Эд Макбейн - The April Robin Murders

“No. Because I never got in. That housekeeper was always here. The one that was murdered last night.” She looked up suddenly. “I bet Mrs. Lattimer murdered her, too. I bet Mrs. Lattimer came back because that housekeeper could have proved she murdered Mr. Lattimer, and murdered the housekeeper so she wouldn’t tell!” Her brown eyes were glowing.

“She waited a long time to do it,” Bingo said. “And don’t change the subject.” He’d almost said, “We know who murdered the housekeeper,” and caught himself just in time.

“Well, she might have,” Janesse Budlong said.

“Who did you snitch the key from?” Bingo almost roared.

She stared at him, her face suddenly unhappy. “A friend of mine. A sort of a boy friend of mine. Not exactly a boy friend, either. I just sort of romanced him along a little because he was sure he could get me in pictures. He’s a real big shot. And — I think, last week — we were driving past here in my car and he bragged he had keys to it.” She drew a long breath. “He even promised to show me through it sometime, but he never did. I guess he was just a show-off. So when I saw a chance to snitch one of the keys and get it copied and get it back, why, that’s what I did.” Her tone of voice added that she was glad she did.

A grim and suspicious thought had been growing in Bingo’s mind. “Tell me,” he said very gently, “did you ever provide him with any writing paper and office supplies?”

She grinned. Then she grew very sober. “How did you know about that?”

“Never mind,” Bingo said. He gave her his friendliest and most reassuring smile. “We’re going to be friends, Janesse. And something is going to come of those lovely pictures we took tonight.” Just what, he had no idea, but he’d worry about that later. “So as a friend, you really ought to tell us—”

“It was for a joke he wanted to play on someone,” she told him. “A few pieces of letter paper and some forms and some envelopes from Pa’s office. It was just for a harmless joke.”

Two thousand bucks’ worth of harmless joke, Bingo thought. But at least, that cleared that up.

“All right,” he said, “who was he?”

She shrugged her shoulders again. “I don’t see any harm in telling you. It was Clifford Bradbury. You may meet him sometime.”

Bingo and Handsome glanced at each other. “We’d like to,” Bingo said. “We’d like to very much.”

Another thought struck him. “I don’t suppose he ever told you how he happened to have the keys to this house?”

She stared at him. But before she could say a yes, a no, or just look stubborn, there was a startlingly loud ring at the door.

Janesse Budlong jumped up, collecting the mink, the cigarette case and the small suitcase in one quick move. She looked around a little helplessly.

Handsome pointed wordlessly toward the empty library. Janesse nodded and fled. The doorbell rang again.

“Damn it, Handsome,” Bingo said, ignoring the doorbell, “how did he get keys to this house? Nobody seems to worry much about that, either, except us. And,” he added, scowling, “he may still have a set.” It wasn’t a cheering thought.

It was Chester Baxter who stood in the doorway. He looked tired and a little dusty, and there was a faint odor of beer on his breath. But he looked pleased.

“You’ve found him?” Bingo said excitedly. “Where is he? What’s his real name?”

“Give a guy a chance to catch his breath, willya?” the small man said, puffing. “I walked all the way here from the bus stop.” He came in and sat down. “Why people want to live miles and miles from a bus stop, I don’t know. I ought to have a car.”

“We’re not going to buy one for you,” Bingo said. The next moment he relented. Chester Baxter did look very tired indeed. “Handsome,” he said, “do we have any beer left?”

They did. Handsome brought it out. Bingo offered a cigarette. The little man seemed to revive considerably.

“All right,” Bingo said. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know where he is right this minute,” Chester Baxter said. He finished the beer in a gulp. “But I know where he’s going to be later tonight. That’s what I need the extra expense money for.”

“Who said anything about extra expense money?” Bingo demanded.

“I did,” Chester Baxter said. “Just now.” He raised a placating hand. “Wait a minute. I don’t need very much. Five dollars will do it. I have had expenses I didn’t anticipate, making my investigation this afternoon. But since I succeeded in my objective—”

“How do we know you’re going to find him?” Bingo said, trying to be stern. “How do we know you won’t just keep coming back with more stories and your hand out for more expense money?”

Chester Baxter gave him a wounded look. “Sir,” he said stiffly, “there is a matter of honor. Especially in my business.”

Bingo could see the justice of that. He reached for his wallet, took out a five-dollar bill and handed it over. “Is it any of our business what you’re going to use it for?”

“Expenses,” the small man said, pocketing the money. “Frankly, buying drinks for various people in the place where your Courtney Budlong, whose real name is probably Twivelpiece, or Ripsling, or Slidge, or something like that, is going to be, later in the evening.”

Bingo eyed him thoughtfully. “If you know exactly where he’s going to be—” he began slowly.

Chester Baxter shook his head. “It would not do at all. Yes, certainly you could inform the police and they could pick him up at this place I am speaking of. Or you could go there yourselves. But,” he said firmly, “the proprietor of this place is a friend of mine, and so are many of his regular patrons. It would not do for the police, or the general public, to get the impression that this is a favorite recreation place for—” He paused.

“All right,” Bingo said, “we get what you mean. And when he turns up at this thieves’ hangout, what do you plan to do?”

Chester Baxter looked pained at Bingo’s choice of words. “I shall tag along and find out where he holes up,” he said. “And immediately let you know.” He added, “I may even engage him in conversation at the bar, though it might be better not.”

“Much better not,” Bingo agreed. He wondered if he ought to tell the small man that Courtney Budlong-Charlie Browne-Clifford Bradbury was not only a con man, but probably a murderer.

“And don’t worry about me,” Chester Baxter said, “I can take care of myself.” His lips pulled back in an unpleasant grin. He was silent for a moment. “You know,” he said reflectively, “I’ve been thinking. There is more to this than the matter of the little job he pulled on you.”

“Five dollars,” Bingo said firmly, “is all!”

Chester Baxter waved his hand deprecatingly. “Who said anything about more money? No. I have been doing some looking into the future, yours and mine.”

“When I need our fortunes told—” Bingo began.

“You don’t follow me at all,” Chester Baxter said. “This man gave you papers in exchange for your money. I saw them at the police station. They had Julien Lattimer’s signature on them. His genuine signature.”

“Well?” Bingo said.

“So,” Chester Baxter said, with a look of triumph, “Julien Lattimer must still be alive somewhere. There must be a reward for finding him.”

“No doubt,” Bingo said.

“All right then,” Chester Baxter said gleefully. “Our man, your Courtney Budlong fella, he must know where Julien Lattimer is. It only remains to sweat it out of him. Therefore,” he finished, “since I find him, I’m entitled to half the reward.”