“I wish I knew where he gets his booze. Maybe it would make me smart, too.”
Price deprecatingly waved a hand. “You. don’t have to be smart to make money. You. just have to not give a damn what you touch.”
I thought Price would be an excellent authority on that.
“Look here, Sam, you’re handing me a whale of a line, and you know it. I’m going to find Sutton. You can slow me down, but you can’t stop me. You won’t do yourself any harm showing a little co-operation to the attorney general’s office.”
Price’s face became slightly pink.
“Is that a threat? If it is, you can get the hell out!”
I wasn’t getting anywhere. The closest way to a man is usually through his hobbies, so I pretended just to notice the trap guns, and said: “Say, that’s a fine collection there. Mind if I have a look?”
“I do mind,” said Price, but I crossed over toward the guns anyway. I never completed the distance because I stopped short when I noticed the photograph on one of the bookcases.
I asked: “Who’s that?”
“Patricia, my daughter.” Price’s voice had softened at the mention of her name, but he quickly added: “You heard me — get out!”
“Sure, only, tell me — where were you when your daughter came home?”
“Right here, of course.”
I turned and faced Price. “You’re lying, Sam. You weren’t in the house when she came home. Admit it.”
“Damn you. I don’t have to be called a liar in my own house! Not that I care what you think, but I never left this house this night!”
I sighed and walked to the French door. When I reached it, I turned back. “You’ll regret your attitude, Sam. Remember — I could have made it a lot easier for you if you’d leveled with me.”
I think he realized that I was telling the truth — though of course he couldn’t know what I meant. I felt sorry for him. He was in for a terrible shock when he was told, as eventually he had to be, that his daughter Patricia lay shot to death in an abandoned apartment at the corner of Elmhurst and Arlington Road.
Chapter Three
Homicide Hangover
I knew that I couldn’t be mistaken about the girl’s identity. The photograph had been a perfect likeness of Patricia Price. Her father took for granted that she was upstairs in her bedroom because her car had been brought home.
I wondered if Sutton himself had delivered it. I looked it over carefully as I left the grounds. I was positive that it was the same car Sutton had used. He had been driving it when he had picked me up at the south-side honky-tonk. I kept on going, reaching the street and walking towards the center of town.
Sam Price didn’t know Patricia was running around with Phil Sutton. Or did he? Perhaps it was anger that had made him so quick to make a statement about the check he had given to Sutton. Perhaps he had never given the check to Sutton at all. Perhaps the whole plot was the work of an enraged parent bent on wreaking revenge.
I had gone upon the reasonable assumption that the plot had been cooked up to ruin Keever. Now it seemed altogether possible that any inconvenience caused him was merely incidental to the main purpose, the ruination of Sutton himself.
I had to find Sutton. If the check was a plant, he would know. He would also know about the Cadillac being delivered to Price’s home. It was no pretty picture that I had of Sutton, running out on the party after discovering the girl murdered and returning her car to fool her father.
“Want to ride, or do you like walking?”
I stopped and turned. I had been so preoccupied that I hadn’t noticed the parked car. It was my own. Shelton had been sitting in it with the lights out. He slid out from under the wheel as I crossed and took the driver’s seat.
“I told you to report to Keever.”
“I did — by phone. I thought you might need me. If you hadn’t come pretty quickly I was going after you.”
“What did Keever have to tell you?”
“Nothing. The D.A.’s office haven’t found Sutton. But neither has Keever. He’s counting on you.”
“I’m flattered. Tell me, do you know anybody named Brocky?”
“Brocky? Brocky who?”
“That’s what I want to find out. Price was concluding a phone call to him when I walked in. By the way, I’ve learned the identity of the murdered girl — Patricia Price, Sam’s daughter.”
Shelton whistled, “You didn’t tell Price, of course.”
“Hardly. Though I would have, if he’d leveled with me. He’s playing some kind of game. I’m not sure whether it’s for or against Sutton. You can guess why he might be against him.”
“I’ll say! If I had a daughter running around with Sutton, I’d fix his wagon, one way or another.”
I nodded. I was heading downtown at a pretty good clip. I told Shelton about the Cadillac. He said: “The house was watched. The odds are that whoever returned the Cadillac didn’t know that. So it couldn’t have been Sutton who returned it — the cop on the job would have nailed him.”
I hadn’t thought of that, and I said so. Shelton seemed pleased. I didn’t unbend much — I couldn’t forget that a few hours ago Shelton had been out with Kay. And just thinking about Kay made me remember a detail I’d overlooked.
Somebody had given her the phone number of that apartment. Somebody had known I was there. I gave the wheel a jerk, and Shelton was startled.
“What’s the idea?”
“We’re calling on Kay. She’s going to tell us how she happened to have the phone number of that apartment.”
“Well, I can answer that,” Shelton said sheepishly. “When I took her home tonight the old boy at the desk had the number. She asked him who’d given it to him, and he said he didn’t know. Some guy had phoned it in and said to give it to her.”
I didn’t look at Shelton. I turned back into the main drag and continued on downtown. When we came to a bar that was open I parked in front of it.
“I can use a shot,” I told Shelton. “I’m getting a headache.”
He joined me. When the barman brought our drinks, I asked casually: “Brocky been in tonight?”
The barman looked me over.
“Brocky who, pal?”
“I don’t know the guy’s last name. What is it anyway?”
The barman looked me over very thoughtfully, and said: “I don’t know what the gag is, pal. I don’t know no Brocky, and I don’t know you. Shall I set up another round?”
“No, thanks.”
We left. We stopped at the next open bar, which was blocks away, for it was so late that only those with night club permits remained open. We got about the same kind of response from a barman there. After we had visited three more bars and almost reached the center of town, I knew I couldn’t keep it up without getting drunk all over again. Shelton had been pouring them down right with me and he didn’t show it a bit. Of course I had been in a hell of a shape to begin with.
“Look here,” I told him, as I drove away, “we’d better contact Keever and have him turn the entire staff loose looking for this guy Brocky instead of Sutton. My hunch is that if we find Brocky, we’ll find Sutton.”
Shelton was looking into the mirror, which he’d adjusted so that he could see through the rear glass.
“Maybe we won’t have to find Brocky. Maybe Brocky is looking for us.”
I reached up and adjusted the mirror so that I could have a look. There was a car half a block behind. I made a couple of turns, and the trailing lights stuck there. I felt relieved.
“Well, if you want to get off, it’ll be all right with me. There may be some shooting in about a minute.”
“If there is, I want to do some of it.”