“There’s one thing wrong with your figuring, Otis,” said Peel. “There’s an attendant at the Hillcrest Towers garage. He leaves now and then for a minute or two to take a guest’s car to the front, but he always gets back pretty quick. The killer couldn’t take a chance on bringing down two people and putting them in his car—”
“The police siren — that’s why he called the cops. He figured the siren would get the man out of the garage.”
“Mmm,” said Peel. “Maybe. But that’s slicing it pretty thin. And speaking of slicing, how much did you nick Smallwood for?”
“Just a nominal sum, so far...”
“How much?”
“It isn’t what he’s already paid, it’s—”
“How much, Otis?”
“Five hundred.”
“A thousand. You always lie in that proportion. You nicked him for a grand and you’re figuring to hook him for another thousand or so.”
“Don’t worry about the bookkeeping, Joe. I’ll take care of that. You’re getting a hundred—”
“Two hundred!”
Beagle hesitated. “You’re holding me up, Joe!”
“Two hundred or I remember last night.”
“Two hundred it is then.”
Peel held out his hand. Beagle took out a fat wallet and skinned out two hundred-dollar bills. “I’ll remember this.”
“You remember it and I’ll remember last night.”
Beagle made a gesture of impatience. “To work. You know what to do about Smallwood.”
“How should I know? You haven’t told me.”
Beagle squirmed. “Dammit, Joe, there are some things you don’t have to talk about. You just do them.”
“Such as what?”
“What made him come in here?”
“I scared the hell out of him.”
“All right, scare him some more. He’s got a guilty conscience.”
“About what?”
“Find out.”
“What about our other clients?”
“I’ll handle Iowa Lee...”
“You would.” Peel scowled. “Why don’t you take Smallwood and let me have Iowa?”
“We’re not supposed to do anything for Iowa — except keep her club out of the mess.”
“That’ll take some doing. The club pops up every time you turn around. Iowa’s a nice armful of woman, if you ask me, but those are the kind. Look at Susan Sawyer. The face of an angel... and a mink coat in the closet.”
“Iowa’s a businesswoman. She’s got a legitimate racket that brings her in a hatful of money.” He stopped. “You’re not listening, Joe!”
Peel shook his head. “How do I know the mink coat was Susan Sawyer’s?”
“Eh?”
“I’m a sucker for dames,” said Peel. “I believe everything they tell me.”
“Oh, come now. Linda was wearing the mink last night, but she merely borrowed it. She’s a working girl. You said so yourself.”
“Yeah, she’s working for Thaddeus Smallwood. And then again, maybe she’s working Smallwood.”
Beagle grunted. “You have a suspicious mind. But to be on the safe side, you’d better check on the beautiful Linda Meadows a little more.”
“That’ll be a pleasure. I haven’t forgotten that Iowa Lee kept saying that her name was familiar.”
13
The office door was pushed open and Charlton Temple entered. He beamed at Otis Beagle. “Mr. Beagle, good morning.”
“Good morning to you, Mr. Temple. Mmm, I don’t believe you’ve met Joe Peel. One of my operators, Mr. Temple.”
Temple gave Peel a curt nod. “I was wondering, Mr. Beagle, if I might have a word with you, a private word.”
“Speak freely, Mr. Temple. Mr. Peel is my very best man. As a matter of fact, he’s been working on your case.”
“Ah!” Temple finally deigned to give Peel his attention. “And what have you found out?”
Peel looked at Beagle. The big man shrugged. “She’s dead.” Peel said bluntly.
“Dead?” echoed Temple.
“Don’t you read the papers?”
Temple stared at Peel a moment, then suddenly his face broke and he inhaled sharply. “That girl last night— I... I thought she looked familiar. But the newspaper said her name was — Sawyer, or something like that.”
“Names,” said Beagle.
“And that ain’t all,” Peel added darkly. “Her husband was knocked off, too.”
“Her husband!” cried Temple. “But I... I am her husband.”
“Then your name must be Dave Corey,” said Peel.
“Corey? You mean the... the gangster who was killed the day before yesterday?”
“Corey and Susan were working the badger game together,” Otis Beagle put in blithely. “Tell him what happened, Joe.”
“The badger game happened, that’s what.”
“You mean they tried it on you?” Charlton Temple asked. “How much did they ask you for?”
Joe Peel suddenly frowned. He looked at Otis Beagle, then inhaled lightly. “Five hundred.”
Beagle took it from there. “Which I’m afraid we’ll have to add onto your bill.”
Temple nodded automatically, then caught himself. “One moment. Corey was found dead the day before yesterday, but I did not engage you until yesterday.” Temple regarded Beagle suspiciously. “What are you trying to pull?”
Beagle discovered phlegm in his throat and cleared it noisily. “Excuse me. Now, what were you saying?”
“I asked you what you’re trying to pull?”
Peel said, through his teeth, “The price of pigeons has gone up!”
“What in the world have pigeons got to do with all this?”
Then Beagle took Peel’s cue and his suaveness was gone. He was big and cold and hard. “Joe means that you hired us for suckers, Temple. You’re a good-for-nothing crook and all you want out of us is to finger your victim for you.”
Charlton Temple took a quick step back so he could face both Beagle and Peel. “Now, let’s not get tough about this.”
“You told me yourself that you and your wife were working the badger game,” snapped Beagle. “Your wife ran out on you and you hired us to find her for you so you could give her what she got—”
“That’s a lie!” screamed Temple. “She was already dead when I came here.”
“And you knew it,” Peel snarled. “You knew it because you’re the bird who knocked her off. But you needed a pigeon to take the rap for you. That’s why you came here yesterday with your fistful of hundred-dollar bills.”
“I didn’t know she was dead!” cried Temple. “I read it in the paper this morning. They said she had been dead twenty-four hours when they found her, which would mean—”
“Precisely,” said Beagle savagely. “She was killed sixteen hours before you came in here...”
“She was a no-good, two-timing...” Temple choked and, shuddering, donned his gentleman’s mask once more. “All right, I don’t give a damn about her. She got what she deserved. But I didn’t kill her. Maybe I would have if I’d caught up with her. But” — he shrugged — “I’ll tell you the truth, Beagle.”
“Think you can?” sneered Peel.
Temple indicated Peel with his thumb. “Are you his boss or does he give you the orders?”
Beagle growled and signaled Peel to desist for the moment. He said, “Shoot, Temple.”
“Just find me Seymour Case, that’s all I ask.”
“Have you looked at the body of Dave Corey?”
“Corey isn’t Case. Case is an older man.”
“How old?” asked Peel.
“He’d be in his late fifties now. The last time I saw him he was pretty bald—”
“How bald?”
“Oh, not altogether. He had a little fringe of hair around the side.” Beagle and Peel exchanged glances. Temple went on, “I can tell you this much. He was a promoter of some kind. Bought and sold oil leases, mining properties...”