I said: “Is Romulus your first or last name?”
He scratched his head and grinned a white, horse-sized grin. “Both, ah guess. Romulus all I got.”
“Where were you when Mr. Bagnell was shot, Romulus?”
“Right here somewhere, I expect. Must have been right about here when Mr. Louie got it.”
“Seems you should have heard the shot, then. The bath window is only twenty yards from the lot.”
“Yes suh. But like I tole that other policeman, I could been up this end putting in a car. Lots of cars goin’ in and out last night. Maybe I hear it and think it’s a backfire, or maybe I racing some engine and just don’t hear it. Leastwise, I don’ recollect no sound might have been a shot.”
I asked: “Any more gates through this fence aside from the one in front, the one on the side and this one here?”
“No suh. Sure ain’t.”
“None in the part running from the front to the highway?”
“No suh. Jes pure fence.”
“Who has keys to the gates?”
“Jes me, suh. Not even Mr. Louie kept no extra keys. Ain’ no use anyone else having keys. No one goes back here ’cept me, cut grass now and then.”
“And the murderer,” I added.
He rubbed his knuckles over the clipped wool he used for hair. “Yes suh. Guess he come back here all right.”
“Was this gate locked?”
“Yes suh. I alius lock this here gate five o’clock when I come on.”
“Five? You mean it’s open before that?”
“Yes suh. No thin’ locked up till five. That’s when the bank truck come wif money for all them games Mr. Louie had. Daytimes I leave this here gate open for tradesmen deliver stuff to the kitchen. They unloads here, carts de stuff over that door there.” He pointed to the lone door at El Patio’s rear, directly opposite the gate.
“Is that locked at five too?” I asked.
“Yes suh. And barred from de inside.”
“Then whoever shot your boss must have come through those trees from the highway, because there isn’t anywhere else he could come from. He’d have to walk the whole length of the building’s rear, and then back again after the shooting. Your overheads throw at least some light back there. How come you didn’t see him?”
“Ah sure don’ know, suh. I jes plain didn’t hear nothin’ or see nothin’.”
We left him there on the lot, scuffing his feet against the gravel and staring after us yawningly.
Chapter Five
Blackmail Union
I found Fausta alone behind the bar mixing herself a rum and coke. “Make mine rye and water,” I said. She deftly pulled a cork from a new bottle and measured out a portion by eye.
“Very professional,” I admired. “Got a, union card?”
“I only pretend like Joe, the bar keep. That’s probably too strong.”
“Better than too weak.” I sampled it and it almost curled my hair. When I recovered my breath, I asked: “Where’s Gloria?”
“Upstairs in Louie’s bed — she is taking nap.”
“How romantic. Who gets Bagnell’s dough, Fausta?”
“They not yet read the will.”
“I know. But you’re a smart little girl. Who gets the dough?”
She screwed up her nose at me. “You take me out tonight?”
I looked up at her, exasperated, then laughed. “Make it tomorrow, blackmailer. What’s the dope?”
“His sister get everything except $100,000 and El Patio. The race wires nobody get, because the syndicate lease to whoever they want now.”
I frowned over this. “That means Byron Wade steps in and ties up every bookshop in town, unless someone in Louie’s mob is smart enough to wear his pants.”
“No one smart enough. Greene the smartest of lot, and he a jolt.”
“You mean a jerk,” I said. “Who gets this place?”
“Me. And $100,000 for a bank.”
I whistled. “Nice business to inherit.” Then I thought of something. “How come he was so nice to you?”
I must have been scowling, because she laughed suddenly. “You jealous,” she accused.
“I am not. I’m just trying to solve a murder.” I tried to relax the woodenness of my face and added stiffly: “Your relations with Bagnell are your own business.”
A secret grin, as though at some remembered inner thought, hovered on her lips.
“All-right,” I snapped. “Why’d the old roué cut you in?”
“Four year ago, when I begin deal for Louie, he want very much make love to me.”
She stopped to sip her drink and her eyes danced at the increasing color I couldn’t keep out of my face.
“It’s this drink,” I growled. “You left out the water.”
She went on, her eyes still dancing. “I say no, and he give me many fine clothes and pretty jewels. I say thanks, but I still say no and he change his will like it is now and show it to me.”
“All this,” I broke in, “was while I was overseas crawling around in the mud!”
Her head went up high. “And what, Meester Moon, have you in the mud got to do with something?”
“You were engaged to me!”
“And who breaked it up?”
Our hands gripping the bar edge on either side, we glared at each other like angry kids. I recovered first and realized we were acting juvenile.
I forced a grin. “We both did. You moved out of my class, and I moved out of your way.”
“You never asked do I want you move.”
“Let’s not revive dead issues, Fausta. You were telling about the will.”
Her eyes stayed violent and she raised her glass to gulp her drink with an offended flourish. I continued to grin at her until her expression turned to a pout, then a penitent smile.
“O.K.,” she conceded. “We friends again. After Louie show me the will, I still say no and he say what do I want — to marry him? I say it is nothing I want from him but to deal his cards for my very good salary. He grumble a while and finally leave me alone, but I know he never change back the will.”
I got another unpleasant idea and blurted it out before I thought. “He wasn’t intending to change it soon, was he?”
“Not that I know.” Then the meaning of my question struck her. “What you mean, Manny?”
“Just what I asked.”
“You mean do I kill Louie?” Her eyes were still and disbelieving and her lips unnaturally straight.
I retreated fast. “Of course not, baby. I just asked a question.”
The hurt went out of her eyes at “baby”, a special word I hadn’t used since she stopped being my special girl, and some of the tautness left her face. “You looked so like a detective, Manny. For a minute I feel strange to you. Why you call me ‘baby’?”
I said, “Pour in more water,” and pushed my half empty glass at her.
She held it under the faucet for a moment, then set it back on the bar.
“Why you call me baby?” she repeated.
I tasted my drink and said: “Much less poisonous. You know, Fausta, a hundred thousand is lots of dollars, but not much to back a place with this class clientele. A bad run the first night could wipe you out.”
She watched irritably while I poured down the rest of my drink. “You change the subject,” she accused.
I summoned up an insincere expression of innocence. “I mean it. A hundred thousand is no bank for this place.”
She shrugged resignedly. “I shall close the casino and make into it a cocktail lounge. Less money I make this way, but I sure of what I make. You like going in nightclub business, Manny?”
I grinned at her crookedly. “Thanks, Fausta, but I’m a lousy chef. Who was mad at Bagnell aside from Wade and his mob?”
“No one. Unless Amos Horne.”
“Got any ideas at all about this thing?”