I sat down slowly. “Now look, Westover...”
“Lieutenant, to you,” he snarled.
“O.K., Lieutenant then. It happens I loaned Freddie Ogden ten bucks while we were in stir. He promised to pay it back, but he couldn’t contact me. I read where he often went to the Elite Club and I waited...”
“Save the wind,” Westover advised with liberal sarcasm. “It was panhandling and the doorman witnessed it. He told one of my boys about a pair of ex-cons meeting in front of the place and that’s how I tumbled.”
I reached for the phone. Inwardly I was considerably relieved. Finding Westover parked in my room instantly made me think I’d been tied to the Cooney kill. It seemed Westover either hadn’t made a connection between me and Cooney or the private eye’s body hadn’t even been found yet.
“Who are you going to call?” he demanded.
“My boss — Stuart Sedley. A panhandler has to be broke and I get paid regularly. Then I’ll call Freddie Ogden and his girl friend. Then you can take me in and I’ll make more trouble for you than you ever thought existed.”
Westover arose and very carefully slugged me across the mouth. Then he started slapping my face and cuffing my ears until they burned like fire. That was the hand and majesty of the law — as he saw it. I held my arms stiff, my palms flat and hard against the bed on which I sat. I kept telling myself not to take him. I could do it. He knew that and so did I, but Westover was only praying I’d take a poke at him.
He got tired of this after awhile, shoved me flat on the bed and then started frisking the room. He didn’t find anything. I made certain not to keep any papers around, no extra money and nothing which could be construed as a weapon. He walked into the bathroom and washed his hands. He flung the towel into my face.
“Clean up your kisser,” he growled. “You must have been drunk to fall on your face and muss it up that way.”
He strolled out of the room, slammed the door and continued down the hall. I sat there, cursing him fluently for ten minutes while the pain went out of my face. But I’d won that round and I could be a trifle proud of it. Somehow I didn’t feel that way. My head hurt too much.
Chapter Three
Shadow Man
The next afternoon the papers were full of Cooney’s mysterious murder, but Lieutenant Westover didn’t seem to be any part of the investigation. I read the details and, boiled down, they only stated that nobody knew a thing about the kill. It was funny, in a way, because I could have helped the cops, but if I did they’d heave me back to prison. This was one time I could laugh and enjoy it.
At eight that night I met Freddie Ogden and we walked to the triplex apartment where Ernest Doane lived. Lila admitted us. She kissed Freddie with a vigor that made me actually jealous, but she took my hand in both of hers and held it warmly. That was recompense of some sort.
“Dad so wants to meet you, Mr. Trent,” she said. “But I’m going to call you Rick. Oh... my aunt Kate will be there too, but don’t let her disturb you though she’ll growl and make faces at you.”
Ernest Doane turned out to be a husky looking man with white hair and a pink face. His handshake was friendly. He had us all sit down and then he told a young man in one corner of the room to mix drinks. The young man I found out later was named Paul Manning and he was private secretary to the whole family. He was typical of his sort, graceful enough to be almost effeminate though I knew he was anything but that. He bowed at the right time, addressed Doane as ‘sir’ and treated Lila as if she were his sister.
Kate Bradford sat primly erect in one of the smaller chairs. She was skinny, thin-faced and wore plain brown hair pulled back severely. I guessed she was easily Doane’s age, but she didn’t show it. Her lips were tightly compressed and stayed that way most of the time. She didn’t see my hand when we were introduced and I gathered the idea that she didn’t even like Santa Claus when she was a kid. I could well imagine how the nurses at Community Hospital regarded her.
Doane said: “I’m glad to have you here, Mr. Trent. You probably believe that’s rather odd in view of your prison term and the way you are probably treated by other people, but Stuart Sedley talked to me today. We happened to run into one another.”
I knew how accidental that meeting was. About as accidental as a Joe Louis punch. Sedley had set the stage for me.
Doane went on. “Having been to prison is no honor, I admit, but that doesn’t make a confirmed criminal of you. Matter of fact, I believe my own family is implanted with more criminals...”
“Ernest,” Kate Bradford snapped.
He waved a hand at her. “Mr. Trent will understand, Kate. I have to tell him this so he will realize I’m quite sincere. My great-grandfather, Mr. Trent, murdered at least three men. They hung him eventually. My grandfather killed no one, but he drove several people to suicide when he swiped their money. Oh — most legally according to the books, but those people were ruined just the same. My father once maimed a man for life during a college boxing exhibition. Dad wangled the fight because he hated this other chap. And after that Dad wasn’t a saint. Like his father before him, he made money through other people’s ruin.”
“Some family, eh, Rick?” Lila winked at me and grinned. No wonder Freddie had fallen for her.
Doane said: “Trent is too polite to comment. Now here is what I’m after. Being the descendant of such an assorted bunch of murderers and thieves, I’ve striven to make up for their digressions. I’ve conducted my own life upon an exemplary plane. Now Lila has fallen in love with Freddie. Very good — I heartily approve because I like Freddie. He’s sown a few wild oats and reaped them too. Should I, with my family background, take issue with that? You are following me, Mr. Trent?”
“I think so,” I said. “You’re satisfied with Freddie as a son-in-law. And you should be. He’s no criminal. Spending a year or two in prison hasn’t made him bitter or crooked. And I can tell you this — in prison I found him to be honest and friendly. There isn’t a man up there who wouldn’t say the same things about him.”
“Except Hazy — a convict I belted because he pushed around an old man,” Freddie cut in.
“Which is to your credit,” Doane added. “Thank you, Mr. Trent.” He bowed in my direction. “Learning how Freddie acted while in prison is the main reason I was anxious to see you. Now, perhaps, you will realize my motives. I’m trying to purify the family blood. I couldn’t allow my daughter to marry a man who might revert to all those things my forebears were.”
That was when I started to see daylight in copious quantities. What had happened wasn’t aimed at Freddie, but at the Doane family. Freddie, publicly fingered as an ex-con by another ex-con who looked like a bum, wouldn’t help his chances with Lila, nor improve her social or moral status.
I said: “Mr. Doane, I can assure you Freddie is O.K. in every respect.”
He rubbed his hands. “Fine, fine. I’m a bit hipped on this subject, but I’d rather Lila died a spinster than continue a blood strain that results in nothing but an assorted pack of crooks and killers.”
I wanted to ask him about his other daughter, June, but decided this wasn’t quite the time for it. We chatted about various things for awhile, I was served two more drinks by the secretary, who also seemed to act as butler, and then excused myself.
Manning, the secretary, accompanied me to the door and handed me my hat. As I moved past him, he spoke in a whisper. “Stay out of it, Trent. You look healthy and why not remain that way?”
He pivoted and stepped away fast. I wasn’t surprised. I had an idea all along he was listening too intently. Now and then I’d spotted his jaws working as if he had all he could do to keep quiet. As I watched him, Lila came into the hallway. I saw Manning’s face clearly and I guessed the answer. The jerk was in love with her.