“You haven’t seen me. I’m dead and I’m going to be buried in one of your back booths.”
Pete didn’t bat an eyelid. “I’ll liquidate anybody who says diff’rent.”
Pedley had finished his second cup of black coffee laced with bourbon before Barney limped down the long row of tables.
The fireman was pleased with himself, apparently, for he sang beneath his breath,
“Whose dish of cream have you been lapping up, Barnabus?”
“I’m derelict in my duty, boss.” Barney stood as straight as he could, considering his game leg, tugged at his bow tie, hiked his belt up over the paunch that was just beginning to make itself show. “I forget to bring you a highly important document.”
“Consider yourself bawled out.”
“The commish will be annoyed, I fear. ’Twas an order of temporary suspension, boss. Under Rule Twenty-Two of Department Regulations, such an order becomes effective when and as received. And there it is, a-laying on your desk. You ain’t received it.”
“Pity. Doesn’t appoint any acting marshal, does it?”
“Uh, uh. Under Civil Service, Chief of Department’s supposed to take over, isn’t he?”
“Yair. Hunneford would be nominally in charge tomorrow morning. Only he’s at that convention in Chicago.”
“You think maybe the commissioner thought of that?” Barney asked.
“He might have. He’s learned the First Lesson of City Halclass="underline" people don’t care so much what their public officials do, as what they say.” Pedley filled his cup with Pete’s special extra-strong coffee. “Ollie hadn’t heard a thing about the suspension.”
“She hadn’t?” Barney was plainly astonished. “But I thought—”
“So did I. Just goes to show. You and I aren’t the only ones who don’t trust females. Eat hearty. It’s on the firm.”
“I could eat the saddle off a cop’s motorcycle.” Barney ordered clam broth, chicken cacciatore, salad Ptomaine and mince pie. “There’s no word of that ex-paratrooper or whatever he is.”
“Marine. Lieutenant. He’s a starker, Conover is. Had to be, to prowl around behind Jap lines, couple of weeks at a time. Shaner hasn’t picked him up at the Lownes apartment?”
Barney shook his head. “Ed calls in, howsomever, with a request for you to ring him back.”
“I’ll get around to that in a minute. What about that list of cleaners?”
“I got everybody working on it, boss. No trouble to check Ross’s wardrobe. Or the Gaydel fella’s. Still working on Kelsey, Amery, Toleman, and Miss Lownes.”
“It might be the clincher. But if the boys haven’t brought in Kelsey’s suits, we’re likely to be S.O.L.”
“Why?”
“The ork leader is numbered among the missing. Hasn’t been heard from since he left his hotel this morning.”
“Guilty conscience?”
“I wouldn’t think so. But from what Staro said, it could be. That sweet thing, Toleman, put in his two cents’ worth — and it points to Kelsey, too. In any case, we’ll need that report from the cleaners to go into court. Anything new on the candy box?”
“Came from Schrafft’s.”
“That’s a great help. Hardly anybody buys candy at Schrafft’s except five or ten thousand people a day!”
“This was one of those holly-day gift packages.”
“Now you’re closing in! Practically nobody bought those!”
“Give us time, boss.”
“Hell, Barno! We can’t afford any more time. I’m not thinking about the suspension, either. That lightning-bug is going to strike again, you can bet your tail on that!”
“Oke-nawa. They’ve got that box under the lenses, now. By morning they may be able to tell you the name of the dentist who filled the cavity that ached when the guilty party chewed on the bonbons. Say, there was another call for you. From a girl name of Bernard.”
“Amery’s secretary. What’d she say?”
Barney pulled a Racing Form out of his pocket, studied hieroglyphics penciled in the top margin. “I thought maybe you’d wish me to be accurate in this matter, so I took it down in shorthand.”
“I’ll get around to calling you ‘Friday,’ presently.”
“She said, ‘Mister Amery wishes to inform Mister Pedley that the insurance policies on Mister Lownes will amount to two thousand five hundred dollars, that he died intestate as far as can be determined, that the estate will probate a little less than forty thousand after repayment of funds which are the property of Lownes Enterprises, Inc., that stock in that corporation is of no par value and was owned by Mister Lownes, five hundred shares, Miss Lownes, four hundred ninety shares, Terence Ross, ten shares. Mister Amery will be at home this evening if Mister Pedley wishes to call him.’ Boy, whatta mouthful. What’s intestate?”
“Means died without leaving any will. A stew-bum like Lownes would have done that.”
“Who gets the dough, then?”
“His sister, I expect. She’ll also get those shares in the corporation — which is herself. That might be an angle.”
“You don’t think she would’ve bumped off her own brother?”
Pedley took his time about answering. “I wouldn’t exclude it as a possibility. She had a lot to gain — and she may have thought that even if she was found out, a jury would refuse to convict her on account of the way Lownes had treated her.”
“But, boss! That would mean she’s the one who blew up the Wasson kid’s apartment, too.”
“We can’t write that off, either. But one thing sure, Barney. We’ll be two of the most unpopular people in town if we have to bring this home to an ‘idol of the air-waves.’”
“You can’t believe she did it!” Barney held knife and fork poised halfway to his mouth. “Two fires. Two murders. To say nothing of putting this Staro up to nearly giving you a case of permanent pneumatism. I couldn’t believe it.”
Pedley added more whisky to the coffee. “She had motive and opportunity to do the Brockhurst job; she had opportunity and a possible motive for touching off the Horatio Street one. And she seems to have most of the crew who work with her covering up for her.”
“Ah! If all this assorted arson was to keep what’s in the leather case out of the public purview, why’d she have set the fires before she had the gimmick? Why wouldn’t she wait? This way, the police might turn it in or some smart-jacks newsman might lay hands on it — spilling the beans to hell and gone.”
Pedley regarded him quizzically. “Every once in a while I get the cockeyed notion that the bureau would do better if you were in my number elevens and I was in yours. This is one of those moments, Mister Molloy. The query you’ve just propounded has been buzzing around in my head for several hours. I don’t know the answer. The book says a detective should never admit he doesn’t know which end is up. But I don’t know.”
Barney reddened. “I was just shooting off the cuff, boss. But there are still a few other prospects for the defendant’s chair, not so?”
“Sure. Several. Toleman. Kelsey. Conover. Which reminds me—” He put his napkin on the table, headed for the phone booth.
Shaner mumbled incoherently at his end of the telephone line.
“Peanuts, skipper.”
“What?”
“Mouthful — peanuts. I’ve had no sustenance all afternoon. Excuse, pliz.”
“Seen the lieutenant?”
“Nary glimpse.”
“What about the babe upstairs? She still sulking in her tent?”
“She’s there now. But—”