“So you’re getting more than you asked for,” Day growled. “This is my summary of the whole case. Any kicks?”
“No. You’re doing fine. What did you get from Mrs. Wade’s gun?”
He pretended surprise. “Get from it?”
“Don’t play innocent. You ran ballistic tests.”
“It hadn’t even been fired.”
I drew on my cigar, folded my hands and waited.
“O.K.,” said Day. “So we don’t take any chances. It wasn’t the murder weapon. What’s your third question?”
“Whose alibis have you checked, and who hasn’t got one?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Don’t quibble.”
“It’s too big a question. We’ve checked fifty or more. All Wade’s guns have nice prearranged ones. Nobody else matters.”
“All of them, eh? How good are they?”
“Perfect. Wade’s mob is clear to the last man. Too clear for coincidence.”
“Hmm,” I said, wondering if my original theory of Wade being the murder engineer might not be correct after all, and my present reasoning sour. For a minute I thought about it, then decided my new reasoning had to be right.
I said: “I guess that covers what I wanted to know. About Wade... His wife went to El Patio every Monday and Wednesday, and he knew it.”
“You mean he knew she was fooling around with Bagnell?”
“No. He thought she went for the roulette.”
Inspector Day unsuccessfully mulled this over. “Well? S6 what?”
“If you arranged a killing, would you pick a time when you knew your wife would be in the area?”
He sat up attentively. “I see what you mean. You think he’d almost certainly pick one of the five nights his wife didn’t go there?”
“I would, if I had planned it.”
“What makes you sure he knew his wife would be there?”
“Never mind. I’m sure.”
He took the cigar butt from his mouth, looked it over carefully and exchanged it for another in the ash tray. He dusted ashes from the second before putting it in his mouth.
Then he asked: “If Wade didn’t know Bagnell was due, why all the circus at your place?”
I shrugged. “You guess. Maybe he needed an alibi for something else, and Bagnell getting it when he did was coincidence. What else happened last night?”
“Nothing. Two bar room fights and a ten dollar stickup.”
“Maybe what Wade had on ice went sour.”
A rap sounded on the door and: Hannegan came in. “Just got a new stiff, sir. A woman.”
“Murder?” asked Day.
“Probably suicide, but the coroner wants you to have a look. A fisherman got her out of the river. Doc says she drowned last night.”
I pricked up my ears. “What time?”
“About eight.”
“Any identification?”
“Some. She wore an ankle slave bracelet with a name on each side. The outside says ‘Gerald Poster’, the inside ‘Margaret O’Conner’.”
I let out a low whistle.
“What’s the matter?” asked Day.
“This could be the something else we’re looking for.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Mrs. Wade’s first husband was named Arthur O’Conner.”
Chapter Four
Blonde Bombshell
A placard hanging on one of El Patio’s double doors read, “Closed for Alterations.” I pounded until the doors opened a crack from the center and Mouldy Greene peered out.
When he saw who it was, he pushed the doors wide. “Hi, Sarge. Come on in.”
“Don’t call me Sarge,” I said. “The war’s over and my name’s Moon.”
“Sure, Sarge. Habit, I guess. How’s the leg?”
I said: “You’re a numbskull.” I walked on through the empty casino into the dining room.
Vance Caramand sat at a table. Greene followed me into the room and flopped himself into a chair across from Vance.
I asked Greene: “Where were you and Caramand when Louie got it?”
Mouldy imitated deep thought, rubbed his chin and said: “I was at the bar. Vance was on duty.”
“What’s ‘on duty’?”
“One of us always stays — that is, stayed — with the old man. But sometimes he got tired of looking at us. Last night he told us to stay the devil out of his sight. When he did that, we always kept watch on his door, kind of. He kicked us out at six-thirty and Vance took first shift. I was due to take over at eight-thirty.”
“So at sis-thirty he was alone in his office?”
“Yeah.”
I turned on Caramand. “Who went in after that?”
He shifted malign eyes over me. “That dame. Nobody else.”
“Sure?”
“I was sitting by the door.”
“After the shot, how quickly did you get in?”
“Pretty quick.”
“How quick is pretty?”
Mouldy interrupted. “It must of been five minutes, anyway. I didn’t hear the shot, see, being way out at the bar. First I knew anything was wrong, the bar waiter walked In fast and said Vance was kicking on the boss’ door. I went running, and first we try both our shoulders against it. It don’t budge, so we stop to think and I get the idea of shooting out the lock.” He made the last statement modestly, as though disclaiming a great mental accomplishment.
I said: “You’re both smart boys. Where’s Fausta?”
“In the old man’s office with Gloria,” Mouldy answered.
“Gloria?”
“A dame. One of the old man’s.”
When I knocked on Bagnell’s door, Fausta’s voice said: “Yes?”
Opening the door, I went in. Fausta and a plump, round-faced blonde sat side by side on the sofa where I had first seen Mrs. Wade. Fausta nervously patted the woman’s hand. She looked embarrassed.
The blonde wept oversized tears which rolled down her reddened face and were skillfully caught in a balled handkerchief before they could spatter the front of a flowered dress.
Fausta said: “Hello, Manny.”
“Hi. Is this Gloria?”
The blonde’s head jerked up as though she were garroted. “Who are you?” Her eyes were frightened and she stopped crying.
“He is friend of mine,” Fausta soothed. “It is not to be afraid.”
I asked: “What are you afraid of, Gloria’?”
“Nothing.” She pressed the kerchief against her mouth and stared at me.
“She think her husband send you,” volunteered Fausta. “She think her husband maybe kill her.”
“Yeah? Who’s your husband, Gloria?”
“It’s nothing. Honest it isn’t.”
Fausta said: “Manny will not hurt you. He is friend of mine. You tell him, and he tell your husband leave you alone. Manny very tough man.”
“Sure,” I said. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. What’s your trouble?”
“He will! He said he’d cut my throat. And he will! He killed Louie, and he’ll kill me too.” She started to blubber again.
“Cut it out!” I said sharply. “What’s this about killing Louie?”
Tears continued to roll, but she stopped sobbing. “He knew Louie and I were in love. He killed him.”
“Who’s your husband?”
“Amos Horne.”
Fausta said: “He run Louie’s bingo game at Eighth and Market.”
“How do you know he killed Louie?” I asked.
“He must have. When he left last night, he called me awful names and said if I ever saw Louie again, he’d cut my throat. He said I was a tramp!” Sobs shook her plump shoulders.
“Shut off that water and answer questions!” I snapped at her, and she stopped suddenly in the middle of a sob.
She licked her lips and looked up at me wide-eyed.