I went up the worn, wooden steps to the second floor and down a short and cheerless hall to his door. The door was open.
Moose Lundgren was sitting in a huge chair behind his desk, facing the door. His eyes were wide open, and he was staring at me. But he wasn’t seeing me. He wasn’t seeing anything.
He was dead.
His short thick neck was so heavy that his head hadn’t drooped backward or forward. It stood squarely on the big neck. The chair in which he sat had a high back which effectively supported his bulk. There was a small hole, a very small hole, in the center of his forehead — it looked as though it had been made with a .22 caliber shell. Somebody had done a big job with a small gun.
I kept my eyes from Moose while I phoned the police.
“Who is this calling?” the voice at the other end wanted to know.
I hesitated. Devine will be here, I thought. He’ll want to know what I was doing here. He’ll want to know the name of my client. He’ll be nasty. But I hesitated only a moment. “Mortimer Jones,” I said.
“You again,” the voice said, and some other things, not printable. “I hope they nail you this time.”
I told him about a nice hot place he could go to for the winter, and hung up. I went out into the hall to wait.
Finally, there was the sound of sirens. I was almost happy to hear them, even knowing they meant Devine.
Doc Walters, the M.E., was the first to arrive. There was an interne with him. I nodded toward the door and they went through it.
Then Devine’s right hand, Glen Harvey, was there. Glen tried a smile of greeting, but it was pretty sad. “You’re always in the middle of these things, aren’t you, Jonesy?” he said sadly. “No wonder you give Devine the willies.”
“I wasn’t going to wait, just for that reason,” I told him. “I was going to give a phony name and get out of here, but I thought there might be something I could help with.”
Glen nodded toward the office. “Got an angle on this?”
“Only that he was on a job for Val Every. There could be any number of angles on a deal like that.”
“Hell, yes,” Glen said dismally. Then casually: “How’d you happen to find him?”
“He owed me a sawbuck. I came over to collect it. The door was open—”
“Uh-huh. How’d you know he was on a job for Every? You guys talk over your clients like that?”
Tricky, Glen was getting. I said evenly: “No. I knew it, because he happened to tell me, last time I asked him for the sawbuck. He said that as soon as Every paid him for a job he was doing—”
“Don’t you guys work on a retainer?”
“Yes,” I said wearily. “We do. Anyway, I do. Try not to sound like the D.A., Glen. It’s been a bad day.”
“Well, well,” somebody said. I knew who it was without looking around. “If it isn’t Mr. Jones. Always, at the end of a hot day, just before I’m going to knock off, something’ll break. And Mr. Jones will be right in the middle of it.”
I turned to face Devine. “We were such friends, this morning,” I reminded him. “You’re not growing tired of me? I hope there isn’t someone else, now.”
Glen said: “Easy, boss. Jones has been giving me the story.”
Devine was white. He likes people to cower in front of him, to speak quietly and respectfully. He said hoarsely: “He’s been giving you the story, all right. He’s probably been giving you the business.” He was talking to Glen, but looking at me. “Wait right here,” he told me. “Right in this spot until I come out.”
Some reporters came, the print man, another interne, the man on the beat. Harvey was in with Devine and I had the hall to myself, more or less. I smoked two cigarettes. When the reporters came out to get my part of the story, I repeated what I had told Glen. Then, as I was finishing, Devine came out.
He heard the end of it, and drew me to one side. “You tell them about the Every angle?”
I hadn’t, and I shook my head.
The reporters were waiting. Devine said: “That’s all, boys. If anything breaks, you’ll get it. That’s all we have now.”
How he kowtowed to anyone who might do him good. I took my arm out from under his hand. I said: “You won’t be needing me right away, will you?”
His thin face was hard. “I will. You in a hurry?”
“I can think of a bettor place to spend my time,” I told him.
“Sure, but I want you now. You can come down to headquarters with me and dictate a statement. What happens to you after that would be up to the Chief. You’re his boy, aren’t you?”
“I’ll ask him,” I said. “I’ll tell him you think so.” Which was baby talk. But he brings out the worst in me.
“You can tell him any damned thing you please,” Devine said. “Just come along with me, now.”
I went along with him. Outside, the sun was setting fire to the west, and some of the afternoon’s heat was gone. The wholesale houses were closing up for the day. People were going home.
And Devine’s day might just be beginning, for all he knows, I thought. He’s overworked and over-bossed and underpaid. Maybe he’s earned his bad disposition.
But how about this servility in high places? my less tolerant half argued. How about his whining when things get rough? How about that, Mortimer, you damned sissy?
“Shall we go down in my car?” I asked. He nodded.
We climbed in, and I started the motor. There were no words, going down, either pleasant or otherwise. Devine was smoking a cigar and scowling. I kept my eyes on the traffic.
At headquarters, I dictated a statement while Devine went in to see the Chief. When I’d finished, when it was typed and signed, he told me: “The Old Man wants to see you.” He didn’t look at me.
The Chief was looking out the window when I entered his office. I waited respectfully, making no sound. There would be a speech, in a moment, and I’d listen to that respectfully, too. For he was a good, capable, honest man — if a little verbose.
Then the big, white-thatched head turned toward me. “This is a big town, Morty, a very big town.”
I agreed that it was.
He indicated a chair, and I took it. He offered me a cigar, which I refused. He put the tips of his fingers together, and studied his desk top. “If you won’t work for us, you should work with us. We need all the help we can get in a town this size.”
“I work with you,” I said. “I think you’ll remember all the times I’ve worked with you.”
He pursed his lips, and nodded. “Well, yes, when there’s a pinch to be made, you call us. But you’re working around us, now, aren’t you? You won’t reveal all you know about this.”
“I’ve told you all I knew, Chief.”
“Who’s your client?”
“That I can’t tell you. There’s no reason to think it has anything to do with Moose Lundgren’s death. His death was overdue. Devine’s probably told you why I went over to see Lundgren.”
The Chief looked annoyed. “Sure, sure, sure... Even if it’s true, it’s a hell of a story. I think you went over there to make a deal with him. Maybe you even know who killed him. I’m not believing a word of that fairy tale you told Devine. I want the facts.”
I looked down at my hands. “You’ve got all the facts I can give you,” I told him. “Talking won’t get us anywhere.”
There was a silence. His voice, when it came was low. “I’ve never threatened to take your license away from you, have I? Never?”
“I hope you’re not threatening it now,” I said. “You’ve got Every to work on. I gave you that. Would you rather have someone a little easier to crack? Is that why you want my client?”