This Is Murder

Chapter Seven

There was a biting chill to the night wind. It howled past the corners of the office building in which Moraine had his office. The sound was distinctly audible, an ever present wailing undertone, a background of weird noise.

Moraine sat cross-legged on the big leather couch and slid a fine nail file along the edges of his nails in an absent-minded, mechanical manner. Natalie Rice sat very straight and erect at the desk.

“Any trouble?” Moraine asked.

“No trouble at all. He remembered her perfectly.”

“Did you show him her picture?”

“No, I didn’t have to. He remembered her as soon as I showed him the card.”

“Did you get a description?”

“Yes.”

“Did it check up?”

“Absolutely. It’s the same girl, all right.”

“Well,” Moraine said, “what’s the news?”

“He picked her up at Sixth Avenue and Maplehurst last night about eight o’clock.”

“Last night?” Moraine asked, looking up from his nails.

“Yes.”

Moraine slowly slid the nail file into his pocket. His voice was interested.

“Okay, go ahead; tell me the rest of it.”

“She was all alone, seemed rather nervous and excited. She had him run her down to Pier 34. There was a motor boat waiting there for her. He thinks it was a speed boat, the way it sounded when it put off.”

“How did he happen to give her his card?”

Natalie Rice smiled.

“You know taxi drivers get in on lots of cuts in return for giving people steers — you know what I mean — cuts on the night life, and things of that sort.”

“Well?” Moraine asked. “What about it?”

“The taxi driver thought Ann Hartwell might be going down to keep a date with some people on a yacht, thought she was sort of a party girl. He got to talking with her on the road down, and she seemed real friendly. He gave her his card and told her that if she liked to go out, he frequently had men who were looking for a single, unattached girl.”

“Then what?” Moraine asked.

“She kept stringing him along,” Natalie Rice told him. “Evidently, she was getting quite a kick out of it, but the taxi driver thought she was a live one. She wanted to know how much of a cut he wanted and just what she was supposed to do, and put on the act of a young wife who was just running away from her husband and was looking for an opportunity to turn to almost anything that would make a living for herself.”

“And the cab driver now thinks she was kidding him?”

“I guess so. When I showed up with the card, he was a little suspicious. He thought at first I was a detective from the vice squad, or something of that sort. I had a little trouble making him talk.”

“Perhaps he adopted the angle that it was all a joke with you, simply on account of being frightened.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“Was she carrying a suitcase with her?”

“No, she carried nothing except a purse.”

“Sixth and Maplehurst, huh?” Moraine mused.

She met his eyes squarely. “I thought at first she might have dropped off a train. The railroad track runs along Maplehurst Street. They run the trains rather slowly, particularly around the Sixth Avenue crossing, because that’s a residential district. She might have dropped off one of the trains.”

Moraine nodded.

“Then,” she went on, “I thought I’d better look up some of the property holders in the vicinity. I got a map at the assessor’s office that showed the district. I think you’d be interested in one of the names.”

“What name?”

“Peter R. Dixon,” she said slowly.

Moraine raised his eyebrows, gave a low whistle.

“Like that, eh?” he said.

She remained silent, watching him.

“Carl Thorne,” Moraine said slowly, “Peter Dixon — political enemies. Two women who are on the loose, and the Hartwell woman had been doing some secretarial work for Thorne. Put those facts together, and...”

“You went out there to see the Bender woman?” Natalie Rice asked, as Moraine left his sentence significantly unfinished.

“Yes,” he said, “I thought I’d have a chat with her and see if I could find out something.”

She remained silent for a moment and then said slowly, “Would you care to tell me about it?”

“You’re interested in this?” he asked her.

“Naturally, anything that concerns Peter Dixon interests me.”

“You’d like to get something on him?”

She nodded her head slowly.

Sam Moraine consulted his wrist-watch. “Look here,” he said, “the officers aren’t going to be satisfied with the situation the way it exists. They’re going to put some pressure on that Hartwell woman. When they do, Lord knows what they’re going to find out. Now, suppose we interview Pete Dixon. Just ask him a few questions and see what his reactions are?”

“You mean about the woman?”

“Yes.”

“We couldn’t get to first base with him.”

“We could if we played it right. Suppose we should tell him we were representing a newspaper; that the Hartwell woman had been in the neighborhood of his house. We could tell a lot from the way he answered the question. But we’d have to work fast. I have a hunch Phil Duncan is going to launch a complete investigation.”

“Did he say so?” she asked.

“No. But Carl Thorne’s interested, and Carl Thorne and Phil Duncan are hand in glove.”

“You saw Carl Thorne?”

“Yes. I went up to Doris Bender’s apartment and started asking questions. She thought it would be a good plan to twist me around her finger, so she started working on me...”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Some high-powered vamping. She was just commencing to paw around a little when the door opened and Carl Thorne entered the place.

“Now get that. There was a spring lock on the door — so Thorne must have a key. He simply opened the door and walked in.”

“What kind of a spot did that leave you in?”

Moraine laughed. “I guess I was in quite a spot,” he said, “but the Bender woman is a fast worker. She passed me off as Ann Hartwell’s boy-friend, and I let her do it.”

“To keep her from getting in bad with Thorne?”

“Yes.”

Natalie Rice looked thoughtful.

“What sort of a spot will that put you in as far as Dr. Hartwell is concerned? He’ll probably hear about it. You told him you didn’t even know his wife.”

Moraine made a wry face and said, “I’ve been thinking of that myself off and on during the day. Of course, he may not hear anything about it. That’s what I get for being big-hearted and trying to do a woman a favor. I should have become hard-boiled and declared myself right there, but I let it drift along in order to give her an out.”

“Well,” Natalie Rice said, laughing nervously, “you craved excitement. It looks as though you’re going to get it.”

He nodded slowly. “I never got so much lack out of anything in my life. I didn’t realize it would be so much fun fooling around with crime.”

“You’re not fooling around with it,” she said, “you’re getting into a game where you’re playing for big stakes and you don’t know what trumps are yet — that is, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Not in the least,” he observed cheerfully. “However, if we’re going to go out and see Dixon, we’d better get started.”

“What will you tell him you want to see him about?”

“I’ll tell him we’re representing a newspaper, or that I’m a feature writer and I want to get a statement out of him. Perhaps it’ll be better to pull that free-lance stuff. He’ll start lying at first and then probably try to pay us some money to suppress the whole business. You see, we’re sitting pretty. We’ve got the taxi driver sewed up, and, unless Ann Hartwell talks, we’re the only ones who know about that cab driver. If we bring him into the picture and have him identify Ann Hartwell, then Dixon is in a mess.”

“If she came from his house and if he knows anything about her?”

“We can tell the answers to those ‘ifs’ in just about half an hour.”

She nodded, arose from the chair, smoothed out her skirt.

Knuckles pounded on the outer door.

Moraine looked at her thoughtfully.

“Door locked?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Phil Duncan’s voice called from the corridor, “Hello, Sam, are you in?”

“Oh,” Moraine remarked, his voice showing relief, “it’s Phil Duncan. I can get rid of him in a few minutes and then we can go out.”

He strode to the door and opened it.

Phil Duncan entered the room. His face was stung red by the wind. He pulled off gloves, turned down the collar of his overcoat and said, “B-r-r-r-r, but it’s a mean night out — a cold, biting wind.”

“Come on in, Phil, and sit down. I’ve got to leave in a few minutes, but I can buy a drink before I go.”

He opened a drawer of his desk, took out a brandy bottle and two glasses. He glanced up at Natalie Rice and said, “How about making it three, Miss Rice?”

She shook her head at him.

“You can’t go for a while,” Duncan said.

“What do you mean?”

“Because I’m calling on you.”

Moraine laughed.

“Try and hold me,” he said; “I’ve got a date with a girl.”

“No,” Duncan observed, rubbing his hands together to get circulation started; “I mean it, Sam. This is an official visit.”

Moraine raised his eyebrows.

“What’s more,” Duncan told him, “you probably should know there’s a federal man sitting outside in an automobile. He’s under instructions to shadow you wherever you go.”

Moraine, who had been pouring the brandy, carefully corked the bottle, glanced significantly at Natalie Rice, replaced the bottle in the desk.

“Are you sure, Phil?” he asked.

“Yes. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you, but, at that, it’s not betraying any confidence. I parked my car right behind the federal cop. He was lounging in the car, smoking. He was interested in me until he saw who I was. I have an idea they’re making a complete report on the people that come to see you, and all that sort of stuff.”

Moraine once more glanced significantly at Natalie Rice.

“A poor night to keep a date with a girl-friend,” he said.

She met his gaze knowingly.

“I wonder if it isn’t something I could do for you, Mr. Moraine?” she asked. “Couldn’t I go and see the person you were to meet? I think I know how you were going to handle the business. I feel quite certain that I could at least lay a foundation for what you want, and, if necessary, I could make some shorthand notes of the conversation. That might clarify the situation.”

Moraine clicked glasses with Duncan, tossed down the brandy.

“Honest, Phil,” he asked, “is this an official visit?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There’s something phoney about that kidnapping business. The whole thing is a mix-up.”

“Well, you know all I know about it.”

“I’m not certain that I do,” Duncan said slowly.

“Why, good Lord! You were with me, or rather I was with you when I contacted the people. Then I told you what Wickes wanted and I took the money and went out...”

“It isn’t that,” Duncan said slowly, “but you followed it up. You were out to Doris Bender’s apartment today, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“And Carl Thorne was out there?”

“Yes. Why?”

“And before that, Dr. Richard Hartwell had called on you?”

Moraine made a grimace. ‘“What is this, Phil?” he asked. “Some sort of a third degree?”

“No, I just want to get some information.”

“Why?”

“Because the whole case has taken on rather a peculiar aspect.”

“What did you want to know?”

“When Thorne was out there, you were posing as Ann Hartwell’s boy-friend, weren’t you?”

Duncan grinned, and said, “I had the honor thrust upon me.”

“But you did pose as her friend?”

“You might put it that way. Why?”

The district attorney set down his empty brandy glass and said, “There are a lot of angles to the thing, Sam.”

“Oh, don’t be so damned mysterious. What are the angles?”

Duncan looked at his wrist-watch.

“On some angles of this case, Sam, I’m working with the federal men. I’m not supposed to release any information until after I receive a couple of telephone calls. I’ve made arrangements to receive them here.”

“And until then you want to stick around and take up my time?”

“Until then,” Phil Duncan said, “I’ll play you two-handed stud poker — just to pass the time away and give me a little revenge.”

“But I’m a busy man,” Moraine told him.

“No kidding, Sam,” Duncan advised, “if Miss Rice can do your business for you, you’d better let her do it. You’ve got this federal operative trailing you around. I have an idea he’s under instructions to pick you up if you do anything that looks suspicious. He knows I came up here to see you — that is, he should know it. He can find it out by telephoning to his superior. I’ve got to wait here for those telephone calls. If you leave now, it might make things a little embarrassing. If they should pick you up, I don’t think I could get you out right away.”

“What right have they got to pick me up?” Moraine demanded. “They interfered with my sleep last night. Isn’t one night enough?”

Duncan chuckled, and observed, “Well, you insisted on mixing into crime, Sam. I told you you were foolish to do it. Come on, get out your cards and let Miss Rice go handle your business for you, if it is business.”

Moraine frowned thoughtfully while he considered the situation.

“Think you could do it?” he asked Natalie Rice.

“I could try,” she said.

Moraine produced a deck of cards from one of the drawers in his desk, took out a box of chips, and said, “Give me five bucks, Phil, and we’ll divide up the chips.”

“That telephone connected so a call on your number will ring the phone here?” Duncan asked.

“I can connect it so it will,” Natalie Rice told him.

“Go ahead and do it, if you will, please, Miss Rice,” Duncan said. “These calls are rather important.”

“Why be so mysterious about it?” Moraine, asked.

“I’m cooperating with the federals.”

“Do you mean you don’t trust me enough to tell me about what’s up?”

“No, it isn’t that. There may not be anything very serious, Sam, and then, again, it may be serious as the devil. Frankly, I think it would be a good plan for you to watch your step a bit. Can you account for your time all the afternoon?”

“I was taking a beauty sleep,” Moraine said, “right here in the office. Miss Rice can vouch for that. I had half a dozen clients who had appointments canceled because I was too busy to see them, and all the time I was lying in here curled up on that couch with a blanket over me, trying to catch up on lost sleep.”

Duncan turned to Natalie Rice.

“Was Dr. Richard Hartwell one of the visitors this afternoon?” he asked.

“Not this afternoon.”

“I know all about his visit this morning,” the district attorney remarked.

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, I’ve got ways of finding things out.”

“You do seem to get around,” Moraine remarked, shuffling the cards and dealing them. “Since you’re so smart, I wonder if you can tell what my hole card is.”

“I’ve got a ten in sight and you’ve got a nine,” Duncan observed. “That should be worth a couple of white chips.”

“Better put in a blue chip, as well,” Moraine told him, sliding one blue and two whites out from his stack of chips. “I’ve got a pair of nines back to back.”

Duncan sighed, placed a blue chip on top of his whites.

“There you go again,” he said. “I never know whether you’re kidding or whether you really have something. I wouldn’t doubt but what you did have nines back to back and were making me think you were running a bluff.”

Moraine grinned at him. Natalie Rice took a coat from the coat closet, put on her hat in front of the mirror, picked up a shorthand notebook, glanced significantly at Sam Moraine.

“I’ll do the best I can,” she said.

“Go ahead,” he told her. “The way the thing stands now, you can’t do any harm. Remember, there’s a time element to consider.”

“I’ve connected the telephone so any incoming calls will ring on this desk,” she said.

Moraine nodded, dealt a card face up on top of Dim-can’s ten.

“A jack for you, Phil,” he said. “You keep climbing.”

He turned over another card, which he placed on top of his nine.,

“Just a little seven,” the district attorney said. “Have you still got that pair of nines back to back?”

“Sure,” Moraine told him. “How about putting in a blue chip?”

Duncan looked at his hole card thoughtfully, put a blue chip in the pot, saying, “I’d hate to have you bluff me out, Sam.”

Natalie Rice softly closed the door.