“Not exactly, but we may be able to salvage a big piece of it. Can you meet me?”
“Where?”
“At Hadley’s office.”
“What for?”
“He’s your lawyer, isn’t he, Max? What did you do with that gun?”
“Why?”
“Get rid of it. You’re on parole, remember?”
He made a suggestion, which I ignored, and told me he was leaving at once.
Hadley’s practice required a lot of front. His office was furnished expensively and with taste. The most decorative item, however, had not been manufactured in Grand Rapids. She sat behind a desk in the reception room, a voltage redhead built like the proverbial structure behind the farmhouse, tall, generously equipped, with sultry eyes in a petulant face. Quite a girl.
Yes, Mr. Hadley was in. She announced Max Gilian’s name and got us the green light. He was standing behind his desk when we trooped in, competent, debonaire, smiling.
He got us seated and produced smokes. Then he settled back in his foam-cushioned, leather-upholstered, posture-fitting chair and put his precise eyes straight at me.
“Well, Jordan,” he said, “I assume you have a report to make.”
“I sure have.”
He glanced approvingly at Gilian. “What did I tell you, Max. No grass growing under Jordan’s feet. I knew he’d get results. All right, counselor, let’s have it.”
Max was leaning forward, his heavy jaw tight, his eyes intent.
I said, “Okay,” and took a deep breath and crossed my fingers. “Here’s what happened. Somebody forged Max’s name at the Newark bank and got into his safe deposit box. The forgery was perfect, traced from a genuine copy of Max’s signature directly onto one of the bank’s official requisition slips.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Max growled.
Hadley was frowning. “I don’t understand. Those forms are signed in the presence of the attendant. How could anybody get away with it?”
“Collusion,” I said. “The attendant was reached. Somebody worked on him, showed him how it could be done, promised him a cut of the take, probably paid him in advance. The attendant was tractable. Here was a chance to make more money in one lump sum than he could ever hope to save in a lifetime. He decided to take a chance and he went along with the scheme.”
Gilian’s fists were huge and tight on his knees. He mangled the cigar between clenched teeth. His voice was harsh. “Who is this attendant? What’s his name? Where can I reach him?”
“It’s too late,” I said. “He’s dead.”
Max opened his eyes.
“He got it last night,” I said. “Hit-and-run driver. They think it was an accident. I know better. He was killed. Someone who knew his habits was parked outside his house, waiting for him to come home. And he was nailed when he stumbled half drunk across the street. Murder in the first degree. Premeditated and deliberate.”
Max cleared his throat noisily. “But why?”
“Because he was a threat. He was potentially dangerous, the only witness that could identify the man who cleaned out your box. You were out on parole, Max. You had learned the box was empty. You were about to investigate. You had started the ball rolling. The heat was on. Kevin Graham was weak. That’s why he fell for their scheme in the first place. He was the kind of man who melted under pressure. They knew that. They couldn’t afford to wait. He had to be eliminated without delay. And so it was done last night. He was killed in front of his new house, the house he bought with your money, Max.”
“Then you know who did it,” Hadley said.
“Sure,” I said.
Hadley moistened his lips. “Who?”
I pointed my finger at him. “You.”
Max didn’t say a word. His eyes were frozen, divided between us.
Hadley exhumed a thin, stilted smile. “What are you trying to say, Jordan?”
“I’m not trying to say anything. I’m saying it. It was you, Hadley. You cooked up the whole scheme, engineered it and executed it.”
He shot a quick glance at Max, who sat, muscles tensed, like a leopard coiled up to spring. Hadley laughed once, without humor. “A very fanciful conclusion, Jordan.”
“Is it?” I said. “You gave yourself away last night when Max brought me up to his room. ‘I found him,’ Max said. ‘You were right.’ Right about what, Hadley? That I was out with Lucille? Sure. You told Max where to wait. But how did you know?”
Bull’s-eye! A muscle twitched in his jaw and his eyes narrowed.
“Because you wrote the script and produced the show. You told Lucille to call me. You told her to invite me into the lobby. You wanted Max to think I had double-crossed him, that I’d stolen his securities and was waltzing around with his wife. You knew Max had a gun. You knew he had a temper. Anything might happen. If I’d caught a bullet, it would have been perfect. Max would get the chair and all your problems would be over. If not, what the hell, there were other ways.”
Hadley appealed to Max. “The man is out of his mind.”
Nothing came out of Max. Not a sound. His face was carved in wood. His eyes were a pair of knives aimed at the lawyer.
Hadley’s smile went lopsided. “How about the key?” he said. “Nobody can get into a safe deposit box without a special key.”
“I was waiting for you to ask that,” I said. “How about it, Max? Did you ever give Hadley a power of attorney to open that box?”
Nothing moved in Max’s face. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like all that pressure building up inside of him. But I couldn’t stop now.
“Because if you did,” I said, “then you must have given him a key too, and he could easily have had a duplicate made. And if you didn’t, then he probably got Lucille to sneak the key away and do it for him.”
Max dredged up one word. “Lucille?”
“Sure,” I said. “They’ve been seeing a lot of each other. I can prove it. He visits her all the time. The doorman can identify him. I wouldn’t be surprised if they put the finger on you two years ago, just to get you out of the way.”
White lumps were contracted on each side of Max’s jaw. But still he didn’t move. A runaway muscle kept twitching at his lips.
I said to Hadley, “You specialize in corporations and contracts. What the hell do you know about criminal law? You think they can’t locate a witness who saw your car in Newark? You think a microscope won’t show evidence of a collision on your bumper?”
Circumstantial evidence. Every bit of it. Nothing solid. But it was enough for Max. Suddenly, he was out of his chair in a savage lunge across Hadley’s desk. Hadley had been expecting it and he was almost ready, but not quite. His hand flashed out of his desk, holding a gun. He had time enough to pull the trigger, but not enough to take aim. The report was sharp and flat and then Max was on top of him. One mighty swipe knocked Hadley sideways out of his chair. The gun flew out of his hand and clattered to the floor.
For all his bulk Max had the agility of an animal. He kept on going right over the top of the desk, his hands reaching for Hadley’s throat. I stood up and walked around for a look.
Max’s powerful fingers had cut the flow of oxygen at Hadley’s windpipe. Dark blood congested the lawyer’s face. Gurgling sounds filtered through clenched teeth.
“All right, Max,” I said. “That’s enough. Let the law take care of him.”
Max was deaf. He didn’t even hear me.
I saw Hadley’s face change color, a cyanotic blue taking over.
“Max,” I said sharply. “Cut it out. You want to wind up in the Ossining broiler?”
He went right on squeezing the life out of Hadley.
“Max,” I said desperately.
Nothing could stop him. I reached out and yanked down one of Hadley’s beautiful green drapes and wrapped it around his onyx desk set. I picked out a spot just behind Max’s ear and swung. He didn’t even grunt. He just relaxed his grip and rolled over.