Very Cold for May

Chapter Six

They arrived at Riordan’s suite in the Blackstone Hotel at two o’clock. The door was opened by Riordan’s wife, Denise, who had a highball glass in one hand.

“Come on in,” she said. “Danny is dressing, but he won’t be long.”

Brian Riordan was slumped in a deep chair by the fireplace, with one leg hooked over its arm and a drink in his hand. He was wearing Bry tweeds and a few strands of his sandy hair were falling over his forehead.

“Here come the white knights to the old man’s rescue,” he said grinning. “Have you got a de luxe halo to clap on his head, and an orchestra to play celestial music in the background?”

Denise said, “Oh, stop it, Brian.”

Noble handled the introductions. Brian nodded absently at Sheila and said to Niccolo, “Haven’t we met before?”

Niccolo said, “Yes. You were waiting for an elevator the other night at the office when I got off. You were concerned about whether or not I’d been in the army.”

“Well, I was a little drunk,” Brian said. “But it’s a good question. Were you?”

“It’s a silly question,” Denise said. “Can’t I fix you people something to drink?”

Sheila sat down on the divan and gave Jake a quick amused glance. “Yes, I’ll have a scotch and soda since everything is so clubby.”

Brian grinned at her. “Don’t knock yourself out being sarcastic. I’m inconsiderate as hell, I know. I’m eternally curious about what other people did while I was dropping little messages of good cheer on the Germans. Some of them did the funniest things. My father, for instance. He made money. And how about yourself? Did you have a nice war?”

“I wasn’t in the paratroops, if that’s what you mean,” Sheila said. “But I didn’t have a nice war.”

The bedroom door opened and Dan Riordan walked in, freshly shaven and wearing a double breasted gray flannel suit.

He walked restlessly to the window, pulled back the drapes, then dropped them and returned to the center of the room.

“Any details about May’s murder?” he asked, of no one in particular.

There was an odd silence in the room and Jake had the impression that Riordan had mentioned the thought that was on everyone’s mind.

“I just have the bare facts,” Noble said.

Jake settled back in his chair and glanced around. Brian Riordan was blowing smoke rings into the air, and Denise had crossed her legs and was fingering the arm of her chair distractedly. Sheila was watching Riordan, who was frowning at Noble, as if he’d said something significant.

Practically everybody present, Jake realized, was probably relieved that May had been murdered. Riordan, certainly. And Denise and Brian, also, since it secured the health and productivity of their golden goose. Sheila had no reason to care, but Noble was undoubtedly happy that an obstacle in the way of the account had been removed.

The question was, had any of these people killed May?

Riordan, who had the best reason to murder May, had spent the night in Gary, Indiana. Noble had no alibi, other than his own word that he’d spent the night with one Bebe Passione. Jake wondered where Denise Riordan had been last night, since no one had mentioned her being in Gary with her husband. And Brian. Where had he been?

Riordan put a cigar in his mouth and lit it with a silver lighter from the coffee table.

“The police have any ideas yet?” he said.

“Not so far,” Jake said. “She was killed around four, strangled with a sash from her negligee. They know that her diary is missing. And,” he paused, and glanced at Riordan, “they know the diary is presumed to have some hot information about you.”

“How do they know that?” Riordan said quietly.

“I told them.”

“Any reason for that?”

“Yes, of course. You and May had an argument about her plans for the book, which was overheard by most of the people at her party. The police would learn about that, so I told them to make it appear we, or you, rather, have nothing to fear.”

“I have nothing to fear,” Riordan said. “Your assumption that I need to be defended is a little odd, Harrison.”

Jake sighed. “It’s an occupational disease with me to copper all bets. I’m glad you have nothing to fear, because you have an appointment with Lieutenant Martin of the Homicide Division at four thirty this afternoon.”

“How do you know that?”

“He asked me when it would be convenient for him to see you. I suggested he make it after the press conference. For obvious reasons.”

“I see.” Riordan frowned and then began to nod thoughtfully. “You mean, Martin is willing to cooperate because you were square with him about me. You were right.” He grinned suddenly. “You’re doing fine, Harrison.”

Denise stood up impatiently. “I hate all of this,” she said. “May Laval was a flamboyant bitch, and she couldn’t even die without making a scene. People will be saying you killed her to get the diary, Danny.”

“People will say no such thing,” Riordan said icily. He stared at his wife with controlled but unmistakable anger. “I was in Gary last night, if you remember.”

Brian Riordan suddenly clapped his hands together in applause. “Tycoon saved by last minute alibi,” he intoned. “Free Enterprise wins again.”

“Oh, shut up,” his father said.

“That’s the trouble with all you people, you’re so deadly serious,” Brian said, getting languidly to his feet. “Come, Denise, I’ll take you as far as the elevator.”

Denise kissed Riordan on the cheek and picked up an alligator bag that matched her pumps, and a seven-skin sable which provided the last exquisitely expensive touch to her appearance. “I’m going to do some shopping,” she said, and smiled around the room. “See you all again soon, I hope.”

Jake wondered if she had told Riordan about her visit to May’s. The police would get to that eventually, and so would the papers. They couldn’t do much, however, unless Denise or Brian was foolish enough to disclose their intention of buying or scaring her out of writing her book.

Brian waved to Niccolo from the doorway. “Don’t take any wooden foxholes, chum.”

Denise plucked at his arm. “Let’s don’t get into the Battle of the Bulge with sound effects here.”

They left, closing the door behind them. Jake stood up and took the speech he’d written from his breast pocket, and handed it to Riordan. “Look it over and we’ll talk about it a bit.”

While Riordan read the speech Jake found his thoughts turning back to May. He couldn’t get her from his mind. There was that business she’d had with Mike Francesca, the aging but still potent racketeer. Jake wondered if Martin had a line on Francesca yet.

“It doesn’t cover much ground,” Riordan said, jerking Jake back to the present.

“There’s not much ground we can cover safely,” Jake said. “That speech will be okay if you handle it right. Read it again, then throw it away. Don’t bother trying to memorize it, but get the ideas across in your own words. You’re making just one point today, namely, that no formal charges have been brought against you, that you’re in the dark, and at the mercy of the government until such a time as they stop trying your case in the newspapers and charge you specifically with something — even if it’s only playing your radio too loudly.”

“I get your idea now,” Riordan said.

“Fine. When you start talking, preface your remarks by stating that you’ll answer all questions when you’re through. There may be some embarrassing ones, but don’t say ‘No comment’ to anything. If you don’t want to answer a question, say you can’t do it at this time, or that you don’t know.” He glanced at his watch. “Remember, these guys can spot a phony act a mile away, so just relax and be natural. Now, I’d suggest that you wait in the bedroom until they get here. Do you have anything to add, Gary?”

“One other thing,” Noble said hastily. “The liquor.” Riordan waved to the phone. “Room service will send you anything you need,” he said and left.

Niccolo slumped down in the chair that Brian had vacated. “Did you ever hear a sillier idiot than young Riordan?” he said.

“Maladjusted, mayhaps,” Sheila said.

“He’s making a cult out of it,” Niccolo said disgustedly. He glanced at his watch nervously. “What the hell is holding up the press?”

“They’re in no hurry to get their ears bent,” Jake said. “They’re probably all sensibly having a beer somewhere.”

Ten minutes after the waiters had brought in trays of whiskey and soda there was a knock on the door and Noble squared his shoulders, drew his face into a broad welcoming smile and marched across the room with the springy gait of a Rotary chairman on stunt night.

Fifteen minutes later the room was crowded with photographers and reporters. Jake saw that the release on Riordan’s speech was distributed to everyone, and that the drinks flowed smoothly. He had known many of the reporters for years and he talked with them easily, and almost automatically got across the pitch he hoped they would take back to their editors.

He made the point, unobtrusively, that Riordan was in the dark because Prior, the bastard from the government, was making him out to be a crook in advance of any charges or evidence. That was as far as Jake cared to go, since he knew that most of the men covering the story didn’t give much of a damn about it, merely wanted to get it over with, get it written and off their minds.

Jake, himself, wasn’t too interested in selling them one way or the other, and this puzzled him. Normally, he thought, it could at least be said of him that he worked and fought hard for a client. That didn’t seem to be true now. He decided the trouble was May. Until he knew what had happened to her and why he wouldn’t be good for much else. Why that should be so he didn’t know.

Noble called for attention and after the buzz of talk died he smiled gratefully, and opened the bedroom door. “All set, Mr. Riordan,” he said.

Riordan came out immediately and shook hands all around, and said hello to several of the reporters he’d known during the war. The photographers wanted to get their shots and clear out, so he posed for them and then waved the reporters into chairs and got into his speech.

He was good at handling men. He stood in the center of the room and something in his manner made that the only natural place for him to stand. He stumbled for words occasionally, but he made his points with strong emphasis, and he came through as an angry but baffled man who wanted only to be told what the shouting was about so he could say a word in his own defense.

Afterward, when the reporters had left and Noble had distributed drinks jubilantly, Jake sat down beside Sheila. Noble was telling Riordan how well he’d done, and Riordan was puffing a cigar and smiling cheerfully.

“Well, how did we do?” Jake said to Sheila.

“Oh, fine. I’ll tell you about it some time.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jake said. He felt an unaccountable depression. “Does your offer to help me get drunk still stand?”

“If you like.”

Riordan was almost jubilant, Jake noticed. When the phone rang, he said, “I’ll bet this is Meed,” and scooped up the receiver with a strong quick gesture. “Riordan speaking,” he said.

He listened a moment and then he spoke and his voice was low and hard. “I’ll be right over,” he said.

He lowered his hand to his side, still holding the receiver, and stared straight ahead with a curiously disbelieving expression on his face.

“What is it?” Noble said anxiously.

Riordan put a hand to his forehead and shook his head slowly. “Avery Meed was murdered in his hotel room this morning. I — that was a Lieutenant Martin on the phone. He wants me to come over there now.”

He took a step forward and noticed that he was still holding the phone. Frowning at it, he let it drop to the floor. He walked to the coffee table and poured himself a drink.

Sheila had sat up straight, and Noble was breathing heavily, obviously tom between the desire to say something, and the knowledge that there wasn’t anything to say.

Niccolo alone seemed calm. He picked the phone from the floor and replaced it in the cradle. “You’d better take a cab if they want you in a hurry,” he said to Riordan.

“Yes, yes,” Riordan said, putting his drink down. “Call the bell captain. I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.”

He walked into the bedroom and Noble stared at Jake with shoulders expressively raised. “What the hell does this mean?” he said.

“Who knows?” Jake said. “Somebody’s killed Meed, I gather. I’ll go with Riordan and find out what I can.”

“Fine,” Noble said. He seemed relieved that someone was taking action which, whether effective or not, relieved him of the responsibility of doing anything.

When Riordan came out of the bedroom wearing a hat and topcoat, Jake jumped up and followed him through the door.