Black Mask (Vol. 21, No. 8 — November, 1938)
- Автор: Баллард Уиллис Тодхантер, Cave Hugh B.
- Год: 1938
- Язык: английский
- Год: Pro-Distributors Publishing
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Black Mask (Vol. 21, No. 8 — November, 1938)». Краткое содержание книги:
Lennox wanted a chance to talk to the flyer alone. He steered Frank into the kitchen, sensing that Hobbs was not anxious to go. He shut the swinging door to keep out some of the noise.
“What’s this I hear about you walking out on the studio?”
Hobbs stirred uncomfortably. “Look, Bill. I told Spurck I’d get back just as soon as I could.”
Lennox grunted. “And in the meanwhile we hold up a million dollar production. What do you have to go for? Where do you have to go? Don’t you think you owe us some explanation, at least. Why the mystery?”
Hobbs twisted his glass uncertainly. The blonde came through the swinging door.
She said, brightly, “Oh, there you are,” and practically threw herself into Hobbs’ arms.
He seemed glad to have her there, glad to be relieved of the necessity of answering Lennox’ questions. He said, “Look, Bill. I’ll talk to you later. Why don’t you go down and get Nancy?”
Lennox stared at him. “Go get her? Where is she?”
Hobbs said, “She went down to get Mike fifteen minutes ago. Better go watch your girl friend, Mike’s the devil with women. He lives downstairs at the front — 212.” He turned to the ice-box and started to mix the blonde’s drink.
Lennox stared at him for a moment, then swung on his heel and left the apartment. He went down the stairs and walked along the balcony toward the door of 212 and knocked.
Nancy’s voice called, “Who is it?”
He said, “Bill. Come on, they’re yelling for you guys upstairs.”
The door swung open and he got a look at her face. It was white, strained. A moment later she was in his arms and he was staring beyond her at the still figure on the rug beside the wall couch.
He swore under his breath, pushed her away from him, stepped in and closed the door, then he crossed to kneel beside the body.
He had only seen Mike Farnero once but he recognized the tall flyer instantly. The man wore a sports coat and no vest. The shirt was a polo type with V collar of tan linen, but on the left side, over the heart, there was a blotch of red, slowly turning black around the edges. The body was still warm, but there was no sign of life.
She was watching him, her hands clenched at her sides. “Is he — dead?”
Lennox rose slowly, nodded, then his eyes focused on her right hand, staring at the gun. “Nancy!”
She looked at her hand, looked at the gun in it as if she had never seen it before. “Bill! It was on the floor. I picked it up, close to the door.”
He said, “Sure,” and took it from her. “You shouldn’t have picked it up, kid.”
She nodded. “I know. I picked it up before I came all the way in. I knocked on the door, got no answer and tried the knob. It was unlocked and I pushed it open. The first thing I saw was the gun, then I saw Mike over there. Then you rapped on the door.”
Lennox stared at her. “Your cousin told me you’d been down here for fifteen or twenty minutes.”
She looked at him, wide-eyed. “Bill Lennox! Are you suspecting me of murder?”
His voice roughened. “Don’t be a damn fool. I’m trying to get things lined up. After all, we have to talk to the cops, and although my cop pal, Spellman, may like you he’s not in love with you.”
She nodded. “Sorry, but this has shaken me up. I’ve known Mike for years, ever since Frank and he and I were kids together. I did come down about twenty minutes ago. The ginger ale was getting low.
“I walked over to the drugstore on Sunset to get some more. The place was closed. I came up here to get the keys to Mike’s car so I could drive over to the all-night market. When he didn’t answer I assumed he’d gone upstairs, but I thought his keys might be on his desk. That’s why I came on in. When I saw him lying there I...” She stared down at the quiet form.
Lennox looked at the gun. It was a thirty-two, a snub-nosed, cheap, mail-order gun. He handled it gingerly, his mind busy trying to map a course of action. He wished that the girl had not picked it up; that her finger-prints weren’t on the nickeled surface. He was almost tempted to wipe it with his handkerchief. He hated to see Nancy subjected to the grilling of the police and reporters, but he knew that, by lying, he might only make things worse. He turned and went toward the phone.
Nancy’s voice reached him sharply. “What are you going to do, Bill?”
Lennox answered, tonelessly, “Call the police.” He picked up the receiver.
“Call the police? No, Bill! Wait! I’m scared. Wait a little.”
Bill shook his head. “I’d like to, kid, but I’m afraid it won’t work. That gang upstairs knows that you and I came down here to get Farnero. They’re bound to talk. The best thing we can do is to play it straight. I’ll call Spellman and get him up here. He’s bull-headed, but he’s a good cop.”
She nodded. “Sorry, Bill. I lost my head. Go ahead and phone.”
Lennox obeyed, said into the instrument, “Is Spellman there? Yeah, Floyd? Bill Lennox. There’s been a killing out at—” He gave the number. “Yeah. Flyer named Farnero. That’s right. Someone got him in the chest... No, I didn’t exactly find the body, but I almost did. I’ll explain when you get here.” He hung up and turned around to find the girl watching him.
“What do we do now?”
He shrugged. “Wait.”
Somewhere a clock ticked, the only noise in the apartment. Above, the radio blared into the night. Nancy moved restlessly.
“I wish they’d shut that thing off.” Her voice told the strain under which she was laboring.
Lennox put an arm about her shoulders. “Steady, kid. Spellman will be here in a little while. Any idea who would kill Mike?”
She shook her head. “Not the slightest.”
Lennox’ eyes were on the stained left breast. “Well, someone did.” He went over and sank into a chair. “Relax, honey. It won’t do any good to get the jitters.” They waited...
There was noise of a car below, heavy feet tramped up the stairs, came along the balcony. Someone knocked.
SPELLMAN was big, short-necked, bullet-headed captain of detectives. He nodded to Bill, started as he saw the girl.
“Hello, Nancy.”
She said, “Hello, Floyd.”
Spellman looked toward the body. “Who is he?”
Lennox told him. “Nancy came back from the store and up here for Farnero’s keys. She found the gun just inside the door and picked it up. Her prints are still on it.”
The red in Spellman’s face deepened. “Look, Bill. I’ve known you and Nancy for a long time. How about coming clean?”
Lennox’ mouth tightened. “Just what are you getting at?”
Spellman, for once in his life, seemed uncertain. “I— Well, if she came up here and this guy made a pass or something, and she—”
Lennox said, sharply. “Nothing like that. She didn’t shoot Mike. They were pals, they grew up together. If I’d thought she was implicated, don’t you think I’d have wiped her prints off this rod and had her scram out of here?”
Spellman said, “Sure, sure.” He was staring down at the gun. “Where’s this guy Hobbs?”
Lennox shrugged. “Upstairs at the party, I guess.”
Spellman turned to one of his men. “Bring him down.”
They stood around waiting. Frank Hobbs hurried into the room. He’d had several drinks and they showed in his eyes, then he saw Farnero and he was suddenly sober, on his knees beside his friend.
“Mike! Mike!”
Spellman seized him and jerked him back with a big hand. Hobbs swung around fighting. Spellman held him easily as a child.
“Don’t touch anything. Get it?” He let the flyer go.
Hobbs looked at his cousin, then Lennox. “What happened. Who got Mike?”
Bill shook his head. “We don’t know. Nancy found him like that.”