“Don’t stall,” Terrell snapped. “Do you know her?”
“Why, yes... an old, old flame that flickered out,” Hardy said. “You didn’t say what you would drink.”
“She was murdered last night,” Terrell said.
Hardy’s smile slid off his face the way water leaves a sink.
“Murdered? Sue? For God’s sake! Who did it?”
Neither Terrell nor Beigler were impressed with this act. They knew Hardy to be one of the trickiest punters on the Coast.
“Where were you last night?” Terrell asked as Beigler sat down and took out his notebook.
“You don’t think I killed her, do you?” Hardy exclaimed, staring at Terrell.
“I’ll ask the questions. Come on, Hardy, you’re wasting time.”
“Where was I last night?” Hardy said and moved to the settee. He sat down, close to Gina’s naked feet. “Why... I was right here... wasn’t I, Pekie?”
Gina sipped her drink. She looked at Hardy thoughtfully while Hardy stared back at her, the muscles of his neck tense.
“Were you?” She spoke with an exaggerated drawl. “Last night? How should I remember what you did last night?”
“Just think a moment,” Hardy said, and Terrell saw he was controlling his temper with difficulty. “Let me remind you: we ran off that movie I made when we were down at Key West. That was around eight o’clock. I then spent an hour editing it while you listened to that new L.P. I bought you. Then we ran the movie through again. That was a little after ten o’clock. Then we played five hands of Gin and you beat me... remember? Then we went to bed.”
Gina looked at Terrell, then at Beigler, then back at Hardy.
“The only thing I remember is that we went to bed,” she said. “Going to bed with you is always an experience.”
Hardy drew in a long, deep breath. He made a helpless gesture towards Terrell.
“Pekie, this is important.” There was a rasp in his voice. “Don’t go vague on me. These gentlemen want to know where I was last night. I haven’t any other witnesses but you. I was with you from half-past seven until this morning that’s right, isn’t it?”
Again the long, uncomfortable pause, then Gina said, “Yes, that’s right, you were. I remember now distinctly.”
Hardy turned to Terrell.
“So I was here. What happened to Sue for God’s sake?”
Terrell stared at Hardy. This was an alibi he disliked most...one he couldn’t check.
“Did you have any telephone calls last night?”
“No.”
“Did you go out to eat?”
“No... Gina fixed the meal here.”
“Did anyone call on you?”
“No.”
“So I have only this woman’s word and yours?”
“I hope it’s enough.”
Terrell turned to Gina.
“If this man has had anything to do with the murder and you have lied about him being here last night, you can be charged as an accessory after the fact... carries quite a rap. Want to change your mind?”
Gina sipped her drink before saying, “I’m not in the habit of lying.”
“Well, you have been warned,” Terrell said. He nodded to Beigler and the two men walked out of the apartment.
When the front door closed behind them, Hardy said, “Thank you, Pekie, that was damn well done.”
“Wasn’t it?” she said and reached for a cigarette. While she lit it, he went over to the cocktail cabinet and made himself a stiff whisky. As he came back and sank into a lounging chair near her, she went on, “Just who is Sue Parnell?”
“Nobody,” Hardy said and switched on his flashing smile. “A tart if you’re all that interested. Just nobody.”
She stared at him.
“I see. Where actually were you last night, Lee?”
He made an uneasy movement.
“Pekie... I told you. I was out with the boys.”
“Then why didn’t you tell that cop?”
“He would have checked. A couple of the boys are in trouble. They wouldn’t want to talk to Terrell.”
“Nice friends you go around with, don’t you?”
“It’s business, Pekie. They aren’t friends. They put business my way.”
“You didn’t get in until half-past three. You could have murdered this woman, couldn’t you?”
“I could have, but I didn’t. Let’s drop it, shall we?” he said, a rasp in his voice.
“I wouldn’t like you to describe me as an old, old flame that flickered out... a nobody... a tart,” Gina said quietly. “I wouldn’t like that at all.”
“I wouldn’t talk that way about you, Pekie... you know that.”
“Well, if you did, if the flame flickered out, darling, I could always tell that cop I made a mistake in the days, and that it was Thursday and not Friday we did the things you said we did.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. The hardness in her black eyes startled him and he felt a sudden sinking feeling.
“Come on, Pekie, let’s drop it. Let’s go to a movie or something. Look, I’ll take you to the Coral Club... how would you like that?”
“Did you take Sue Parnell there?”
He got to his feet. Blood rushed into his face and all his smoothness went away. He looked vicious and ugly.
“Now listen, Gina...”
“Pekie, darling. You always call me that, and don’t look so mad. No, we won’t go to the Coral Club tonight. You run off and play with your boyfriends. I’ll amuse myself on my own.” She got off the settee and carrying her drink, she went across the lounge and into her bedroom.
Hardy stood motionless, his hands opening and closing, then he went into his bedroom and slammed the door.
Chapter Four
The Hare Investigating Agency advertised that they offered superlative service with quick results.
The Agency was controlled by Homer Hare, assisted by Lucille, his daughter, and Sam Karsh, his son-in-law. They were regarded by the police and by those who had had dealings with them as “The Unholy Trinity”.
Homer Hare, nudging sixty-five, was an immense man, grossly fat with a turnip shaped head, a bulbous nose, shrewd little eyes and a drooping moustache that half hid a cruel, avaricious mouth.
His daughter, aged twenty-eight, was small and bony. The sharpness of her features and the brightness of her little black eyes gave her the appearance of a dangerous and suspicious ferret.
Her husband, Sam Karsh, could have been her brother. He had the same ferrety face, the same dark greasy hair and the same muddy complexion. If he hadn’t been offered a job as well as a wife, it wouldn’t have occurred to him to have married Lucille. He had a roving eye for any blonde who came up to his high standards, but as he made a reasonable living working with Hare, he accepted Lucille with as bad a grace as possible.
On the second morning after the murder at the Park Motel, Homer Hare sat in his specially built desk chair, designed to accept his enormous bulk, and regarded Joan Parnell with startled surprise.
“But this is a murder case,” he said in his wheezy soft voice. “We don’t usually take on murder cases. For one thing the police don’t like an Agency to move in and for another, they have the organisation to solve a murder whereas we are necessarily handicapped.”
Joan Parnell giving off a strong aroma of gin, made an impatient movement.
“There are other Agencies,” she said. “I’m not going to beg you to work for me. I’m paying a thousand dollars as a retainer. Are you taking the job or not?”
Hare blinked.
“My dear Miss Parnell,” he said hurriedly, waving his great hands that looked as if they had been fashioned out of dough, “if there is one Agency that could help you, it is us. Just what do you want me to do?”