When Lowis had driven away, Bert Hamilton came out of the bungalow. He had been busy on the telephone, filing his story.
‘Plenty of meat in this one,’ he said to Terrell. ‘Got any ideas why she shot him?’
‘That’s something I’ll have to find out,’ Terrell said getting out of the car. ‘See you some time, Bert,’ and moving past the reporter, he entered the bungalow.
Beigler and Hess were talking in the hall.
‘All clear here, sir,’ Hess said. ‘A nice, tidy job.’
‘It looks like it,’ Terrell returned, ‘but we won’t let it go as easy as that. You two boys go over to East Street and look at her home. Check her handwriting is the same as the suicide note. I think this case is straightforward, but let’s be sure. Have a talk with that dwarf. He seemed full of information. Maybe he can tell us why she shot Williams. I want a report on my desk by ten, so get moving, boys.’
Hess suppressed a groan.
‘Okay, Chief.’
Terrell went into the dead man’s room where Lepski was propping up the wall, talking to the finger print men who were packing their kit.
‘Tom,’ Terrell said, ‘I want you to find out if anyone heard the shots. Check up and down the boulevard and I want some background on Williams.’
‘You don’t want me to start checking now, do you, Chief?’ Lepski said. ‘It’s only just after six o’clock. You don’t want me to get people out of bed, do you?’
Terrell grinned.
‘Give them half an hour. They rise early this end of the boulevard.’ At the sound of an approaching car, he went on. ‘Here’s the ambulance now. I’ll leave you to handle this.’ He turned to the finger print men. ‘You got anything?’
‘Lots of prints,’ one of them said. ‘This room hasn’t been dusted in months. Mostly his prints, but there are others. We’ll run a check on them all.’
Terrell nodded, then went to the front door as the ambulance pulled up. He told the two interns where to find the body, then he got into his car and headed for Police headquarters.
Chapter Two
A few minutes after Terrell and his men had left La Coquille restaurant, heading for Seaview Boulevard, Ticky Edris took off his drill jacket and slipped on a light grey alpaca coat. He then trotted to the still-room door, opened it and glanced into the bar.
Louis and Jacoby were talking at the head of the stairs.
‘Going home now, Mr. Louis,’ Edris said in his piping voice. ‘That okay with you?’
Louis waved his hand, not pausing in his talk with Jacoby. Edris returned to the still-room, his movements quick and bustling. He let himself out through the Staff exit, bounced down a flight of steps and into the parking lot reserved for the Staff’s car. He half ran, half bounced to where two cars were parked. One of them a Cooper Mini; the other a Buick Roadmaster convertible with the top up.
A broad shouldered man sat at the wheel of the Buick, smoking a cigarette. He wore a brown straw hat and a well cut fawn-coloured suit. His shirt was white and immaculate; his tie expensive and conservative. The thick wings of his gold blond hair went well with his heavy suntan. He was handsome: a young looking thirty-eight, and the deep cleft in his chin gave him the little extra personality that appeals to most women.
He could have been mistaken for a successful law officer, a bank official or even an up and coming politician, but he was neither a law officer, a bank official nor a politician. Phil Algir used his impressive appearance, his wealth of general knowledge and his charm to fool the greedy out of their money. Algir was a con man who had spent fourteen years of his life in prison and who had left New York in a hurry for Florida at the very moment a warrant was being sworn out for his arrest. He had remained quietly in Paradise City, short of funds, afraid to set up another of his smooth swindles, knowing the next time he was caught, he would go away for another fourteen years.
Behind his handsome, charming facade, there was a streak of vicious ruthlessness in Algir. Up to this night, he had managed to get the money he needed without resorting to violence, but now the facade was down. If this job he and the dwarf had planned didn’t work out, it wouldn’t be fourteen years in a cell this time. A seat in the gas chamber would be waiting for him. But he had every confidence in Edris and himself. This job was going to work out — it had to.
‘Going like a dream,’ Edris said, resting his stumpy fingers on the door of the car. ‘No fuss — no trouble. All right your end?’
‘Yeah.’
‘They’ve gone to the bungalow. They’ll then come on to East Street. You’d better get moving, Phil. You know what to do.’
‘Yeah.’ Algir started the car engine. ‘Think they’re satisfied she knocked herself off?’
‘Looks like it. I’ll watch Terrell. He’s smart. Don’t get to the school before half-past seven.’
‘I know. I know. We’ve gone over it enough times, haven’t we? You handle your end. I’ll handle mine.’
Edris stepped back, and with a brief nod, Algir sent the Buick moving out of the parking lot. Edris watched the tail lights disappear, then turned and got into the Mini. The clutch, brake and gas pedals had been built up with thick lumps of cork so his stumpy legs could reach down to them. He was a fast, expert driver. He hadn’t had an accident in his seventeen years of driving.
He drove fast out of Paradise City, pushing the Mini up to eighty miles an hour once on the highway. But as he approached No. 247, Seaview Boulevard, he slowed and drove past at a much slower speed, glancing at the parked police cars in front of the bungalow. It took him another ten minutes to reach East Street. Leaving his car before the apartment block, he took the elevator to the top floor and entered the two room apartment he had lived in now for the past eight years.
There was a big living room, a small bedroom, a kitchenette and a shower room. He had lavished considerable care on the living room and by careful buying and selection, he had made it into a comfortable, tastefully furnished home. He used a coffee table for his dining table and he had had a special miniature chair and a lounging chair made for his own comfort: the rest of the furniture was of normal size as Edris liked to entertain his friends from time to time and he had chosen the settee and the armchairs with consideration for the comfort of others.
He bounced into the bedroom, stripped off his clothes and then ran into the shower room. He danced around in his grotesque nakedness under the shower of tepid water, slapping his hands together in time with his humming. He then dried himself and put on a pair of gold and blue pyjamas and a blue dressing gown. He went into the sitting room, crossing over to the miniature cocktail cabinet. He poured himself a slug of whisky, added charge water, then carrying the drink to his armchair, he sat down, putting his feet up on a tiny footstool. He took a drink, set down the glass, then lit a cigarette. He sat for some minutes, relaxing, drawing the cigarette smoke deep into his lungs and then expelling it through his wide nostrils.
He glanced at the tiny lady’s wristwatch on his wrist. The time was 06.30 hours. It would take Phil a little under the hour to reach Greater Miami. If all went well, Phil would be on his way back to Paradise City by half-past eight. He couldn’t expect to hear from Phil before half-past nine or even ten.
Edris finished his whisky, stifled a yawn and stubbed out his cigarette. He would have liked to have gone to bed, but he knew if he went to bed, he would fall asleep and that would never do. He mustn’t be sleepy or dull minded when the cops arrived.
He struggled out of his chair and carrying his empty glass over to the cocktail cabinet, he made himself another drink. Edris was a heavy drinker, but seemed able to absorb a considerable quantity of alcohol without it affecting him. But tonight he had been under a strain and he was tired. He told himself to go slow with the whisky. It wouldn’t do for him to get overconfident.