William McGivern - Very Cold for May

“Have you tried soaking them overnight in a saucer of bonded Sterno? Serves four and serves them right. Come on.”

“Okay,” Sheila said. She smiled and got to her feet. “Gary won’t mind, will he?”

“He won’t be conscious. Hurry.”

Jake walked on to Noble’s office feeling better. Sheila would be an asset. She knew how to mix drinks and talk shop with the press.

Niccolo was coming through the reception room when Jake reached there. “I heard you wanted me this morning, Jake. Anything important?”

“Riordan’s handout for the press conference,” Jake said. “I did it myself. You’d better come on with us now. I’ll want you to do some releases later this week, and you can get some background this afternoon.”

“Okay.”

Jake went into Noble’s office without knocking. Noble had shaved and changed into another suit and his thick white hair had been disarranged with the usual care.

“Let’s go,” Jake said.

They met Niccolo and Sheila in the reception room and walked out to the elevators and, for some reason, no one was very cheerful.

“Well, buck up,” Noble said, smiling nervously. “We’ve done it before and we can do it again.”

“Blacken your faces, men, we’re going in,” Niccolo said, solemnly, and winked at Jake.

They arrived at Riordan’s suite in the Blackstone Hotel at two o’clock. The door was opened by Riordan’s wife, Denise, who had a highball glass in one hand.

“Come on in,” she said. “Danny is dressing, but he won’t be long.”

Brian Riordan was slumped in a deep chair by the fireplace, with one leg hooked over its arm and a drink in his hand. He was wearing Bry tweeds and a few strands of his sandy hair were falling over his forehead.

“Here come the white knights to the old man’s rescue,” he said grinning. “Have you got a de luxe halo to clap on his head, and an orchestra to play celestial music in the background?”

Denise said, “Oh, stop it, Brian.”

Noble handled the introductions. Brian nodded absently at Sheila and said to Niccolo, “Haven’t we met before?”

Niccolo said, “Yes. You were waiting for an elevator the other night at the office when I got off. You were concerned about whether or not I’d been in the army.”

“Well, I was a little drunk,” Brian said. “But it’s a good question. Were you?”

“It’s a silly question,” Denise said. “Can’t I fix you people something to drink?”

Sheila sat down on the divan and gave Jake a quick amused glance. “Yes, I’ll have a scotch and soda since everything is so clubby.”

Brian grinned at her. “Don’t knock yourself out being sarcastic. I’m inconsiderate as hell, I know. I’m eternally curious about what other people did while I was dropping little messages of good cheer on the Germans. Some of them did the funniest things. My father, for instance. He made money. And how about yourself? Did you have a nice war?”

“I wasn’t in the paratroops, if that’s what you mean,” Sheila said. “But I didn’t have a nice war.”

The bedroom door opened and Dan Riordan walked in, freshly shaven and wearing a double breasted gray flannel suit.

He walked restlessly to the window, pulled back the drapes, then dropped them and returned to the center of the room.

“Any details about May’s murder?” he asked, of no one in particular.

There was an odd silence in the room and Jake had the impression that Riordan had mentioned the thought that was on everyone’s mind.

“I just have the bare facts,” Noble said.

Jake settled back in his chair and glanced around. Brian Riordan was blowing smoke rings into the air, and Denise had crossed her legs and was fingering the arm of her chair distractedly. Sheila was watching Riordan, who was frowning at Noble, as if he’d said something significant.

Practically everybody present, Jake realized, was probably relieved that May had been murdered. Riordan, certainly. And Denise and Brian, also, since it secured the health and productivity of their golden goose. Sheila had no reason to care, but Noble was undoubtedly happy that an obstacle in the way of the account had been removed.

The question was, had any of these people killed May?

Riordan, who had the best reason to murder May, had spent the night in Gary, Indiana. Noble had no alibi, other than his own word that he’d spent the night with one Bebe Passione. Jake wondered where Denise Riordan had been last night, since no one had mentioned her being in Gary with her husband. And Brian. Where had he been?

Riordan put a cigar in his mouth and lit it with a silver lighter from the coffee table.

“The police have any ideas yet?” he said.

“Not so far,” Jake said. “She was killed around four, strangled with a sash from her negligee. They know that her diary is missing. And,” he paused, and glanced at Riordan, “they know the diary is presumed to have some hot information about you.”

“How do they know that?” Riordan said quietly.

“I told them.”

“Any reason for that?”

“Yes, of course. You and May had an argument about her plans for the book, which was overheard by most of the people at her party. The police would learn about that, so I told them to make it appear we, or you, rather, have nothing to fear.”

“I have nothing to fear,” Riordan said. “Your assumption that I need to be defended is a little odd, Harrison.”

Jake sighed. “It’s an occupational disease with me to copper all bets. I’m glad you have nothing to fear, because you have an appointment with Lieutenant Martin of the Homicide Division at four thirty this afternoon.”

“How do you know that?”

“He asked me when it would be convenient for him to see you. I suggested he make it after the press conference. For obvious reasons.”

“I see.” Riordan frowned and then began to nod thoughtfully. “You mean, Martin is willing to cooperate because you were square with him about me. You were right.” He grinned suddenly. “You’re doing fine, Harrison.”

Denise stood up impatiently. “I hate all of this,” she said. “May Laval was a flamboyant bitch, and she couldn’t even die without making a scene. People will be saying you killed her to get the diary, Danny.”

“People will say no such thing,” Riordan said icily. He stared at his wife with controlled but unmistakable anger. “I was in Gary last night, if you remember.”

Brian Riordan suddenly clapped his hands together in applause. “Tycoon saved by last minute alibi,” he intoned. “Free Enterprise wins again.”

“Oh, shut up,” his father said.

“That’s the trouble with all you people, you’re so deadly serious,” Brian said, getting languidly to his feet. “Come, Denise, I’ll take you as far as the elevator.”

Denise kissed Riordan on the cheek and picked up an alligator bag that matched her pumps, and a seven-skin sable which provided the last exquisitely expensive touch to her appearance. “I’m going to do some shopping,” she said, and smiled around the room. “See you all again soon, I hope.”

Jake wondered if she had told Riordan about her visit to May’s. The police would get to that eventually, and so would the papers. They couldn’t do much, however, unless Denise or Brian was foolish enough to disclose their intention of buying or scaring her out of writing her book.

Brian waved to Niccolo from the doorway. “Don’t take any wooden foxholes, chum.”

Denise plucked at his arm. “Let’s don’t get into the Battle of the Bulge with sound effects here.”

They left, closing the door behind them. Jake stood up and took the speech he’d written from his breast pocket, and handed it to Riordan. “Look it over and we’ll talk about it a bit.”