Masters Of Noir Vol I Part 11

"Ten-thirty. Eleven, maybe. I got back here in time to pick Red up at the stage door after the show. She's in the 1954 Revue." 1954 Revue." He frowned as the redhead held her gla.s.s out to Liddell for a refill. "Maybe you better take it easy, baby. The cops may be around asking questions." He frowned as the redhead held her gla.s.s out to Liddell for a refill. "Maybe you better take it easy, baby. The cops may be around asking questions."

The redhead grinned saucily. "Don't give it another thought, Mike. I'm over eighteen." She accepted the refill and started to work on it, her eyes giving Liddell the full treatment over the rim.

"You got back here, then, maybe at twelve?" Liddell asked.

Murphy considered, nodded. "Just about."

"Didn't leave after that?" Murphy's eyes narrowed. "Say what you mean. Are you asking me if I was anywhere near Lane's place when it happened? You think I was in on it?"

Liddell shook his head. "Look. There were only four or five people who knew Lane had the diamonds tonight. I'm trying to eliminate as I go along. Got any objections?"

Murphy stared at him sullenly. "I don't like it."

"Maybe Tate Morrow don't like being dead. But he is. How about it?"

"I didn't go out all night."

"Can you prove it?"

"If I have to."

"You have to."

The big man glared at him for a moment, dropped his eyes, shrugged. "There were eight or ten others here with us. Three or four of the other babes in the line at the Revue Revue brought their dates up here. The party just broke about a half an hour ago." He looked over at the redhead. "That right, Claire?" brought their dates up here. The party just broke about a half an hour ago." He looked over at the redhead. "That right, Claire?"

The redhead nodded solemnly. "We've been here ever since show break. n.o.body left the place, not even for a paper."

Liddell drained his gla.s.s, set it down. "Okay, that's all I wanted to know." The phone started to ring. Murphy lumbered across the room to answer it.

The big man talked for a moment, then held his hand over the mouthpiece. "The cops. They want me to go out to identify Laury." He took his hand from the mouthpiece, talked for a moment and hung up. He wiped the thin film of perspiration off his upper lip, with the side of his hand. "I'm glad you broke the news to me first." He glanced at his watch. "Anything else you want from me, Liddell? I've got to get out there."

Liddell said, "Just one thing. These stones-any way of identifying them?"

The big man shook his head. "They were all loose. She wanted it that way. Some half-smart chiseler told her they were easier to sell and the Government couldn't trace them." He picked a cigarette from a container on the coffee table, fitted it to his lips with shaking hands. "That's why Arms was so interested. He was getting a buy at the price he was set to pay and the stuff wasn't even hot."

"Did Arms know that you hired the agency to watch over Lane?"

The pinched look was back in Murphy's eyes. "No. I was afraid to tell him, because I was afraid he'd kick over the deal. He didn't want anybody to know about it. Just Laury and me. And him."

"Mighty convenient."

"What do you mean?"

Liddell grinned humorlessly. "Suppose something happened to Laury and you? Then there'd be n.o.body to say that Laury ever had $150,000 in unset diamonds, and they wouldn't have cost Arms anything."

Murphy started, the cigarette fell from his slack lips. "You don't think he meant to have us both killed?"

"Why not?" Liddell walked over to where the cigarette lay smouldering on the rug, picked it up and crushed it out. "Maybe the killer thought Tate was you and knocked him off without knowing. Maybe right now Arms thinks he's safe, that the only two people who knew about the deal aren't in any condition to do any talking."

"But when he finds out?" Murphy ran his finger around the inside of his collar as though it had suddenly become tight. He dropped into a chair. "What then?"

"He'll probably try to correct his mistake," Liddell said. "But, by then, maybe we'll have him in a spot where he won't be able to."

"What are you going to do?"

Liddell picked up his hat, set it on the back of his head. "I'm going out to Arms' place and have a little talk with him. If I get to him before he finds out you're still alive, I may be able to surprise him into giving himself away."

"You're going out there alone?"

Liddell grinned. "Like to come along?"

The big man shook his head emphatically. "No, thank you."

From the couch came the sound of a soft snore. Liddell walked over, took the empty gla.s.s from between the redhead's fingers, threw a knitted cover over her. The girl stirred slightly, purred softly and curled up into a ball on the couch.

Louis Arms operated the Casa Demain, Casa Demain, a plush b.o.o.by trap on the south sh.o.r.e of Long Island. From the outside, it gave no indication of its character, but looked like any large country estate that had been kept up. Shrubs, lawn, trees were all in good condition, only a small bra.s.s nameplate affixed to one of the pillars at the gate identifying it as a roadhouse. a plush b.o.o.by trap on the south sh.o.r.e of Long Island. From the outside, it gave no indication of its character, but looked like any large country estate that had been kept up. Shrubs, lawn, trees were all in good condition, only a small bra.s.s nameplate affixed to one of the pillars at the gate identifying it as a roadhouse.

Tonight it looked different than it had on the other occasions he had visited it. Without the flattery of a hidden battery of floodlights, it was just a tired old grey-white frame building, sprawling in the darkness. Tonight there were no cars in the parking lot, there was no high-pitched conversation from tuxedoed marks and their evening-dressed companions. Just a tired old grey white building relaxing with its makeup off.

Johnny Liddell left his car under a big tree a hundred yards off the entrance to the Casa. He cut across the shrubbery and headed for the rear of the building where Arms had his private office. He rapped at the door, waited. After a moment, the door opened a crack. "Yeah?" a voice asked.

"I want to see Arms. Tell him it's Johnny Liddell."

The door opened wider; the man stepped aside. "He's expecting you."

Liddell walked in, froze as the snout of a gun jabbed into his ribs. He made no attempt to resist as the man at the door relieved him of his .45, expertly fanned him.

"You know your way to the office," the man told him.

Liddell walked to the door at the end of the corridor marked Private, Private, waited while the man with him knocked, then pushed the door open. waited while the man with him knocked, then pushed the door open.

Louis Arms sprawled comfortably in an armchair. He waved to Liddell as he came into the room. The man with Liddell pushed him into the room, closed the door behind him.

"h.e.l.lo, Liddell. You made good time." Louis Arms' voice was soft, silky with an elusive trace of the Boston Back Bay where he'd gotten his start. He was long and loose-jointed. His sandy hair had receded from his brow to the crown of his head, exposing a freckled pate. He had a ready smile that plowed white furrows in the mahogany of his face. It transformed everything about his expression except his eyes. They were cold, wary.

"Murphy?" Liddell wanted to know.

The man in the chair shrugged. "He's really got the wind up. That ice the broad was selling came from under the carpet. He can't account for it."

"That's his headache," Liddell growled.

The ready smile was back on Arm's lips. He shook his head. "It's yours. He's going to tell the cops it was all a pipe dream of yours, this story about me buying a lot of undercover ice."

Liddell's eyes went bleak. "And you?"

Arms reached out, snagged a cigarette from a table at his elbow. "I didn't ask you to drag me into it. It's an out and I'm taking it." He hung the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, touched a match to it. "A cop named Murray called me about an hour ago. I told him the same thing."

"Thanks, pal."

"Look at it my way. I got enough grief without shopping for any. This broad makes me an offer, I take it. I wasn't in the market to get mixed up in any murder rap." He took the cigarette from between his lips, rolled it between his fingers. "Get it, Liddell? I don't want any part of it."

"What am I supposed to do? Hold the bag? You got the wrong boy, Arms. I lost one of my men in this deal. I don't stand still for that."

The cold smile was still pasted on the lean man's face. "I heard all about how tough you are, Liddell." The pat smile faded. "Maybe you haven't heard about me. I'm a guy don't like to be played for a patsy. By you or anybody else."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that if there were any diamonds in that place tonight, you got them," Arms told him bluntly. "Only three people knew about that deal outside of you and your stooge. One of them's dead, the other was with a mob all night and never went near the place-and me," he hit his chest with the side of his hand, "I know about me. That leaves you, shamus."

"That's what you think, Arms. I told you I wasn't taking this mess lying down. You're right about who knew about it, but you forgot one thing. There's three people I'm sure of-and you're not one of them. The blonde is dead, Murphy's got an iron-clad alibi, and I'm sure about me. In my book, that leaves you." He jabbed his finger at the man in the chair. "And that's where I'm going to pin it."

The man who had let him into the room caught Liddell by the arm, swung him around. He was an inch or two shorter than Liddell, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up in breadth. His face was expressionless, dead-pan. "The boss don't like guys to raise their voices at him, Liddell." His voice was flat. "Don't do it again."

Liddell looked from the dead-pan face to the gun in the man's fist. "Don't count on the gun too much, Junior. I've seen guys take things like that away from guys and feed it to them."

The dead-pan was disturbed by an upward twist at the corners of the mouth. "You sure talk a rough evening." He tossed the gun over to where Arms sat. "Maybe you'd like to live it up?"

He gave Liddell no chance to sidestep his lunge. Automatically, the private detective fell away from it, saved himself the full force of the a.s.sault. The guard's shoulder caught him in the side, slammed him back against the door. He stumbled to his feet, found his arm in a lock. He struggled to free it, had the sensation of flying through the air. He slammed against the wall and slid to a sitting position. He stayed there for a moment, shook his head to clear away the cobwebs. The chunky guard stood over him, feet braced.

"How do you like the kid's style, shamus?" Arms' silky voice insinuated itself, seeming far away. "That's judo. Learned it in the Marines."

Liddell braced his feet, slid upright against the wall.

The guard licked at his lips, lunged again. This time, Liddell was waiting. He chopped viciously at the side of the man's neck, heard him gasp. As the guard started to sink, Liddell brought his knee up, caught him in the face, straightened him up. Then he put every ounce of strength behind a right overhand.

The guard's head went back as though it were hinged. Liddell sank his left into his midsection to the cuff, stepped back and let the guard fall face forward. He hit the floor with a thud and didn't move.

"That's barroom brawling." Liddell wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "I learned it in McGowan's Saloon on Third Avenue."

Arms sat in the chair, the snout of the gun pointed at Liddell's midsection. The private detective ignored the gun, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, lit one. He took a deep breath, exhaled through his nostrils.

"Louis isn't going to like you," the man in the chair grunted. "He learned other things in the Marines. They're much more permanent."

"You're scaring me to death, Arms." Liddell stepped across the guard's body and walked over to where the night club operator sat. "If you're going to pull that trigger, pull it now. Because I'm walking out of here. And from the minute I do, I'm going to spend every second proving that you killed the Lane broad."

Arms' face went white under its tan. The finger on the trigger tightened for a moment, then relaxed. He forced the smile back into place. "Don't worry, Liddell. I'm not messing up my rug." He dropped the gun into his lap. "There are other days and other places. Be smart and don't get under my feet. Or I might have to stamp you flat."

Liddell turned his back on him, walked over to where the guard still lay, breathing noisily. He turned him over, pulled his .45 from the man's jacket pocket and hooked it into his holster. He turned, stared at the man in the chair for a moment. "Okay, Arms. It looks like your pot. Murphy will go along because he don't want the Feds snooping. So you've got aces back to back. But take the advice of an old timer. Don't push your luck too hard on just one pair."

"I've done a little gambling in my time, too, Liddell," Arms drawled. "I've got a few pet rules of my own. Such as, don't bluff when there's no limit on table stakes."

It was almost light when Johnny Liddell got back to the Livermore Arms. He parked his car around the corner and walked to where he could keep an eye on the entrance.

He was on his third cigarette when a cab skidded to a stop at the curb, and the familiar broad-shouldered bulk of Mike Murphy stepped out onto the sidewalk. While the big man was paying the cabby, Liddell walked over to where he stood.

"It took you a long time, Mike," Liddell told him softly.

The big man started, turned. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that, Liddell." His face was a damp grey in the early morning light. "I've had a bad night."

"Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better."

"Look," a hard note crept into the big man's voice. "Don't go giving me a hard time. Drop around in the morning, and-"

Liddell pulled his right hand out of his jacket pocket far enough for Murphy to see that it held a gun. "Why put off until tomorrow what can be knocked off tonight?" He flipped his b.u.t.t at the gutter. "I don't like people walking out and leaving me in the middle, Mike. You and I have some talking to do."

Murphy shrugged resignedly. "Okay, come on up." He turned his back on the gun, led the way through the lobby toward the penthouse elevator. When the car had started upward, he said, "I guess you've got a right to be sore, but there was nothing else I could do, Liddell."

"What am I supposed to do? Laugh it off like the little good sport I am and stand still for the rap?"

"They can't prove you had any thing to do with it. They think it was the kid. This Tate Morrow guy." Murphy shrugged. "He's dead. It can't hurt him. You start a stink and a lot of people get hurt. Me, Arms, you, all of us." The car slid to a stop. Murphy led the way to his apartment and opened the door with a key. "Why not let well enough alone?"

Liddell's smile showed no sign of amus.e.m.e.nt. "There's a little thing like a reputation to uphold, pal. And another little thing like paying off for your boys. Or wouldn't you understand that?"

"Cut it out. Do you think it feels good for me to have to go see Laury stretched out on a slab in a morgue?" Murphy scaled his hat at a chair, walked over to the bar, poured himself a stiff drink and tossed it off. "But that's no reason why we should foul everybody else up."

"What'd you tell the cops out there?"

Murphy poured some more liquor into his gla.s.s. "I denied that I knew anything about any diamonds. I told them that as far as I knew Laury never even heard of Arms." He drained the gla.s.s, set it down. "I told them I didn't know of any connection you had with her."

Liddell showed his teeth in a grim grin. "But when I show them your retainer-"

"It was in cash. One guy's C-notes look pretty much like another's." Murphy dropped into a chair, raked his fingers through his hair. "I know I'm acting like a heel, Liddell, but that's it."

"Whose idea was this whole thing?"

The man in the chair looked up, chewed on his lower lips. "Arms. It wasn't the police that called when you were here. It was Arms. I had to call him back." He fumbled through his pockets, came up with a cigarette. "The cops had gotten to him and he denied the whole thing. He told me what would happen to me if I didn't back him up." His hand shook as he lit the cigarette.

"That's how he knew I was on my way out, eh?"

Murphy nodded. "After you left, I sent Red home in a cab. I got a call from some hick cop named Murray about a half hour after that. I went right out." He cupped his cigarette in his hand, took a deep drag. "They had her out at the county morgue. I had to identify her."

Liddell scowled down at him. "You're sure n.o.body but you and Arms was in on this diamond sale? n.o.body else? Servants or anybody?"

"n.o.body. Arms didn't want a leak. He wouldn't even have let me hire you if he'd known." He got up, paced the room. "Even if he did do it, I can't spill. They'd have me as an accessory to Lane's tax evasion for one thing. I was her manager and made out all her returns. And besides, Arms probably has an iron-clad alibi and he'd wait it out until the heat was off and get me for it." He stopped pacing, took a last drag on the cigarette, stubbed it out. "I can't spill."

"Okay," Liddell growled. "Now at least I know where I stand. But I'm telling you just what I told Arms. I'm going to bust this wide open and I don't care who gets hurt. Someplace along the line, the killer must have made at least one mistake. That's all it takes. Just one."

The morgue was in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the new four-story stone courthouse in Carport. Johnny Liddell wheeled his car into the courthouse parking lot, squeezed it between two whitewashed lines that specified, "For Official Use Only." He crossed the courtyard, pushed through a revolving door, followed a stencilled arrow that pointed To the Medical Examiner's Office. To the Medical Examiner's Office.

The door itself was of frosted gla.s.s, bore the legend Medical Examiner's Office Medical Examiner's Office with with Dr. Harry Mizner Dr. Harry Mizner in smaller letters under it. Next to it were two huge metal doors on which were lettered simply in smaller letters under it. Next to it were two huge metal doors on which were lettered simply Morgue. Morgue.

Johnny Liddell pushed open the frosted gla.s.s door and walked into the medical examiner's office. The dank, damp air of the morgue beyond seemed to permeate the room. A painfully thin middle-aged man with a prominent adam's apple looked up from a pile of forms he was filling out. His hair was rumpled; the stub of a cigarette was clenched between his front teeth.

"Dr. Mizner?" Liddell asked.

The thin man shook his head. "I'm his a.s.sistant. Can I help you?"

"My name's Liddell. One of my boys was brought in tonight. His name is Tate Morrow. Gunshot."