William McGivern - Very Cold for May

Denise said, “I don’t know anything else.” She sipped the last of her drink. “You see, Danny Boy does a lot of business from home by phone, so I listen in on the extension by my bed. That’s the only way I can find out anything, and it’s better than listening to a radio.”

“I see. And you heard Danny Boy tell Meed to go to May’s apartment and get the diary?”

“That’s right. And he was really mad. He told Meed to get that diary or else.”

“Or else what?”

Denise said, “Well, I don’t know. Everybody says do something-or-other ‘or else.’ Nobody ever asks ‘or else what?’ It’s a good question.”

“Well, go on. Then Danny Boy left for Gary?”

“No, he didn’t leave until the next call. You see,” she went on, talking very deliberately now, as if she were explaining long division to a six-year-old. “You see, Avery Meed called Danny Boy back, and said he had the diary. And he said he had something else to talk to Danny Boy about. I was kind of sleepy then, and didn’t hear much else. But that’s the way it was,” she concluded firmly.

Jake lit another cigarette and tried to keep his voice casual. “Where was Danny Boy between those two calls?”

“He was in the living-room. You see, I was in bed.”

“You didn’t see him between those two calls? I mean he didn’t come into your bedroom?”

“Sure, just as he was leaving for Gary.” She frowned. “That was after the second call, though. He said he was going out to Gary, and he told me—”

She stopped suddenly and a look of dismay flickered across her face. For a moment she stared at Jake, and then she laughed nervously.

“Did he tell you to remember that he’d left for Gary earlier — much earlier — in the evening?” Jake said gently.

Denise looked at him and then shook her head. “I didn’t realize how much I’d drunk. I’m having pipe dreams. Would you take me home?”

“Wouldn’t you rather talk, or perhaps go some place where it’s quiet? I find you very fascinating all of a sudden.”

“No, I’d rather go home. You’re not being very bright, you know.”

“You’re the one who talked out of school,” Jake said.

“I might talk a little more to Danny,” she said.

“I doubt if that would help. Come on, let’s go.”

They went down to the lobby where Denise became a very unsteady package to handle; and Jake wondered if she were really that drunk, or just pretending to avoid talking with him.

If she had told him the truth then Riordan’s alibi was shot; he had been in town at the time of May’s death. Jake realized then that they had only Riordan’s word for Avery Meed’s part in the story. Riordan might have killed May, and then invented a story that made Meed look guilty. After that he could kill Meed and the police would have their culprit and be satisfied. The heat would be off and Riordan would be free and clear.

It was all so possible that Jake felt slightly cold thinking about it.

When they finally reached the Riordan suite at the Blackstone, he felt as if he had been through a stiff, cross-country race. He fished the key from Denise’s purse and let them in. There seemed to be no one at home, for which Jake silently thanked God.

Denise sagged against him as he helped her inside and got the door shut. But she revived when she realized that she was home.

“Drink, Jake?” she said cheerfully.

Disengaging herself from him with a conspiratorial smile, she made for the liquor cabinet, with a slight list to port; but she changed her mind on the way and pirouetted with surprising grace toward the long couch that ran under the windows. Sinking onto it with one foot trailing on the floor, she said, “There is no place like home, after all,” in a wondering voice, and closed her eyes.

Jake was lighting a cigarette when he heard a key in the door. He shrugged philosophically and turned as Dan Riordan let himself in, looking preoccupied.

“Well, what’s this?” he said. “What’s wrong with her?” he said, glancing at Jake.

“We had a drink this afternoon, and I think Denise had one too many. She’s okay. Just sleepy.”

“I see,” Riordan said.

He walked to her side and shook her shoulder. She opened her eyes and said plaintively, “Okay, Muscles, knock it off.”

“You’d better go to your room,” he said.

She struggled to a sitting position, looking contrite. “Don’t be that way, Danny Boy. I–I just picked up a little load, that’s all.”

Riordan said, in a softer tone, “All right, but you’ll be more comfortable in your room.”

Denise stood up and clung to him until she became accustomed to the perpendicular position. “I was just having a little fun, Danny.” Placing her arm around his neck she kissed him on the mouth.

Riordan put his hand on her waist and they stood together for a moment. When he released her, there was a smile on his face.

“You’re so nice to me, Danny,” she said sleepily. “Let’s go off somewhere for a while and be together. Let’s go to the lodge again and swim in the moonlight and make love before the big fire. Please, Danny.”

“You want to go to the lodge again, eh?”

“Oh, yes, Danny Boy,” she said and put her head on his shoulder.

Riordan put an arm about her waist and led her through the arched doorway of the living room. He returned in a few moments.

“Do you want a drink?” he said to Jake.

“No, thanks. But I’d like to talk to you.”

“Okay, go ahead,” Riordan said.

“I’ve just had a talk with Prior, the Government investigator.”

“Oh,” Riordan said. “I thought you might be going to explain how you and my wife happened to be spending the afternoon together, and how she got drunk.”

Jake said, “We spent the afternoon together at a cocktail party, because she phoned and asked me if I’d like to have a drink. She got drunk by the not too difficult expedient of lifting a fresh drink to her mouth fifteen or twenty times. You know damn well, Riordan, that people get themselves drunk. Let’s get back to Prior.”

Riordan looked at Jake appraisingly for a moment. “You’re smart. If you’d had any mealy-mouthed apologies about this afternoon I’d have tossed you out on your ear. But I know Denise, and I know this afternoon wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s two of us convinced of my purity,” Jake said drily. “Now to get back to Prior; he seems to think he’s got you cold.”

Riordan shrugged impatiently.

“I know. He’s found an ink blot somewhere in my books and he’s going to send me to jail. There’s no one more officious than a four-thousand-dollar-a-year Government clerk, when he thinks he can annoy a man with money.”

“This seems to be more than an ink spot,” Jake said. “Here’s Prior’s story: Your contract for 155 mm. gun barrels specified a certain grade of steel. He thinks you used a cheaper grade, which you bought from your own mill, but charged the government for the price of the specified steel. Also, he told me that you bribed a plant inspector, by the name of Nickerson, to okay the defective barrels.”

“When did he tell you this?”

“About eleven thirty this morning.”

Riordan laughed humorlessly. “They’re working like beavers, aren’t they? Are they looking for this fellow Nickerson?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” Riordan said. “Nickerson died a couple of years ago. They’ll get a lot from him, won’t they?”

“They seem to have all they need without him.”

Riordan looked at him shrewdly. “Let’s understand each other, Harrison. You’re on my side because you’re getting paid. I may be a crook for all you know, but that doesn’t make my money less valuable. But you may have scruples. Do you stay on the team or get off?”