Lawrence Block - Masters of Noir - Volume 1

The redhead grinned saucily. “Don’t give it another thought, Mike. I’m over eighteen.” She accepted the refill and started to work on it, her eyes giving Liddell the full treatment over the rim.

“You got back here, then, maybe at twelve?” Liddell asked.

Murphy considered, nodded. “Just about.”

“Didn’t leave after that?” Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “Say what you mean. Are you asking me if I was anywhere near Lane’s place when it happened? You think I was in on it?”

Liddell shook his head. “Look. There were only four or five people who knew Lane had the diamonds tonight. I’m trying to eliminate as I go along. Got any objections?”

Murphy stared at him sullenly. “I don’t like it.”

“Maybe Tate Morrow don’t like being dead. But he is. How about it?”

“I didn’t go out all night.”

“Can you prove it?”

“If I have to.”

“You have to.”

The big man glared at him for a moment, dropped his eyes, shrugged. “There were eight or ten others here with us. Three or four of the other babes in the line at the Revue brought their dates up here. The party just broke about a half an hour ago.” He looked over at the redhead. “That right, Claire?”

The redhead nodded solemnly. “We’ve been here ever since show break. Nobody left the place, not even for a paper.”

Liddell drained his glass, set it down. “Okay, that’s all I wanted to know.” The phone started to ring. Murphy lumbered across the room to answer it.

The big man talked for a moment, then held his hand over the mouthpiece. “The cops. They want me to go out to identify Laury.” He took his hand from the mouthpiece, talked for a moment and hung up. He wiped the thin film of perspiration off his upper lip, with the side of his hand. “I’m glad you broke the news to me first.” He glanced at his watch. “Anything else you want from me, Liddell? I’ve got to get out there.”

Liddell said, “Just one thing. These stones — any way of identifying them?”

The big man shook his head. “They were all loose. She wanted it that way. Some half-smart chiseler told her they were easier to sell and the Government couldn’t trace them.” He picked a cigarette from a container on the coffee table, fitted it to his lips with shaking hands. “That’s why Arms was so interested. He was getting a buy at the price he was set to pay and the stuff wasn’t even hot.”

“Did Arms know that you hired the agency to watch over Lane?”

The pinched look was back in Murphy’s eyes. “No. I was afraid to tell him, because I was afraid he’d kick over the deal. He didn’t want anybody to know about it. Just Laury and me. And him.”

“Mighty convenient.”

“What do you mean?”

Liddell grinned humorlessly. “Suppose something happened to Laury and you? Then there’d be nobody to say that Laury ever had $150,000 in unset diamonds, and they wouldn’t have cost Arms anything.”

Murphy started, the cigarette fell from his slack lips. “You don’t think he meant to have us both killed?”

“Why not?” Liddell walked over to where the cigarette lay smouldering on the rug, picked it up and crushed it out. “Maybe the killer thought Tate was you and knocked him off without knowing. Maybe right now Arms thinks he’s safe, that the only two people who knew about the deal aren’t in any condition to do any talking.”

“But when he finds out?” Murphy ran his finger around the inside of his collar as though it had suddenly become tight. He dropped into a chair. “What then?”

“He’ll probably try to correct his mistake,” Liddell said. “But, by then, maybe we’ll have him in a spot where he won’t be able to.”

“What are you going to do?”

Liddell picked up his hat, set it on the back of his head. “I’m going out to Arms’ place and have a little talk with him. If I get to him before he finds out you’re still alive, I may be able to surprise him into giving himself away.”

“You’re going out there alone?”

Liddell grinned. “Like to come along?”

The big man shook his head emphatically. “No, thank you.”

From the couch came the sound of a soft snore. Liddell walked over, took the empty glass from between the redhead’s fingers, threw a knitted cover over her. The girl stirred slightly, purred softly and curled up into a ball on the couch.

Louis Arms operated the Casa Demain , a plush booby trap on the south shore of Long Island. From the outside, it gave no indication of its character, but looked like any large country estate that had been kept up. Shrubs, lawn, trees were all in good condition, only a small brass nameplate affixed to one of the pillars at the gate identifying it as a roadhouse.

Tonight it looked different than it had on the other occasions he had visited it. Without the flattery of a hidden battery of floodlights, it was just a tired old grey-white frame building, sprawling in the darkness. Tonight there were no cars in the parking lot, there was no high-pitched conversation from tuxedoed marks and their evening-dressed companions. Just a tired old grey white building relaxing with its makeup off.

Johnny Liddell left his car under a big tree a hundred yards off the entrance to the Casa. He cut across the shrubbery and headed for the rear of the building where Arms had his private office. He rapped at the door, waited. After a moment, the door opened a crack. “Yeah?” a voice asked.

“I want to see Arms. Tell him it’s Johnny Liddell.”

The door opened wider; the man stepped aside. “He’s expecting you.”

Liddell walked in, froze as the snout of a gun jabbed into his ribs. He made no attempt to resist as the man at the door relieved him of his .45, expertly fanned him.

“You know your way to the office,” the man told him.

Liddell walked to the door at the end of the corridor marked Private , waited while the man with him knocked, then pushed the door open.

Louis Arms sprawled comfortably in an armchair. He waved to Liddell as he came into the room. The man with Liddell pushed him into the room, closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Liddell. You made good time.” Louis Arms’ voice was soft, silky with an elusive trace of the Boston Back Bay where he’d gotten his start. He was long and loose-jointed. His sandy hair had receded from his brow to the crown of his head, exposing a freckled pate. He had a ready smile that plowed white furrows in the mahogany of his face. It transformed everything about his expression except his eyes. They were cold, wary.

“Murphy?” Liddell wanted to know.

The man in the chair shrugged. “He’s really got the wind up. That ice the broad was selling came from under the carpet. He can’t account for it.”

“That’s his headache,” Liddell growled.

The ready smile was back on Arm’s lips. He shook his head. “It’s yours. He’s going to tell the cops it was all a pipe dream of yours, this story about me buying a lot of undercover ice.”

Liddell’s eyes went bleak. “And you?”

Arms reached out, snagged a cigarette from a table at his elbow. “I didn’t ask you to drag me into it. It’s an out and I’m taking it.” He hung the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, touched a match to it. “A cop named Murray called me about an hour ago. I told him the same thing.”

“Thanks, pal.”

“Look at it my way. I got enough grief without shopping for any. This broad makes me an offer, I take it. I wasn’t in the market to get mixed up in any murder rap.” He took the cigarette from between his lips, rolled it between his fingers. “Get it, Liddell? I don’t want any part of it.”

“What am I supposed to do? Hold the bag? You got the wrong boy, Arms. I lost one of my men in this deal. I don’t stand still for that.”