at home. When she answered I could hear a background of bacon sizzling on the fire. “Hello, Velda, Mike.”

“Hey, what are you doing up so early?”

“I have an important date.”

“Anything to do with the case?”

“Er ... it may have, but I’m not sure. I can’t afford to miss it. If Pat calls, tell him I can be reached at the home of the Misses Bellemy. He has their number.”

Velda didn’t answer at first. I knew she was trying to figure out what I was up to. “All right,” she said finally. “Just watch what you’re doing. Anything I can take care of while you’re gone?”

“No, guess not.”

“By the way, how long are you going to be gone this time?”

“Maybe until Monday, maybe not.”

“Very well, see you, Mike. So long.”

I threw her a quick so long and put the phone on its chocks. Oh, how I hated to tell Velda about Charlotte! If only she wouldn’t cry. What the hell, that’s life. Velda just missed. If Charlotte hadn’t come along I would have tied up with her. I used to feel like I wanted to, but never had time. Oh, well.

Myrna was dressed and ready when I arrived. She had packed a bag and I took it down to the car. She didn’t look too good. There were still dark spots under her eyes and her cheekbones were a little too prominent. She had bought a new dress for the occasion, a nice flowered print, and under the light blue of the wool coat it made her face look lovely, that is, unless you looked too closely.

I didn’t want to mention Jack at all, so we talked about the day and anything trivial that came up. I knew she had seen the front-page headlines about me knocking off Kalecki, but she avoided the subject.

It was a nice day. Out of the city the roads were fairly empty and we rolled along at a conservative fifty. That way I didn’t have to bother about the highway patrol. We passed a few open lots where the kids were getting in an early ball game. I saw tears come into Myrna’s eyes when we passed some small cottages. I winced. She was taking it hard.

Gradually I led the conversation around to the tennis match that night and got her mind off what she was thinking. It wasn’t long afterward that we pulled into the private drive of the Bellemy estate. I thought we were early, but there were two dozen others there before us. A row of cars ran along the side of the mansion and one of the twins came out to meet us. I didn’t know which one it was until she said, “Hello, sissy.”

“Hello, Mary,” I said through a smile. She had on a halter and a pair of shorts that left nothing to the imagination. Both pieces were so tight every line of her body showed through and she knew it. I couldn’t get my eyes off her legs, and walking up to the house she kept brushing against me.

That had to cease. I shifted Myrna’s grip over to keep a barrier between us and Mary broke out into a giggle. At the house she turned Myrna over to a maid, then turned to me. “Didn’t you bring some sport clothes along?”

“Yup. But all the sports I intend to indulge in will be done at the bar.”

“Nuts. Go get in a pair of slacks. There’s a golf game to be held behind the house and a lot of the kids are looking for partners for a tennis game.”

“For Pete’s sake, I’m no athlete.”

Mary stood off a few feet and looked me over from top to bottom. “You look like an athlete if I ever saw one.”

“What kind?” I joked.

“A bed athlete.” Her eyes said that she wasn’t joking.

She walked back to the car with me to get my clothes. When we got in the house she showed me to a room, an oversized thing with a huge four-poster smack in the middle of it.

Mary couldn’t wait until I closed the door. She flung herself at me and opened her mouth. Hell, I couldn’t disappoint the hostess, so I kissed her.

“Now scram while I get dressed,” I told her.

Her mouth went into a pout. “Why?”

“Look,” I tried to be convincing, “I don’t get undressed in front of women.”

“Since when?” she asked impishly.

“It was dark then,” I told her. “Besides, it’s too early for that.”

I got another one of those sexy smiles. Her eyes were begging me to undress her. “Okay . . . sissy.” She closed the door behind her and I heard that deep-throated laugh.

The gang outside was making a racket and I poked my head out the window to see what was up. Directly beneath me two underweight males were having a hair-pulling match while four others egged them on. What a place. The two boys hit the dirt together and followed by a slap or two. I grinned. A couple of pansies trying to decide who would be Queen of the May. I drew a pitcher of water from the sink and let it go on their blonde heads.

That ended the fight. They both let out a falsetto scream and got up running The gang saw me and howled. It was a good gag.

Mary met me downstairs. She was lounging against the porch railing smoking a cigarette. I came out in slacks and a sweat shirt and tossed her a hello. Myrna joined us at the same time swinging a tennis racket against her legs. I could see that Mary was disappointed at not getting me alone. The three of us walked across the lawn to the courts with Mary hanging on to my arm. Before we quite reached there another edition of her stepped out of a group of players and waved to us. Esther Bellemy.

She was another to make your mouth drool. She recognized me immediately and offered a firm handshake. Her manner was cool and reserved. I saw what Charlotte meant when she said Esther wasn’t like her sister. However, there seemed to be no resentment or jealousy. Esther had her admirers, too. We were introduced all around to a lot of people whose names I forgot as soon as I met them, and Mary carted me off to a vacant court for a game of singles.

Tennis wasn’t in my line, she found out. After a hectic ten minutes I had batted the balls over the fence and we gathered them up and put them in a box and laid the rackets down. Mary sat on a bench beside me with her brown legs stuck out in front of her while I cooled off.

“Why are we wasting time out here, Mike? Your room is so much nicer.”

Some dame. “You rush things, Mary. Why aren’t you more like your sister?”

She gave me a short laugh. “Maybe I am.”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, I guess. But Esther keeps her eyes open, too. She’s no virgin.”

“How do you know?”

Mary giggled and folded her knees under her hands. “She keeps a diary.”

“I bet yours is a lot thicker,” I said.

“Uh-huh, lots.”

I took her hand and pulled her from the bench. “Come on, show me where the bar is.”

We took a flagstone path back to the house and entered through a pair of French windows. The bar was built off a trophy room that was well packed with cups and medals, decorated with live-oak paneling and blown-up photographs of the Bellemy sisters winning everything from a golf game to a ski jump. They certainly were an active pair. The curious thing about it was that they didn’t like publicity. I wondered where the rumor started that they were looking for husbands. Husbands that would satisfy, maybe.

I guess Mary gave me up as hopeless for a while. She left me with a colored bartender who sat at the end of the thirty-foot bar reading a stack of comic magazines, getting up only long enough to pour me a fresh drink every time I emptied my glass.

Several times I had company, but not for long. Myrna came in once, then left after a few pleasant words. Some other tootsies tried their hand at making a strange face but were dragged off by their boy friends who chased them into the bar. One of the pansies I doused did his bit, too, and all it took to get him out was a strong hand on the seat of his shorts and another around his neck. The whole deal was getting very monotonous. I wished Charlotte would get here. I thought I’d have a nice time with Mary, but compared to Charlotte she was a flop. Mary only had sex. Charlotte had that—plus a lot more.

I managed to sneak out without the bartender seeing me and found my room. There I changed back to my street clothes, patted old junior under my arm and lay down on the bed. Now I felt normal.

The drinks did more to me than I thought. I didn’t pass out, I simply fell asleep, but quick. The next thing I knew someone was shaking me and I looked up into the prettiest face in the world. Before my eyes were all the way open, Charlotte kissed me, then mussed my hair.

“Is this the way you greet me? I thought you’d be at the gate waiting for me with open arms.”

“Hello, beautiful,” I said.

I pulled her down on the bed and kissed her. “What time is it?” She looked at her watch.

“Seven-thirty.”

“Holy cow! I slept the whole day out practically!”

“I’ll say you have. Now get dressed and come downstairs for dinner. I want to see Myrna.”

We got up and I saw her to the door, then washed my face and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of my coat. When I thought I was presentable enough I went downstairs. Mary saw me and waved me over. “You’re sitting by me tonight,” she told me.

The crowd was beginning to file in and I found the place card with my name on it. Charlotte was sitting directly opposite me at any rate. I felt much better at that. The two of them ought to be fun unless Mary started playing kneesy under the table.

Charlotte sat down with a smile and Myrna was next to her. Through the appetizer they spoke to each other earnestly, laughing occasionally over some private joke.

I glanced down the table to see if there was anyone I knew. One face seemed fairly familiar, although I couldn’t place it. He was a short, skinny guy, dressed in a dark grey flannel. His only conversation was with the heavy-set woman opposite him. There was so much chatter at the table I couldn’t get a line on what they were talking about, but I saw him sneak a few side glances my way.

He happened to turn his full face toward me for a moment, then I recognized him. He was one of the men I had seen going into Madam June’s call house the night of the raid.

I nudged Mary and she quit talking to the guy on her other side long enough to look my way. “Who’s the squirt down at the end?” I asked, motioning with my fork.

Mary picked him out and said, “Why, that’s Harmon Wilder, our attorney. He’s the one who invests our money for us. Why?”

“Just curious. I thought I recognized him.”

“You should. He used to be one of the best criminal lawyers in the country before he gave it up for a private practice in something less sensational.”

I said, “Oh,” then returned to my food. Charlotte had found my foot under the table and tapped it with her toe. Behind the table the lawn was moon-lit—a perfect night. I’d be glad when supper was over.

Mary tried me out in conversation all too suggestive. I saw Charlotte give her a glance that was full of fire, winked, then cut Mary off pretty sharply. She sort of got the idea that something was up between me and Charlotte and whispered into my ear. “I’ll get you tonight, big stuff— after she’s gone.”

She yelped when I stuck my elbow in her ribs.

Dinner ended when one of the fruits fell out of his chair at the table’s end. Right after that there was a lot of noise and the two tennis players who were to be featured in the game that night stood up and toasted success to each other with glasses of milk.

I managed to get through to Charlotte and took Myrna and her out to the courts together. A lot of cars were driving up, probably some neighbors invited just for the game. The floodlights had been turned on over the sunbaked clay, and bleacher seats had been erected sometime during the latter part of the afternoon while I was asleep.

There was a general scramble for seats and we missed. Charlotte and Myrna spread their handkerchiefs down on the grass along the border of the playing field and we waited while the crowd got six deep behind us. I had never seen a real tennis game, but from what I had seen, I didn’t think there were that many people who liked the game.

There were announcements over a portable loud-speaker and the players took their places. Then they went into action. I had more fun watching the spectators’ heads going back and forth like a bunch of monkeys on sticks than I did the game itself.

These boys were pretty good. They worked up a terrific sweat but they kept after that ball, running themselves ragged. Occasionally there would be a spectacular play and the crowd would let out a cheer. On a high bench, the referee announced the score.

Myrna kept pressing her hand to her head, then between sets she excused herself to Charlotte and me saying that she wanted to go to the cloakroom and get an aspirin.

No sooner had she left when Mary plunked herself down in the same spot beside me and started her routine. I waited for Charlotte to start something, but she merely smiled grimly and let me fight it out myself.

Mary tapped her on the shoulder. “Can I borrow your man a few minutes? I want him to meet some people.”

“Sure, go ahead.” Charlotte winked gaily at me and made believe she was pouting, but she knew she had me. From now on Charlotte had nothing to worry about. Just the same I felt like throttling Mary. Just sitting there had been nice.

We wormed out through the gang who had moved up to take new places and stretch themselves between sets. Mary took me around to the other side, then started walking toward the woods.

“Where’re the people you wanted me to meet?” I asked.

Her hand groped for mine in the darkness. “Don’t be silly,” she answered. “I just want you to myself for a while.”

“Look, Mary,” I explained, “it’s no good. The other night was a mistake. Charlotte and I are engaged. I can’t be fooling around with you. It isn’t fair to either of you.”

She tucked her arm under mine. “Oh, but you don’t have to marry me. I don’t want that. It takes all the fun out of it.”

What was I going to do with a woman like that? “Listen,” I told her, “you’re a nice kid and I like you a lot, but you are a serious complication to me.”

She let my arm go. We were under a tree now, and it was pitch black. I could barely see the outline of her face. The moon which not so long ago had been out in full brilliance had disappeared behind a cloud. I kept talking to her, trying to dissuade her from putting a line on me, but she didn’t answer. She hummed snatches from a tune I heard her breathing in the darkness, but that was all.

When I had about exhausted myself, she said, “Will you kiss me just once more if I promise to let you alone?”

I breathed a little easier. “Sure, honey. Just one more kiss.”

Then I stretched out my arms to hold her to kiss, and I got the shock of my life. The little devil had taken off all her clothes in the darkness.

That kiss was like molten lava. I couldn’t push her away, nor did I want to now. She clung to me like a shadow, squirming and pulling at me. The sound of the crowd cheering the game a hundred yards away dimmed to nothingness and all I could hear was the roaring in my ears.

The game was almost over when we got back. I scrubbed the lipstick away from my mouth and dusted off my clothes. Mary saw her sister and was gracious enough to let me alone for a while, so while I still had the chance I skirted the crowd and tried to find Charlotte. She was where I had left her, only she had gotten tired of sitting down. She and a tall youngster were splitting a coke together. That made me mad.

Hell, I was a fine one to be pulling a jealousy stunt after what I just did. I called to her and she came back to me. “Where have you been?”

“Fighting,” I lied, “fighting for my honor.”

“You look it. How did you make out? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

“I did it all right. It took time though. You been here all the time?”

“Yep. Just like a good little wife, I sit home while my husband is out with other women,” she laughed.

The shout that ended the tennis game came simultaneously with the scream from the house. That scream stifled any cheer that might have been given. It rang out in the night again and again, then dwindled off to a low moan.

I dropped Charlotte’s hand and ran for the house. The colored bartender was standing in the doorway as white as a sheet. He could hardly talk. He pointed up the stairs and I took them two at a time.

The first floor opened on the cloakroom, an affair as big as a small ballroom. The maid was huddled on the floor, out like a light. Beyond her was Myrna, a bullet hole clean through her chest. She still had her hands clutched futilely against her breasts as though to protect herself.

I felt her pulse. She was dead.

Downstairs the crowd was pounding across the lawn. I shouted to the colored boy to shut the doors, then grabbed the phone and got the gatekeeper. I told him to close the gates and not let anyone out, hung up, and dashed downstairs. I picked out three men in overalls whom I had taken for gardeners and asked them who they were.

“Gardener,” one said. The other was a handyman on the estate and the third was his helper.

“Got any guns around here?” They nodded. “Six shot guns and a 30-30 in the library,” the handyman said.

“Then get ’em,” I ordered. “There’s been a murder upstairs and the killer is someplace on the grounds. Patrol the estate and shoot anybody you see trying to get away. Understand?”

The gardener started to argue, but when I pulled my badge on him, he and the others took off for the library, got the guns, returned a minute later and shot out the door.

The crowd was gathered in front. I stepped outside and held up my hand for silence. When I told them what had happened there were a few screams, a lot of nervous talk, and everyone in general had the jitters.

I held up my hand again. “For your own benefit you had better not try to leave. There are men posted with orders to shoot if anyone tries to run for it. If you are wise, you’ll find someone who was standing near by you during the game and have an alibi ready. Only don’t try to dummy one because it won’t work. Stay here on the porch where you can be reached at a moment’s notice.”

Charlotte came in the door, her face white, and asked, “Who was it, Mike?”

“Myrna. The kid has nothing to worry about any more. She’s dead. And I have the killer right under my nose someplace.”

“Can I do something, Mike?”

“Yeah. Get the Bellemy sisters and bring them to me.”

When she went for them I called for the colored boy. Shaking like a leaf he came over to me. “Who came in here?”

“I don’ see nobody, boss. I see one girl come in. I never see her come out ’cause she’s daid upstairs.”

“Were you here all the time?”

“Yassuh. All de time. I watch for the folks to come in heah for a drink. Then I goes to the bar.”

“What about the back door?”

“It’s locked, boss. Only way is in through heah. Don’ nobody come in ’cept de girl. She’s daid.”

“Quit saying that over and over,” I stormed. “Just answer my questions. Did you leave here for a second?”

“Nosuh, boss, not hardly a second.”

“What’s not hardly?”

The darky looked scared. He was afraid to commit himself one way or another. “Come on, speak up.”

“I got me a drink once, boss. Just beer, that’s all. Don’t tell Miss Bellemy.”

“Damn,” I said. That minute was time enough to let a murderer in here.

“How quickly did you come back? Wait a minute. Go in there and get a beer. Let me see how long it took you.” The darky shuffled off while I timed him. Fifteen seconds later he was back with a bottle in his hand.

“Did you do it that fast before? Think now. Did you drink it here or in there?”

“Here, boss,” he said simply, pointing to an empty bottle on the floor. I yelled to him not to move, then ran for the back of the house. The place was built in two sections, this part an addition to the other. The only way in was through the French windows to the bar and the back door, or the one connecting door to the other section. The windows were bolted. So was the back door. The twin doors between the two sections of the building were firmly in place and locked. I looked for other possible entries, but there were none. If that were so I could still have the killer trapped somewhere inside.

Quickly, I raced up the stairs. The maid was recovering and I helped her to her feet. She was pasty-faced and breathing hard, so I sat her down on the top step as Charlotte came in with the twins.

The maid was in no condition to answer questions. I shouted down to Charlotte to call Pat Chambers as fast as she could and get him up here. He could call the local cops later. Mary and Esther came up and took the maid out of my hands and half carried her downstairs to a chair.

I went into the murder room and closed the door after me. I didn’t worry about fingerprints. My killer never left any.

Myrna had on her blue coat, though I couldn’t see why. The night was far too warm for it. She lay in front of a full-length mirror, doubled up. I looked closely at the wound. Another .45. The killer’s gun. I was bent down on my knees looking for the bullet when I noticed the stuff on the rug. A white powder. Around it the nap of the carpet had been ruffled as though someone had tried to scoop it up. I took an envelope from my pocket and got some of the grains inside. I felt the body. It was still warm. But then, at this temperature, rigor mortis wouldn’t set in until late.

Myrna’s hands were clenched together so tightly I had difficulty working my fingers under hers. She had clawed at her coat trying to hold the wound, and fibers of wool were caught under her fingernails. She had died hard, but fast. Death was merciful.

I felt under the coat, and there in the folds of the cloth was the bullet, a .45. I had my killer here. All I had to do was find him. Why he should kill Myrna was beyond me. She was as far out of the case as I was. The motive. The motive. What the hell kind of a motive was it that ate into so many people? The people the killer reached out and touched had nothing to give. They were all so different.

Jack, yes. I could see where he’d got mixed up in murder, but Myrna, no. Look at Bobo. Nothing could make me believe he was part of the picture. Where was motive there? Dope, he had been delivering it. But the connection. He never lived long enough to tell where he got the package or to whom it was going.

I shut the door softly behind me out of respect for the dead. Esther Bellemy had the maid in a chair at the foot of the stairs trying to comfort her. Mary was pouring herself a stiff whisky, her hands trembling. This hit her hard, whereas Esther was well composed. Charlotte came in with a cold compress and held it against the maid’s head.

“Can she talk yet?” I asked Charlotte.

“Yes, I think so. Just be easy with her.”

I knelt in front of the maid and patted her hand. “Feel better?” She nodded. “Good, I just want to ask you a few questions, then you can lie down. Did you see anyone come or go?”

“No. I—I was in the back of the house cleaning up.”

“Did you hear a shot?”

Another negative.

I called over to the colored man. “What about you, hear anything?”

“Nosuh, I don’ heah nuthin’.”

If neither had heard the shot, then the silencer must still be on the .45. And if the killer had it around, we’d find it. That kind of a rig is too big to hide.

I went back to the maid. “Why did you go upstairs?”

“To straighten out the clothes. The women had left them all over the bed. That’s when I saw the b-body.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed quietly.

“Now, one more thing, did you touch anything?”

“No, I faulted.”

“Put her to bed, Charlotte; see if you can find something to make her sleep. She’s pretty upset.”

Between Charlotte and Esther they half dragged the maid to a bed. Mary Bellemy was pouring one drink after another in her. She wouldn’t be standing up much longer. I took the darky aside. “I’m going upstairs. Don’t let anyone in or out unless I say so, you hear? You do and you’ll wind up in jail yourself.” I didn’t have to say anything else. He stammered out a reply that I didn’t get, then locked and bolted the front door.

My killer had to be somewhere around. He had to leave through the front door unless he went out an upstairs window. Everything else was locked up tightly. But except for the little bit of time the bartender was away from the door, someone was there. That time had been enough to let the killer in, but not enough to let him back out again. Not without being seen by the bartender, that is. If the darky had seen someone and had been told to keep his mouth shut, I would have known it. I could swear that he was telling the truth. Besides, my killer would have knocked him off as well, and as easily, rather than take the risk of exposure.

From the top of the stairs, the hall crossed like a T. Doors opened off the one side, and each proved to be a guest room. I tried the windows. Locked. I went up and down both ends of the T trying to find where the exit was. Each room I inspected and searched with my rod in my fist, waiting, hoping.

The murder room was the last room I tried. And that’s where the killer got out. The window slid up easily, and I looked down fifteen feet to a flagstone walk below. If he had jumped he wouldn’t be walking now. The drop was enough to break a leg, especially on those stones. Around the building and directly under the window ran a narrow ledge. It projected out about eight inches from the wall and was clean of dust or dirt on both sides of the window. I lit a match and looked for heel marks in the concrete of the ledge, but there were none. Not a mark. This was enough to drive me nuts.

Even the eight inches wasn’t enough to walk across on barefaced brick. I tried it. I got out on the ledge and tried first to walk along with my face to the wall, then with my back to it. In both cases I almost took a spill. It would take a real athlete to cross that. Someone who was part cat.

Inside the room, I pulled the window down and went back to the hall. At either end a window overlooked the grounds. I didn’t see it at first, but when I stuck my head out there was a fire-escape ladder built into the wall adjacent to the window. Oh, how pretty if it could be done. The killer strikes, then out the window to the ledge, and around to the fire escape. Now I had an acrobat on my hands. Swell, more headaches.

I went downstairs and took the bottle away from Mary in time to salvage a drink from the wreckage and ease her into a chair. She was dead drunk.

A half hour later I had still gotten nowhere when I heard the pounding of feet outside and told the darky to open up.

Pat and his staff walked in escorted by some county police. How that guy could get around the red tape of city limitations and restrictions was beyond me. He went upstairs at once, listening as I gave him the details.

I finished as he was bent over the body. The county coroner bustled in, declared the girl officially dead and made out a report. “How long since she died?” Pat asked.

The coroner hemmed and hawed, then said, “Roughly, about two hours. This warm weather makes it difficult to place the time exactly. Tell better after an autopsy.”

Two hours was close enough. It had happened while I was out in the bushes with Mary Bellemy.

Pat asked me, “Everyone here?”

“Guess so. Better get a guest list from Esther and check up. I posted guards around the wall and at the gate.”

“Okay, come on downstairs.”

Pat herded the entire group of them into the main room in the other section of the building. He had them packed in like sardines. Esther gave him a guest list and he read off names. As each one heard his name called, he sat on the floor. The detectives watched closely to be sure none of them moved until they were supposed to. Half the group was seated when Pat called out “Harmon Wilder.”

No answer. He tried again, “Harmon Wilder.” Still no answer. My little friend had vanished. Pat nodded to a detective who moved to a phone. The manhunt was on.

Six names later Pat sang out, “Charles Sherman.” He called it three more times and no one answered. That was a name I hadn’t heard before. I walked over to Esther.

“Who is this Sherman?”

“Mr. Wilder’s assistant. He was here during the game. I saw him.”

“Well, he’s not here now.”

I relayed the information to Pat and another name went out to call cars and police stations. Pat read down the list; when he was done there were still twenty standees. Gate crashers. You find them everywhere. The total number crammed into that house was over two hundred and fifty persons.

Pat assigned a certain number to each detective and some to me. Because I had been on the scene he let me take all the servants, the twins, Charlotte, and ten others from the party. Pat took the gate crashers for himself. As soon as he gave out the list, he quieted the assembly and cleared his throat.

“Everyone present here is under suspicion for murder,” he said. “Naturally, I know that you all couldn’t have done it. You are to report to each of my men as your name is called. They will speak to you separately. What we want is your alibi, whom you were with at the game, or wherever you were”—he checked his watch—“two hours and fifty minutes ago. If you can vouch for someone standing near you, do it. By doing so you are only insuring your own alibi. I want the truth. Nothing else. We will catch you if you try falsifying your statements. That is all.”

I collected my group and took them out on the porch. The household help I disposed of first. They had all been together and spoke for one another. The ten new faces assured me that they had been with certain parties and I took their statements. Mary had been with me, so she was out. Esther had been beside the referee’s stand most of the time and this was corroborated by the rest. I shooed them away, Esther leading her still half-out sister. I saved Charlotte until last so we could have the porch together.

“Now you, kitten,” I said. “Where were you?”

“You have a nerve,” she said laughingly. “Right where you left me.”

“Aw, don’t get sore, baby, I was trapped.”

I kissed her and she said, “After that all is forgiven. Now I’ll tell you where I was. Part of the time I was sipping a coke with a nice young gentleman named Fields, and part of the time exchanging witticisms with a rather elderly wolf. I don’t know his name, but he was one of those that weren’t on the list. He has a spade beard.”

I remembered him. I put down “spade beard,” no name. Charlotte stayed close to me as we walked back into the room. Pat was picking up the list as his men finished and cross-checking them to see if the stories held water. A couple had the names confused, but they were soon adjusted. When all were in we compared them.

Not a single one was without an alibi. And it didn’t seem sensible that Wilder and Sherman should have run off —they had been accounted for, too. Pat and I let out a steady stream of curses without stopping. When we got our breaths Pat instructed his men to get names and addresses of everyone present and told them to inform the guests that they had better stay within reaching distance or else.

He was right. It was practically an impossibility to hold that many people there at once. It looked like we were still following a hopeless trail.

Most of the cars left at once. Pat had a cop handing out the coats since he didn’t want anyone messing up the murder room. I went up with Charlotte to get hers. The cop pulled out her blue job with the white wolf collar and I helped her into it.

Mary was still out so I didn’t say good-bye to her. Esther was at the door downstairs, as calm as ever, seeing the guests out, even being nice to the ones that didn’t belong there.

I shook hands with her and told her I’d see her soon and Charlotte and I left. Instead of driving up, she had taken the train, so we both got into my car and started back.

Neither one of us spoke much. As the miles passed under my wheels I got madder and madder. The circle. It started with Jack and had ended with him. The killer finally got around to Myrna. It was crazy. The whole pattern was bugs. Now my motive was completely shot to hell. Myrna fitted in nowhere. I heard a sob beside me and caught Charlotte wiping tears from her eyes. That was easy to see. She had taken a liking to Myrna.

I put my arm around her and squeezed. This must seem like a nightmare to her. I was used to death sitting on my doorstep, she wasn’t. Maybe when the dragnet brought in Wilder and Sherman there would be an answer to something. People just don’t run away for nothing. The outsider. The answer to the question. Could either of them have been the outsider that belonged in the plot? Very possible. It seemed more possible now than ever. Manhunt. The things the cops were best at. Go get them. Don’t miss. If they try to run, kill the bastards. I don’t care if I don’t get them myself, so long as someone does. No glory. Justice.

When I stopped in front of Charlotte’s place I had to stop thinking. I looked at my watch. Well after midnight. I opened the door for her.

“Want to come up?”

“Not tonight, darling,” I said. “I want to go home and think.”

“I understand. Kiss me good night.” She held out her face and I kissed her. How I loved that girl. I’d be glad when this was over with and we could get married.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. If I can find time I’ll call you.”

“Please, Mike,” she begged, “try to make it. Otherwise I can’t see you until Tuesday.”

“What’s the matter with Monday?” I asked her.

“Esther and Mary are coming back to the city and I promised to have supper with them. Esther is more upset than you realize. Mary will get over it fast enough, but her sister isn’t like that. You know how women are when they get in a spot.”

“Okay, baby. If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll give you a call Monday and see you Tuesday. Maybe then we can go get that ring.”

This time I gave her a long kiss and watched her disappear into the building. I had some tall thinking to do. Too many had died. I was afraid to let it go further. It had to be now or not at all. I tooled the jalopy back to the garage, parked it and went upstairs to bed.

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday was a flop. It opened with the rain splattering against the windows and the alarm shattering my eardrums. I brought my fist down on the clock, swearing at myself because I set it automatically when I didn’t have to get up at all.

This was one day when I didn’t have to shower or shave. I burned my breakfast as usual and ate it while I was in my underwear. When I was stacking the dishes, I glanced at myself in the mirror, and a duly, unkempt face glared back at me. On days like this I look my ugliest.

Fortunately, the refrigerator was well stocked with beer. I pulled out two quarts, got a glass from the cabinet, a spare pack of butts, and laid them beside my chair. Then I opened the front door and the papers fell to the floor. Very carefully, I separated the funnies from the pile, threw the news section in the waste basket and began the day.

I tried the radio after that. I tried pacing the floor. Every ashtray was filled to overflowing. Nothing seemed to help. Occasionally I would flop in the chair and put my head in my hands and try to think. But whatever I did, I invariably came up with the same answer. Stymied. Nuts.

Something was trying to get out. I knew it. I could feel it. Way back in the recesses of my mind a little detail was gnawing its way through, screaming to be heard, but the more it gnawed, the greater were the defenses erected to prevent its escaping.

Not a hunch. A fact. Some small, trivial fact. What was it? Could it be the answer? Something was bothering me terrifically. I tried some more beer. No. No. No ... no ... no ... no ... no. The answer wouldn’t come. How must our minds be made? So complicated that a detail gets lost in the maze of knowledge. Why? That damn ever-present WHY. There’s a why to everything. It was there, but how to bring it out? I tried thinking around the issue, I tried to think through it. I even tried to forget it, but the greater the effort, the more intense the failure.

I never noticed the passage of time. I drank, I ate, it was dark out and I turned the lights on and drank some more. Hours and minutes and seconds. I fought, but lost. So I fought again. One detail. What was it? What was it?

The refrigerator was empty all of a sudden and I fell into bed exhausted. It never broke through. That night I dreamed the killer was laughing at me. A killer whose face I couldn’t see. I dreamed that the killer had Jack and Myrna and the rest of them hanging in chains, while I tried in vain to beat my way through a thin partition of glass with a pair of .45’s to get to them. The killer was unarmed, laughing fiendishly, as I raved and cursed, but the glass wouldn’t break. I never got through.

I awoke with a bad taste in my mouth. I brushed my teeth, but that didn’t get rid of the taste. I looked out the window. Monday was no better than the day before. The rain was coming down in buckets. I couldn’t stand to be holed up any longer, so I shaved and got dressed, then donned a raincoat and went out to eat. It was twelve then; when I finished it was one. I dropped in a bar and ordered one highball after another. The next time I looked at the clock it was nearly six.

That was when I reached in my pocket for another pack of cigarettes. My hand brushed an envelope. Damn, I could have kicked myself. I asked the bartender where the nearest drugstore was and he directed me around the corner.

The place was about to close, but I made it. I took the envelope out and asked him if he could test an unknown substance for me. The guy agreed reluctantly. Together we shook the stuff on to a piece of paper and he took it into the back. It didn’t take long. I was fixing my tie in front of a mirror when he came back. He handed me the envelope with a suspicious glance. On it he had written one word.

Heroin.

I looked in the mirror again. What I saw turned the blood in my veins to liquid ice. I saw my eyes dilate. The mirror. The mirror and that one word. I shoved the envelope into my pocket viciously and handed the druggist a fin.

I couldn’t talk. There was a crazy job bubbling inside me that made me go alternately hot and cold. If my throat hadn’t been so tight I could have screamed. All this time. Not time wasted, because it had to be this way. Happy, happy. How could I be so happy? I had the WHY, but how could I be so happy? It wasn’t right. I beat Pat to it after all. He didn’t have the WHY. Only I did.

Now I knew who the killer was.

And I was happy. I walked back to the bar.

I took a last drag on the cigarette and flipped it spinning into the gutter, then turned and walked into the apartment house. Someone made it easy for me by not closing the lobby door tightly. No use taking the elevator, there was still plenty of time. I walked up the stairs wondering what the finale would be like.

The door was locked but I expected that. The second pick I used opened it. Inside, the place was filled with that curious stillness evident in an empty house. There was no need to turn on the lights, I knew the layout well enough. Several pieces of furniture were fixed in my mind. I sat down in a heavy chair set catercorner against the two walls. The leaves of a rubber plant on a table behind the chair brushed against my neck. I pushed them away and slid down into the lushness of the cushions to make myself comfortable, then pulled the .45 from its holster and snapped the safety off.

I waited for the killer.

Yes, Jack, this is it, the end. It took a long time to get around to it, but I did. I know who did it now. Funny, the way things worked out, wasn’t it? All the symptoms were backwards. I had the wrong ones figured for it until the slip came. They all make that one slip. That’s what the matter is with these cold-blooded killers; they plan, oh, so well. But they have to work all the angles themselves, while we have many heads working the problem out. Yeah, we miss plenty, but eventually someone stumbles on the logical solution. Only this one wasn’t logical. It was luck. Remember what I promised you? I’d shoot the killer, Jack, right in the gut where you got it. Right where everyone could see what he had for dinner. Deadly, but he wouldn’t die fast. It would take a few minutes. No matter who it turned out to be, Jack, I’d get the killer. No chair, no rope, just the one slug in the gut that would take the breath from the lungs and the life from the body. Not much blood, but I would be able to look at the killer dying at my feet and be glad that I kept my promise to you. A killer should die that way. Hard, nasty. No fanfare except the blast of an unsilenced .45 going off in a small, closed room. Yeah, Jack, no matter whom it turned out to be, that’s the way death would come. Just like you got it. I know who did it. In a few minutes the killer will walk in here and see me sitting in this chair. Maybe the killer will try to talk me out of it, maybe even kill again, but I don’t kill easy. I know all the angles. Besides, I got a rod in my fist, waiting. Waiting. Before I do it I’ll make the killer sweat—and tell me how it happened, to see if I hit it right. Maybe I’ll even give the rat a chance to get me. More likely not. I hate too hard and shoot too fast. That’s why people say the things about me that they do. That’s why the killer would have had to try for me soon. Yes, Jack, it’s almost finished. I’m waiting. I’m waiting.

The door opened. The lights flicked on. I was slumped too low in the chair for Charlotte to see me. She took her hat off in front of the wall mirror. Then she saw my legs sticking out. Even under the make-up I could see the color drain out of her face.

(Yes, Jack, Charlotte. Charlotte the beautiful. Charlotte the lovely. Charlotte who loved dogs and walked people’s babies in the park. Charlotte whom you wanted to crush in your arms and feel the wetness of her lips. Charlotte of the body that was fire and life and soft velvet and responsiveness. Charlotte the killer.)

She smiled at me. It was hard to tell that it wasn’t forced, but I knew it. She knew I knew it. And she knew why I was here. The .45 was levelled straight at her stomach.

Her mouth smiled at me, her eyes smiled at me, and she looked pleased, so glad to see me, just as she had always been. She was almost radiant when she spoke. “Mike, darling. Oh, baby, I’m so glad to see you. You didn’t call like you promised and I’ve been worried. How did you get in? Oh, but Kathy is always leaving the door open. She’s off tonight.” Charlotte started to walk toward me. “And please, Mike, don’t clean that awful gun here. It scares me.”

“It should,” I said.

She stopped a few feet away from me, her face fixed on mine. Her brows creased in a frown. Even her eyes were puzzled. If it were anyone but me they’d never have known she was acting. Christ, she was good! There was no one like her. The play was perfect, and she wrote, directed and acted all the parts. The timing was exact, the strength and character she put into every moment, every expression, every word was a crazy impossibility of perfection. Even now she could make me guess, almost build a doubt in my mind, but I shook my head slowly.

“No good, Charlotte, I know.”

Her eyes opened wider. Inside me I smiled to myself. Her mind must have been racing with fear. She remembered my promise to Jack. She couldn’t forget it. Nobody could, because I’m me and I always keep a promise. And this promise was to get the killer, and she was the killer. And I had promised to shoot the killer in the stomach.

She walked to an end table and picked a cigarette from a box, then lit it with a steady hand. That’s when I knew, too, that she had figured an out. I didn’t want to tell her that it was a useless out. The gun never left her a second.

“But . . .”

“No,” I said, “let me tell you, Charlotte. I was a little slow in catching on, but I got it finally. Yesterday I would have dreaded this, but not now. I’m glad. Happier than I’ve been in a long time. It was the last kill. They were so different. So damn cold-blooded that I had it figured for a kill-crazy hood or an outsider. You were lucky. Nothing seemed to tie up, there were so many complications. It jumped around from one thing to another, yet every one of those things was part of the same basic motive.

“Jack was a cop. Someone always hates cops. Especially a cop that is getting close to him. But Jack didn’t know just who he was getting close to until you held a rod on him and pumped one into his intestines. That was it, wasn’t it?”

She looked so pathetic standing there. Twin tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks. So pathetic and so helpless. As though she wanted to stop me, to tell me I was wrong—to show me how wrong I was. Her eyes were pools of supplication, begging, pleading. But I went on.

“It was you and Hal at first. No, just you alone. Your profession started it. Oh, you made money enough, but not enough. You are a woman who wanted wealth and power. Not to use it extravagantly, but just to have it. How many times have you gone into the frailty of men and seen their weaknesses? It made you afraid. You no longer had the social instinct of a woman—that of being dependent upon a man. You were afraid, so you found a way to increase your bank account and charge it to business. A way in which you’d never be caught, but a dirty way. The dirtiest way there is—almost.”

(The sorrow drifted from her eyes, and there was something else in its stead. It was coming now. I couldn’t tell what it was, but it was coming. She stood tall and straight as a martyr, exuding beauty and trust and belief. Her head turned slightly and I saw a sob catch in her throat. Like a soldier. Her stomach was so flat against the belt of her skirt. She let her arms drop simply at her sides, her hands asking to be held, and her lips wanting to silence mine with a kiss. It was coming, but I dared not stop now. I couldn’t let her speak or I would never be able to keep my promise.)

“Your clientele. It was wealthy, proud. With your ability and appearance and your constant studies, you were able to draw such a group to you. Yes, you treated them, eased their mental discomfitures—but with drugs. Heroin. You prescribed, and they took your prescription—to become addicts, and you were their only source for the stuff and they had to pay through the nose to get it. Very neat. So awfully neat. Being a doctor, and through your clinic, you could get all the stuff you needed. I don’t know how your delivery system worked, but that will come later.

“Then you met Hal Kines. An innocent meeting, but isn’t that the way all things start? That’s why I had trouble with the answer, it was all so casual. You never suspected him of his true activities, did you? But one day you used him as a subject for an experiment in hypnosis, didn’t you? He was a fool to do it, but he had no choice if he wanted to play his role. And while he was under hypnosis you inadvertently brought to light every dirty phase of his life.

“You thought you had him then. You told him what you had discovered and were going to fit him into your plans. But you were fooled. Hal was not a college kid. He was an adult. An adult with a mature, scheming mind, who could figure things out for himself—and he had already caught wise to what you were doing and was going to hold it over your head. All you got out of that was a stalemate. Remember the book on your shelf—Hypnosis as a Treatment for Mental Disorders? It was well thumbed. I knew you were well versed in that angle, but I never caught on until yesterday.”

(She was standing in front of me now. I felt a hot glow go over me as I saw what she was about to do. Her hands came up along her sides pressing her clothes tightly against her skin, then slowly ran under her breasts, cupping them. Her fingers jumbled with the buttons of the blouse, but not for long. They came open—one by one.)

“You and Hal held on tightly, each waiting for the other to make a break, but there was too much of a risk to take to start anything. That’s where Jack came in. He was a shrewd one. That guy had a brain. Sure, he helped Hal out of a small jam, but in doing so something aroused his suspicions, and all the while he pretended to be helping Hal with his work he was really investigating him. Jack found out what Hal was up to, and when by accident he met Eileen, she confirmed it. Jack knew about the show through her, and since Hal was the brains of the outfit, knew, too, that he would be there.

“But let’s jump back a little bit. Jack wanted to see you about something during the week. You yourself told me that. No, Jack didn’t suspect you, but he thought that since you were connected with him through the school and the clinic, you might be able to keep tab on him.

“But the night of the party you saw the yearbooks Jack had collected and knew why he had them. And you were afraid that if he exposed Hal, the guy would think you had something to do with it and turn you in, too. So you came back. When your maid went back to sleep you simply detached the chime behind the door and left, being careful not to be seen. What did you do, swipe Jack’s key to the place before you left? I don’t doubt it. Then you got him in the bedroom. You shot him and watched him die. And while he tried to pull himself toward his gun you made a psychological study of a man facing death, telling the story, and drawing the chair back inch by inch until his body gave up. Then you went home. That was it, wasn’t it? No, you don’t have to answer me because there could be no other way.”

(Now there were no more buttons. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled the blouse out of her skirt. It rustled faintly as silk does against wool. Then the cuff snaps—and she shrugged the blouse from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She wore no bra. Lovely shoulders. Soft curves of hidden muscles running across her body. Little ripples of excitement traversing the beautiful line of her neck. Breasts that were firm and inviting. Soft, yet so strong. She was so pretty. Young and delicious and exciting. She shook her head until her hair swirled in blonde shimmering waves down her back.)

“But in the yearbooks you took from Jack’s apartment were notations about Eileen. Her picture was in one, too, with Hal’s. You knew that murder didn’t stop there and saw how to cover one killing by committing another. You told Hal what you found, and sent him to threaten Eileen, and followed him in. Then, while the show went on, you killed them both, thinking that the murders would have to be hushed and the bodies disposed of by the others in the syndicate if they wanted to continue operation of the call house. You were right there. Somebody would have taken care of the matter if we hadn’t come along so fast. When we crashed the joint you saw the madam run for it and followed her, and she never knew it, did she? How damn lucky you were. Coincidence and Lady Fortune were with you all the way. Neither Pat nor I thought to query you on an alibi for that night, but I bet you had a honey prepared.

“Let’s not leave out George Kalecki. He found out about you. Hal must have gotten drunk and spilled the works. That’s why he was surly the night of the party. He was worried and sore at Hal. Hal told you that George knew and you tried to pot him and missed. The only time you did miss. So he moved to town to get closer to the protection of the police. He couldn’t tell them why, though, could he? You were still safe. He tried to implicate me to get me on the ball and run the killer down before the killer got to him.

“And after Hal’s death, when we were walking along the park and George tried his hand with a gun, he wasn’t shooting at me as I thought. It was you whom he wanted. He tailed me figuring I’d lead him to you. He knew he would be next on your list unless he got you first. George wanted out, but before he could blow he had to try to get the evidence Hal compiled or else take a chance on being sent to the chair if the stuff was ever found. Tough. I got him first. If he hadn’t shot at me I wouldn’t have killed him and he would have talked. I would have loved to make him yell his lungs out. Once more you were lucky.”

(Her fingers were sliding the zipper of her skirt. The zipper and a button. Then the skirt fell in a heap around her legs. Before she stepped out of it she pushed the half slip down. Slowly, so I could get the entire exotic effect. Then together, she pushed them away with a toe. Long, graceful, tanned legs. Gorgeous legs. Legs that were all curves and strength and made me see pictures that I shouldn’t see any more. Legs of a golden color that needed no stockings to enhance. Lovely legs that started from a fiat stomach and rounded themselves into thighs that belonged more in the imagination than reality. Beautiful calves. Heavier than those you see in the movies. Passionate legs. All that was left were the transparent panties. And she was a real blonde.)

“Then Bobo Hopper. You didn’t plan his death. It was an accident. Coincidence again that he had a former connection with George Kalecki. He had a job that he was proud of. He worked in your neighborhood running errands, delivering messages and sweeping floors. Only a simple moron who worked for nickels, but a happy egg. A guy that wouldn’t step on ants and kept a beehive for a hobby. But one day he dropped a package he was delivering for you—a prescription, you told him. He was afraid he’d lose his job, so he tried to get the prescription refilled at a druggist, and it turned out to be heroin that you were sending to a client. But meanwhile the client called you and said the messenger hadn’t shown up. I was there in your apartment that day, remember? And when I went for a haircut, you hurried out in your car, followed the route Bobo would have taken and saw him go in the drugstore, waited, and shot him when he came out.

“No, your alibi is shot. Kathy was home and never saw or heard you leave. You pretended to be in your darkroom, and no one ever disturbs a person in a darkroom. You detached the chimes and left, and came back without Kathy being any the wiser. But in your hurry you forgot to reconnect the chimes. I did it. Remember that, too? I came back for my wallet and there you were, a perfect alibi.

“Even then I didn’t get it. But I started narrowing it down. I knew there was a motive that tied the thing up. Pat has a list of narcotic addicts. Someday, when they are cured, we’ll get something from them that will lay it at your feet.

“Myrna was next. Her death was another accident. You didn’t plan this one, either, but it had to be. And when I left you at the tennis game it gave you the chance. When did the possibilities of the consequence of her leaving occur to you? Immediately, I bet, like Bobo. You have an incredible mind. Somehow you think of everything at once. You knew how Bobo’s mind would work and what might have happened, and you knew the woman, too. That comes as a result of being a psychiatrist. I was asleep when you arrived at the Bellemy place. You had a coat the same color as Myrna’s, but with a fur collar. And you knew, too, that women have a bad habit of trying on each other’s clothes in private. You couldn’t afford that chance because you had a deck of heroin in your coat pocket, or possibly traces of the stuff. And you were delivering it to Harmon Wilder and Charles Sherman—that’s why they ran, because they had some of the junk on them.

“Yes, you were a little too late. Myrna found the stuff in your pocket. She knew what it was. She should. Until Jack came along she lived on the stuff. You found her with it in her hand and shot her. Then you took off your coat, threw it on the bed with the others, and put Myrna’s on her while she lay there on the floor. As for powder burns, simple. Pull the nose out of a slug and fire the gun at her body as a blank. You even dropped the slug that went through her in the folds of the coat. Have you burned your coat yet? I bet—since it had powder burns on it. But some of the blue fibers were still under her fingernails, from a coat the same color as yours. That and the mirror was the final clue. That and the heroin you missed. A girl stands in front of a mirror for just one thing, especially in a room full of clothes.

“I don’t know where you get your luck, Charlotte. You came in while the bartender went for a drink, but you couldn’t afford to be seen going out. Not after you committed a murder. So you took the ledge around the building to the fire escape like a human fly. I was too broad to make it, but you weren’t. You took your shoes off, didn’t you? That’s why there were no scratches in the cement. During the excitement of the game no one noticed you leave or return. Some kind of mass psychology, right?

“No, Charlotte, no jury would ever convict you on that, would they? Much too circumstantial. Your alibis were too perfect. You can’t break an alibi that an innocent person believes is true. Like Kathy, for instance.

“But I would, Charlotte. And later we can take our time to worm out the truth without the interference of a court trial. We won’t have to worry about a smart lawyer cracking our chains of circumstance and making them look foolish to a jury. We will know the answer as we do the problem, but the solution will take time. A trial wouldn’t give us that time.

“No, Charlotte, I’m the jury now, and the judge, and I have a promise to keep. Beautiful as you are, as much as I almost loved you, I sentence you to death.”

(Her thumbs hooked in the fragile silk of the panties and pulled them down. She stepped out of them as delicately as one coming from a bathtub. She was completely naked now. A sun-tanned goddess giving herself to her lover. With arms outstretched she walked toward me. Lightly, her tongue ran over her lips, making them glisten with passion. The smell of her was like an exhilarating perfume. Slowly, a sigh escaped her, making the hemispheres of her breasts quiver. She leaned forward to kiss me, her arms going out to encircle my neck.)

The roar of the .45 shook the room. Charlotte staggered back a step. Her eyes were a symphony of incredulity, an unbelieving witness to truth. Slowly, she looked down at the ugly swelling in her naked belly where the bullet went in. A thin trickle of blood welled out.

I stood up in front of her and shoved the gun into my pocket. I turned and looked at the rubber plant behind me. There on the table was the gun, with the safety catch off and the silencer still attached. Those loving arms would have reached it nicely. A face that was waiting to be kissed was really waiting to be splattered with blood when she blew my head off. My blood. When I heard her fall I turned around. Her eyes had pain in them now, the pain preceding death. Pain and unbelief.

“How c-could you?” she gasped.

I only had a moment before talking to a corpse, but I got it in.

“It was easy,” I said.

-end-