Bare Trap (17 page)

Sales stared at him stonily.

“I figure it must have been a fairly isolated place,” Liddell continued. “It wouldn’t be anything public because your face is too well known, and they wouldn’t have as big a hammer. It wouldn’t be gambling. Terry’s over eighteen now, so she can’t pull that gag any more.”

“She used that one, too, eh?”

“Every dirty one in the book. An old guy like Walter Arnold it might be pictures taken in an unguided moment.” He stroked his chin, plucked at his lower lip. “With you, it’d have to be something that would kill you with the bobby socks trade, something that would send the Parent-Teacher Associations howling for your scalp instead of your autograph.”

“So?”

Liddell shrugged. “Dope?”

The actor bared his teeth, started for Liddell, stopped, and dropped his hands. “It was a frame.” He picked up his glass, tossed off the drink. “A beautiful frame, with me sitting dead center.” He ran his hand across his eyes. “Long as you know about it, there’s no harm in telling you the whole story.” He sank into a chair, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. “Ever meet Terry?”

Liddell nodded.

“Then you know she’s hotter than a welder’s torch when she wants to be. She got under my skin so deep I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. And it didn’t make a helluva lot of difference.” He took a deep breath. “One night she told about some friends of hers who had a place on the beach. Nice and private.” He broke off, scowled at Liddell. “I don’t suppose you know what it’s like to be in a spot like I’m in. It looks good, but it’s hell on horseback.”

Liddell nodded sympathetically.

“No matter where I go, everybody knows my face. I can’t register a babe into a hotel like a normal guy. I can’t even use an apartment or her apartment. You never know who’s going to phone a tip into the papers and then there’s hell to pay at the studio.” He smoothed back the lacquered
hair on the side of his head. “That’s why it sounded so damn good to me.”

“Go on.”

Sales shrugged. “You know the rest. There were three couples there, all of them vouched for by Terry. Somebody suggested a couple of sticks — ”

“Marijuana, eh?”

“I’m not alibiing. I guess I just blew my top.” He rubbed his eyes, shook his head. “I’ve tried a million times to remember what went on, but I draw a blank. A couple of days later I got a reminder, but good.”

“Pictures, eh?”

Sales nodded grimly. “A flock of them. I guess even the tea didn’t kill the ham in me. There I was grinning like an idiot at the camera in every one of them. And, baby, take it from me. Any one of them would kill me deader than John Bunny in pictures.” He shook his head. “They had me posed with the four girls. One wasn’t enough.” He got up, spilled more liquor into his glass, then held the decanter up to Liddell, who shook his head. “So now you know why anybody who uses Terry’s name as an introduction isn’t exactly welcome.”

“What’d they take you for?”

“Twenty thousand the first time. The second time ten. And the third time they upped it to twenty again. I told them I wouldn’t pay off, so they had those two hoods work me over. Not the face, of course,” he growled. “They didn’t want to damage their meal ticket. They gave it to me down below, but good.”

“How come you let them tap you three times? Your studio would have stood behind you.”

“That’s what you think. When I still didn’t come across after the shellacking, they hit me where I live. The columns started hinting about a big star who was mixed up in orgies. It was veiled, but I knew who they meant. And pretty soon everybody else would. So I paid.”

“What column was it?”

“Lulu Barry’s.” He grinned at Liddell mirthlessly. “You
know what that means in this town? One more blast out of her and I’d be out.”

Liddell nodded. “Where was this place you went to?”

“A beach house near Laguna. It’s set out on a point, plenty private.”

“Could you show me how to get to it on a map?”

“What for?”

“I think one of us ought to pay the place a visit and get rid of any evidence that might be lying around. Or maybe even hit the jackpot and find Yale and Terry.” Liddell cocked his head at the actor. “Might be worth the try.”

“One of us?”

“Me. That’s my business. You tell me how to get there. I’ll handle the rest of it.”

Sales scowled at his glass, emptied it. “Got a map?”

“By an odd coincidence I happen to have one in my pocket.” Liddell grinned. He spread a map of the Southern California coast line on the table.

The actor got out of his chair, pored over the map. “You take the Coast road down to here.” He indicated a little side road that veered east. “This is the Dana Point road.” He indicated a blacker line. “You take the one that branches off toward the shore. There’s not much of a road after you pass the little summer colony right about here. From there on it’s pretty much dune country. You can’t miss the place. It’s the only house on the point.”

Liddell studied the map, nodded. “I’ll find it.”

“What happens if you don’t find the stuff and you take Yale and Terry alive?” Sales asked quietly.

Liddell pursed his lips, considered it. “I don’t think he’ll have the stuff on him by the time the police get him.” He examined his fingernails. “I have a feeling that he and I’ll have time for a nice heart to heart talk before I get around to handing him over to Homicide.”

M
UGGSY
K
IELY
sat across the table from Johnny Liddell, watched him read the newspaper account of the finding of Terry Devine’s body. He finished the story, nodded, folded the paper, laid it down on the table.

“The sheriff’s office thinks it was murder and suicide, Johnny.”

Liddell nodded. “They’re half right. Stack killed the kid, no question about it.” He jabbed a blunt forefinger at the newspaper account. “The coroner says it was his belt she was whipped with and the knife in him was probably the one used to kill the girl.”

“How’d he get there, Johnny?”

Liddell shrugged. “You read the same story I did. The old guy who runs the place says he checked in the night before. When they weren’t out after twelve hours he went in and found them.” He raised his hands, palms up. “Simple as that. You know what I think? I think Stack’s conscience hurt him and he couldn’t live after what he’d done to Terry.”

“Maybe. But who was it decided he couldn’t live? It wasn’t Stack. That’s for sure.” She dropped her voice. “You’re sure it was Stack who killed her and not Maxie, Johnny?”

Liddell nodded. “Positive. Stack and the Duke. My guess is that Terry will rest a lot easier now. A lot easier than a certain columnist I have in mind.”

Muggsy shook her head stubbornly. “You’re wrong about that, Johnny. I don’t care what anybody says, I won’t believe that Lulu Barry is mixed up in a shakedown racket.”

“The items appeared in her column and only in her column. Explain that.”

“Coincidence. After all, out of maybe a hundred thousand items that she handles a year suppose ten or fifteen do play into a blackmailer’s hands. That doesn’t prove a thing. They might be planted by a smart press agent who feeds her a lot of legitimate news along with them.”

Liddell scowled at the list of items on the table in front of him. “Some coincidence! I suppose it’s also a coincidence when Carter Sales tells me the final pressure that made him come through was the item in Lulu’s column?”

Muggsy picked a cigarette from the pack on the table, tapped it. “Johnny, Lulu’s an important person. She wouldn’t stoop to blackmail. She couldn’t.”

Liddell groaned. “Feminine logic. She’s important, therefore she can’t stoop to blackmail. Did it ever occur to you that maybe the only reason she can get away with blackmail is because she
is
important?” He watched morosely while she lit her cigarette. “And that’s not all she’s stooped to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Another one of your coincidences,” Liddell snorted. “She arranges to get me a gun. I have to pick it up at a place halfway across town. And guess who’s waiting there for me? Maxie and Duke!”

“How do you know they were waiting there for you?”

Liddell smote his forehead with his palm. “How do you explain the fact that they were so conveniently on hand to intercept Terry’s note? You think they just dropped by for a drink?”

“Would that be impossible?”

Liddell groaned, got to his feet, and paced the small living-room. “Muggs, be reasonable. These guys are wanted for questioning in a murder case. You think they’re hanging out in bars?” He walked back to his chair, dropped into it. “They were there to pick up our trail and get us out of Lulu’s hair. Then Terry made it simple for them by setting up the date on the water-front. They kept it instead of her and it’s no thanks to your dear Lulu Barry that we’re not making up a fourth for bridge with Shad
Reilly and Duke at the Las Caminas morgue!”

Muggsy shuddered, rubbed her arms. “I can’t believe it.”

“And who do you think tipped the cops off that I was the one who gunned out Duke at Terry’s place?”

“Now who’s being ridiculous? How would she know you were there?”

“Because she’s not an idiot. She heard that we walked away from the stakeout down on the pier. She sent Duke to get the scrapbook they must have made Terry tell about. When he was shot — and with a forty-five — she put two and two together.” He lifted the cigarette from between Muggsy’s lips, took a deep drag, then replaced it. “Lucky thing for me I got the inspiration to get rid of that thing when I did.”

“I still can’t believe it, Johnny. I’m sorry, but I still can’t believe it.”

“Then you still think it’s coincidence that made these items appear in Lulu’s column — and no other column — on the date in Terry’s scrapbook? And it was coincidence that Maxie happened to be at the Hotel Lamont just at the time I was picking up the gun? And it was a further coincidence that a woman should call Homicide and say I did the shooting at Terry’s place last night? You’re slipping, Muggs.”

“Okay, so I’m slipping. This is one wild-eyed Liddell theory that I’m not buying. How do you figure on proving it?”

Liddell considered it, shrugged. “There are two ways. One way is to grab Yale Stanley and persuade him to turn her in — ”

“Persuade?”

Liddell grinned grimly. “You’d be surprised how persuasive I can get with a guy who tried to dot my eyes with a forty-five. I’ll bet that after a few minutes alone with him, he’ll be pouring out his innermost secrets.”

“Okay, so you’re going to try to beat it out of him. I don’t think you can do it. What’s the other way?”

“Take what I’ve got and drop it in Devlin’s lap.”

“Now, that’s pure inspiration. You think Devlin or any other cop would go up against Lulu Barry with what you’ve got? She’d have him picking daisies so far out of town that he’d only get rumors by carrier pigeon.” She reached over, covered his hand with hers. “Can’t you get it through that head of yours that Lulu Barry is important in this town? Why, Devlin wouldn’t arrest her if he caught her standing over a hot body with a smoking gun. That’s crazy, Johnny.”

“Okay, so it’s crazy. But there’s nothing that says I can’t go up against her.” He hit the table with his fist. “Don’t you see that she’s in this up to her neck? For years she’s been bleeding these people white. Now it’s murder. If anything has happened to Richards, she’s as guilty of murder as if she’d pulled the trigger herself. And, baby, pull or no pull, if she’s in on murder I’m going to get her if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“It probably will be,” Muggsy grunted assent. “And even if you do, you’ll have so many enemies you won’t be able to get a dog license in any state of the Union, let alone a private op’s license.”

Liddell pulled his hand away from hers, stamped to the window, and stared down on the lights below. After a minute, Muggsy slid her arms around him, nestled her cheek against his shoulders.

“Johnny, you know I’m with you. It’s just that I can’t see any sense in your starting something that has to end by destroying you.”

Liddell growled deep down in his chest.

Muggsy caught him by the shoulders, turned him around. “You know I’m right.”

Liddell stared down at her, kissed the tip of her nose. “I think maybe you are, baby. The chances are that if I crack Lulu Barry wide open every paper that carries the Barry column will consider it a personal insult.”

“You’d never get another license, Johnny.”

Liddell nodded. “And you know what? If I didn’t do it, I wouldn’t want a license.”

Muggsy stared at him. “You mean you’re going after her anyhow?”

Liddell grinned crookedly. “You mean I’ve got a choice?”

She studied his face for a moment, found no sign of indecision. “I think you mean that.”

He nodded. “I’m going after her, Muggs. If the price of a license is letting a leech like that operate, then I can’t afford one.”

Muggsy got up on her tiptoes, slid her arms around his neck, pressed her lips against his. “If that’s the way you feel, go get her. I never saw much future in being married to a walking shooting gallery, anyway.” She held him at arm’s length. “A private eye with a conscience, by God! Wait until Dashiell Hammett hears about this!” She kissed him again, mussed his hair. “But how are you going to do it?”

“If she’s as deep in this as I think she is, there’s bound to be some trace of what’s going on in her files.”

Muggsy frowned, slid out of his arms. “You mean you’re going to break into her files?” Concern clouded her eyes. “That’s awfully risky, Johnny. That place is about as easy to get into as Fort Knox.”

“That’s where you come in.” He walked out to the kitchenette, came back with a bottle and two glasses. “You’re pretty close to her. You can keep her out of the way while I’m doing it.”

“How?”

Liddell shrugged. “Any way. Get her up here to bare your maidenly heart. Have dinner with her. Anything to get her out of her office. As long as you’re with her, it’ll be a snap. The minute she leaves, you can phone her office, let it ring thee times, hang up, let it ring three more, hang up. I’ll know she’s on her way back and get out.”