Brett Halliday - Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 27, No. 2 — September 1945)

He turned at the next cross-road and headed back toward town. Mary was crying her eyes out by this time. I took an armful of her.

“Think nothing of it, baby. Your old man got a bum break, and nobody will blame you for trying to take a rat like Westfall. My only beef is that your keeping mum was keeping me in doubt about whether I was working on a suicide or a murder. You should have thought of that.”

She whimpered all the more, but didn’t try to break away. Women are like cats — you can’t hate them because you can’t train them to be as dependable as dogs.

The tears were gone by the time we reached the Broadhurst. The cab driver had heard plenty, so I took Mary into the lobby and found a quiet corner, before I asked any more questions.

“O. K., Mary. Let’s hear what happened.”

“There’s nothing much. Those men — I didn’t see them — they stopped in the vestibule and delivered the money. They told Dad to stop squawking and get out of town. They didn’t ask for a receipt. I didn’t understand that.”

“They were trusted payoff men for Westfall,” I told her. “They never took receipts. Nobody would give them any. So they didn’t ask your father for one because the habit was too strong.”

“Well, I made Dad give me the money. I took it to the Broadhurst and the clerk put it in a safe. Of course he didn’t know what was in the envelope I gave him — it was just thirty bills, like the second package.

“I felt pretty wonderful, knowing Dad had got his money back. I went out to a movie. Then when I came out I saw Dad’s suicide in the headlines. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t understand why he would commit suicide. I couldn’t believe anybody had murdered him, because he hadn’t any money.”

“Well, you knew it had to be one or the other.”

“Of course. But I didn’t know why it would be one or the other. I waited till next day, then I went to the morgue. They wouldn’t let me claim the body. They treated me terribly — it’s plain that everyone I saw was working for the gamblers.

“I went to police headquarters, and it was the same story there. I suppose I’d have told about the thirty thousand if anybody had treated me half-way decent. But everybody seemed to be trying to brush me out of his hair. A whole day passed with nothing done.

“Then today, I found you were in the picture. Hinchman evidently thought he was getting rid of me by sending me to you — and by that time I was bitter. I didn’t know why Dad had jumped from that window, but I knew he wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been for Spain Westfall’s gambling place.

“I remembered the men hadn’t gotten a receipt. Then you told me Westfall himself believed that the money had never been delivered — that the messengers had gone away with it. So I thought I’d get even with Westfall and collect twice!”

“Sure it wasn’t so much revenge as the money?”

“Why not the money?”

“Atta girl! I don’t blame you for a little opportunism, only you sure played the devil with solving your father’s murder.”

“You really think it was murder?”

“Why would your father jump when he’d got his money back?”

“But if he didn’t have the money, why should anyone kill him?”

“Several things might have happened. The murderer might have killed him in an attempt to rob him. He might have killed him while torturing him to make him tell where the money was.”

“But in both cases the murderer would have to think he had the money!”

“Right. Parker and Souders had reason to believe he had it. So did Westfall and maybe a half-dozen or more of his stooges including Hinchman. And then there was you.”

“Me! Why, you can’t—”

“No, I don’t think you killed your father for thirty grand, though even a girl your size could have pushed him out of the window.”

“Well, thanks. I suppose after what I tried to do to Westfall, you’d be justified in thinking anything of me — even murder.”

“Well, I don’t, but I’ve an open mind. Run along to bed now, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

My cab driver hadn’t waited for his fare, which had been plenty. He had beat it back to the Silver Dollar to tell all to Westfall and collect an appropriate bonus. I got another cab. It was ten-thirty when I walked into the Maramoor lobby. I went to a pay phone, closed the booth and called the Silver Dollar. I asked for Westfall, and got him.

“Ditson had his payoff,” I told him. “The girl has the money.”

“So I heard,” said Westfall. “Only my tip is you’ve got the double payoff.”

“Your tip’s right. I’m holding it, but you’ll get it back soon enough. I want you to keep it under your hat for a little while.”

“Anything you say. I feel sorry about my lack of faith in my boys. They were good boys. It’s too bad I can’t apologize to them.”

“Oh, you can’t? Why not?”

“A while ago they went over Briarton Cliff in their car. A sheer drop of over a hundred feet. It’s a shame.”

“Yes, it’s a shame.”

I hung up. I’d counted on Parker and Souders contacting me by this time. Now they’d do no talking, and it was going to be tough getting the indictments Keever had ordered.

I thought I’d concentrate on a different indictment. Westfall had shown his nasty temper. The hot-seat would sweat it out of him. Parker and Souders had been muggs, but they had also been human beings, and there’s a law.

I stopped at the hotel safe and deposited the thirty grand. Then I went up to my room. I hadn’t much more than turned on the lights when there was a visitor in the doorway.

“Mr. Corbett,” he said. “I’m Dwight Brown, Sheila Brown’s brother.”

“Oh, come in. How’d you happen along?”

“Carl Bronson told me about your visit. It wasn’t hard locating you. I’ve been waiting for an hour in the lobby.”

“Then you must have something important to say.”

“I have. Sheila’s death has been a terrible shock to me. But it’s opened my eyes to a great many things.”

“To what?”

“To the fact that Midtown’s a rotten place so long as there are rats like Spain Westfall!”

“I get it. You used to be one of his best customers — now you blame him for your sister’s death.”

“Oh, I know he wasn’t directly responsible. His connection was relatively remote. But if Ditson hadn’t been a sucker at the Silver Dollar, he wouldn’t have committed suicide. And if there hadn’t been any Silver Dollar, he wouldn’t have been a sucker. And if there hadn’t been any Spain Westfall, there wouldn’t have been a Silver Dollar.”

That was the way he looked at it, and I couldn’t blame him.

“Well, what do you want to do about it?”

“I want to bust the whole racket wide open. And I can do it!”

I went over and locked my door. I got a bottle out of my bag and poured doubles. There were only two glasses — if Brown wanted a chaser, he could get it for himself. I didn’t need one. We drank.

“Well, son, let’s have it.”

“I’ve got enough on Westfall and Hinchman to put both of them away for keeps. You see, I’ve kind of palled around with Westfall. I think it flattered him to have me around. My family’s always been tops in this town. I think Westfall might have had social ideas in the back of his head. He talked of retiring when the war boom is over.”

Brown paused, looked around nervously.

“Mind if I have another?”

I got him another. I was on pins and needles, and forgot to pour one for myself, a rare thing.

“Yes, I’ve been pretty close to Westfall. Maybe you know how openly he plays the thing. A couple of summers back when the Reform Committee got things closed up for a couple of months he even ran an ad in the papers. It said: ‘Owing to excessive heat, the south wing of the Silver Dollar will be closed for the remainder of the summer.’ Just like that.”