Chapter Four
Wrong Number
Two o’clock in the morning is no time to go calling on the Mike Hartley type of man, especially when he’s your boss. But if I couldn’t find the boy who’s made a corpse out of Ethel Winters, I’d be out of a job anyway. So I left Janie in her car outside the Old Man’s apartment and went on up.
Fifteen minutes later I was again sitting next to Janie with my head flung back against the leather upholstery. I let her light a cigarette for me and the smoke felt good going into my lungs.
“It’s no use, Janie,” I said slowly, “Mike Hartley can’t help.”
“You mean he won’t!” she spat angrily.
“No, baby,” I rolled my head wearily, “he can’t. He doesn’t know a thing about the other guy. But he’ll be glad to testify at my trial as to my character and—”
“Trial!”
“Yeah. His advice is to turn myself over to the police.”
“Oh, no!” She reached out and took my hand and I held on.
“I’m afraid he’s right though,” I said. “I’ll try to get me a good lawyer and then I’ll just pray.”
“But how about the man who was chasing Ethel? Doesn’t Mr. Hartley know — isn’t there something?”
I shrugged my shoulders and blew a puff of smoke at the windshield.
“If there was such a monkey, I don’t know him and neither does the boss. He can’t figure who took the trench knife off my desk either, any more than he can account for your sister wanting him to write me in as the beneficiary on her insurance policy.” I cleared my throat. “The old goat had the idea that I’ve been running around with your sister — that she was my girl.”
It was as if I dropped a bomb. I felt Janie’s body stiffen next to mine and she slipped her hand out of my fist and gripped the steering wheel hard.
“Was she?” Her voice was quiet and full of edges. “Tell me — was she?”
“No!” I hastened to reply. “Of course not.” And I made sure that my voice had the sharp tone of finality about it. “The only time I ever laid eyes on your sister before today was when she came to Mike Hartley’s office about three days ago.”
I glanced at the slim, tense figure beside me. “You believe me?” I asked.
She turned and smiled wanly. “I believe you,” she said and her small hand found mine again. She was quiet for a moment, then she said, “Anyway, I’m sure I wouldn’t like your boss.”
I laughed grimly. “Who does?”
“He was a real louse on the phone,” she said. “He hung up on me.”
“Hung up on you? When was this?”
“A few minutes ago, when you were with him,” she replied.
“What was the idea?” I asked and I felt annoyed and probably sounded it.
She stuck her head out of the car window and looked up and down the street.
“There’s been a car cruising in front of the house,” she said in a worried tone. “I was scared. It looked like they were watching us.” Her voice picked up. “Although I haven’t seen them for quite a while now.”
I looked over my shoulder; there was nothing in sight. “Who was in the car?”
“I couldn’t see,” she told me. “But whoever it was must have seen you go into the house. That’s why I tried to get you.”
I looked around again but still didn’t spot anything.
“You’re just getting jittery, kid.” I remarked. “Forget it.”
But I couldn’t forget it. Something bothered me and I couldn’t quite lay my hands on it. Then, just like that, I remembered.
Mike Hartley hadn’t answered the phone while I was with him!
“You must have called while I was on the way down, huh?” I prompted.
“Oh, no,” she answered. “You were with him because he said he was busy.”
The muscles in the back of my neck got all tight and started to do tricks.
“Are you sure it was my boss you talked to?” I asked.
“Don’t be silly. I even called the second time after he hung up and he did the same thing again — told me he was busy and slammed the phone down.”
Then the harassed lines in my brow smoothed out. “You must have gotten the wrong number.”
“I did not,” she bit off indignantly. “I got the right number. I took it out of the phone book in the lobby. Here, I even wrote it down.” She handed me a small hunk of notepaper.
“It’s the right number all right, and I certainly didn’t—”
She chopped off the words suddenly because I was sitting there, staring at the piece of paper in my hand with eyes that wouldn’t believe what they saw.
The number she’d written down was Mike Hartley’s telephone all right, but it was his office number, not his home. I whirled on Janie almost savagely.
“Can a man be in two places at once?”
She arched her back against the door. “W-what do you mean?”
I didn’t speak but flung open the door of her car and strode back into the lobby of the apartment house.
I slipped into the telephone booth and dialed a number. I listened, then I cradled the receiver roughly and flinging open the creaking door, grabbed Janie by the arm and side-wheeled her back into her car without a word.
I parked Janie across from the building on Nassau Street where I played at trying to learn the insurance game, and told her to wait.
The office where I worked was on the second floor, and as I climbed the short flight of stairs I couldn’t help noticing what a dark, crummy place it was. I put my office key in the door that said: Hartley, Inc. and walked in.
I didn’t see my trench knife on the small desk I called home but I did see something else in the room.
Mike Hartley had one of those new wire recorders connected to his telephone. I sidled over and examined it closely. Then I knew how the Old Man could be in two places at the same time. It had the automatic attachment that raised the receiver when the phone rang. A previously recorded message played into the mouthpiece.
I raised the receiver slightly and Mike Hartley’s recorded voice filled the room: “Hello... Don’t bother me, I’m busy.”
I dropped the receiver and slapped my fist into the palm of my hand. “So that’s how it was done.”
“Yes, that’s how it was done.”
I whirled around and faced Mike Hartley standing in the doorway. And for the third time in a few hours, I knew what it felt like to have a gun pointed at my body.
“Why?” I asked and it was a shock even to me to hear how calm my voice sounded. “Why her and why me?”
He laughed foolishly. “She didn’t count. You shouldn’t be concerned about her — that young lady was going to commit suicide anyway.”
“You must be nuts!”
He sighed and rubbed his head with his left hand but his right didn’t move. “She was a little fool, such a little fool. She got herself all involved with some Romeo and then she wanted to die. She wanted to die, but she wanted to leave her sister provided for.” He chuckled again. “She made a mistake, though. She told me about it and I capitalized on it.”
“Naturally,” I agreed. “And—”
“I persuaded her to take out a second policy.”
“Persuaded!” I snorted.
“Call it what you will,” he shrugged. “I just convinced her that if her intentions became common knowledge in insurance circles, she’d never get a policy. It was fairly easy.”
“But why me?” I asked.
“I couldn’t have my name on the policy, now could I?” he explained tersely. “It might prove collusion and then I couldn’t collect the money. No. You were my stroke of genius, young man. I could collect on you.”