Bare Trap (23 page)

“Suicide?”

“It figures. His wife died in a sanitarium; he was flat broke. Most of those pretty boys are ninety-per-cent looks, ten-per-cent guts. So, when things closed in he did the Dutch.”

Devlin scratched at his head. “Why didn’t Richards say so at the time?”

“He wanted the insurance for the kid. It was cancelable on suicide. I saw a copy of it.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one. “He probably set up the deception that Wally had left a lot of money to head off any suspicion that it might have been suicide.”

“Then the fat boy had no motive.” Devlin stared speculatively at Yale Stanley.

“Neither did I. He owed me important dough and there’s no collection agency been found yet that can collect money off a corpse.”

“Maybe you wrote it off as advertising. Maybe you figured you weren’t going to get the dough so you’d throw a scare into the other suckers.” Devlin walked over, towered over the gambler. “A rat like you would kill just to satisfy a grudge.”

“He might.” Liddell nodded. “But there are a couple of other things that leave Yale out.”

Devlin swung around, glowered at the private detective. “Such as?”

“The gun. Yale would never use a twenty-five. He’d use a forty-five just like the one he held on me at the canyon
place. No, Inspector, I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to hold Yale for murder.”

Devlin’s face darkened with anger. “What are you doing to me, Liddell? You mean this rat’s going to be able to walk out of here after all?”

Liddell shrugged. “You’ve still got the extortion and shakedown rap.”

“You know I could never make it stick without the testimony of the victims. And there’s not a chance in hell of any of them standing up and — ”

Yale Stanley shook his head. “I’m going to cop a plea on the extortion charge, Inspector.”

Devlin’s jaw sagged. “Plead guilty? How come?”

“I hear that some of Yale’s business associates had a meeting at Mendy’s the other night and voted to make a change. They didn’t think Yale was particularly valuable to them any more.”

Stanley shrank back into his chair, his face sallow. “Like I said, Inspector. I won’t make no trouble. I’ll just cop a plea.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You get one of the boys to write up a confession, and I’ll sign it.”

“Good.” Devlin wrung his hands in satisfaction. “Now, how about the Reilly kill. Who did that? This full mooner?” He nodded at Maxie.

Liddell shook his head. “Not with a gun. He’d get a charge out of beating a guy to death with his fists, but he wouldn’t use a gun.”

Devlin growled deep in his chest. “All theory, Johnny. But the kid is dead. That’s a fact, not theory. Somebody killed him. That’s another fact. I won’t buy that one on Maxie. He’d kill with anything that — ”

“The kid himself told me that Maxie didn’t do it.”

The eyes of all the men in the room froze on Liddell. Devlin stalked over to him, his face an angry purple. “Then you’ve been crossing me all the way. The kid wasn’t dead when you got to him, eh?”

“Oh, he was dead,” Liddell told him imperturbably.

“Then how could he tell you anything?”

Liddell rolled his cigarette between thumb and forefinger. “Remember this afternoon when I looked at the picture of the death scene in your file?” he asked. Devlin nodded curtly. “The kid was sprawled out on his face, his feet near the door, heading into the room. He got it in the back.”

“So?”

“Why did he go in hiding in the first place?”

Devlin scowled impatiently. “He was trying to duck these two hoods, and — ”

“He was scared of them?” Liddell put in.

“Of course he was scared of them, and — ” The inspector broke off, scowled at Liddell thoughtfully. “I think I see what you mean.”

Liddell grinned. “I knew you would. No kid that was as scared of anybody as he was of these two would open the door, turn his back on them, and start to lead them toward his room. He would have backed away from them, taken it in the stomach.”

Yale Stanley pushed off the restraining hands of the detective at his side. “Nice work, shamus. I take back all the things I was thinking about you.”

Devlin rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, nodded his head in admiration. “It had to be someone he knew and trusted,” he conceded. “So we’re back to Eddie Richards again?”

“Could be,” Liddell admitted. “But there’s still one little link I haven’t got nailed down. I think I know where I can get it.”

“Where?”

“From Eddie Richards’s secretary.”

T
HE BLOND SECRETARY
opened the door in response to Johnny Liddell’s knock. She regarded him coolly. “You said you were coming back, but you didn’t say when,” she reminded him. She looked down to the dressing gown that clung to her revealingly. “I was just going to bed.”

“Stop pouting, Margy. I’ve had a trying day. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Margy pursed her lips, considered. “I shouldn’t. I don’t like being taken for granted.” She shrugged, opened the door. “I suppose you’ve got a good excuse.”

Liddell walked past her, pushed the door shut behind him, and dropped his hat on the foyer table. “Do you think I’d stay away if there wasn’t some good reason?”

The blonde eluded his encircling arm, walked into the living-room. “What’s the excuse?” She turned, stared at him.

“We’ve turned up Eddie Richards,” he told her. “Yale Stanley had him out in a cabin in the canyon.”

“Alive?”

Liddell shrugged. “That’s a debatable point. He had taken a pretty bad beating. They’re hoping a good night’s rest will do him good.”

The blonde shook her head, walked over to the window, stared out. “What a filthy town. How about Stanley?”

“They’re booking him tonight. Him and that muscle-bound playmate of his.” He walked over to the cognac bottle, held it up to the light. “Mind if I take a drink? I can use one.”

The blonde swung around from the window, nodded. “Will Richards live?”

Liddell tilted the bottle over two glasses, handed one to the girl. “We’ll know more about that tomorrow. They gave him a pretty bad time.” He turned his head, exhibited a discolored swelling behind his ear. “They didn’t exactly handle me with kid gloves, either.”

“I’m sorry.”

Liddell walked over to the blonde, slid his arm around her waist. She wore nothing under the silk gown. “What’s the matter, baby? You’re not very cordial tonight.”

She looked up into his face, her eyes clouded, a frown on her face. “I’m fed up, Johnny. There’s nothing in this town but hate and violence and envy and everything sordid. I’ve had a bad taste in my mouth for days now, and it won’t go away.”

Liddell nodded. “It’s been pretty rough. It’s nearly over.”

Margy slid out of his arms, dropped onto the couch. “I want to get out of all this, Johnny.” She looked around the mean room with distaste. “I guess I could have gone along as long as Richards wanted me to before. But now — ” she shook her head. “I want out.”

“Where would you go? Chenango County?”

The blonde shook her head. “I could never go back there.”

“Where then?”

Margy shrugged. “Where are you going?”

“New York.”

“Would you take me with you?”

Liddell walked over, dropped down beside her. “Want me to?”

The blonde nodded. “I forgot they came like you, Liddell. I don’t ever want to have to settle for the things they call men in this town.” She put her hand on his knee. “I’m not trying to take over, Johnny. I’d just be satisfied to be near you. Even if you don’t keep dates.”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, baby.”

The blonde shrugged. “I’ve been set straight before.” She emptied her glass, set it down on the table. “As long as
it wasn’t my girlish charms that brought you knocking down my door, what did you really want?”

“Some information.”

“About what?”

“Lulu Barry.”

The blonde raised her eyebrows, reached for a cigarette, tapped it on the low table. Liddell leaned over and held a light. “I never met the woman. What would I know about her?”

“Why did Richards hate her?”

Margy blew a stream of smoke at him, shrugged. “He was afraid of her. He was afraid of what she might do to Shad in her column.”

“Why should she want to hate the kid?”

“I only know what Richards said. He claimed she was in love with Shad’s father before he married Barby. She never forgave him for jilting her and when he died she tried to take it out on the kid.”

Liddell nodded, lifted the cigarette from the girl’s fingers, puffed on it. “I don’t suppose you know that Wally Reilly’s death wasn’t an accident?”

The blonde’s eyes widened. “No.” She studied Liddell’s face, got nothing. “You think he was murdered?”

“He could have been. That’s another point we can get cleared up when Richards comes to.” He got up, paced the floor. “We never should have let that doctor of his give him all that phenobarb. They should have brought him right into the prison hospital and gotten this out of him.”

“Where is he?”

“At his place.” He stopped by the phone, rubbed his chin. “Mind if I use your phone, baby?”

“Go ahead.”

Liddell lifted the phone from the table at the head of the bed, set it down on the coffee table in front of the couch, and dropped down alongside the girl. He dialed a number, waited while it buzzed, scowled when there was no answer. He depressed the crossbar, dialed again. After the third buzz, the receiver was picked up.

“Lulu Barry? Johnny Liddell.”

The voice on the other end wasn’t completely cordial. “I hear you got Yale Stanley and his goon. It would have been nice if you’d tipped me off for the column.”

“Sorry, Lulu. I never thought of it. I’ll
give
you something I don’t think you have yet. We also got Eddie Richards.”

There was a brief pause. “Dead?”

“Not quite. He took a pretty bad beating from Yale and Maxie, but he’ll probably pull through. He’s sleeping it off at home. There should be a big story tomorrow.”

“What can he tell?”

Liddell rubbed his chin, winked at the blonde. “He might be able to tell the real story about Wally Reilly’s death.”

There was a soft intake of breath from the other end of the line. “What real story?”

“Wally Reilly’s death wasn’t accidental.”

“That’s crazy. And there’s enough movie money in this town to keep you from digging up a fifteen- or twenty-year-old accident and trying to make it look like murder.”

Liddell shrugged. “Not if it’s tied in with one that was committed only a few days ago, Lulu. My guess is that there’s a connection between Wally’s death and Shad’s death.”

“Shad was killed because he tried to welsh on a gambling debt.”

“Maybe. Maybe he was killed by someone who didn’t like him. Someone who was settling an old score.”

There was no answer from the phone.

“Lots of people didn’t like the kid, I hear. How about you, Lulu?”

“He reminded me of his mother. I hated her.”

Liddell nodded. “So I hear. I was just wondering if — ”

“Look, Liddell. If I were you, I wouldn’t play with things I might not be able to handle. Nobody spatters any mud on Lulu. That’s my department. Remember?”

There was a sharp click. Liddell rubbed his ear. He
dropped the receiver on its hook thoughtfully.

“She’s awfully powerful, Liddell,” the blonde told him. “She carries an awful lot of weight where it counts.”

Liddell scowled. “Weight or no weight, I think Devlin ought to have a little talk with Lulu.” He started dialing, waited until it stopped ringing. “This is Liddell. Inspector Devlin in his office?”

There was a brief pause, then Devlin’s voice came through. “What’s on your mind, Liddell?”

“I just had a talk with Lulu Barry, Inspector. I think — ”

The inspector’s roar flowed through the receiver. “I told you to lay off her, Liddell. That dame could blast me right back to handing out parking tickets.”

“Yeah, but if you talk to her, I think — ”

“Stop thinking. I told you that if Richards will talk tomorrow we’ll pick her up. But until then I’m not doing a damn thing. Now stop trying to foul me up any more than you have!”

For the second time the receiver banged in his ear. Liddell grinned ruefully. “Dale Carnegie, I hear you calling me.” He dropped the receiver, shrugged. “Okay, so I did what I could.” He glowered at the phone. “The sucker! She could be a thousand miles away by the time Richards is in any condition to talk.” He picked the cigarette out of the ash tray, smoked it moodily. The blonde watched sympathetically.

“Now what?” she asked.

Liddell shrugged. “I’m licked. It’s going to be a whitewash. Richards won’t have the guts to go up against Lulu Barry.” He threw the butt into the tray and watched it smolder. “How soon can you be ready?”

“For what?”

Liddell scowled. “To go to New York. I see what you mean about this town. I’m beginning to get that bad taste.” He glowered at her. “You said you wanted to go to New York, didn’t you?”

The blonde nodded.

“How soon can you be ready? There’s a plane at midnight
and another at eight in the morning.”

The blonde grinned. “You don’t waste much time, do you?” She reached over and pressed her soft, cool lips against his. “If you’ll get out of here and let me get started packing, I can make that eight o’clock plane.”

Liddell nodded, got up.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m going to the nearest first-class saloon and drown my troubles.” He leaned over, caught her face in his palms, lifted it, and kissed her. “I hope you can make that plane.”

E
DDIE
R
ICHARDS
lived in a huge, flamboyant apartment house near the Strip. It had the usual small lobby, decorated with three-legged chairs that made up in decorativeness what they lacked in comfort. The lobby itself was carpeted in thick-pile broadloom that felt like an uncut lawn as you crossed it. The elevators were self-service, and crowded when four people pushed into them.

Lulu Barry dropped the cab in front of the building, walked into the lobby. The sole occupant of the lobby, a smallish man, balancing precariously on one of the chairs, didn’t even glance at her as she headed past him into the elevator.