“How many guesses do I get?”
“Granquist and John R. Bellmann — and Bellmann had a couple slugs in his heart. It was a perfect angle to beat the Bellmann outfit on — it tied up with the stuff we already had. Bellmann had gone to her place to get the snapshots and some letters he’d sent her. She found him there and let him have it.”
Janis nodded and began wrapping bandage around the leg.
Kells said: “Only she didn’t... after she’d been pinched, I found Fenner in a closet. He’d beat Granquist to the apartment and found Bellmann there. It looked like his big opportunity to get rid of Bellmann once and for all. I put the screws on Fenner and scared him into signing a confession to use in case I couldn’t beat the case for the gal. We made a deal — I took over his organization, which means Gowdy and all that outfit — took over the whole goddamned business. Now I’m going to have some fun.”
Kells smiled, tight-lipped. “I got the Bellmann stuff from Granquist before she was pinched. I finally found Dickinson — that’s the editor of Fenner’s political paper, the Coast Guardian — and we were on our way to get out a special edition to run the dirt when Rose and O’Donnel — O’Donnell had not been popped yet — opened up on us with a shotgun.”
Janis finished bandaging the leg and secured the loose end neatly with two strips of adhesive.
Kells sat up slowly. “That’s about all. You saw Dickinson last night. He got most of the load. I dropped him at Bill Cullen’s, called you, and went back to Fenner’s, where I left Beery. Rose and O’Donnell had crashed in and were looking for the pictures when I got there. We had a swell battle. Somebody shot O’Donnell and Rose slugged me with a vase. When I came to, Fenner was over at the station filing charges against Rose for O’Donnell’s murder. When he came back, he gave me my check for twenty-five thou... and that’s that.”
“That was last night. Where have you been since then?” Janis asked.
“I had to get Beery started on the stuff for the Guardian — he’s the new editor. And I had a date.”
“Oh.”
Kells carefully tried his weight on the bandaged leg. He limped to the door, went back to the window, and picked up his hat.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you.”
It had rained all night; the air was sharp, clear. Kells left Janis’ office in the Harding Building, limped across Hollywood Boulevard, bought a paper and got into a cab. He said “Lancaster,” and leaned back and spread the paper. Then he sat up very straight. A headline read: WOMAN IN BELLMANN KILLING ESCAPES.
He glanced out the window at a tangle of traffic as the cab curved into Vine Street; then leaned back again slowly, read the story:
Early this morning, Miss S. Granquist, alleged by police to be the self-confessed slayer of John R. Bellmann, prominent philanthropist and reformer, was “kidnaped” from Detectives Breen and Rail after the car in which they were taking her from the Hollywood Police Station to the County Jail had been forced to the curb near Temple Street and Coronado, crashed into a fire plug. Officer Breen was slightly injured, removed to the Receiving Hospital. Rail described the “abductors” as “eight or nine heavily armed and desperate men in a cream-colored coupé.” He neglected to explain how “eight or nine” men and a woman got away in a coupé. Our motor-car manufacturers would be interested in how that was done. It is opportune that another example of the inefficiency of our police department occurs almost on the eve of the municipal primaries. The voters...
Kells folded the paper, knocked on the glass and told the driver to make it fast. They cut over Melrose to Normandie, out of the heavy traffic, over Normandie to Wilshire Boulevard and into the big parking circle of the Lancaster.
Kells told the driver to wait, hurried up to his room and changed clothes. He called the desk, was told that Mister Beery had called twice, called Beery back at the Howard Hotel downtown. The room line was busy. He took a long drink and went back down and got into the cab.
It took twenty-five minutes to get through the traffic on lower Seventh Street to the Howard.
Fenner opened the door of the small outer room on the fourth floor; they went through to the larger bedroom.
Kells said: “You’re down early, Lee.”
Fenner glanced at the rolled newspaper in Kells’ hand, nodded, smiled wanly.
“Where’s Beery?” Kells took off his hat and coat.
Fenner sat down on the bed. “He went over to the print shop about an hour ago. He ought to be back pretty soon.”
Kells sat down carefully.
Fenner asked: “How’s the leg?”
“Doc Janis picked eleven shot out of it like plucking petals off a daisy. It came out odd — he loves me.” Kells unrolled, unfolded the paper, looked over it at Fenner. “Do you know anything about this?”
“I do not.” Fenner said it very quietly, very emphatically.
“What do you think?”
“Rose.”
Kells stared at Fenner steadily. He moved his fingers on the arm of the chair as though running scales. He said: “What for?”
“She’s crossed him up all the way — he’s the kind of crazy guy that would take a long chance to get even.”
Kells sat staring blankly at Fenner for perhaps a minute. Then he said slowly: “I want you to call Gowdy — everybody you can reach who might have a line on it...”
Fenner got up and went to the phone. He called several numbers, spoke softly, quietly.
After a little while the outer door opened and someone came through the outer room. It was Beery. He said: “We can’t get it on the newsstands before noon.”
“That’ll be all right.”
Kells was still sitting deep in the big chair. Fenner was at the telephone. Beery took off his coat and hat, flopped down on the bed.
“Maybe I can get a couple hours’ snooze,” he said.
Fenner hung up the receiver and looked at Kells. “You might pick up something at the Bronx, out on Central Avenue. It’s a colored cabaret run by a man named Sheedy. Rose is supposed to be a partner — he was seen there last night.”
“Who’s Sheedy?”
Beery said: “A big dinge — used to be in pictures...”
“You know him?”
“A little.”
“Get on the phone and see if you can locate him. He wouldn’t be at his joint this time of day.”
Beery sighed, sat up. “The law’s looking for Rose too, Gerry,” he said. “You’re not going to get anything out of any of these boys.”
Kells half smiled, inclined his head towards the phone. Then he stood up.
“If that son of a bitch got her — which is a long shot” — he looked sideways at Fenner — “he’ll give her everything in the book. I got her into it — and by God! I’ll get her out if I have to turn the rap back on Lee and let the whole play slide.”
He turned, went to one of the windows. “And if Rose did get her and lets her have it, I’ll spread his guts from here to Santa Monica.”
Beery got up and went to the phone. “You’re getting goddamned dramatic about a gal you turned up yourself,” he said.
Kells turned from the window and looked at Beery and his eyes were cold, his mouth was partly open, faintly smiling.
He said: “Right.”
Sheedy couldn’t be located.