Richard Deming: No Pockets in a Shroud

His long nose began to whiten at the tip, an anger register which never fails to fascinate me, but before the whole nose whitened, which was the indicator of his boiling point, he underwent one of the astonishing changes in temper he was abruptly capable of. His right hand suddenly patted my shoulder.

“You’re a good boy, Manny. You’re right. No point in us arguing. Life’s too short.”

He draped himself across a chair facing mine and smiled as though he had just gargled alum.

“What about this visit of Bagnell’s to you?” he asked, in what for him was a pleasant tone.

I shrugged. “Nothing much to it. He dropped in for a few minutes, then left. It was around three.”

“What’d he want?”

“To hire me as a bodyguard.”

Day looked startled. “Bodyguard!” Behind their thick lenses his eyes crinkled derisively. “You did a devil of a job.”

“I didn’t take it.”

His expression turned interested. “Why not?”

“Didn’t want it.”

The inspector studied my face a long time. “Bagnell say why he wanted you?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Why’d you say no?”

“Didn’t want the job.”

“Any particular reason?”

“No.”

“You’ve hired out as a bodyguard before.”

“That’s what Bagnell said. I still said no.”

Hannegan broke in. “Byron Wade and one of his punks were at Moon’s when I got there.”

Day looked at me curiously, a cynical smile quirking his lips. “I see. That’s why you turned down Bagnell.”

“Wrong again. I never saw Wade or his juvenile delinquent “before. They came uninvited.”

“What’d they want?”

“Wade offered the same proposition Bagnell had, and got the same turndown.”

The inspector made no attempt to cover the suspicion in his eyes. “Kind of coincidental, both calling the same day.”

“That’s what I thought, until I heard Bagnell was dead. A little figuring considerably reduces the coincidence.”

“How?”

“Suppose Wade knew about Bagnell’s visit? It’s common knowledge that a clash was brewing, and probably both Wade and Bagnell were keeping track of each other. The probability is Wade did know Bagnell came to see me. Suppose he also knew something was due to happen to Bagnell tonight? Visiting me just when he did was the smartest move he could make.”

Day thought this over and said: “I don’t follow.”

“I can’t explain it and be modest.”

Day grunted. “You never were.”

I said: “I’ve got a reputation of being a bad guy to have on the opposing team. For a supposedly tough character, Wade acts kind of timid. Maybe he wanted to know where I stood in time to call off the killing in case I was lined up with Bagnell.”

The inspector let out a derisive snort. “You sure think you’re tough anyway.”

I shrugged. “I said I couldn’t explain it and be modest.”

Frank amusement glinted through his glasses. “You really think you’re so tough Wade would just walk off and leave Bagnell with a clear field if he found you on the other side?”

“Not exactly. But I think he’d postpone Bagnell’s funeral until he could arrange one for me.”

The inspector’s amused expression was replaced by a thoughtful one. “He might do that,” he conceded. “I’ll admit you’re a little tough. About soft-boiled.” His eyes turned dreamy and he went on as though thinking aloud. “Suppose Wade was keeping track of Bagnell? The contact would only report in periodically. Bagnell left your place at three, but Wade might not hear about his visit till several hours later. You figure when he did hear, he rushed right over to find out where you stood?”

“Something like that. And he found out I was neutral.”

Day removed the cigar from his mouth, examined it carefully and replaced it in the opposite corner. “When he found out, why didn’t he get to a night spot for an alibi?”

“Because he had one right where he was. He got to my place at seven-thirty and wasn’t out of my sight till Hannegan arrived.”

Day considered this. “It will be interesting to talk to Mr. Wade.” He jerked his head in the direction of the brunette across the room, whose strained expression betrayed hex concern over our conversation. “Incidentally, that’s Mrs. Wade.”

The woman rose and moved toward us. She was taller than I had thought, about five feet six, and her movements were smooth as a ballet dancer’s. Seated, her figure had been indeterminate. Now I noted her breasts and hips were overfull, but slim legs and a flat stomach indicated natural fullness rather than fat. She wore a light green, immaculately clean dress that fitted as though it were wax that had been melted, poured over her body and allowed to form.

“Did you call me?” she asked. Her voice had the deep tone of a cello.

Hannegan was already standing. I rose, but Day remained seated, making no effort at either answer or introduction.

“The inspector just mentioned your name,” I said. “Excuse his manners. He goes to movies and has Hollywood ideas of how policemen should act. I’m Manville Moon. This is Lieutenant Hannegan.”

After acknowledging the introductions with a poker-faced nod, she stood silent, her large zippered bag pressed nervously against her flat stomach. Day ran his sardonic eyes over the three of us, and the awkward pause lasted until the door opened and a placid looking policewoman entered.

Day growled: “About time you got here.” He bobbed his nose at Mrs. Wade. “Search her.”

Mrs. Wade’s shoulders stiffened. The policewoman said: “Don’t get excited, dearie.” Curving her thumb at an open door in the far corner, she asked Day, “That a bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, dearie,” she said, and took Mrs. Wade’s arm.

Mrs. Wade allowed herself to be led toward the open door. As it closed behind them, I turned to the inspector.

“O.K. I told you everything. What goes on? Or do I have to read it in the papers?”

Day rose from his slouched position, tossed his cigar on the floor and began to pace up and down with his hands behind him, a human imitation of Felix the cat, if you could call Day human. He started to talk in a rasping, singsong voice, more as though he were reviewing facts to organize his own thoughts, rather than impart information to me. “Bagnell was shot through the head a little after eight. He was at his desk at the time and the bullet ended up over there.” He gestured at a ragged hole in the wall directly opposite the bathroom door. “When they heard the shot, Vance Caramand and Mouldy Greene came running and found the office door locked. They pounded, got no answer, so Greene shot through the lock. Bagnell sat in his chair with the top of his head missing and Mrs. Wade lay in a faint this side of the desk. Nothing could be done for Bagnell, so Greene tried to revive Mrs. Wade while Caramand went out after Fausta Moreni. Seems both dopes realized they hadn’t sense enough to handle things themselves. Fausta took one look, ordered the boys to touch nothing and let no one in the room. She also told them not to let Mrs. Wade out. Then she phoned us.”

I said: “Fausta’s a smart girl.”

“Yeah. By the time we got here, Mrs. Wade was conscious again. Her story is that she came back here to cash a small check. Lost all her cash at roulette and wanted taxi fare home. I guess she did cash a check for twenty. At least Bagnell had one in his pocket and it’s dated today. But it looks like the main reason for her visit was social. The bar waiter says he delivered a pint of Scotch back here at seven, and Mrs. Wade was here then. You can see what’s left of the bottle.” He pointed to the desk, where a bottle with merely an inch of liquor left in it stood next to a siphon and two glasses. “Also Bagnell had lipstick all over what was left of his face. The bar waiter says she’s always back here Monday and Wednesday nights.”