James Chase: This Way for a Shroud

“Hey, wait a minute, Mr. Maurer,” the television interviewer shouted excitedly. “Will you step down here and speak into the mike? Will you give us a statement?”

“Sure,” Maurer said. “I promised you a statement and I never go back on my promises.”

He walked down to the battery of microphones.

“It’s not untimely,” he said, speaking directly into the microphones, “at this moment to thank all my well-wishers for their encouragement and their support during this absurd, but none the less awkward, situation that arose entirely through a misunderstanding between the police force and the District Attorney’s office.

“As you all know a warrant was issued for my arrest. I was accused of murdering Miss June Arnot, who happened to be a very dear friend of mine.” Maurer was finding it a little difficult to retain his wide, sincere smile under the scrutiny of the cynical eyes of the Pacific Herald’s reporter who had wormed his way to the forefront and was staring at Maurer with unconcealed contempt. Maurer made a mental note to see that this young reporter should get a beating at the quickest and most convenient moment.

“A very dear friend,” he repeated, shifting his eyes away from the Pacific Herald’s reporter. “The District Attorney is an honest man; a man I admire; a man who is above the everyday corruption of the present administration. He sincerely believed he had a case against me, and I say here and now that he did his duty by issuing the warrant for my arrest.” Maurer lowered his voice, widened his smile and kept his eyes away from the staring eyes that surrounded him. He concentrated on the television cameras. After all, these cameras were taking his speech and his face into the homes of thousands of suckers who played his gambling tables, used his whores, paid the Union dues to him, drank his rot-gut champagne, and elected his men into public office. The least they deserved was his best smile. “On the face of the evidence he was presented with, he had no alternative but to issue the warrant. But on closer examination it was found the evidence he had against me was no evidence at all.” He waved his white fat hands. “Don’t think for a moment the District Attorney has been irresponsible. He hasn’t. The evidence was there. If I had been in this fine city instead of at sea, the warrant would never have been issued, for I could have explained away the evidence as I have just explained it away.” He smiled into the television camera. “I have said June Arnot was a very dear friend of mine,” he went on. “She was. I would never have done her any harm; I never did do her any harm. Her death was a great shock to me. As soon as I knew of the warrant for my arrest I came back to refute the charge. Gentlemen, the District Attorney has withdrawn the warrant. He has even been good enough to apologize for any inconvenience he has caused me…”

The Herald reporter broke in violently, “Isn’t it a fact the District Attorney’s case against you has collapsed because his only two witnesses have met convenient and apparently accidental deaths?”

Maurer looked at him sorrowfully. This sonofabitch would find himself in a barrelful of cement at the bottom of the sea before he was much older, he thought, as he shook his head at him.

“Mr. Forest didn’t take me into his confidence about any of his witnesses. I know nothing about them except what I read in some newspapers this morning. I am told that a gold pencil which belonged to me was found near the swimming-pool of my dear friend June Arnot. The pencil had my finger-prints and a smear of blood on it. The blood appeared to belong to Miss Arnot’s group, and the police jumped to the conclusion that because there was no blood in the place where the pencil was found I must have murdered her. That was the flimsy evidence on which the police based their case. It so happened the previous day when I was with Miss Arnot I cut my finger and blood got on the pencil. I dropped the pencil down a drain. It so happens I am not a poor man and I have other gold pencils, so I left it down the drain.” He paused, then added with a smile that could have been a snarl, “Can I help it if my blood group and Miss Arnot’s blood group happen to be the same?”

He gave a signal and immediately the four bodyguards moved forward, shoving the reporters aside, and Maurer walked quickly down the steps and ducked into his car.

Gollowitz scrambled in after him, while the bodyguards kept the reporters from mobbing the car.

The car drove away fast.

As soon as they were clear of the gaping crowds, Maurer threw back his head and gave a short, barking laugh.

“Very funny, Abe. I wouldn’t have missed seeing that punk Forest’s face when you handled him, for all the money in town. Hell! We put it across him, didn’t we?” He slapped Gollowitz’s fat thigh. “Now I can get down to business. Listen, Abe, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to draw me up a list of all money and securities I own: every dollar; ready cash I’m talking about. I want also a list of stocks and bonds I hold, and the present market prices.”

Gollowitz gave him a quick, suspicious look.

“What’s the idea, Jack?”

“Never mind. I may be pulling out. I’ve got all the dough I want. I’m fed up with the Syndicate. If they want to run California, let them get on with it.”

“I thought you were going to take care of Ferrari,” Gollowitz said sharply.

Maurer smiled, but his eyes were like ice.

“That’s right; that was the idea. Seigel bungled it. I had an idea he might. He bungled every damn thing he touched. He was no good except with a woman; no good for anything else.”

Gollowitz looked at Maurer, his face paling.

“What happened to him?”

“Ferrari was too quick for him, that’s what happened. It was a big gamble that didn’t come off. I’ve talked to Big Joe. I explained it was nothing to do with me. He seemed amused that anyone should even try to rub Ferrari out; very amused.”

The big Cadillac swung through the open gates of Maurer’s estate and drove rapidly up the drive. In the bright morning sunshine, Gollowitz noticed a number of men moving about the grounds.

“Who are these guys?” he asked. “What are they doing here?”

“Just a precaution,” Maurer returned. “I don’t believe in taking risks. If Ferrari tries any of his tricks on me it’ll be just too bad for him.”

Gollowitz didn’t say anything, but he felt a chill run down his fat spine. Did Maurer really believe these gunmen could protect him from Ferrari if Ferrari once made up his mind to kill him, he wondered. Was he such a blind, arrogant fool?

The car pulled up outside the imposing entrance.

“Okay, Abe, get those lists for me, and be here for lunch. The yacht’s standing by. I may be leaving tonight,” Maurer said, as he heaved himself out of the car.

“Jack,” Gollowitz said huskily, “what’s going to happen to me if you go away?”

Maurer stared at him as if he wasn’t sure if he had heard aright.

“You?” he said, and frowned. “Well, I guess you’ll manage. Maybe Big Joe will find something for you. Maybe he’ll give you my job. You’re big enough to look after yourself, aren’t you?” He grinned wolfishly. “Maybe I might have an idea or two for you when you come back for lunch.”

He walked into the house, leaving Gollowitz sitting in a fat hopeless heap in the car. “

Three hard-faced gunmen lounged in the hall. They stiffened to attention when they saw Maurer.

“Stick around, you guys,” Maurer said, “and keep your eyes open.”

“Sure, boss,” one of the men said. “There won’t be no trouble.”

“There’d better not be,” Maurer grunted, and walked into the big sunny lounge.