“If you’re here to put the bite on my racket, say so.”
“I don’t give a damn about your racket. I don’t want much — just tell me who shot Patricia Price.”
Brockley said slowly: “If I’d known, I’d have told Price.”
“Oh, so you told him about it over the phone?”
“I thought you said you was there.”
“I was, but I got in a little late. Price pretended to me that he didn’t know.”
“Well, I don’t know who rubbed out the girl — any more than you do.” Brockley seemed to have a brainstorm then. His eyes narrowed, and he said meaningly: “Maybe you’re the guy that knows all about it. Maybe you done the job yourself!”
“Skip it, Brockley. I didn’t bump the girl — I was buzzed up all evening.”
“You could of knocked her off and forgotten about it.”
“Nix. I could have forgotten a lot of things that happened at that party and a lot of people who were there. But I remember murder. So let’s begin at the beginning. You spotted me here earlier in the evening and phoned Sutton that I was here. Why?”
“I didn’t phone him — about you, that is. I had a little business deal on with him, and when he called me I mentioned that you were here. So he said he’d come over and get you and take you to a swell party. He told me to come along too and told me where it was.”
I thought it sounded plausible that Brockley would have “a little business deal” with Sutton. It was an open secret around town that Sutton was sitting pretty with two thousand cases of black market Scotch.
“All right, take it up from there.”
“Well, I finally made it to the party, and you know how it was. Everybody was fried, and I started getting fried, too. But I didn’t see Sutton. I asked about him, and a guy said he and the Price girl was in that room. I didn’t want to bother ’em, so I stayed away from that door. That’s why nobody tumbled to what had happened till maybe half an hour after you left.”
“Who found the body?”
“I don’t know the dame’s name. She was falling down drunk and thought the room was the bath. When she seen the girl was dead, she liked to raised the dead.”
“So everybody tidied up the joint and sneaked out?”
“Why not? Nobody wanted to be mixed up in a murder case. They was some pretty nice people at that party.”
“Of course you can give me the names of all those nice people.”
Brockley assumed what he thought to be a noble expression.
“I ain’t no squealer!”
“Then you didn’t phone Kay and give her the apartment phone number?”
Brockley frowned. “Kay who?”
“Skip it.” I turned to Shelton. “I think he’s telling the truth. He’s not a crook, just a cheap chiseler.”
Shelton eyed Brockley, who slowly reddened.
“Why did you phone Price?”
“Why, because I got to thinkin’ he should oughta know about his girl layin’ there dead. I think he appreciated it, too. It don’t do a guy in my racket no harm to be in right with an important man like Price. Just bein’ seen with him helps out.”
I went over to a chair, sat down and held my head in my hands. I began to laugh a little helplessly.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Shelton. “Are you having a laughing jag?”
I stopped laughing and looked up.
“No, I’m just laughing at myself. I should hire out as a ventriloquist’s dummy. It just now dawned on me who’s behind the frame-up to smear Keever. And I think I know who killed Patricia Price, too!”
Chapter Four
D.T.’s for the D.A
I got up, walked over to Brockley and slapped him off his feet. He got up, shaking with anger.
“What the hell was the idea of that?”
“Just to give you a sample of what you’re going to get if you don’t give me a list of the people at that party. There’s pencil and paper on that desk. Start writing.”
Brockley hesitated, then I took a step toward him, and he went to the desk. He began to write. When he stopped there were only five names on the paper.
“Go on, write all the names. There must have been twenty people there at one time or another.”
“Honest, Corbett, that’s all the people I know. There was people there that was total strangers to me, and I didn’t get introduced.”
I looked at the names, which meant nothing to me. “Pick out somebody who was there at the beginning of the party and stayed till the end.”
Brockley studied the names and finally said: “Of course, I ain’t sure, but I think this guy Jervis was there as long as anybody was.”
I looked at the name. “Who’s Jake Jervis?”
“He’s a big shot ticket operator. He’s the guy I get all my tickets from. Please, Mr. Corbett, don’t tell him I squealed, or he’ll stop doing business with me!”
“Where do I find Jervis?”
“The Wedgewood Hotel.”
The Wedgewood was the swankiest hotel in town, located opposite the State House. It had the town’s biggest cocktail lounge, and your elbow was always in the ribs of either a state senator, a lobbyist or a pickpocket. I reached for the phone and dialed the office.
Keever seemed to be in the last stages of hysteria.
“They’ve got Sutton!” he screamed. “Ben, why did you have to let me down this time, when it means everything!”
“How long have they had Sutton?”
“Half an hour. My man in the D.A.’s office hasn’t been able to find out a thing! The D.A.’s got Sutton in a locked room with a stenographer and a recording machine. God only knows what he’s telling them! I’m ruined, Ben, I’m ruined — and all because you couldn’t even find Sutton!”
“Calm yourself, Keever. I’ve got this thing sewed up in a bag. I even know who killed the Price girl.”
“What? What do you know about that? Durbin just told me the girl’d been murdered. My God, don’t tell me they can tie up my office in that!”
“I was there when it happened, boss. But keep your shirt on — I’ll bust the case wide open to the greater glory of the attorney general’s office. I’ll show them how we crack the cases that take in the D.A.”
Keever began to talk, but I couldn’t make any sense out of what he was saying. He seemed to be talking to himself. When I finally got him to listen, I said: “Round up some of the Keystone Kops and have them drag Jake Jervis out of bed over at the Wedgewood. Have him at your office by the time I get there. Maybe you’d better get Kay, too, to take down some statements.”
“Jake Jervis? That racketeer? What’s he got to do with this.”
“You’ll find out. I also want you to locate Sam Price. He’ll either be at home or at police headquarters. Get him, too.”
Keever had started to talk to himself again when I hung up. I turned to Brockley and said: “Come on, Brockley — we’re going to the A.G.’s office and make some phonograph records.”
Brockley groaned, then sighed resignedly and got to his feet. Shelton asked: “What do we do with this punk?”
He indicated the little fellow, and I said: “We’ll take him along just in case the cops ask any embarrassing questions about the street shooting tonight.”
I knew something was wrong when we pulled into the Annex parking lot. Two police cars were there, also a Buick that belonged to Gordon Kress, the district attorney. Shelton and I walked in with our reluctant companions.
And the sight that met my eyes when I opened the door of the big reception room in Keever’s suite was one I’ll never forget.
The first faces I saw were those of the city police, in uniform and out. They stared pop-eyed as I entered, then their eyes narrowed. They reminded me of an alleyful of cats coming across an astigmatic mouse.