James Chase - This Way for a Shroud

Maurer burst out laughing. His white plump hand came down on his knee with a loud smacking sound.

“What do you think of that, Abe?” he said. “The guy’s a trier, isn’t he? Did you ever hear such a story?”

McCann sat back; a look of relief and surprise chased across his brick-red face.

Gollowitz rubbed his jaw and raised his bushy eyebrows. He didn’t look anything like so amused as Maurer: he didn’t look amused at all.

“What’s his case?” he asked sharply.

“Don’t be so damned stupid, Abe,” Maurer said easily. “He hasn’t got a case, and he knows it.”

Gollowitz ignored the interruption.

“What’s his case?” he repeated, staring at McCann.

Seigel was listening to all this. He stood by the bar, behind Maurer and Gollowitz; there was a sick expression in his eyes that began to worry McCann.

“He’s got evidence that Mr. Maurer and Miss Arnot were special friends, and that Jordan was scared of Mr. Maurer,”

McCann said slowly. “He has a sworn statement to that effect.”

“Whose statement?” Gollowitz asked sharply.

“Jordan’s dresser.”

McCann and Gollowitz looked at Maurer, who continued to smile.

“So what?” Maurer said carelessly. “Who else has said so?”

“Just one statement,” McCann said.

Maurer shrugged and spread his hands, smiling at Gollowitz.

“That’s nothing,” Gollowitz said. “What else?”

“Flo Presser called on Conrad this morning. She reported that Paretti was missing. She said he had to do a job for Mr. Maurer at seven o’clock on the night of the murder, and Miss Arnot was murdered around seven o’clock.”

Gollowitz slightly relaxed.

“A streetwalker’s testimony is about as effective as a handful of feathers,” he said. “What else?”

“Flo was stabbed to death a couple of hours after she had seen Conrad,” McCann said, his eyes going to Seigel. He saw Seigel grimace uneasily.

“Who killed her?”

“Ted Pascal, one of the Brooklyn boys.”

Maurer shrugged.

“I don’t know him. What’s the excitement about? Can I help it if some whore gets knocked off?”

McCann’s little eyes began to turn red. It had been a severe shock to him when he had listened to Conrad’s report at the D.A.’s meeting, and Maurer’s careless, indifferent attitude and his unconcern flicked his anger into life.

“Where’s Paretti, Mr. Maurer?” he barked.

“Toni’s in New York,” Maurer said smoothly. “I sent him to collect a gambling debt. That was the job he had to do. He caught the seven o’clock plane.”

“Then you’d better get him back quick,” McCann said grimly. “Conrad wants to see him. A sketch-plan of Jordan’s apartment was found in Paretti’s apartment.”

Gollowitz stiffened and shot a hard, searching look at Maurer, who waved his hand airily.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “Who found it?”

“Van Roche.”

“Any witness?”

“No.”

“Obviously a plant,” Maurer said, and laughed. “Abe can take care of that, can’t you, Abe?”

Gollowitz nodded, but his eyes showed a growing uneasiness.

“If Toni shows up today or tomorrow,” McCann said, “half Conrad’s case will be knocked cold. You’d better get to Toni fast, Mr. Maurer.”

There was a long pause as Maurer studied the pattern on the carpet, then he said, without looking up, “Supposing I couldn’t get hold of Toni? Suppose he had decided to skip with the money I had sent him to collect? It is a big sum: twenty thousand dollars. I don’t say he has skipped, but suppose he has?”

McCann’s face suddenly turned purple. His big, hairy hands closed into knotted fists.

“He damn well better not have skipped!” he said through clenched teeth.

“Take it easy, Captain,” Maurer said, looking up and smiling. “I don’t think for a moment he has skipped, but even if he had, this cockeyed evidence of Conrad’s wouldn’t stand up in court. What have you got to worry about? I’m not worrying.”

“What else is there?” Gollowitz snapped, sensing that McCann hadn’t told them the worst of it.

“The guard who checks in all visitors to Miss Arnot’s place enters their names in a book,” McCann said, speaking slowly and deliberately. “At seven o’clock on the night of the killing a girl named Frances Coleman called to see Miss Arnot. We’re looking for her now, and she will be arrested as a material witness. Conrad thinks she may have seen the killer.”

Maurer looked at the glowing end of his cigar. A muscle in his cheek suddenly began to twitch, otherwise his face was expressionless.

There was a tight tension in the room.

Seigel lit a cigarette, his eyes on the back of Maurer’s head. He licked his lips as if they had gone suddenly dry.

Gollowitz stared down at his hands, frowning.

McCann’s hard little eyes took in each man, watching his reactions, a grinding, rising fury inside him made him feel short of breath.

“Well, say something!” he snarled. “Is this something Gollowitz can take care of?”

Maurer looked up. The flat snake’s eyes glowed as if they were on fire, and under his direct look, McCann’s eyes gave ground.

“I want to talk to the Captain,” Maurer said softly.

Gollowitz immediately got up and, followed by Seigel, left the room.

When the door closed behind them, Maurer crossed one short fat leg over the other. He took his cigar out of his mouth, leaned forward and touched off the ash into a cut-glass bowl. He didn’t look at McCann.

McCann sat still, his big fists on his knees, his face purple. Sweat gave an oily

appearance to his complexion.

“Frances Coleman, did you say?” Maurer said suddenly, keeping his voice down.

“That’s right,” McCann said.

“Who is she?”

“Let’s get this straight, Mr. Maurer, are you…?”

“Who is she?” Maurer repeated without raising his voice, but

McCann recognized the danger signals.

“She’s an out-of-work movie extra. She checked out of her room on Glendale Avenue on the night of the murder. The Central Casting Agency haven’t her new address.”

“Did she know Miss Arnot?”

“She worked with her on her last picture: a bit part.”

“You’re looking for her now?”

“Yeah. We should turn her up in a few hours.”

Maurer nodded.

“Got a photograph of her?”

McCann took out a print from his inside pocket.

“I got this from the C.C.A.”

Maurer took the photograph, looked at it, then put the photograph face down on the arm of his chair. He looked up suddenly and smiled.

“You’ve finished your drink, Captain. Help yourself.”

“No, thanks,” McCann said.

He wasn’t fooled by the smile. The atmosphere in the room affected him like

the pressure of an approaching electric storm.

Maurer got up and walked across the room to a door near the casement windows. He opened the door and went into the room that McCann knew Seigel used as an office.

McCann sat still, his cigar gripped tightly between his teeth. He was aware that his heart was beating unevenly and his mouth was dry.

Maurer returned from the office carrying a long white envelope. As he crossed the room, McCann got to his feet and faced him.

“I have been meaning to give you this for some time,” Maurer said, smiling. “A little investment I made in your name came out pretty well.”

McCann took the envelope.

“Fifteen thousand bucks,” Maurer said in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

McCann drew in a slow deep breath. He slid the envelope into his hip pocket.

“Perhaps I can return the favour,” he said woodenly.

“Well, yes,” Maurer said, and moved over to the empty fireplace. “I should like to be the first to know where Miss Coleman is to be found. Could that be arranged?”