Alex, I remembered, was the doctor’s brother and chess opponent.
We went down in the elevator, and out into the humid day. I opened the door of the Dusy for her.
“Lordy, lordy,” she said. “What in the world is this?”
“It’s a Duesenberg,” I said proudly. “It’s an orphan, but still the finest car in the world.”
“You must be doing all right,” she said, and got in.
It was, I told her, my only extravagance.
“Besides women, of course. A car like this would be wasted, if you weren’t on the prowl.”
“A car like this,” I told her, “makes women unnecessary.”
She looked at me doubtfully, but said nothing.
It was a nice drive, up along the river to Brown Deer and out the Brown Deer road to a gravel road that led north. She directed me all the way. The gravel road was narrow and winding, flanked by some second growth stuff that wasn’t used for farming nor grazing, so far as I could tell.
After about a mile of this, we came to another, even narrower road, and she indicated that I should take it. There was a gate here, and I got out and opened it.
I drove through, and stopped. But she said: “Never mind closing it. There’s nobody here, and we’ll be coming right back.”
We came, finally, to a low, white building about the size of a five room cottage. But it was no dwelling, I felt sure. It looked too utilitarian. The windows were evenly spaced, the door was directly in the center of the end nearest us.
The door wasn’t locked, and we went in.
Three small rooms, just cubicles, with a single bed in each, white, hospital beds. A small laboratory with a big sink, the walls lined with shelves, the shelves lined with bottles. A minute bathroom.
And the biggest room — the operating room.
We stood there, and my glance covered the operating table, the light above it, the white equipment.
“Here’s where he made his money,” she said. “He did some fine work, but he might have slipped from time to time. With these kind of people, it’s best not to slip. Murder isn’t always outside their line of work.”
“He had an assistant here? He must have had at least one.”
“If he did, I never met him — or her. If he did, he — or she — is probably in Paducah by now.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen some of his better work. Your own brother wouldn’t know you, when he got through.” She shook her head again. “Let’s get out of here.”
We went out and got into the car. I asked: “You’ve told the police about this place?”
“Not yet. They didn’t spend much time with me.”
I set the speedometer on the Dusy. I wanted to give the Chief directions as accurate as possible.
We didn’t talk much on the way back. When I stopped in front of the apartment, she said: “Come on up. I’ll give you a check for what Curtis owed you. I don’t want you to lose that.”
I went up with her, and she wrote out the check.
She was standing close to me as she handed me the check, and she was smiling.
I was looking down into those blue eyes, and I must have swayed towards her. I’m only human.
“Why don’t you kiss me?” she asked mockingly. “You want to.”
I kissed her. The pressure of her firm, round body was constant and demanding. I hated my business, at the moment.
I pulled away finally. I said: “Won’t expect a bonus for that.” I took the check and got the hell out.
But I heard her say, before I closed the door: “Are you still satisfied with just the car?”
Chapter Four
Murder Makes the News
The Dusy murmured to me as I drove back to the office, but it L wasn’t anything I could understand.
From the office, I phoned the Chief and told him about the hidden hospital, giving him the mileage I’d copied off the Dusy’s speedometer.
As I was hanging up, I heard the feet on the stairs. A few seconds later, Alex Randolph’s squat figure was framed in my open doorway. I rose.
He looked sad, as he would. He also looked angry and determined. He said: “They’ve been giving me the run-around down at headquarters. They don’t like me too much down there, I guess.”
“Nothing personal, I hope,” I said.
“Nothing but a couple of promotions of mine they couldn’t solve. They hate you down there, when you’re too smart for them.”
I said nothing. I indicated the chair on the retail side of my desk.
He sat down, and said: “I want to hire you. I want you to find out who killed my brother.”
“I’m working on it,” I said.
“That’s good. There’s nothing they’ll ever discover down there. They get anything tougher than a parking ticket, they start running around in circles.”
Which wasn’t true and I knew it. I said: “Did you know an Ed Byerly?”
He hesitated. “Sure. I mean, I know who he is and who his sister is. You think...?”
“Could be,” I said. “Why did you mention his sister?”
“Because that’s why Curt was paying Ed. This sister was a beauty, at one time, you understand? And she had this automobile accident. It left a scar or two on her cheek. They weren’t too bad, but Curt talked her into an operation. He was younger, then.” Alex Randolph shook his head. “God, what a mess he made of that.”
“And that’s why he was paying Ed Byerly?”
Alex frowned. “Not — quite. Ed got nosey. He found out some other things about Curt. He was trying to find out more, lately. I think that’s why Curt hired you.” He stared at me. “Say, that Byerly answers the description all right, doesn’t he?”
So do you, I thought, but didn’t say. I nodded.
“Stick with it,” he said. He rose, and laid a couple of bills on the desk. They were hundred dollar bills. “If you need more, let me know.”
I told him my rates.
“Never mind that. I got three more like that for you if you crack this.” He expelled his breath. “Byerly, that son of a—”
“We’re not sure it is Byerly,” I warned him.
“Who else?” he asked. “Can’t understand why I didn’t figure him right away.” He left.
Who else, I thought. Well, yes, who else...
I went over to Mac’s. I left a note on my door for Jack, telling him I was there. I stood on the curb in the sun for a minute or two, watching the kids, and then walked down to Mac’s.
It was cool in there, and the beer was exactly right. Mac was explaining to a customer about the artistry of Tommy Loughran. “You notice any marks on him?” Mac asked his listener.
The customer said, no, he never had.
“An artist, that’s why,” Mac said. “Like a shadow he was, in the ring, moving so easy and quiet and nice—”
Like a shadow, the constant shadow, I thought, and sipped my beer. A kid came in with some papers and put them on the bar. The door swung listlessly behind him.
There was a picture, I could see, on the front page of the paper. I moved closer. It was a picture of Ed Byerly. It was, the story with the picture stated, a man whom the police were looking for, right now. I remembered this morning, in the Chiefs office, and the lead Devine had. This was the lead.
“Friend of yours in the news, Mac,” I said.
He picked up the paper and read a moment. “Jonesy, my gosh, it’s—”
“You and your friends,” I said.
He was pale. “Jonesy, you gave ’em this. If Ed thinks I told you—”
“He’ll come and get you with a knife,” I finished for him. “No, I didn’t give it to them, Mac. They’ve got their own sources of information.”