My argument that my visit was a matter of life, death and several other vital things got me nothing. I considered bribing the maid to let me see Abbott’s mail before she got it, but one look at her grim, forbidding face forced me to discard that brilliant idea.
I was still wracking my brains as I climbed into bed. It seemed an absolute cinch to nail Parry if I could somehow keep an eye on Abbott’s mail — provided, of course, my theory was right.
I had come to no solution when I went to sleep; nor when I arrived at the office on the following morning.
Sackler was at his desk waiting for me to hand him the morning paper. I did so and inquired, “Any line on Parry?”
He said, “Parry? Oh, he’ll probably turn up sooner or later. I’m working on a different angle.”
“What other angle is there?”
He shrugged and turned to the financial page. I remained silent for a while, then asked nervously, “Is there any line on this Abbott woman?”
“Nothing much. She’s a widow. Friend of the Parry family. That’s all.” He paused a moment, then glanced at me sharply. “You’re not free lancing on this, are you? You don’t figure Abbott did it?”
I breathed an inward sigh of relief. If he spoke like that, it argued he hadn’t worked out the same theory I had.
I said, “Of course, I don’t figure Abbott did it. Parry did it obviously. It’s just a matter of finding him.”
He grunted and returned to the paper. I lit a cigarette and my head ached with thinking. I was surer of this case than I had ever been of anything. It was just a matter of somehow getting to Abbott to find out if she knew where Parry was.
It was a little after 11:00 o’clock when the door opened and Harry Franklin came in. He bowed, sat down and passed around a cigar case. Sackler grabbed his as if it had been a hundred dollar bill.
“Something came up this morning,” said Franklin. “I’ve already given it to the police; since you’re working on the case, I thought I’d drop in and tell you about it, too.”
Sackler puffed on his free cigar and said, “Decent of you.”
“Yesterday afternoon,” said Franklin. “Parry came to my office to draw some cash. I take care of all his wife’s affairs. If she needs money she simply sends me a receipt for it and I hand over the cash. Well, Parry came in yesterday with a receipt, signed by his wife, saying she wanted five thousand dollars. This has happened before and naturally I merely glanced over the signature.”
Sackler glanced at him sharply. “You mean Mrs. Parry’s signature was forged.”
“That’s right,” said Franklin. “It wasn’t even a good imitation of her writing. But, I guess, Parry figured correctly I wouldn’t examine it too closely. She’d sent him for money before.”
Sackler nodded slowly. “So you believe that Parry forged the signature, came to you for cash to run away after he’d killed his wife?”
Franklin seemed mildly surprised. “Why, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“It’s obvious enough,” I said, giving voice to my own problem. “The trouble is we don’t need any evidence proving Parry’s guilty; we need evidence showing where the devil he is.”
Sackler gave me a long, hard look. “Ah,” he said, “you’ve been working out a theory, Joey?”
“I don’t even think the case needs a theory,” said Franklin. “The police, everyone know Parry is guilty. Don’t you think so, Mr. Sackler?”
Sackler drew a deep breath. He said, “I haven’t made up my mind. All I know is that Joey, here, never came to a correct conclusion in his life. That rather throws me over to believing that Parry is innocent.”
I smiled blandly. I was closer to nine grand than he was. All I had to do was to figure out how to get hold of Abbott’s mail.
Franklin said slowly, “I can’t see how anyone but Parry had either opportunity or motive.”
“Well,” said Sackler noncommittally. “I’m working on it. Thanks, anyway, for letting me know about that forged receipt.”
Franklin nodded, stood up. There was a thoughtful expression on his cherubic face as he left the office. Rex Sackler went back to the morning paper. I went back to my problem.
I went out to lunch alone to avoid getting stuck with Sackler’s check. I ate two hamburgers, washed them down with two glasses of beer and returned to the office. I still had no solution.
The afternoon went by quietly. Sackler leaned back in his swivel chair and stared at the far wall. He, too, seemed lost in thought. I doodled on the pad before me and my head ached with the strain I was putting cm it.
Then, about 4:30, the hood came in. I looked up as the door slammed to see a swarthy, heavy-set individual with a chest like an anvil. His eyes and complexion were dark and there was a livid scar on one side of his face. His lips were thick and his hat was pushed on the back of his head. His hair was greasy and slicked down. As I watched him I had a vague feeling that I had seen him somewhere before.
He looked at me, then at Sackler.
He said, “Which of you mugs is Sackler?”
I pointed across the room and said, “He is.”
The hood said, “Ah,” and thrust his hand in his pocket. When he withdrew it again it held an automatic, the muzzle of which drew a bead on Sackler’s heart.
Now, Sackler never had been Congressional Medal material. I had seen him with a gun on him before and his conduct had not been exactly courageous. However, this time he met the hood’s eye and failed to holler for help.
The hood said, “I’m Spike Sligo. Maybe you never heard of me in the East. But where I come from guys know better than to argue with me.”
Sackler said, with astonishing calm, “To what do I owe the honor of the visit, Mr. Sligo?”
“I come here to talk business.”
I kept looking at the guy. I was certain I’d seen him somewhere. But there was nothing familiar about either his voice or his accent.
“Go ahead,” said Sackler. “Talk.”
Sligo balanced his automatic on his knee. Idly he put a hand in his vest pocket and produced a silver dollar. He spun it nonchalantly, caught it and replaced it in his pocket.
“I hear,” he said, “that you’re a guy who is willing to pick up a fast buck.”
I blinked with annoyance. Was it possible that once again someone was going to toss a bundle of money into Sackler’s emaciated lap?
“You’re working on this Parry case,” said Sligo. “Trying to pick up that ten G reward. Well, I’m here to offer you eleven G’s.”
“For what?”
“To lay off. Old man Parry offers you ten to work on the case. I offer you eleven to lay off. More dough and less work. What do you say?”
I squirmed in my seat. This I didn’t like. Sackler wasn’t even close to collecting the reward and now this joker was offering him even more dough to quit the case.
Sackler said, “This is interesting. When and how do I collect?”
“We’ll wait a week,” said Sligo. “If you don’t do nothing more in the case, you’ll get the dough. In a plain envelope through the mail.”
“Mailed from where?”
Sligo grinned. “Not New York. From out of town. That’s all I can tell you. I guess you can figure it out.”
Even I was smart enough to figure it out. Parry, apparently, had heard that Sackler was tracking him down. Parry, it seemed, didn’t have much fear of the police department but, as was demonstrated by his original visit, had an exceedingly high opinion of Sackler. Rex had told him how to hide and he was scared that Rex might be able to find out where he was hiding.
So he’d sent in this hood to make a deal. Even the reason for his picking a guy like Sligo was obvious. Sackler might have held an ordinary citizen for the coppers to work over, after he’d made such a deal. But you couldn’t very well hold a guy who was holding a gun on you.