Pat held his badge out again, but the cop recognized me. Pat said, "Everything all right here?"
"Yes, sir. Miss King and the girl left some time ago and Torrence arrived, but there has been no trouble. Anything I can help with?"
"No, just routine. We have to see Torrence."
"Sure. He left the gate open."
We left the car on the street and walked in, staying on the grass. I had the .45 in my hand and Pat had his Police Positive out and ready. Sim Torrence's Cadillac was parked in front of the door and when I felt it the hood was still warm.
Both of us knew what to do. We checked the windows and the back, met again around the front, then I went up to the door while Pat stood by in the shadows.
I touched the buzzer and heard the chime from inside.
Nobody answered so I did it again.
I didn't bother for a third try. I reached out, leaned against the door latch, and it swung in quietly. I went in first, Pat right behind me covering the blind spots. First I motioned him to be quiet, then to follow me since I knew the layout.
There was a deathly stillness about the house that didn't belong there. With all the lights that were going there should have been some sort of sound. But there was nothing.
We checked through the downstairs room, opening closets and probing behind the furniture. Pat looked across the room at me, shook his head, and I pointed toward the stairs.
The master bedroom was the first door on the right. The door was partly open and there was a light on there too. We took that one first.
And that was where we found Sim Torrence. He wasn't winning any more.
He lay face down on the floor with a bullet through his head and a puddle of blood running away from him like juice from a stepped-on tomato. We didn't stop there. We went into every room in the house looking for a killer before we finally came back to Sim.
Pat wrapped the phone in a handkerchief, called the local department, and reported in. When he hung up he said, "You know we're in a sling, don't you?"
"Why?"
"We should have called in from Brooklyn and let them cover it from this end."
"My foot, buddy. Getting in a jam won't help anything. As far as anyone is concerned we came up here on a social call. I was here last night helping out during an emergency and I came back to check, that's all."
"And what about the women?"
"We'll get to them before anybody else will."
"You'd better be right."
"Quit worrying."
While we waited we checked the area around the body for anything that might tie in with the murder. There were no spent cartridges so we both assumed the killer used a revolver. I prowled around the house looking for a sign of entry, since Geraldine would have locked the door going out and Sim behind him, coming in. The killer must have already been here and made his own entry the easy way through the front door.
The sirens were screaming up the street outside when I found out where he got in. The window in Sue's room had been neatly jimmied from the trellis outside and was a perfect, quiet entry into the house. Anybody could have come over the walls without being seen by the lone cop on the beat. From there up that solid trellis was as easy as taking the steps.
Sue's bed was still rumpled. Geraldine must have literally dragged her out of it because the burned stuffed toy was still there crammed under the covers, almost like a body itself.
Then I could see that something new had been added. There was a bullet hole and powder burns on the sheet and when I flipped it back I saw the hole drilled into the huge toy.
Somebody had mistaken that charred ruin for Sue under the covers and tried to put a bullet through her!
Back to Lolita again. Damn, where would it end?
What kind of a person were we dealing with?
I went to put the covers back in their original position before calling Pat in when I saw the stuffed bear up close for the first time. It had been her mother's and the fire had burned it stiff. The straw sticking out was hard and crisp with age, the ends black from the heat. During the night Sue must have lain on it and her weight split open a seam.
An edge of a letter stuck out of it.
I tugged it loose, didn't bother to look at it then because they were coming in downstairs now, racing up the stairs. I stuck the letter in my pocket and called for Pat.
He got the import of it right away but didn't say anything. From all appearances this was a breakin and anybody could have done it. The implications were too big to let the thing out now and he wasn't going to do much explaining until we had time to go over it.
The reporters had already gathered and were yelling for admittance. Tomorrow this kill would make every headline in the country and the one in Brooklyn would be lucky if it got a squib in any sheet at all. There was going to be some high-level talk before this one broke straight and Pat knew it too.
It was an hour before we got out of there and back in the car. Some of the bigwigs of the political party had arrived and were being pressed by the reporters, but they had nothing to say. They got in on VIP status and were immediately sent into the den to be quizzed by the officers in charge and as long as there was plenty to do we could ride for a while.
Pat didn't speak until we were halfway back to the city, then all he said was, "One of your theories went out the window today."
"Which one?"
"If Sim planned to kill Sue, how would he excuse it?"
"I fell into that one with no trouble, Pat," I said. "You know how many times he has been threatened?"
"I know."
"So somebody was trying to get even. Revenge motive. They hit the kid."
"But Sue is still alive."
"Somebody thought he got her tonight. I'll tell you this... I bet the first shot fired was into that bed. The killer turned on the light to make sure and saw what happened. He didn't dare let it stand like that so he waited around. Then in came Sim. Now it could be passed off as a burglary attempt while the real motive gets lost in the rush."
I tapped his arm. "There's one other thing too. The night of the first try there were two groups. Levitt and Kid Hand. They weren't working together and they were both after the same thing... the kid."
"All right, sharpie, what's the answer?"
"I think it's going to be three million bucks," I said.
"You have more than that to sell."
"Where's Blackie Conley."
"And you think he's got the money?"
"Want to bet?"
"Name it."
"A night on the town. A foursome. We'll find you a broad. Loser picks up all the tabs."
Pat nodded. "You got it, but forget finding me a broad. I'll get my own."
"You'll probably bring a policewoman."
"With you around it wouldn't be a bad idea," he said.
He let me out in front of my apartment and I promised to call him as soon as I heard from Velda. He was going to run the Torrence thing through higher channels and let them handle this hotcake.
I went upstairs, called through the door, and let Geraldine open it. Velda still hadn't gotten back. Sue was inside on the couch, awake, but still drowsy from the sedatives she had taken. I made Geraldine sit down next to her, then broke the news.
At first Sue didn't react. Finally she said, "He's really dead?"
"Really, sugar."
Somehow a few years seemed to drape themselves around her. She looked at the floor, made a wry face, and shrugged. "I'm sorry, Mike. I don't feel anything. Just free. I feel free."
Geraldine looked like she was about to break, but she came through it. There was a stricken expression in her eyes and her mouth hung slackly. She kept repeating, "Oh, no!" over and over again and that was all. When she finally accepted it she asked, "Who, Mike, who did it?"