Эд Макбейн - The April Robin Murders

“Well,” Bingo said uncomfortably, “you might say that, in a way, he is.”

“That’s what I wanted to know,” she said cheerfully. “Because he tells me he’s going to find some buzzard you guys are looking for in some connection with this house-buying deal. He didn’t tell me in just what kind of connection.”

Chester Baxter, Bingo decided, was, in his way, a man of honor.

“Anyway,” she went on, “he tells me this character he is going to locate knows where Julien Lattimer is, and that you know about it. Am I right or am I wrong?”

“You’re right,” Bingo said. “I mean, according to what this man Chester Baxter says.” He was beginning to feel very unhappy about the whole thing.

“Fine,” she said, even more cheerfully. “That’s exactly what I wanted to know. Because if Julien Lattimer is alive, and this little con man finds him, then the chances are that I collect my back alimony.” She looked at Bingo and Handsome sympathetically. “Too bad you won’t get to collect for finding his corpse. Thanks for the beer.” She rose to leave.

“Just a minute,” Bingo said. It was late, and in spite of the nap and the hamburgers, he was cross. “Chester Baxter is working for us. If through him Julien Lattimer is located, any deal has to be made through us. Chester Baxter is also a friend of ours. What cut of the alimony are you ready to offer?”

“Why, you damned New York high-binders!” she said. She sat down and called them worse than that. Then she lit a cigarette and said, “All right, we’ll talk business.” After fifteen minutes of bickering, they decided on the same agreement as for finding Julien Lattimer’s body. Ten percent. At that point, Bingo decided that the whole arrangement should be put in writing. Fifteen minutes later she’d agreed to that too, and written a brief note.

“This is probably illegal,” she said, “and hard as hell to explain if the cops ever find it, but you’ve got the note, and you’ll have to do the explaining. When do you expect to hear from this little guy?”

“Tonight,” Bingo said, and immediately bit his tongue.

She nodded. “Maybe I’d better stay here tonight.”

“There are only these two davenports,” Bingo said stiffly. “And my partner and I have done a long day’s work. Unless,” he added, with a faint touch of malice, “you’d like to sleep in what was Pearl Durzy’s room.”

Adelle Lattimer didn’t flinch, but she said, “Maybe I’d better not stay. It wouldn’t look good, if the wrong people came in. I guess I just have to trust you to call me.”

“We’ll call you, all right,” Bingo said. There wasn’t any doubt of that. Living or dead, Julien Lattimer was going to mean money to them now.

After she had gone, he thought the whole thing over again. She was right, of course. The deal probably was illegal. Furthermore, it was definitely immoral.

On the other hand, he told himself, if Julien Lattimer was dead, he’d probably want to have his body found, and wouldn’t mind two young businessmen getting a small reward. Whereas if he was alive and hiding out so he wouldn’t need to pay alimony, he deserved to be found.

But Julien Lattimer, if alive, was a rich man. There was all that money that Herbert Reddy was looking after so tidily. He didn’t have any reason to hide out to avoid paying alimony.

The whole train of thought, he realized, was getting him right back to nowhere on every trip.

“Bingo,” Handsome said, a little anxiously, “Chester Baxter said he was going to find our Mr. Courtney Budlong tonight. Which means we’ll hear from him tonight—”

“I know,” Bingo said. “I don’t like to sleep in my clothes either. But I guess we’d better be ready to move fast.” The herringbone worsted suit needed pressing by now anyway, he consoled himself, and the natty brown pin-stripe was ready on its hanger for tomorrow.

He took off his tie, slipped out of his shoes, loosened his belt, and made himself as comfortable as he could, pulling the blankets up to his chin. Handsome turned off the lights.

Lying there in the darkness of the enormous room, he became aware of the faint perfume in the air, a light, delicate perfume. It could have been Janesse Budlong’s. It could have been Adelle Lattimer’s. He hoped with all his heart it belonged to one of them. He hoped it belonged to some living woman—

Nonsense, he told himself sternly, there were no ghosts. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else. Inevitably, his thoughts went to April Robin.

It was some time later when Handsome whispered, “Bingo, are you still awake?”

It would have been so easy to pretend he was asleep, but he whispered back, “Yes,” and then said out loud, “What am I whispering about? There’s nobody here but us.” He opened his eyes and said, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Bingo,” Handsome said in the darkness. “Only I was thinking. Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out Pearl Durzy was, I mean had been, really, April Robin?”

“That’s funny,” Bingo said sleepily. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Neither of them spoke after that. This time, when Bingo finally slept, he didn’t dream.

He had no idea what time it was when Handsome shook him very gently by the shoulder and whispered, “Bingo! Psst!” He sat up, wide awake.

“Bingo,” Handsome whispered, very low, “I think we’ve got a prowler. I think someone’s trying to get in our house.”

“Don’t get excited,” Bingo hissed. “Don’t turn the lights on. Don’t make any noise.” He wondered if Handsome could hear his teeth chattering.

“Should I call the police?” Handsome whispered.

“No!” Bingo told him. “We’ll handle this ourselves.” He stood up, thanking his stars he had his clothes on. “It can’t be Chester Baxter,” he whispered, “he’d ring the bell. It can’t be Courtney Budlong, he probably still has keys.” He drew a long breath. “Never mind who it is. We’d better look!”

The faint but definite sounds of someone in the garden had ceased momentarily. Now they began again, soft and stealthy. Someone seemed to be looking for someone.

Bingo caught himself about to say, “You look outside, and I’ll watch inside in case he tries to open a window.” That was no way for the president and senior partner of the International Foto, Motion Picture and Television Corporation of America to behave. He slipped on his jacket and said, “Be careful, now.”

There was the unmistakable sound of a window being tried at the rear of the house.

As they slipped outside, Bingo realized that it must be near morning, there was a faint, grayish light. He wondered a little wildly if here in Southern California daylight came in with a rush the same way the dark came down. If it did, it should be bright as noon any minute now.

They stole around the corner of the big house, keeping to the shadows of the wall through the rose garden, and then they saw him, a tall, attenuated figure, cautiously trying a window.

Bingo saw Handsome brace himself for a flying tackle, put out a quick restraining hand, thrust his right hand into the pocket of his jacket and said in a voice that, to him at least, sounded strong and steady, “Stand still, or I’ll shoot!”

The man turned around, slowly.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Bingo barked, using a line from a long-remembered movie, “and walk over here.”

The dark figure moved closer, empty hands in sight. As the dim gray light struck his face, Bingo recognized the ice-eyed man who had been in the crowd the afternoon before. He didn’t look ice-eyed now. He looked a little frantic.

“Well,” Bingo said, “you pick a funny time to go collecting souvenirs. Or are you looking for a new place to train birds and keep rentable reptiles?”