Эллери Куин - The Devil To Pay

Fitz slammed the door of his office. “Sit down, Val. Cigaret? Drink? Tough about the old man. What’s on your mind?”

“Fitz,” said Val, sitting down and clasping her hands, “how much money have you?”

“Me?” The Irishman stared. “I’m busted — Ohippi. Do you need dough? Maybe I can scare up a few C’s—”

“I didn’t come here for that.” Valerie looked him in the eye. “Fitz, I want a job.”

Fitz rubbed his black jowls. “Look, Val, if you’re broke, why—”

Val said with a faint smile: “I’m a special sort of person right now, isn’t that so?”

“What’s the point?”

“Daughter of a famous man charged with a front-page murder?”

Fitz got out of his chair and, still rubbing his face, went to the dust-streaked window. When he turned around his bird’s-nest brows almost completely concealed his eyes.

“I’m listening,” he said, sitting down again.

Val smiled once more. Fitz was a little transparent. A nerve near his right eye was jumping.

“I couldn’t write a news story, but you’ve got plenty of people who can. On the other hand, I can give you information you’d never get without my help.”

Fitz flipped a switch on his communicator. “Bill. I don’t want to be disturbed.” He sat back. “I’m still listening.”

“Well, I’m the daughter of the accused. The byline alone will sell papers.”

Fitz grinned. “Oh, you want a byline, too?”

“Second, I’ll be able to predict the defense before it comes out in court.”

“Yes,” said Fitz. “You certainly will.”

“Third, I’ll have inside information no other paper in town could possibly dig out. Where it won’t hurt my father, you’ll have an exclusive story.”

Fitzgerald began to play with a paper-knife.

“And last, you can play up the human-interest angle — rich gal loses all her money, goes to work in defense of accused father.” Fitz leaned forward toward his communicator again. “Wait a minute, darling,” said Val. “I’m no philanthropist. I’m proposing to do something that nauseates me. It’s going to take a lot of money to cure that nausea.”

“Oh,” said the Irishman. “All right, how much?”

Val said bravely: “A thousand dollars a yarn.”

“Hey!” growled Fitz.

“I need lots of money, Fitz. If you won’t give it to me, some other paper will.”

“Have a heart, Val — a story a day! This thing may drag on for months.”

Val rose, “I know what you’re thinking. They’ve got pop dead to rights, no sensational news angle can come out of the case, it will be cut-and-dried, the usual story of a guilty man brought to trial. If you think that, Fitz, you’re a long way off.”

“What d’ye mean?”

“Do you believe pop’s guilty?”

“Sure not,” said Fitz soothingly. “Sit down, Val.”

“I tell you he isn’t.”

“Sure he isn’t.”

“I know he isn’t!”

Val walked to the door. Fitz shot out of his chair and ran to head her off.

“Don’t be so damned hasty! You mean you’ve got information—”

“I mean,” said Val, “that I have a clue that will lead to the real criminal, Friend Scrooge.”

“You have?” shouted Fitz. “Look, Val mavourneen, come here and sit down again. What is it? Tell old Fitz. After all, I’m an old friend of your father’s—”

“Do I get my thousand a story?”

“Sure!”

“You’ll let me work my own way?”

“Anything you want!”

“No questions asked, and I work alone?”

“That’s not fair. How do I know you’re not sandbagging me? How do I know—”

“Take it or leave it, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“You’ve got the instincts of an Apache!”

“Goodbye,” said Val, turning again to go.

“For God’s sake, hold it, will you? Listen, Val, you haven’t any experience. You may get into trouble.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Val sweetly.

“Or you may ruin a great story. Let me assign one of my men to double up with you. How’s that? Then I’ll be protected, and so will you.”

“I don’t want any spies or story-stealers around,” frowned Val.

“Wait a minute! I give you my word it’ll be on the level, Val. You can’t gang up on me this way! A good man who knows his stuff won’t blab and will steer you right.”

Val stood thinking. In a way, Fitz was right. She had no idea where her investigation might lead. An experienced newspaperman to advise and assist and even provide physical protection in the event of danger was a wise precaution.

“All right, Fitz,” she said finally.

Fitz beamed. “It’s a deal! Be back here at two o’clock and I’ll have my man ready. We’ll give you a press card, put you on the payroll, and you’ll be all set. You’re sure you’ve got something?” he asked anxiously.

“You’ll have to take your chances,” said Val. Sure? She didn’t even know what the clue was!

“Get out of here,” groaned Fitz.

When Valerie emerged into the city room Walter was standing in the aisle, waiting.

Val tried to pass him, but he moved over to block her path.

“Please,” said Val.

“I’ve got to talk to you,” said Walter in a low voice.

“Please!”

“I’ve got to, Val.”

Val eyed him coolly. “Well, if you must I suppose you must. I don’t care for an audience, though, so let’s go into the hall.”

He took her arm and hurried her through the city room. Val studied him covertly. She was shocked by his appearance. His cheeks were sunken; there were leaden hollows under his eyes, which were inflamed. He looked ill, as if he were in pain and had not slept for days.

He backed her against the marble wall near the elevators. “I’ve read about Rhys’s arrest,” he said feverishly. “It muddles things for me, Val. You’ve got to give me time to think this over—”

“Who’s stopping you?”

“Please have patience with me. I can’t explain yet—”

“Nasty habit you have,” said Val, “of not being able to explain. Please, Walter. You’re hurting me.”

Walter released her. “I’m sorry about Monday night. Getting drunk, I mean. The things I said. Val, if you’d only have a little faith in me...”

“I suppose you know,” said Val, “that some one planted the rapier and pop’s coat in our closet, and tipped off the police that they were there. Or don’t you?”

“Do you believe I did that?” said Walter in a low voice.

Val stirred restlessly. Nothing could come of this. “I’m going,” she said.

“Wait—”

“Oh, yes. I’ve just taken a job here. Special features on the case. I’m going to do a little investigating of my own. I thought you’d like to know.”

Walter grew paler under his two-day growth of beard. “Val! Why?”

“Because trials cost money and lawyers are expensive.”

“But you’ve got that money I gave you. I mean—”

“That’s another thing. Of course we can’t accept that, Walter. Pop has it in a bank, but I’ll have him write out a check for the full amount.”

“I don’t want it! Oh, damn it. Val! Don’t start something that might — that might bring you—”

“Yes?” murmured Valerie.

Walter was silent, gnawing his lower lip.

“Yes?” said Val again, with the merest accent of contempt. But she could not prevent a certain pity from creeping into her voice, too.

Walter did not reply.

Val pressed the elevator-button. The door slid open after a while. She got in and turned around. The operator began to pull the door shut.

Walter just stood there.

Fitz sauntered into the reception room of Magna Studios and said to the man at the desk: “Hullo, Bob. Is Ellery Queen in?”