Peel shrugged.
“That’s why he fired you; he learned what you had done.”
“Okay,” said Peel. “Now, all you’ve got to do is prove it.”
Lieutenant Becker made a covert signal to Sparbuck. The assistant district attorney nodded. “I don’t think I’ll try to prove that. Because we have something more serious against you. Murder.”
He paused. Peel looked at the palms of his hands; he showed no especial concern.
“A woman named Helen Gray,” said Sparbuck. “She lived with a girl named Wilma Huston, at the Lehigh Apartments.” Sparbuck inhaled deeply then let Peel have what he thought would be the bone-crusher. “Wilma Huston was the girl who blackmailed Wilbur Jolliffe.”
Sparbuck’s announcement didn’t have quite the effect on Peel that Sparbuck expected. Peel just looked at him calmly.
“Is that so?”
Lieutenant Becker could remain out no longer. “You called on her last night,” he roared. “And don’t try to deny it. A policeman picked you up outside the Lehigh Apartments…”
“Outside the apartment,” said Joe Peel. “I was also outside the Roosevelt Hotel, outside of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, the Egyptian… and a good many other places. As a matter of fact I took a long walk last night…”
Lieutenant Becker whirled and signalled to a policeman. The man opened the door and spoke to someone outside. A woman came into the room — a huge woman.
Lieutenant Becker said to her, “Miss Winters, I want you to point out the man who rang your doorbell last night…”
Miss Winters pointed at Joe Peel. “That’s him. He rang my bell last night and when I asked him who he wanted he said he was lookin’ for a Miss Smith. Gwendolyn Smith…”
“Thank you, Miss Winters,” said Sparbuck. “That’ll be all.”
Miss Winters gave Joe Peel a contemptuous glance and left the room. Becker turned to Peel.
“So you were in the Lehigh Apartments last night.”
“Her word against mine,” said Peel. “Just because someone claims they saw me in the building at the time of the murder…” Peel paused, looked sharply at Becker. “Helen Gray was killed last night, wasn’t she…?”
Becker winced. “I don’t know exactly what time she was killed. It isn’t important…”
“Isn’t it?”
The door opened and a policeman came in with a dapper little man who waved a folded paper. “Mr. Sparbuck,” he cried, merrily, “a habeas corpus!”
Sparbuck groaned. “Jack Brown!”
Mr. Brown beamed. “In the flesh, Mr. Sparbuck, in the flesh.” He came up to Peel. “Not another word, Mr. Peel. I’m your attorney and I don’t want you to say another word to them.”
“Fedderson,” Becker said, thickly. “I’ll murder him.”
Peel grinned crookedly. “You didn’t really think Fedderson could keep Otis from the telephone, did you?”
“Mr. Brown,” said Sparbuck, “I’m thinking of preferring a murder charge against Peel…”
“Fine, Mr. Sparbuck,” said Jack Brown, “as long as you just think about it. Mr. Peel, shall we go?”
Peel winked at Lieutenant Becker. “A good try, Lieutenant, a pretty good try.”
“We’ll have you back, Peel,” growled Becker, “and maybe I’ll throw away the key then.”
15
Sergeant Fedderson and Otis Beagle were having a little party in Joe Peel’s room when Peel pushed open the door. They had a bowl of ice cubes, pretty well melted and the remnants of a pint of bourbon.
Sergeant Fedderson’s eyes almost popped from his face when he saw Peel. “How come you’re back?” he gasped.
Peel inclined his head toward Beagle. “Let him tell you.”
Beagle was very pleased with himself. “My lawyer got him out on a writ, Sergeant…”
Fedderson got to his feet. “But… but how could you call your lawyer…?”
Beagle chuckled. “Lieutenant Becker’s going to ask you that. So you may as well have the answer ready… I was in the bathroom for a minute before we called room service, wasn’t I?”
Sergeant Fedderson’s face got just a bit green. “You wrote a note…”
“On tissue paper,” said Beagle. “And I gave it to the waiter when I gave him the money for the whiskey. Simple, wasn’t it…?”
“So simple that Fedderson’ll be walking a beat tomorrow,” said Peel. “You’re getting a little fat anyway, Sergeant. Around the ears…”
Fedderson reeled to the door and went out. Otis Beagle crossed the room and shot the bolt.
“Now,” he said to Peel, “let’s get to work.”
“Who, me?” asked Peel.
“Now, stop it, Joe…”
“You sabotaged me. You told Al Sparbuck that I was working on my own for Jolliffe; you said that I shook down the blackmailers and kept the money…”
“I had to tell them that, Joe. I was on the spot — my license was at stake…”
“But you fired me.”
“I had to, Joe. They insisted — Pinky and Sparbuck. But I never had any intention of making it stick. You ought to know that. Why, we… we’ve been pals, Joe.”
Peel looked thoughtfully at Otis. He didn’t believe a word the big man said. But they were in a tight spot, both of them. They had to fight it through together — or go to jail, together.
“All right, Otis,” he said. “I’m sticking because I have to stick. But I’m not forgetting. And when this is over…”
“I’ll do the right thing, Joe. You can count on that.”
“You’ll do the right thing, Otis, because if you don’t, so help me, I’m going to take a baseball bat and beat your ears down to little stumps.”
Beagle frowned. “That’s good enough. Now, let’s run over this mess and see just where we are. What does Becker really know?”
“More than I want him to know. They’ve got Wilma Huston and Wilbur Jolliffe tied together and for all I know, they’ve got Wilma Huston.” Peel thought for a moment. “I think it depends a lot on how much Helen Gray talked to Wilma.”
“About your visit there last night?”
Peel nodded. “And this morning.”
“You saw her this morning?”
“Yes.” Peel frowned. “Becker knows about last night; he doesn’t — so far — about this morning.” Peel shook his head. “There’s a lot of screwy angles to this.”
“For instance?”
“For instance Wilma Huston never even met Wilbur Jolliffe…”
“Eh?”
“That’s what she claims and I’m almost ready to believe her…”
“But Wilbur himself gave me her name…”
“Did he? Think again.”
“Come to think of it you gave me the name. I assumed…”
“So did I. Maybe I assumed too much. I gave him the razzle-dazzle yesterday and he asked if it was about Wilma. I assumed from it…” Peel stopped and squinted. Then he exhaled. “No, I tried the name on Jolliffe’s secretary. She said Wilma was the current recipient of Wilbur’s favors.” Peel stopped and scowled. “This Mary Lou — Wilbur’s secretary; she talks a lot. It was she who told Becker. Although Becker didn’t mention me and the false whiskers. I think he would’ve if he’d known. But Becker got Wilma’s name from Mary Lou…”
“What about Mrs. Jolliffe?” Beagle asked. “Maybe she knew about Wilma.”
Peel nodded thoughtfully. “She knew he was chasing somebody, but I hardly think she knew Wilma’s name.”
“Why not?”
“Because Wilbur was an old hand at that stuff. If a man does it for years he gets to know the angles. And the first one is, don’t ever let your wife know the name of your mistress — even if she knows there is a mistress…” Peel paused. “You know, Helen Gray was more the type than Wilma Huston. I keep thinking that. Too bad we can’t search Wilma’s apartment…”