Val opened her bag and took from it two one hundred dollar bills.
“Never mind why I want it... I want it. Here’s the money. Can I take the card?”
Mary Sherrek stared at the two bills. She drew in a deep breath.
“You really mean it?”
“Here is the money,” Val said, trying to control her impatience. She pushed the money across the table and picked up the card. This she put in her bag. “Now go home. I get these odd whims. I like to help people. Good luck...” She got to her feet as the girl continued to stare at the two bills on the table. Then she walked quickly from the cafeteria.
A passing taxi stopped at her signal. As she got into the cab, she looked back. The girl was coming out of the cafeteria, looking bewildered, but happy.
Val gave the driver the address of her hotel. As the cab moved off, she took the Press card from her bag and studied it. Back at the hotel, she had a spare passport photograph of herself. This she could easily stick on the card. Armed with this authority, she now had a remote chance of finding out more about Sue Parnell’s murder.
Homer Hare strode into Terrell’s office like a fat Avenging Angel. He met Terrell and Beigler’s bleak stares with a stare even more bleak.
“Where’s my son-in-law?” he demanded, coming to rest before Terrell’s desk. “If you’ve so much as laid a finger on him, I’m going to my attorney. Where is he?”
Terrell slapped the brief-case lying on his desk.
“Who gave you this money?” he demanded in his cop voice.
“I’ll answer questions when you answer mine!” Hare rumbled. “Don’t you think you can scare me! I know my rights! Where’s Karsh?”
“He’ll be along,” Terrell said. “Where did you get this money from?”
“That’s my business.” Hare lowered his bulk into a chair. “I want him right here and now! Unless you produce him, I’m not talking.”
Terrell nodded to Beigler who left the office. Terrell and Hare regarded each other.
“I didn’t think you were this much of a fool,” Terrell said. “You’ve been in your racket now for over thirty years. You’ve done pretty well. You haven’t been entirely honest, but you’ve kept within the line. Blackmail isn’t a pretty thing, Hare. I’d have thought you’d have been smart enough to resist that temptation.”
Hare glared at him.
“I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.” he said. “You be careful! Blackmail! You’re lucky there are no witnesses!”
The door opened and Beigler came in, shoving Karsh before him. Karsh had a black eye and was sweating and shaking.
Terrell stared at him in apparent astonishment. “What happened to him then? How did he get that shiner?”
Beigler shook his head sadly.
“I guess he’s born clumsy. He fell over his feet and took a toss down the stairs. But he’s all right now, aren’t you, Shamus?”
Karsh shied away from him. He held his hand to his eye and groaned.
“Sit him down,” Terrell said. “He looks in need of a rest.”
Beigler slammed a chair behind Karsh’s knees and he sat down violently.
“Are you all right, Sammy?” Hare asked, staring at him.
“Do I look all right?” Karsh snarled, mopping his eye with his handkerchief.
“Hare!” Terrell barked, “Where did you get this money from?”
Hare leaned against the chair back making it creak.
“It’s a retainer. An important client. No business of yours.”
“I happen to know who your client is,” Terrell said. “This a retainer? Twenty thousand dollars? Come on, spill it, what’s it all about?”
Hare smiled calmly.
“You must ask my client,” he said. “I was paid this amount for services to be rendered. It’s not police business strictly private business. If you do know who my client is, then ask my client.” He got to his feet and picked up the brief-case. “One little thing, Chief, if you know who my client is, you’ll also know you’ll have to watch your step very carefully. My client draws lots of water in this town. You could be on the retired list if you play the wrong card. Come on, Sammy. They can’t hold us. Let’s go.”
“Just a moment,” Terrell said, his hands in fists on the desk. “You’re having a run, Hare, but it won’t last. From now on, I’m out to get you.”
Hare winked.
“You try. You won’t get me. I’m strictly honest.”
“And another thing,” Terrell said. “I have the numbers of those bills. You spend one of them and you’ll be in trouble.”
“Think so? You talk to my client,” Hare said and stumped out of the office, followed by Karsh.
Terrell and Beigler exchanged glances.
“Well, I didn’t play that one too smart,” Terrell said, frowning. “I thought he just might crack.”
“Hare? Crack?” Beigler snorted. “So what do we do now?”
Terrell reached for the telephone.
“Get me the Spanish Bay hotel. I want to talk to Mrs. Val Burnett,” he said to the police operator.
A few minutes later, the operator told him Mrs. Burnett was out.
Replacing the receiver, Terrell shrugged.
“I’ll leave this to you, Joe,” he said. “I want to talk to her as soon as she gets back to the hotel, but let’s handle it carefully. Don’t let’s make a thing of it.”
“What can Hare have on her... a woman like that?” Beigler said, scowling. “Twenty thousand! What’s she been up to that he’s managed to throw that size hook into her?”
“That’s what I want to find out,” Terrell said. He looked at the papers on his desk. “We seem to be getting nowhere fast with the Parnell killing. What are you doing about it. Joe?”
Exasperated, Beigler began to explain when the telephone bell rang.
Terrell listened to the excited voice coming over the line and Beigler saw his face harden.
“We’ll be right over,” he said. “Don’t touch anything,” and he hung up. He stared at Beigler. “Spike Calder’s been found in a cellar room in his Club. Been dead some time.”
Beigler groaned.
“What’s the matter with this town? Okay, I’m on my way.”
“Could be Lincoln again,” Terrell said. “He and Calder knew each other. Calder was stabbed. Could be where Jacko and Lincoln have been hiding out.”
Beigler nodded and ran from the office.
Joan Parnell sprawled in the big shabby armchair, a black cat on her lap, a glass of gin and water in her hand. She stared glassily at Val who sat on the edge of her chair, a newly bought notebook in her lap, a fountain pen in her hand.
She had been careful to put on a simple grey dress. She wore no stockings and she had removed the varnish from her nails. As an afterthought she had slightly disarranged her usually immaculate hair, but even with these touches, she felt she didn’t really look much like a reporter from the Miami Sun.
She realised with relief that Joan Parnell was so drunk, she need not have taken any care. The sight of this handsome woman, her face white, her eyes peering as if to focus her properly, her hand unsteady as she held her glass upset Val.
“The Miami Sun?” Joan said thickly. “That’s just a rag. What do you want?”
“It’s about your sister,” Val said, speaking slowly and quietly. “My Editor thinks you aren’t getting much help from the police. He has taken an interest in the case. The police don’t seem to be getting anywhere and he thought if you could give me some information, we might spotlight the case and get the police to take more interest.”
“Do you imagine I need the help of a rag like the Miami Sun?” Joan said. “I’ll tell you something: I knew the police wouldn’t do a thing. I’ll tell you why: my sister was a whore. The police couldn’t care less about whores. I’ll tell you what I’ve done. I’ve gone to the best detective agency in this rotten town and I have paid them good money to find out who killed my sister. Tell that to your Editor!”