E. Hunt - House Dick

Novak said, “I sent you a client last night, Doc. A little toy Skye terrier.”

Robinson pulled off rubber gloves, wiped his rimless glasses and consulted a register. “Named Toby,” he said.

“His mistress got worried about him last night and came down here. Would you have a record of the time?”

“We admitted an Angora kitten and a Dalmatian last night but no visitors came by.”

“You were here how long?”

The vet frowned. “Oh, maybe eleven-thirty.”

“And Miss Norton—the Skye’s owner—didn’t stop by?”

“Not according to my records. She didn’t mention it when she came here a little while ago, either.”

“Oh?”

“She collected her pup and took him out for a stroll. Hasn’t returned yet.”

“Any ideas where she might have gone?”

“I suggested Farragut Park.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“No trouble, Pete.”

The door opened and a woman entered, tugging at a boxer on a heavy chain. “Well, well,” the vet said in a cheery professional voice, “What seems to be the trouble today, Mrs. Tannenbaum?”

Novak eased himself out of the closing door. Setting his teeth he strode toward Farragut Square.

She was there, all right, hatless and in her mink coat, sitting on a park bench. The Skye was chasing pigeons nearby. Her head was tilted back and her eyes were closed. As Novak sat down beside her the Skye yapped protectively. He said, “Got a light, lady?”

“Dust, buster,” she said coldly, then opened her eyes. “You!” she said with a little gasp. “One thing about this town—half the men are on the make.”

“Any town.” Novak lighted a cigarette and gave it to her.

“Is this a chance encounter or were you looking for me?”

“A little of each. You said you went out to the vet’s last night.”

“I did.”

“Doc Robinson says you didn’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I said I went out to see Toby. I didn’t say I’d seen him. When I got to the hospital there was an awful fuss going on. An animal yapping and the owners carrying on. So I didn’t go in. I just walked around for a while and went back to my room. Anything else?”

“A small thing: Boyd’s widow called me in a while back. Seems she’d had detectives following the late Chalmers for quite a while. Long enough to learn about your connection with the dear departed.”

She sat forward, breath hissing inward between set teeth. “What else did she know?”

“She knew you had her jewelry and that her husband was trying to get it back. She knows you’re here.” He crossed his legs and leaned back, blinking from the sun. “And she’s offered me a thousand dollars to get the gems back from you. Even if I have to break your pretty arms.”

Her face was frozen. “That’s a lot of money in your league, Novak.”

“Some weeks I don’t see the half of it, gray-eyes. Not only that, she’s told the police about you and hubby and suggested strongly that you were responsible for his death.”

The cigarette dropped from her fingers. The Skye bounced over, but she told him to go away. Moistening her lips she said huskily, “Pete, I’ve got to get out of here.”

He shook his head slowly. “Absolutely the worst idea I’ve heard today. If you didn’t shoot him you’re in no danger.”

“You think I did?”

“It’s at least a possibility. I can visualize Boyd going to your room and jumping you for the jewels. I can see you grabbing a gun and shooting him to protect yourself. Then calling Sunny Jim to cart off the corpse.”

“And paying you off with my smooth white body,” she said bitterly. “What a lovely mind you have, Mr. Novak. I suppose keyhole peeping breeds thoughts like that.”

“Possibly,” he said, “but we aren’t discussing me at the moment. We’re talking about a murder and some missing jewelry. We both know where the corpse is. What I don’t know is where the jewelry is.”

“And you think I do,” she said dully. The Skye jumped onto her lap and she held it between folded arms.

“Let’s say I’m wondering if you’ve been entirely frank with me. At the moment the jewels are sort of a key item. If you’ve got them, get rid of them in a way that won’t lead back to you. If you haven’t, then you’ve no reason to worry.”

One hand ran back through her ash-blonde hair. She laughed thinly. “God, what a fool I was. I let myself think you were...” Her voice trailed away. “The hell with that. Well, I don’t have the jewels and I didn’t kill Chalmers—despite any ideas you may have to the contrary. Now would you mind leaving me alone with my thoughts, Novak? I’ll try to dryclean them here in the sun and fresh air.”

He got up from the bench. The Skye twitched its tail and stared up at him balefully. Novak said, “Where’s Big Ben Barada hanging out?”

Her lips clamped together and she shook her head. He thought he could see tiny, moist diamonds in her lashes.

“Answer the man,” he said roughly. “Don’t be a sucker all your life. Your ex-husband’s been playing a part in this from the beginning. From just the little you’ve told me, he was desperate for money. To him money or jewels would have equal value. That’s enough for motive. I can see him letting himself into your empty room and waiting for Boyd to show, killing him and lifting the payoff roll and the jewelry as well. He’d lived with you long enough to know where you’d be likely to hide something valuable. I want to know if he’s left town. If so the police would be glad to have the information. There are a few questions he could answer.”

Her head lifted and she stared dumbly at him, eyes foggy with tears.

Novak said, “Why make me do it the hard way? If he’s still here he’ll be calling you. I can have the hotel switchboard trace all calls to your room.” He shrugged. “All right, go on taking his lumps. You’re in a tough spot, beautiful. The cops aren’t in any mood to write off this one.”

Suddenly her chin dropped, her shoulders shook. The terrier licked her cheek. After a while she dabbed her eyes and said unevenly, “He’s in a motel on the road to Alexandria. The Vernon.”

“Room number?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“That’s better,” Novak said. “And let’s not make any calls before I get there. I’d hate to have to shoot my way in.”

“But you would,” she said tightly.

“After what his punks fed me last night I’d welcome the chance. Meanwhile, give doggie a nice long airing and think wholesome thoughts.”

Bitterly she said, “You really put your heart into your work. A thousand dollars is cheap for what you’re willing to do. From now on I’ll bolt my door at night.”

Turning, he walked away from her. As he crossed toward the Army and Navy Club he glanced back and saw her staring vacantly at the sidewalk. He hung a cigarette in his mouth, but it did nothing for the bitter taste, and he flicked it away savagely.

His mouth took on a crooked set, he squared his shoulders and muttered, “You’re hell with the ladies, killer. Ought to finish off the morning slapping around a white-haired old mom for kicks.”

He walked two blocks rapidly and turned into a bar with flaked English script on the windows: The Hunters’ Lodge. The inside was dark and musty with a permanent odor of stale peanuts and potato chips. “Irish,” he snapped at the bartender.

“Hold on, buddy, there’s plenty of time. Water or soda?”

“Ice, pal. I skate better than I swim.”

At the far end, a waiter mopping down the floor, chairs upended on tables. A couple arguing in a side booth. Married probably. You don’t develop subjects for sustained argument until you’ve been married awhile.