Sliding a rye and water across the small bar to me, she asked, “Want to go into the front room, or stay in here?”
“This is fine,” I said, seating myself on one of the three slim bar stools.
“Okay,” Evelyn said indifferently. She stayed on the other side of the bar, leaning against the back bar and eyeing the drink in her hand with more interest than she had so far exhibited in me.
“Madeline Strong has engaged me to look into Walter Ford’s murder,” I told her. “I thought maybe you could give me a little background on Ford,” I said. “Seeing he was such a good friend of yours.”
“Of mine?” She looked at me in surprise. “He gave you a birthday present.”
“Oh, that.” She shrugged, took another sip and looked at me without expression. “I guess he gave away a lot of those little guns. It didn’t mean anything.”
“It did to Ed Friday. He didn’t like it a bit. Anyway, I, didn’t mean just the gift when I said Walter Ford was a good friend of yours. Did you know Ford’s wife was planning to name you co-respondent in a divorce case?”
She looked at me blankly. “Me?”
“You,” I assured her. “She had a private detective tailing Ford, and on several occasions he tailed him to this apartment. At least once Ford spent the night here.”
Her body straightened haughtily. “You’re being insulting, Mr. Moon.”
“I frequently am,” I admitted. “Sometimes it’s hard to be polite when you’re working on a murder case. Murder itself is not polite. So to get on with our conversation, Walter Ford was a good enough friend to spend the night here when Ed Friday was busy elsewhere. Right?”
Behind me a slurred voice said, “Right, if it’s any of your business, Mr. Moon. Now let’s drop the subject.”
Swinging around on my stool, I saw Ed Friday standing motionless in the doorway leading from the front room. In his hand he held a door key, which he dropped into a pocket as I watched.
Behind the ex-racketeer stood his bodyguard, Max Furtell. Friday moved his thick body into the room and across to Evelyn, who came from behind the bar to meet him. Max stayed in the doorway.
Friday dipped his head to give Evelyn a perfunctory kiss, then turned to face me. Neither he nor the girl seemed in the least perturbed over his having overheard my remark about Walter Ford’s clandestine visits to the apartment.
Correctly interpreting my puzzled expression, the ex-racketeer said, “We had the subject of Walter Ford all out last night after I brought Evelyn home, Mr. Moon. He was a chaser and Evelyn was enough of a sucker to let him play around a little. But the man’s dead and I can’t work up much jealousy over a dead man. As far as I’m concerned, the subject’s closed.”
“It isn’t your jealousy of dead men that interests me,” I said. “I’m more concerned with how jealous you were of Ford before he got dead.”
For a moment he merely examined my face. Then he said in a quiet voice, “I didn’t happen to know about Ford and Evelyn until after he was dead.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t much approve of you, Friday, because I’ve got a silly prejudice against crooks. Even rich crooks who get their pictures in the papers for heading up charity drives. But I’ve got a lot of respect for your intelligence. Five minutes after I joined your party last night, I could see your date was carrying a torch for Walter Ford and he was playing her along for the laughs. I really don’t believe you’re so dumb you missed it.”
“I caught the play between them,” he admitted heavily. “But I didn’t know about Ford’s visits here until after he was dead. What are you getting at? You got some fantastic theory dreamed up that I had Ford bumped because he passed at Evelyn?”
“It’s a motive. And Max had plenty of opportunity.” When both Friday and Max snorted at this, I said, “Don’t bother to protest your bodyguard’s unsullied virtue. You know and I know and Max knows that if you had told him to bump Ford, he’d have done it without batting an eye.. Maybe he didn’t kill Ford, but spare me your indignant protests that he’s incapable of murder. I’d bet he’s got at least six notches on his gun.”
Max made a growling noise deep in his throat. When I looked at him, he said huskily, “Give me the word, boss, and I’ll add a seventh notch.”
In a testy voice Friday said, “He’s just trying to needle you into saying something to bolster his empty theory, Max. Clam up. Don’t even answer him again.” To me he said, “I think you’d better leave.”
“Just when the conversation’s getting interesting?” Draining my highball, I set the glass on the bar. “Something else that’s been puzzling me is why you were so eager to get me out of town. Since our single relationship had to do with Ford’s death, I have to assume it was because you didn’t want me messing in the case. You got some other explanation?”
Friday’s face set in hard lines. “I don’t think I’m required to explain my actions to you, Mr. Moon. For your own good I suggest you get off my back and stay off. Max, show Mr. Moon to the door.”
“Sure,” the big man said with pleasure. He took a step toward me, but stopped when Friday said definitely, “I said show him. I don’t want any trouble in Evelyn’s apartment.”
Disappointed, Max shrugged and politely moved aside to let me precede him. I was a little disappointed myself.
Chapter Twelve
Usually I try to be prompt for appointments, but what must have been a subconscious desire to put off as long as possible my meeting with Bubbles right under Fausta’s nose made me linger in the shower longer than usual, have trouble getting the studs in my shirt front and more trouble knotting a black bow tie. Then at the last moment, when I was all dressed, had on my hat and was unable to think of any more reasons for delay, I decided it was my duty to phone my client and report what little progress I had made.
When I rang Madeline Strong’s number, a man answered the phone.
“Is Madeline there?” I asked.
“Just a minute.” There was a pause as he apparently started to lay down the phone and then changed his mind. “Is this Moon?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“Barney Amhurst. I recognized your voice. Madeline is kind of down in the dumps over Tom’s arrest, and I’m over here trying to cheer her up. Hang on a minute.”
This time I heard the phone rap on the table as he laid it down. A moment later Madeline’s voice said, “Hello.”
“Manny Moon,” I said. “Just thought I’d phone you a progress report. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but it looks more and more as though any number of people might have had a motive for rubbing out Walter Ford.”
“Who?”
“I don’t yet know enough to start bandying names,” I said. “But I’ve got at least one fair suspect. And I may turn up a few more after I dig into Ford’s blackmailing activities. When a blackmailer dies, it’s always at least a strong possibility that someone he’d been blackmailing arranged his death. I really haven’t as yet got any definite leads, but more and more I’m becoming convinced young Tom was framed. I thought it might make you feel a little better to know that.”
“Oh, it does,” she breathed into the phone. “You don’t know how much better it makes me feel.”
“You get a lawyer for Tom?” I asked.
“Harvey Brighton. He’s already been down to the jail to talk to Tom, and he’s going to try to get bond set in the morning. If everything goes all right, Tom may be free on bond by noon tomorrow.”
I said dubiously, “Did Brighton tell you that in a homicide case bond would run at least twenty-five thousand dollars?”