Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 39, No. 6, June, 1994
- Автор: Bashover Albert, Crawford Dan
- Год: 1994
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: ISSN: 0002-5224
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 39, No. 6, June, 1994». Краткое содержание книги:
Bus Bauer drove a twelve-year-old Oakland but swore by anything Henry Ford produced. It was hard to figure; Bus was a diehard union man and Henry wasn’t known as a booster of collective bargaining.
Thoughts of cars were forgotten when Mrs. Bauer called, “Supper’s on the table!” We were no more than seated in the dining room when the phone rang. Bus Bauer mumbled an oath while getting up to answer it, returned quickly, and without any pretense of patience said, “Might’ve known it’d be for Jack Eddy. Sounds like your office again. After this you can answer the damn thing yourself.”
Jack winked at me while pushing back from the table. He did it again when he got back, this time at Kitty. When the platter of beef and noodles was empty and we’d polished off a bowl of custard, he took me aside. “Beverly Keeler’s at the agency waiting to see me. Want to ride along?”
Without a car I had nothing better to do. I shot the breeze in the outer office with Cal Andres, the op pulling night desk duty, while Jack talked to his prospective client.
When they came out together after half an hour, I blinked a couple of times and sat gaping. Beverly Keeler was a knockout. About five two, Sue Baney’s size, but slimmer. Her hair was a darker shade of brown than Jack’s, and her hazel eyes flecked with green were the warmest I had ever seen. Her shy little smile would have melted any man’s heart.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her while Jack was introducing us and saying something about going around the corner for coffee. Only when he said, “I’ll finish the paperwork and catch up with you in a few minutes,” did I realize he meant for me to escort Beverly on my own.
There were scattered patches of ice on the sidewalk, and her high heels weren’t meant for it. We had taken only a few steps when she slipped and I grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling. After that she kept her arm linked in mine until we reached the New Deal Lunch on the southwest corner of Market and High.
When we were seated across from each other, I said, “So Jack’s taking on your case?”
“Do you know about it?”
“A little. I was there when Spangler talked to him this afternoon. Is this Damokura pulling a frameup?”
“I guess so. It was such a surprise... well, it hit me so hard I haven’t known what to think. Anders says Mr. Eddy is the best in the business. Is that true?”
“The best I’ve run across. If anybody can help you, he’s the one. You call Spangler Anders, do you?”
“All his friends call him Anders.”
“Know what line of work he’s in?”
“He’s a retail consultant.”
I choked on my coffee, but it wasn’t my place to set her straight. It was a good ruse for someone in need of explaining a job without regular hours that still managed to provide a bulging wallet. You might say Spangler showed jewelry stores how to move their best merchandise overnight.
Jack Eddy arrived sooner than I’d hoped. After that he did the talking. When called for, Bev supplied answers. Every so often she’d glance my way, smiling a little but not flirting. She was just being kind, seeing I was smitten. Anyone could have seen it. If Sue Baney had been there, I’d have had ten years of explaining ahead of me.
Jack, ignoring my loud yawn and weary sigh, drove south on Brown Street rather than heading home. Kenneth DeRidder’s small apartment was above a corner store. He admitted us reluctantly. Law books and legal pads covered with scribbling lay on an old library table that occupied most of the living room.
Horn-rimmed glasses enhanced DeRidder’s studious appearance. His hair was tousled; he had a prominent Adam’s apple and dark circles under his eyes. His necktie was still in place but loosened. The ambitious type, I surmised, who worked day and night. A more refined version of Jack Eddy.
Jack didn’t waste time on social amenities. “I think your boss set Beverly Keeler up for a hard fall.”
DeRidder raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Steve? Why would he do that?”
“For the money, why else? I don’t know the details yet, but I’m digging them out. In the meantime, if you’re smart, you’ll do some checking on your own. How will it look if you testify against her and it turns out she was framed? Think anyone’ll believe you weren’t in on it?”
DeRidder tossed his pencil aside, shaking his head. “I can’t go along with you. It’s pure speculation on your part, and you’re hardly an impartial party.” He spoke with conviction but didn’t appear all that sure of himself.
“Think about it, sport,” said Jack. “If I’m right and you’re wrong, it’ll make a lousy start for your career. Better do a little nosing around down at the office before you get on a witness stand.”
DeRidder’s expression led me to believe he would give serious thought to the advice.
Shortly after first edition deadline Jack Eddy came striding into the city room. After greeting the bigshots, taking particular care to cosy up to Ben Goldsmith, he settled on a corner of my desk and said, “Damokura plays the ponies in a big way, buddy. What does that tell you about the twenty grand missing from that escrow account?”
“Not much. Plenty of people bet the horses without dipping into someone else’s money.”
He laughed scoffingly. “You’d follow it up, friend. You know you would. I’ve got an appointment to see him in fifteen minutes, and I want you along.”
“Oh swell, Jack. This is going to be another of those confrontations, isn’t it? The kind where you go into your Jimmy Cagney act and start off by calling the other guy a dirty rat.”
He gestured noncommittally. “I can be nice as the next guy, buddy, when it seems like a smart move.”
True, I had seen him play at being subtle. His stock in trade, though, was shaking a man out of his routine, stripping him of his security, then watching to see what he did. Jack Eddy thrived on unpleasant encounters. I didn’t. Still, it would be interesting to observe Damokura’s reaction, so I followed him out the door. As usual I was ready to play the foil for Jack in hopes it would lead to a story.
No one would have mistaken Stefan Damokura’s office in the Delaware Building on South Main for one of Akron’s leading law firms. No walnut paneling, no thick carpet, no soft lights, no cute receptionist. Two scuffed wooden desks, neither occupied at the moment, were crowded into an outer room. The door to Damokura’s slightly larger space was ajar.
He looked up but didn’t stand. “C’mon back,” he called, then motioned us to cane-bottomed chairs that had started life in someone’s dining room.
I had seen Damokura around City Hall and the Summit County Courthouse. He was the sort of lawyer who always seemed to have a scruffy character in tow and talked boisterously to make sure no one missed seeing him. He looked about forty but could have been younger. It was hard to judge because of the flab and heavy jowls that go with starchy meals and too many hours on a barstool. His complexion was pasty, his black hair as greasy as an empty plate after a burger and fries at Ptomaine Tommie’s.
“You’re Eddy, right?” he said to Jack. “What’s the newsie doing here?” Apparently he had seen me around, too.
“Any objection?” said Jack. “Haven’t got anything to hide, have you?”
“That’s not the point. I don’t talk for publication.”
Jack feigned surprise. “Is that right? You could have fooled me, pal. Back at the agency I’ve got a stack of clippings where you had plenty to say. Most of it about Beverly Keeler forgetting to go to the bank with twenty thousand bucks.”