Something about the tone of her voice, possibly its resigned weariness, led me to believe the woman was telling the truth. The inspector’s expression indicated he was believing nothing Minerva said, however, now that she had changed her original story.
Before he could speak, I said, “Just what was the roundabout way you mentioned you let your husband learn he could surprise you?”
“I told his and Gerald’s private secretary,” she said dully. “A woman named Nancy Stark. We’ve always been friendly, but ordinarily I wouldn’t tell her anything I didn’t want known, because she’s the worst gossip in town. I knew she’d lose no time in relaying the news to my husband and anyone else who would listen.”
“Where’s your husband’s office?” I asked.
“In the Rand Building. The Standard Racing News Service.”
I glanced at my watch and saw it was only eleven thirty. “Inspector, if we hurry we can catch this secretary before she goes to lunch.”
Day looked at me like he thought I was crazy. “I’ve got a lot more questions to ask this woman,” he growled, “and I’m going to ask them at headquarters.”
“Well, I won’t wait then. See you around.”
“Hey!” he bawled as I started for the door.
When I stopped, he examined me uncertainly. “You’re on to something else I don’t know,” he accused.
I shrugged and pulled open the door. After a moment’s hesitation, the inspector scurried after me.
In the doorway, he turned and snarled at Minerva, “You leave town and I’ll send after you with a warrant for your arrest!”
The office of the Standard Racing News Service was on the fourth floor of the Rand Building. Just as Warren Day reached for the knob of the glass-topped door, it opened from inside. Gerald Brand, a friendly arm draped across his visitor’s shoulder, was ushering out a thick-bodied, beetle-browed man with a flat nose and practically no forehead.
Momentarily, Day gaped at the man in surprise, then his lips drew back in a delighted snarl and he centered his forefinger in the man’s chest.
“Hello, Rocco,” he said with gentle ferocity.
Rocco blinked at him uneasily. “Just visiting, Inspector,” he explained hurriedly. “My plane leaves at eight tonight.”
“Check if there’s an earlier one,” Day advised, “and take it, or you may miss the one at eight.”
“Sure, Inspector.” The big man sidled past, and was gone without even bidding Gerald Brand goodbye.
“Rocco Polito,” Day informed me in an aside to my unasked question. “Syndicate contact man.” Then he blared at Gerald Brand, “What’s your business with that hood?”
“No business, Inspector,” Brand said with a hurriedness as great as Rocco’s. “I knew him in New York, and he just dropped in.”
“Want to talk to your secretary,” Day growled.
Nancy Stark proved to be a middle-aged blonde who dressed and acted like a college girl. She was thrilled to death to be questioned in a murder investigation, and she gushed out everything she knew.
“I knew she was having that man over last night,” she confided, “of course, I would never have mentioned it to Mi. Talcott, if I had thought he would be mad enough to go over there. As a matter of fact, from what he said I assumed he had no intention of going himself.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He said he was fed up with Minerva’s cheating, and thought he’d use her date as grounds for divorce. I assumed he meant he’d have a private detective or someone break in and take pictures.”
I looked over at Gerald Brand, who was hovering to one side and listening uneasily.
“Where’s Deuce?” I asked.
Gerald’s lip curled, “I fired him.”
I grinned at the inspector. “Need any more?”
Day looked at me blankly...
“Henry Talcott got tired of beating up his wife’s lovers,” I explained. “He decided he wanted a divorce. He didn’t want to pay alimony, so he needed her cheating. Unsupported testimony of a husband isn’t accepted in court, so naturally he took along a witness. The witness probably hadn’t planned to murder Henry right at that moment, but when he ran into a perfect setup, he took advantage of it. The motive? This is only a guess, but suppose Henry was fighting a tie-in with the syndicate, and the syndicate offered his partner a good deal if Henry was put away?”
“What are you getting at?” Gerald Brand asked tightly.
“At you,” I informed him. “If Rocco Polito being in your office isn’t evidence enough of a syndicate tie-in, your firing Deuce before you hired another bodyguard is. The only people in your business who — don’t need, bodyguards are members of the syndicate.”
Warren Day rubbed his palms together. “This time, Moon,” he said, “I think you’ve got a tenable theory. Now step aside, and let an expert take over!”
An hour later the door of Mouldy Greene’s cell opened — Gerald Brand walked in as Mouldy walked out.
Fausta treated me to dinner that night.