James Chase - Tiger by the Tail

She gave Howard a quick searching glance as she smiled at him. Then she left the room.

Howard followed her with his eyes, and again he felt his pulse quicken at the shape he could see under the sweater and jeans.

“Some kid, isn’t she?” O’Brien said, who missed nothing. He knew Howard’s weakness for beautiful young women. “And what a voice!” He went over to the liquor cabinet and began mixing two highballs. “Believe it or not I found her in a nightclub singing swing! As soon as I heard the quality of her voice I persuaded her to get down to serious work. She’s on Mozart now. Francelli has heard her, and he’s crazy about her. He says she’ll be at the Met. in a couple of years.”

Howard took the highball O’Brien offered him and sat down.

He looked up at O’Brien.

Handsome devil, he thought. He can’t be much older than forty, and he must be worth ten millions if he’s worth a cent.

O’Brien was good-looking in a dark, showy way. His eyebrows that sloped upwards and his fine pencilled moustache gave him a satanic look.

“What’s biting you, Commissioner?” he asked, sitting on me arm of a chair and swinging an expensively shod foot.

“Know anything about 25 Lessington Avenue?” Howard asked.

O’Brien’s right eyebrow lifted.

“Why?”

“I hear you own the place.”

“So what?”

“A call-girl was murdered there last night, and four other apartments in the house are occupied by call-girls.”

O’Brien drank from his glass, set it down and lit a cigarette. His face was

expressionless, but Howard knew him well enough to see his mind was working fast.

“You have nothing to worry about,” O’Brien said finally.

“I’ll take care of it. Who is the girl ?”

“She called herself Fay Carson.”

O’Brien’s face remained expressionless but his eyes narrowed for a moment, and that was enough of a clue to tell Howard the information had shocked him.

“Press know yet?”

Howard shook his head.

“We’ll have to give it to them in an hour or so. I thought I’d better have a word with you first. This could develop into something though.”

“How did you know the house belongs to me ?”

So he wasn’t denying it. Howard’s heart sunk. He had hoped Motley had been sounding off.

“Motley told me.”

“That slob talks too much,” O’Brien said. He rubbed his jaw and stared down at the carpet.

“Can the ownership of the house be traced to you?” Howard asked quietly.

“It might be. My attorney bought it, but if someone dug deep enough it could be traced to me. Let me think a moment.”

Howard took a long pull at his glass. He felt in need of a stimulant. All along he had had an uneasy idea that O’Brien was shady. He had appeared from nowhere; no one had ever heard of him, and yet he had millions. Now he was calmly admitting to owning a call-house.

“Did you know what these women are?” Howard asked.

O’Brien frowned at him.

“Of course. They have to live somewhere, and besides they pay damn well.” He got to his feet crossed over to the telephone and dialled a number. After a moment’s delay, he said into the mouthpiece. “Tux there?” He waited, then went on, “Tux? Got a job for you, and snap this one up. Go to 25 Lessington Avenue right away and clear all the wrens out you find there. Get them all out. There are four of them. When you’ve cleared them out, get four people into their apartments. I don’t care who they are so long as they look respectable: old spinsters would do fine. Some of the mob must have some respectable relations. I want the job done in two hours. Understand?” He dropped the receiver back on its cradle and came to sit down again. “Well, that takes care of that. When your news hawks arrive, they’ll find the house so respectable they’ll take their hats off and wipe their shoes.”

Howard stared at him uneasily. This was too glib; too much of the rackateer.

“That’s a relief off my mind. It didn’t occur to me to do a thing like that,” he said slowly.

O’Brien lifted his shoulders.

“I guess you have other things to think about. I specialize in keeping out of trouble.” He reached for a cigar, tossed one into Howard’s lap and lit one for himself. “Now tell me about this girl. Who killed her?”

“We don’t know. The killer left no clues, but she must have known him. She was stabbed from in front with an ice-pick, and no one heard her cry out.”

“Last night, you say? There was a hell of a thunderstorm raging wasn’t there? Would they have heard her if she had cried out?”

Howard had forgotten the storm and bit his lip angrily.

“That’s right. They might not have heard her.”

“Who’s handling the investigation?”

“Donovan, but I’ve told Adams to work on the side. Donovan has a description of a guy who could have done it.”

O’Brien got up and moved over to the liquor cabinet. Howard wasn’t sure, but he had a vague idea that O’Brien had become suddenly tense.

“What’s the description?”

“It’s not much: youngish, about thirty-three, tall, dark and good-looking. Wearing a light-grey suit and matching hat.”

“Hmm, won’t help you much, will it?” O’Brien said, bringing two more drinks to the table.

“It’s better than nothing,” Howard said, taking the drink. “A case like this is always tough to crack. There’s usually no motive.”

O’Brien sat down again.

“This could give Burt an excuse to start trouble. Have you talked to Fabian yet?”

“Not yet. There’s nothing he can do, anyway. It’s up to me. If I find the killer fast we should be all right. What worried me was hearing the house was a call-house.”

O’Brien smiled.

“Well, I’ve taken care of that for you, so you can relax.”

“Yes,” Howard said uneasily. “Are there any more call-houses belonging to you in town?”

“There may be,” O’Brien returned carelessly. “I own a lot of property. There may be.”

“I have an idea Burt knows about you. It will be bad for us if he finds out about these call-houses of yours.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” O’Brien said, smiling. “I know the position as well as you do.” He got to his feet. “Well, Commissioner, I don’t want to hurry you away, but I have a whale of a lot of things to do this morning. Keep me in touch. I’d like to have a copy of all reports to do with the killing. I want them fast, too. Have someone bring them to me as soon as they are typed, will you?”

Howard hesitated.

“I don’t think our reports should leave headquarters: that would be contrary to regulations. Suppose I keep you informed personally?”

O’Brien’s eyes hardened although he continued to smile.

“I want the reports, Commissioner,” he said quietly.

Howard made a little gesture with his hands.

“All right. I’ll see you get them.”

“Thank you. You had better have a word with Fabian. Warn him Burt is almost certain to try to start something. It can’t be much if you find the killer fast. Play the girl down to the press. She can be a nightclub hostess.”

“Yes.”

Howard walked with O’Brien to the front door.

“Is Donovan such a good man to put on this case?” O’Brien asked as he opened the door.

“Adams is working on it too.”

“Ah yes… Adams. He’s a smart cop. So long, Commissioner, thanks for calling, and let me have those reports.”

O’Brien stood in the doorway and watched Howard drive away, then he slowly closed the door and remained motionless, his face thoughtful.

Gilda, concealed behind the half-open door of O’Brien’s study, felt a little chill of apprehension run through her at the hard, ugly set of O’Brien’s mouth.