There was the number, on a couple of days.
They’re so smooth, and then they overlook something as simple as this. They’re so clever, and then they do the dumbest, damnedest things.
In a murder, it’s best not to be smooth. In a murder, it’s best to be as impromptu as you can. It’s the careful planning that trips you up.
And all the time that silly rhyme was running through my head.
I went home and took a shower. I tried to take a nap, but that was impossible. If Alex Randolph wouldn’t be be home until late, there wasn’t much I could do. At eight o’clock, I was on Doc Enright’s front porch.
“Come in,” he said. “Come in, as the spider said. I hope you brought some money or your checkbook.”
“Both,” I told him. “How’s Ella?”
“Ella’s fine. She and Aunt Aggie went to a movie. That was all right, wasn’t it?”
I said it was all right, and we went down to the basement, to the rumpus room.
The boys were all there, all of them a lot wealthier than yours truly, but all of them played this quarter limit game as though it meant milk for their starving children.
I played it, that night, as though I didn’t care if I won or lost. So naturally, I won. Doc was about the only guy who bucked me successfully that night, and on the really big pots I beat him out. I was nearly fifty bucks ahead when Aunt Aggie came down and told me I was wanted upstairs.
Glen Harvey was waiting for me up there. “We found Ed Byerly,” he said. “We’ve been looking all over town for you and Jack. I had a hunch you might be here. I remembered your Tuesday nights.”
“Where’d you find Byerly?” I asked.
“In a vacant lot. His face was bloody, as though he’d had a battle with someone, but we got him cleaned up now. He was strangled, Jonesy.”
“He’s—”
“Dead,” Glen finished. “Jack here? We want him down at the morgue to identify Byerly as the killer, if he is.”
From below, I heard the voices of the boys. “Byerly isn’t the killer,” I said. “I’ll go with you now, and we’ll wait for Jack. He should be back in town pretty soon.”
“What the hell’s he doing out of town?” Glen asked. “The Chief won’t like that.”
“He’s chasing a wild goose,” I said. “Let’s go.”
It’s an ill wind, I thought. This is the first time in months I’ve been able to leave here, money ahead.
We took the department car. Glen said: “There’s one bloody thumbprint on Byerly’s collar, but it doesn’t check with anything in the files.”
I said nothing. The thunder was really rumbling now, in the north, and there was a damp breeze blowing in the sedan window. Clouds overhead blanketed the moon and stars completely. It was a depressing, miserable night, a night to match my mood.
Glen said: “Devine’s got the screaming meemies. He thinks you guys are hiding out on purpose.”
I told him what I thought of Devine. I said: “This is a nasty racket we’re all in, Glen.”
“It’s a living,” he said.
We didn’t go over to Jack’s rooming house to wait. We parked near Alex Randolph’s big home, and turned off the lights.
Glen said: “I’m not the only one working overtime. The Chief’s waiting down at headquarters, too, Jonesy.”
“And Devine, no doubt?”
“And Devine.” He peered through the gloom. “Is that a filling station open up there?”
“It looks like it,” I said.
“I’d better run up and call in, tell them what we’re doing. You wait here.” He left the car.
I waited, while the thunder grew worse, while the wind rose. Then, as the first drops of rain spattered against the windshield, Glen was back. “They’ll be waiting down there,” he said.
We didn’t wait long, though it seemed long. The rain was falling steadily when a huge sedan rolled up the street and turned in at the Randolph home.
About twenty second later, another pair of headlights came down the street. Glen looked at me for confirmation.
They were old, dim lights, and Jack’s car was a jalopy. I took a chance. “That’s Jack,” I said.
Glen stepped out into the center of the road. I wasn’t far behind him.
The jalopy ground to a halt, and Jack’s head came out the side window. “What the hell’s cooking?” he wanted to know.
“Murder,” I said.
Glen was over at the car now. “Ed Byerly’s been killed. They want you down to identify him.”
“O.K.,” Jack said, “let’s go. But don’t stand out there in the rain like that.”
“You’d better come in the department car,” Glen said. “This heap of yours doesn’t look like it’d make it.”
“Hmmm,” Jack said. “That showcase of Randolph’s couldn’t lose me. And he was really logging.”
On the way down, I asked Jack: “What’d you find out about Alex Randolph?”
“After thirteen hours of constant supervision by this trained and skilled operative,” Jack said, “it was learned that Alex Randolph, brother of the deceased, owns a fox farm.”
“And that’s all?”
“That’s all. Foxes, hundred of foxes, and I’ll bet he’ll take a beating, the way furs have been dropping, lately. But that’s all I learned.”
I said nothing more. I hadn’t anything fitting to say.
Glen said: “You guys sure love to play cop, don’t you? And without pay. It beats me.”
“With pay,” I said. But without reward, I thought. Money isn’t enough to pay me for this, tonight.
Lightning split the sky, and the rain was really lashing the windows now.
Jack said: “I really should phone the blonde. She worries about me.”
“Women,” Glen said. “You can have ’em all.”
“I’ll take ’em,” Jack said. “How about you, Jonesy?”
“Some of them are all right, I guess,” I said.
We were in front of the station, now. The morgue was in the basement, the cool, dim morgue.
We went in, hurrying to get out of the rain, but I didn’t want to hurry. We went down the worn, stone steps, and past Doc Waters, who was bending over one of the slabs. Doc Waters worked late, too, it seemed.
Then we came to a slab, and Glen pulled the sheet down, and Jack stared. We waited.
Finally, Jack said: “That’s different than the picture all right. That’s him, for sure.”
He wasn’t there again, today, I thought, Oh gee, I wish he’d go away. The silly, silly rhyme.
Glen said: “We’ll go up to the Chief’s office.”
We went up slowly, thinking our separate and various thoughts. Mine weren’t pleasant.
Devine was in the Chief’s office, and so was the Chief. The Chief said: “Well...?”
“That’s the man,” Jack said.
Devine smirked, and the Chief nodded. “All right, we’ll have a statement prepared in a moment. If you gentlemen will sit down?”
We sat down. I said: “Never mind the statement.”
They were all staring at me. I thought of the rhyme. “He’s the little man who wasn’t there. I know that. Byerly was miles away from Dr. Randolph’s office when the doctor was killed.”
Devine snorted. The Chief said: “You sure of that, Mort?”
I could feel Jack’s eyes on me. “I’m sure of it. There were lots of little, fat men involved in this case. None of them were there.”
Jack said: “Are you crazy, Jonesy?”
“I went to see your girl today, Jack,” I said. “She thought you might be dead. She hasn’t seen you for a week.”