"And what about the morning after Vreen's murder?" I asked. You said the Chester 's valet remembered Wilma being picked up by the same type of car."
"It had to be Hedda alone who picked up Wilma that morning after Vreen was stabbed. Once again, she was taking care of her young pawn, making sure the girl was spirited away so Burwell couldn't get to her anymore-and a detective like me couldn't get close to question her, either."
"But Benny showed us Pierce Armstrong's name in the log book for that morning," I reminded him.
Jack nodded. "Since Pierce was already in custody, I'm sure it was Hedda who signed his name, just to make sure she wasn't listed on any written record. Don't you remember what those two signatures looked like? The first one was done in big, bold block letters, but the second one-"
"-was in small fluid script, just like Hedda's signature at my bookstore signing," I finished for him. Then I took a breath, trying to add it all up. "So if Hedda was in league with Wilma, then she would have known when Nathan Burwell was taking her to the Porterhouse."
Jack nodded. "And she could have arranged to have the crime happen right in front of the DA."
I met Jack's stare. "So Pierce Armstrong was in on it all, too? Even Vreen's murder?"
"He must have been, doll. The whole scene that night played out like a B-movie script, with Pierce loudly announcing he had no beef with Irving. The guy was obviously trying to set up the accidental defense. Pierce was playing a part for Hedda. And the DA was his audience."
"If all that's true, Jack, then Hedda's actions that night at the Porterhouse were premeditated. She killed Irving Vreen in cold blood."
"Yeah, baby."
"But why?" I threw up my hands. "What could Hedda and Pierce, and Wilma, for that matter, have possibly gained? What was the conspiracy all about? When they killed Vreen, all they ended up doing was destroying the studio that employed them!"
"I can't answer that question for you, doll. Not without more pieces to this puzzle. I think, for the moment, we've reached a dead end."
I fell back against the lumpy sofa and sighed.
Jack sat down next to me again, draped a muscular arm across the sofa back. "Tired?"
"No," I said. "What I am is frustrated."
"Oh?" the PI arched an eyebrow. Then he gave me a little smile. "That I can take care of." He leaned closer.
"Jaaack… I'm not frustrated that way!"
My pathetic push against his rock-solid chest was enough to make him pause. "Then what did you mean, baby?" he asked with a sigh.
"I don't know… I guess I mean I just need more info, too. Whatever happened to your own case back here? I mean after you caught that private eye tailing you. Was he working for
Hedda Geist?" "No."
"Who then? Did you ever find out?"
Jack sighed again, leaned back a little. "You really want to know?" "Sure."
"Then close your eyes." "Jaaack… "
"No funny business. I promise. So close 'em…"
I did.
JACK KEPT HIS promise. There was no funny business next. Just business. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself standing in front of a polished oak apartment door in the hall of a grand Park Avenue building.
Jack was looking spiffy in his brand-new blue suit, his face freshly shaved. He rang the apartment's bell and waited.
"Where are we?" I whispered.
"Nathan Burwell's penthouse."
"What? You're bracing the district attorney?!"
Jack smirked. "I can be wild, baby. But I'm not crazy. Nathan's not home at the moment."
The door opened. A young maid greeted us and showed us inside. "I'll get Mrs. Burwell," she said and disappeared.
The entryway where we were standing was brightly lit and stacked with trunks and suitcases. I could see a luxurious living room beyond a short hallway. Half of the room appeared to be packed up in boxes.
"Mr. Shepard, thank you for coming."
Jack gave a curt nod to the tall, slender woman. She was middle-aged, dressed in a beautifully tailored wool suit with stylishly padded shoulders, but her bobbed black hairdo looked more like it belonged in the 1920s than the late 1940s.
"I got your message," Jack said.
"Yes, well, let's not prolong this. Here you are." Mrs. Burwell held out a thick envelope. "This should end our contract."
Jack hesitated before taking the pay. "If you don't mind, Mrs. Burwell, I'd like to know why?"
"Why?"
"Why you suddenly changed your mind about having your husband investigated," Jack said stiffly. "Why you expressed no interest in seeing my report or my photographs or anything in my files."
"Well, I, just… don't need to…"
Jack glanced at the trunks and suitcases. "So you're leaving?"
Mrs. Burwell nodded. "Nathan's letting me go. There's no problem anymore. He won't fight my request for a divorce, won't fight for custody of our daughters, won't even fight me on taking my money with me. So, you see, it's all worked out." "And what changed his mind? Did you tell him you hired me?"
"No. I didn't."
"Well, Mrs. Burwell, I've got news for you: A scumbag shamus tried to get the drop on me last night. Only I got the drop on him. The man's name was Egbert P. King. I called around and found out he works for Dibell Investigations. You know who they are?"
Mrs. Burwell blanched. "Yes," she admitted. "I do."
"So do I. They do the dirty digging for Marigold and Webster, the law firm where your husband worked before he became a public prosecutor."
The woman's eyes were wide, her expression clearly distressed. "I never once mentioned you to Nathan, Mr. Shepard. You have to believe me. The reason I'm letting you go has nothing to do with Nathan. I mean… it does, actually, just not in the way you think. Can't that be enough for you? Won't you go now and let things be?"
Mrs. Burwell stared at Jack. He stared back. His large form seemed to fill the hallway, and it was clear that he had no intention of moving it until the woman told him what he wanted to know. She seemed to figure that out, too, because she finally cleared her throat and admitted-
"Nathan's being blackmailed."
"By who?"
"Someone. He won't tell me; not even whether it's a man or woman. He said his hand is being forced in an official capacity. If he doesn't comply with the demands of this person, then Nathan's… well, his indiscretions will be exposed. It would ruin him. Ruin me, too. The scandal would destroy our standing completely."
"Why don't you let me uncover this blackmailing rat? You've already paid me an awful lot of dough, Mrs. Burwell. Let me find out who's blackmailing your husband."
"My husband knows very well who's blackmailing him,
Mr. Shepard. And apparently Nathan has already decided to give in to this person."
"So what's the payoff?" Jack asked.
"No payoff. There's no demand for money."
"Then what does the blackmailer want?"
"A reprieve, Mr. Shepard."
"From what?"
"Apparently from being accused of murder. This blackmailer planned a murder with an accomplice. The blackmailer demand-ed Nathan let them both off, clearing them of any crime, but Nathan's made the blackmailer see that the public needs a fall guy. So in a few months, he'll put the accomplice on trial-for manslaughter. The blackmailer will betray the accomplice and provide testimony to help with the conviction. Nathan gets a conviction, and the blackmailer goes free."