Стюарт Стерлинг - Down Among the Dead Men

“M.O.?”

“No. At least, not right then. The city cop is inquiring about Claire. The girl who was with Ansel in the afternoon.”

The lawyer laced and unlaced his fingers, abstractedly. “What has all this to do with our little investigation, Morrie?”

“Quite a good deal, quite a lot. I don’t hang around while the badge does his business but later on I go back and the place is swarming with buttons. I buy a drink where it will do the most good and I use my ears and after a while I get the layout. The room upstairs where Ansel and the girl went earlier in the day, that was where the murder was committed. The corpse couldn’t be identified completely, being in sections as it were, but the police are convinced it is Ansel.”

Fross let annoyance sharpen his tone. “All very absorbing, Morrie. But it leaves a little to be desired. You haven’t placed M.O. at the crime.”

“I heard him say he was going there. I heard him say it to the man who got killed. The buttons have flyers out for M.O. They sent his description out on the teletype and on the radio. It might not be enough for the prosecutor’s office but it ought to go a long way to help you. I don’t know just what it is you’re after. But I got a four-star hunch there’s more to it than just some stock deal.”

A green glass button on the inner edge of Fross’s desk glowed like a lighted emerald, went out. He opened the drawer.

“...a gentleman to see yon, Mister Fross...”

“Mister Fross has gone out, Herman. He will be back in an hour.” Fross started to close the drawer but the box inside spoke again, hurriedly.

“...the gentleman is from the police, sir ... his name is Koski ... Lieutenant Koski ... and he says he must see Mister Fross immed — HERE — STOP — YOU CAN’T—” the voice changed abruptly. “...Do you come out, Fross? Or do I come in after you?”

Schlauff got to his feet fast. “Psst!... Let me out through that trick exit of yours. That’s the city badge I was telling you about. I don’t want him to find me—”

Fross slammed the drawer. “You imbecile! He heard you! That switch was open—”

The door opened softly.

Koski walked in.

The man from the Harbor Squad eyed Schlauff with satisfaction. “Well, well. The face is familiar. But I don’t seem to recall the name.”

“Name is Schlauff. Morris Schlauff. Of Schlauff International Investigators, Incorporated.”

“I meant to pass around a pat on the back for that handwriting on the wall. But you got away too fast.” Koski measured him up and down. It would be hard for Schlauff to masquerade as a sailor, even with a bandage hiding his foxlike, protruding teeth. “How you do get around.”

“Professional duties.” Morrie smirked.

“I’ve had every cop in Brooklyn on the qui vive for you. Where do you fit in this picture?”

Fross said smoothly: “One of my clients has been employing Mister Schlauff on a divorce investigation.”

“That’s right. Nothing to do — with my being over at Dommy’s place.” Morrie smoothed the newspaper with the flat of his hand.

“Do I look like Charlie McCarthy?” Koski roamed around the room. “I’m not enough of a dummy to take that. You were trailing Gjersten or young Ovett. Or both. Else you wouldn’t have recognized the Purdo girl.” He talked to Schlauff; watched Fross.

“I just happened to be there,” Morrie protested, “when someone mentioned her name. That’s absolutely the fact.”

“You’re working for Fross, hah? Well,” Koski faced the lawyer, “who are you working for?”

“I am bound to respect the confidence of my client,” Fross smiled frankly, “but I don’t believe she’d have any objection to your being informed. Mrs. Barbara Ovett.”

“What’s the blueprint? She afraid her husband is going to divorce her? She after evidence against him so court proceedings against her would be a standoff?”

“You are very keen.” Fross’s eyebrows went up in obvious admiration. “That is the way it lines up, exactly.”

“Might be the way you’d like me to believe it lines up. But don’t tell me Schlauff was in that Brooklyn dive after an adultery affidavit!” Koski was sardonic. “A judge would rule that out so fast it would make your ears ring. Nobody’d know that better than you. Maybe you were trying to get the goods on young Ovett. But there’ll be some other reason. Whatsit?”

The lawyer seemed amused. “As far as this office is concerned, the matter is quite routine. Mrs. Ovett wished to undertake an investigation which is possibly a little distasteful, but entirely legitimate. I simply acted as intermediary in assigning the investigation to Mister Schlauff. I can’t speak for him, naturally. I don’t know what he may have uncovered—”

“Wa-a-ait a minute.” Schlauff sat up straight, rolling the newspaper up into a tight cylinder. “Nobody ever accused me of being a middleman; I don’t intend to start now with the police on one side and a law firm on the other. This isn’t my picnic; the best I’ll get out of it is a few crumbs.”

Fross’s eyes glinted behind the pince-nez; he cut in rapidly before Koski could speak: “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t tell the authorities any fact of which you have definite knowledge, Morrie.”

Koski held up his hand. “How’s for skipping all the hipper-dipper? I’m tired of listening to you bounce yourselves back and forth. You’re not testifying before a Grand Jury panel. There’s no court stenographer around.” He shoved his hat up so the brim was at a forty-five degree angle, put a foot on the rung of Schlauff’s chair, leaned over, crossed his forearms on the upraised knee. “You trailed Merrill Ovett over to the Bar-Nothing. You saw him with Ansel Gjersten. Maybe you saw a man with a bandage around his face.”

“No sir, Lieutenant. Only one I saw was this Purdo babe. I heard her asking about Gjersten. That’s all I know, positively.”

Koski made an ejaculation of disgust. “You were back at Dommy’s after I left. You cuddled up to one of the precinct boys; he remembered it when I put out the net for you. So you know a man was killed up in one of the rooms. That we’re hunting the murderer. You must have shadowed Merrill to the yacht at Rodd’s. So you probably know Gjersten and Ovett had an argument.”

Schlauff did his best to grin, but his eyes shifted to Fross. The grin froze.

Koski moved so his body was between Schlauff and the lawyer; spoke as if Fross were nonexistent:

“You’re one of the those boys who carry your heart around in your wallet, Schlauff. All right. How much’d your license cost you?”

“You should ask. You get paid for carrying your badge. Mine cost me two hundred counters. And a little greasing of the wheels, besides.”

“Going to throw away an investment like that?”

“You don’t need to intimidate me, Lieutenant.” Schlauff leaned well back in his chair to get as far away from Koski’s eyes as possible. “I realize I got a living to make. So maybe it’s not the best living in the world; — I couldn’t even buy coffee and cakes if my ticket was revoked; — I appreciate it, believe me.”

“That makes better. Now... where is Ovett?”

“If I should be struck dead this second, I swear I couldn’t tell you, Lieutenant. The last time I saw him was going on to the yacht at Rodd’s.”

Fross said smoothly. “That’s correct, Lieutenant.”

“Maybe. Far as it goes.” Koski wheeled on him. “You people are going to get yourselves in a jam, here. There’s more than one murder involved. A girl got dropped over in Brooklyn today, — because she might have known something. You gents know something, — more than you’re letting out. You beat us to the gun on Ovett. You were trailing him before we were. And you’re keeping pretty close tabs on his wife.”