“That might be difficult to prove against him, now that Jolliffe’s dead. He’s the only one who could testify against him.”
“You could.”
“How? It’d be my word against his.”
Pinky Devol leaned forward. “The least you can do, though, is to fire the man.”
Beagle looked at Sparbuck. The latter nodded. “Lieutenant Becker said something about trying to get your license revoked, Mr. Beagle. But if this operator is no longer in your employ…”
“I see,” said Beagle. “I’ll discharge him at once.” He brightened. “Now, how about some lunch?”
12
Joe Peel was down on his hands and knees on the floor when Otis Beagle returned to the office. The edge of the threadbare rug was turned back.
“What the hell, Joe!” Beagle exclaimed. Peel got to his feet and brushed his knees.
“Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The thousand dollar bill. You’ve hidden it somewhere.”
Beagle hung up his hat and cane. “Suppose I have, Joe.”
“I want half of it.”
“Why?”
Peel pointed to his eye. “Did I have that this morning, Otis? I said yesterday before all this started that you’d get the money and the credit and I’d get a punch in the eye. Well, I’ve got it and a few other bruises.”
Beagle seated himself in his swivel chair. He folded his hands across his ample stomach. “I should think a man in your position would learn to duck.”
“Last night,” Peel said ominously, “I was knocked out and dumped up on Mulholland Drive. Today a man came into the steam room at the Swedish baths and knocked the living daylights out of me. He left me unconscious. And you, you big, fat…”
“Just a minute, Joe,” cut in Beagle. “I said you’d go too far some day…”
“I’ll go a lot farther. The masseur at Ole’s Swedish Baths gave me an earful about you. You’ve been blowing off how you solve all the cases. You alone worked out the Onthank business…”
“Go ahead,” said Beagle. “Get it all off your chest. And when you get finished…”
Something in Beagle’s tone caused Peel to look at him sharply. “What’re you up to?”
“Are you through exercising your tongue?”
“Let’s have it!”
“All right,” Beagle drew a deep breath, “you’re fired…”
“Say it again…”
“You’re through with the Beagle Agency.”
“Cut out the clowning, Otis, I’m in no mood…”
“I’m not clowning, Joe. This is final. You can forget the Jolliffe case. You can forget… me. I’m letting you go. Finally. Definitely.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Mmmm, there’s a small sum due you, I believe…”
“Forget it, chum,” said Peel, and turning, walked out of the office.
At the corner liquor store he bought a pint of bourbon and continued on to his hotel on Ivar.
Mr. Hathaway, the manager, was seated behind the desk. “Why, Mr. Peel,” he said, “you’re home early.”
“My rent’s paid, isn’t it?” Peel retorted. “Any law says I can’t come home early?”
He climbed the stairs to the second floor, entered his room and taking off his coat, opened the bottle of bourbon. He took a big swallow, then followed with another.
Then, still clutching the whiskey bottle he threw himself on the bed.
13
Firing Joe Peel hadn’t been easy. They had flashed iron bars in front of Otis Beagle’s eyes and his deep instinct of self-preservation had caused him to sabotage Peel, but he felt very badly about it. He perked up a little, however, when he took the thousand dollar bill to the bank and deposited it to his credit. On the way back he bought a couple of fifty-cent cigars and lit one.
A man had to look out for himself first of all. Joe Peel was a good guy, but…
Lieutenant Becker and Sergeant Fedderson were waiting outside of Beagle’s office. Beagle bore down on them, a glint in his eye.
“Now, look here, Lieutenant, this is carrying things a bit too far. I just had lunch with Pinky Devol—”
“I know,” said the lieutenant calmly. “He told me about it.”
“Well, didn’t he tell you to lay off of me?”
“That he did,” Sergeant Fedderson said, cheerfully. “He told us to lay off of you, that he did.”
Beagle took his key from his pocket and put it into the door lock. “Then why’re you here bothering me now?”
“Why,” Lieutenant Becker said, “Pinky told me to lay off, but then I told him something.”
“I can imagine you telling Pinky.” There was scorn in Beagle’s tone.
“I told him about a murder.”
“Jolliffe was a suicide…”
“Sure — I’ll settle for a suicide on him. But somebody else has been murdered and no mistake about it.” Beagle’s stomach suddenly felt as if butterflies were fluttering about in it. “Wh-who…?”
“A girl. She lives — lived — at the Lehigh Apartments.”
Beagle choked on a mouthful of fifty-cent cigar smoke. Lieutenant Becker reached past him and pushed open the office door. Beagle went in and the two detectives followed.
“Where’re the Lehigh Apartments?” Beagle asked them.
“Don’t you know?”
“I don’t know every apartment in town.”
“You ought to know this one, because you sent Joe Peel there.”
Beagle laughed but there was a false note in it. “I sent Peel to the Lehigh Apartments?”
“Mike Rafferty picked him up there last night. He made a report on it; that’s how I know.”
Beagle shook his head. “If Peel was at the Lehigh Apartments last night he was there on his own time.”
“He didn’t go there to call on a Helen Gray?”
Beagle started to heave a sigh of relief, then caught himself. Gray — that was the name of the girl who shared the apartment with Wilma Huston! Wilma would come into it. And Wilma had a receipt signed by Joe Peel, as a representative of the Beagle Agency.
“As a matter of fact,” Beagle said, “I know very little of the personal life of Joe Peel. He used to work for me…”
That got a rise from both of the detectives. Fedderson even took his fingers out of the files into which they had been dipped.
Becker said, “Used to work for you?”
“Didn’t Devol tell you? I fired Peel.”
“When?”
“Oh, just a little while ago. I found out some things about Peel — things he was doing on the side. Using this agency’s name for his, ah, personal schemes.”
Becker regarded Beagle steadily. “You and Peel were closer than pork and beans.”
“Oh, no, we weren’t. Our relationship was strictly that of employer and employee.”
“All right, then you won’t mind giving me Peel’s home address.”
“Why, I don’t believe I remember it off hand…”
“Cut it out, Otis!” Becker reached for the card file on Beagle’s desk. Beagle headed him off. “Keep your hands off that!”
“I want Peel’s address and I want it now.”
“It isn’t in there…”
“I’ll look for myself.”
“No you won’t. You won’t do anything of the kind. You haven’t got a search warrant…”
“What makes you think I haven’t?” Becker took it out of his breast pocket and Beagle surrendered. If there was one thing in all the world he did not want, it was for Becker to go through that card file.
“I don’t remember Peel’s exact address, but he lives in a cheap hotel not very far from here. I know the place when I see it, but…” he drew a deep breath. “I’ll go there with you.”