The April Robin Murders

Sixteen

It was Chester Baxter who stood in the doorway. He looked tired and a little dusty, and there was a faint odor of beer on his breath. But he looked pleased.

“You’ve found him?” Bingo said excitedly. “Where is he? What’s his real name?”

“Give a guy a chance to catch his breath, willya?” the small man said, puffing. “I walked all the way here from the bus stop.” He came in and sat down. “Why people want to live miles and miles from a bus stop, I don’t know. I ought to have a car.”

“We’re not going to buy one for you,” Bingo said. The next moment he relented. Chester Baxter did look very tired indeed. “Handsome,” he said, “do we have any beer left?”

They did. Handsome brought it out. Bingo offered a cigarette. The little man seemed to revive considerably.

“All right,” Bingo said. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know where he is right this minute,” Chester Baxter said. He finished the beer in a gulp. “But I know where he’s going to be later tonight. That’s what I need the extra expense money for.”

“Who said anything about extra expense money?” Bingo demanded.

“I did,” Chester Baxter said. “Just now.” He raised a placating hand. “Wait a minute. I don’t need very much. Five dollars will do it. I have had expenses I didn’t anticipate, making my investigation this afternoon. But since I succeeded in my objective—”

“How do we know you’re going to find him?” Bingo said, trying to be stern. “How do we know you won’t just keep coming back with more stories and your hand out for more expense money?”

Chester Baxter gave him a wounded look. “Sir,” he said stiffly, “there is a matter of honor. Especially in my business.”

Bingo could see the justice of that. He reached for his wallet, took out a five-dollar bill and handed it over. “Is it any of our business what you’re going to use it for?”

“Expenses,” the small man said, pocketing the money. “Frankly, buying drinks for various people in the place where your Courtney Budlong, whose real name is probably Twivelpiece, or Ripsling, or Slidge, or something like that, is going to be, later in the evening.”

Bingo eyed him thoughtfully. “If you know exactly where he’s going to be—” he began slowly.

Chester Baxter shook his head. “It would not do at all. Yes, certainly you could inform the police and they could pick him up at this place I am speaking of. Or you could go there yourselves. But,” he said firmly, “the proprietor of this place is a friend of mine, and so are many of his regular patrons. It would not do for the police, or the general public, to get the impression that this is a favorite recreation place for—” He paused.

“All right,” Bingo said, “we get what you mean. And when he turns up at this thieves’ hangout, what do you plan to do?”

Chester Baxter looked pained at Bingo’s choice of words. “I shall tag along and find out where he holes up,” he said. “And immediately let you know.” He added, “I may even engage him in conversation at the bar, though it might be better not.”

“Much better not,” Bingo agreed. He wondered if he ought to tell the small man that Courtney Budlong-Charlie Browne-Clifford Bradbury was not only a con man, but probably a murderer.

“And don’t worry about me,” Chester Baxter said, “I can take care of myself.” His lips pulled back in an unpleasant grin. He was silent for a moment. “You know,” he said reflectively, “I’ve been thinking. There is more to this than the matter of the little job he pulled on you.”

“Five dollars,” Bingo said firmly, “is all!”

Chester Baxter waved his hand deprecatingly. “Who said anything about more money? No. I have been doing some looking into the future, yours and mine.”

“When I need our fortunes told—” Bingo began.

“You don’t follow me at all,” Chester Baxter said. “This man gave you papers in exchange for your money. I saw them at the police station. They had Julien Lattimer’s signature on them. His genuine signature.”

“Well?” Bingo said.

“So,” Chester Baxter said, with a look of triumph, “Julien Lattimer must still be alive somewhere. There must be a reward for finding him.”

“No doubt,” Bingo said.

“All right then,” Chester Baxter said gleefully. “Our man, your Courtney Budlong fella, he must know where Julien Lattimer is. It only remains to sweat it out of him. Therefore,” he finished, “since I find him, I’m entitled to half the reward.”

“Ten percent,” Bingo said automatically, and before he’d had time to think it through.

“Now, now, now,” Chester Baxter said. “I will have done all the work. And I will have taken all the chances.”

Bingo remembered again that the man they were seeking had, in all probability, killed Pearl Durzy, and said, “Twenty-five percent, and that’s final.”

“Oh, all right,” the small man said. He smiled and said, “I probably would have settled for ten.”

“Only,” Handsome said, “look. What’s to stop you from going right to the police when you find him, and collecting all the reward yourself? If there is a reward?”

It was another of the times Bingo wished Handsome would have kept his good-looking but big mouth shut.

Again Chester Baxter wore a pained look. “My dear young man,” he said, “I don’t want to be mentioned in connection with this, in any way. I will give you the information. You can give it to the police, or follow it up yourselves. If there is any money coming, I will drop around and collect.”

There would be no doubt of that, Bingo told himself.

“However,” Chester Baxter said, “think how it would look in my profession if it became known that I had, so to speak, put the finger on this guy? I have a reputation to maintain.”

“I would never, never damage anyone’s professional reputation,” Bingo said very solemnly. “Your name will never be mentioned.”

After the small man had gone, Handsome sighed and said, “Bingo, do you think he really knows where our Mr. Courtney Budlong is, or did he just want another five bucks?”

Bingo had been wondering the same thing, but he said, “He sounded like he knew. And if he does, it’s worth five bucks.”

A moment passed. “Bingo,” Handsome said, “it’s like you were saying this afternoon. If he finds our Mr. Courtney Budlong, and then the police find where Mr. Julien Lattimer is, what if he wants his house back?”

Bingo had been thinking that, too. He said crossly, “Don’t bother me with trifles.” Then, in a milder tone. “Remember, we’d get our two thousand bucks back.”

“Less what might’ve been spent out of it,” Handsome said gloomily. “And less the ten percent to this little guy.”

“Don’t be a defeatist,” Bingo said severely. “Think big. And there are other houses.” In the depths of his heart, he knew he was going to be a little relieved to get out of this one, but he wouldn’t have admitted it to Handsome, or even to himself. He called, “Janesse!”

There was no answer. He called again, louder. Handsome went to look, came back and reported, “She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“There’s a door out of that pink marble library,” Handsome said. “She must’ve slipped out that way.”

Bingo scowled. “Maybe she just wanted to go home.” He brightened. “Oh well, we found out where that writing paper and the receipt came from.”

“And we got some nice pictures,” Handsome said. “She photographs fine, Bingo. I can tell even without printing them. Bingo, maybe she’s a property.”

Bingo stared at him. “A few days in Hollywood, and already you’re learning the language.” He relaxed, loosened his tie and undid his shoes. It had indeed been a long day.

“Only, Bingo,” Handsome said, “do you think we ought to tell the police we know about the writing paper now? And about him murdering Miss Pearl Durzy?”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Bingo said. He yawned. “Handsome, we don’t know for sure he murdered Pearl Durzy. And also, if we tell about the paper we could maybe get Janesse in trouble, and like you say, maybe she’s a property.” He smiled wearily. “We don’t call them, they’ll call us.” He yawned again.

Handsome went into the improvised darkroom. Bingo stretched out on the davenport to think everything over. He thought it over for roughly thirty seconds, and then closed his eyes.

He woke some time later from a complicated dream involving April Robin (looking very much like a combined Janesse Budlong and Mariposa DeLee), the Brown Derby, his Uncle Herman, a swimming pool, and food. Mostly food. The dream seemed to persist as he half opened his eyes, and he realized simultaneously that he was hungry and that there was a maddening and wonderful smell of food in the air.

“I remembered we didn’t have any dinner,” Handsome was saying. “So I took two dollars and went up to Goody-Goody’s and got a sack of hamburgers. And some milk. I hope I did okay, Bingo.”

“Handsome,” Bingo said fervently, “you never did better in your life.”

Two hamburgers later he sighed happily, leaned back, lighted a cigarette and said, “Handsome, I just thought of something. For so long we talked about coming to Hollywood. Now we’re in Hollywood. In a mansion that used to belong to a movie star. And we’re only a few minutes’ drive from the restaurants we always talked about. Romanoff’s. The Brown Derby. Chasen’s. Don the Beachcomber. All the rest. And what happens? For three meals in a row we eat hamburgers, from Goody-Goody’s.”

Handsome said seriously, “They’re swell hamburgers, though. And, Bingo. Those pictures. Janesse Budlong.”

Bingo looked up with quick interest. “Well?”

Handsome just said, “Gosh!”

He produced them. Bingo looked at them for a long moment. Then he said, “Gosh!”

“Only,” Handsome said, “nobody has done anything about it. Girls come from all over the world and get to be movie stars. And here’s a girl lives right here, probably all her life, and looks like this, and never gets anywhere. Bingo, why is that?”

Bingo didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to say so. “Maybe she can’t act.”

Handsome looked skeptical. Then he said, “She was acting most of the time she was here, and she was good.”

Bingo had to concede that. “Maybe she never knew the right people before.”

“Her pa does,” Handsome said stubbornly. “Her pa must know everybody, a big important man like him.”

“Maybe that’s why,” Bingo said. “Maybe everybody got sort of used to seeing her around, and just kept thinking she was just Mr. Victor Budlong’s little girl, and never thought of her as audience-bait.” He liked that last phrase and rolled it around his tongue. “Audience-bait. Well, she knows us now.”

There was someone at the door. Bingo said quickly, “If that’s Perroni and Hendenfelder, don’t tell them about Chester Baxter and—” It was not Perroni and Hendenfelder. It was Adelle Lattimer.

She came in majestically, walking with a panther-like rhythm. She was wearing a pearl-colored slack suit that sparkled where the light touched it; a string of what Bingo decided had to be rhinestones coiled through her sleek dark hair and matched another string wrapped around her wrist. She looked beautiful and more than beautiful, Bingo thought, wondering how long it would be before he saw a woman wearing skirts in public again.

“Sorry for the late visit, boys,” she said cheerfully, sitting gracefully on the arm of the davenport across from Bingo. “But your light was on. And I have to protect my interests. Also, I have something to ask you about. Is there any beer in the house?”

There was. The late Pearl Durzy had left the refrigerator well stocked.

“Thanks, boys,” she said. “Now listen. Do you know a cute, funny little confidence man named Chester Baxter?”

Bingo and Handsome looked at each other. Then Bingo said, “Well — well, yes. But what makes you think” — he’d almost said, “How do you know?” — “he’s a confidence man?”

“Written all over him,” Adelle Lattimer said. “Besides which, he came to me with a very confidence man type proposition. He also said he was working for you, which is mostly why I am here.” She finished off a glass of beer and poured another. “Amazing, how I keep my figure. Must be my metabolism. Anyway, is he working for you, or is he working for you?”

“Well,” Bingo said uncomfortably, “you might say that, in a way, he is.”

“That’s what I wanted to know,” she said cheerfully. “Because he tells me he’s going to find some buzzard you guys are looking for in some connection with this house-buying deal. He didn’t tell me in just what kind of connection.”

Chester Baxter, Bingo decided, was, in his way, a man of honor.

“Anyway,” she went on, “he tells me this character he is going to locate knows where Julien Lattimer is, and that you know about it. Am I right or am I wrong?”

“You’re right,” Bingo said. “I mean, according to what this man Chester Baxter says.” He was beginning to feel very unhappy about the whole thing.

“Fine,” she said, even more cheerfully. “That’s exactly what I wanted to know. Because if Julien Lattimer is alive, and this little con man finds him, then the chances are that I collect my back alimony.” She looked at Bingo and Handsome sympathetically. “Too bad you won’t get to collect for finding his corpse. Thanks for the beer.” She rose to leave.

“Just a minute,” Bingo said. It was late, and in spite of the nap and the hamburgers, he was cross. “Chester Baxter is working for us. If through him Julien Lattimer is located, any deal has to be made through us. Chester Baxter is also a friend of ours. What cut of the alimony are you ready to offer?”

“Why, you damned New York high-binders!” she said. She sat down and called them worse than that. Then she lit a cigarette and said, “All right, we’ll talk business.” After fifteen minutes of bickering, they decided on the same agreement as for finding Julien Lattimer’s body. Ten percent. At that point, Bingo decided that the whole arrangement should be put in writing. Fifteen minutes later she’d agreed to that too, and written a brief note.

“This is probably illegal,” she said, “and hard as hell to explain if the cops ever find it, but you’ve got the note, and you’ll have to do the explaining. When do you expect to hear from this little guy?”

“Tonight,” Bingo said, and immediately bit his tongue.

She nodded. “Maybe I’d better stay here tonight.”

“There are only these two davenports,” Bingo said stiffly. “And my partner and I have done a long day’s work. Unless,” he added, with a faint touch of malice, “you’d like to sleep in what was Pearl Durzy’s room.”

Adelle Lattimer didn’t flinch, but she said, “Maybe I’d better not stay. It wouldn’t look good, if the wrong people came in. I guess I just have to trust you to call me.”

“We’ll call you, all right,” Bingo said. There wasn’t any doubt of that. Living or dead, Julien Lattimer was going to mean money to them now.

After she had gone, he thought the whole thing over again. She was right, of course. The deal probably was illegal. Furthermore, it was definitely immoral.

On the other hand, he told himself, if Julien Lattimer was dead, he’d probably want to have his body found, and wouldn’t mind two young businessmen getting a small reward. Whereas if he was alive and hiding out so he wouldn’t need to pay alimony, he deserved to be found.

But Julien Lattimer, if alive, was a rich man. There was all that money that Herbert Reddy was looking after so tidily. He didn’t have any reason to hide out to avoid paying alimony.

The whole train of thought, he realized, was getting him right back to nowhere on every trip.

“Bingo,” Handsome said, a little anxiously, “Chester Baxter said he was going to find our Mr. Courtney Budlong tonight. Which means we’ll hear from him tonight—”

“I know,” Bingo said. “I don’t like to sleep in my clothes either. But I guess we’d better be ready to move fast.” The herringbone worsted suit needed pressing by now anyway, he consoled himself, and the natty brown pin-stripe was ready on its hanger for tomorrow.

He took off his tie, slipped out of his shoes, loosened his belt, and made himself as comfortable as he could, pulling the blankets up to his chin. Handsome turned off the lights.

Lying there in the darkness of the enormous room, he became aware of the faint perfume in the air, a light, delicate perfume. It could have been Janesse Budlong’s. It could have been Adelle Lattimer’s. He hoped with all his heart it belonged to one of them. He hoped it belonged to some living woman—

Nonsense, he told himself sternly, there were no ghosts. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else. Inevitably, his thoughts went to April Robin.

It was some time later when Handsome whispered, “Bingo, are you still awake?”

It would have been so easy to pretend he was asleep, but he whispered back, “Yes,” and then said out loud, “What am I whispering about? There’s nobody here but us.” He opened his eyes and said, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Bingo,” Handsome said in the darkness. “Only I was thinking. Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out Pearl Durzy was, I mean had been, really, April Robin?”

“That’s funny,” Bingo said sleepily. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Neither of them spoke after that. This time, when Bingo finally slept, he didn’t dream.

He had no idea what time it was when Handsome shook him very gently by the shoulder and whispered, “Bingo! Psst!” He sat up, wide awake.

“Bingo,” Handsome whispered, very low, “I think we’ve got a prowler. I think someone’s trying to get in our house.”