He jerked a thumb toward a desk. On it reposed a rifle, with a silencer attachment.
Crowley walked to the desk, stared down at the weapon, then at the lawyer.
“My hat’s off to you, Faughan,” he said. “You never miss an angle.”
Faughan showed even teeth in a grin. “Not often. I knew an attempt would be made on Pendell’s life. I had half a hundred men guarding the upper tier of the stadium — the logical place for an attack.”
He turned to Stone. “Give Crowley your gun, and go outside. See that we’re not disturbed. Malley and I’re going to pow-wow.”
Stone handed Crowley his gun, walked out, and closed the door behind him.
Malley’s thin, brutal face was the color of putty. He shrank back in his seat, licked dry lips. “What — what are ya gonna do?” he whined. Fright pitched his voice in a trembling squeak.
“I’m going to beat the living daylights out of you,” Faughan said. His granite-hard eyes belied the gentleness of his tone. “Until you tell me who hired you to kill Pendell. Here’s a sample—”
“Don’t! Fer Pete’s sa—” Malley choked to a terror-stricken stop as Faughan’s fist swung upward.
The lawyer-detective never landed his blow. Behind him a harsh voice grated: “Hold it, Faughan!”
Faughan dropped his fist, turned slowly. And looked into the bore of the gun in Crowley’s hand. His lips twitched.
He said: “So you were the one. I wondered—”
Malley lurched to his feet unsteadily, wiping drooling saliva from his mouth. “Cripes, Crowley — t’anks! This mugg would ’a’ hammered hell out of me... I could see it in his eyes!”
Crowley sneered: “And you would’ve shot off your trap... I could see that in your eyes.” He turned to Faughan. “So you wondered. This was one angle you missed! Call in your watch dog.”
Faughan ignored the order. He said: “You’re wrong there. I tagged you with the Zorn kill — and Kaulper’s carving — the minute I received a report from Stone. Remember his coming into the courtroom this morning and handing me a sheet of paper? It contained a check on Murray’s and Weiber’s movements of last night. They had not been near the Hi-De-Hi Club.”
Eyes pinpoints of hate, Crowley said nothing.
Faughan continued: “That could mean but one thing: Kaulper was looking for you because you had shived him. Or was I wrong?”
Crowley jeered. “Are you ever wrong? He was in that betting coup with Murray and Weiber and me. We’d pooled three hundred grand apiece. Stood to clean up millions if Pendell threw his fight.
“When Pendell reneged, Murray and Weiber accused me of a double-cross. I had to do something or eat lead. And I had to go it alone.”
“Because you suggested a murder-frame to coerce Pendell. Murray and Weiber wouldn’t tune in. They were tough, but drew the line on that. And you couldn’t let Kaulper in on your plan because you knew he was still soft on Zena and would blast you if you harmed her. After you killed her, you decided to sidestep his rage — you figured he’d find out — by killing him.”
Faughan paused. “Sure. I figured all that out. You called yourself at your club, imitating Kaulper’s voice when you spoke to Fencher. When Pendell refused to throw the fight in spite of the frame, you called me... For two reasons: You surmised it would direct suspicion from you; and at the same time you wanted me to prevent his actually taking the murder rap.”
The lawyer laughed shortly. “Greedy guy. You wanted to keep him from fighting Browberg to save yours and Murray’s and Weiber’s money, but you hated to lose a goose laying golden eggs for you. Then to make sure I didn’t clear Pendell in time for the fight you got Murray and his pal to take me bye-bye.
“Well, I cleared Pendell. I knew his life would be in danger from then on. So I had my men snatch him, with orders to hole him up and deliver him at the Garden a few minutes before ten. The call you received today at twelve-thirty — supposedly from Murray — came from one of my men.
“You were advised they had taken precautions. You were asked to come to their hideout at eight. You went there and found Murray and Weiber dead. I know. You were followed there. You thought my men killed them getting Pendell. You were wrong. They were killed last night.
“I still had no proof tying you to the murder plot. You could have explained away your visit to the waterfront dump. And I knew that — with Pendell free to fight — you’d shoot your last bolt. You’d plant a sniper in the stadium to kill him — because you disliked the idea of losing three hundred grand. A bullet-proof vest took care of that—”
Faughan stopped and chuckled softly. “The joke is — I wondered if you’d fall into my trap!”
Crowley was breathing deeply, slowly. His eyes were red-flecked with hate and sudden panic. “Trap?” he spat. “What trap? Call your watchdog in here, damn you! Or so help me, I’ll drill you now!”
“Blaze away,” Faughan answered quietly. “But if I were you, I’d drop that gun and take my chances with the law.”
As he spoke, the lawyer took a paced step forward.
“You asked for it!” Crowley snarled. His finger tightened on the trigger of his gun. The room reverberated to the echo of the explosion.
Faughan was still standing there. A grim, gruesome smile twisted the corners of his mouth. The door burst open and Stone dashed in. He stabbed one look at Crowley, said: “Well, that’s that!”
Malley was staring in the same direction. He pumped out a hollow: “Jeez!”
Crowley was lying sprawled on the floor, fragments of the still-smoking gun in his hand. And that hand which had held the gun was a pulped, bleeding mass.
At that moment, angry fists pounded on the closet door.
Faughan poised a cigarette in midair, said: “I had to clout Inspector Carter a while back. Apparently, he’s just come to. Let him out of that closet, Stone.”
Stone opened the door, turned quickly to bend over Crowley’s shattered hand. Carter staggered into the room, wild-eyed. His ruddy face was black with rage. A cut on his chin was trickling blood over his stiff collar.
“Blackie, damn you—” he roared, and his glance fell upon Crowley’s lax form. “What... what the devil happened to him? He’s dead — shot! Blackie, have you gone nuts altogether? Did you kill him?”
“Be your age, Inspector,” Faughan said. “I didn’t kill anyone. No, not even Kaulper. Crowley will tell you all about it, if Stone keeps him from bleeding to death. And our friend here—” he indicated Malley — “will tell you all about it. Won’t you, Malley?”
The Inspector swung around.
Malley gulped. “I’ll talk!” he blurted.
Carter riveted slitted eyes on Faughan. “All right,” he said grudgingly, “You didn’t kill Crowley. But what in Hades did happen?”
Faughan’s eyes twinkled. He touched the broken gun beside Crowley’s limp body with the point of his shoe. “Crowley borrowed a gun from one of my operatives. He forgot to see whether the barrel was clean or not. It wasn’t. Someone had sort of plugged it with leadfoil.”
While Carter blinked stupefied eyes, Faughan extracted a thousand-dollar banknote from his pocket. He tucked it into the dazed cop’s hand. “That’s to buy you some court plaster for that cut, Inspector...”
At that moment, a wild, sustained cheer seeped down to them. Faughan jerked his head erect, listening. “That must mean Pendell has just flattened Browberg. Come on, Stone. Let’s go see. Maybe I’m wrong.”