Hard Case Crime: House Dick (13 page)

Novak stood up, straightened his coat and looked down at her. “Guess so,” he said. “And too old to change. I get scared when people talk big money to me. It scares me even when I don’t believe it. So I’m taking this back to the only person who can legally claim it. Boyd’s widow.”

“Damn you,” she said bitterly.

“Look at it another way. The stuff’s hot. Any place it shows up except with the owner it’ll cause trouble. Maybe you could fence it successfully, maybe not. You’d be using Barada’s connections, and they could go sour awfully fast. He’s a prime suspect in a murder case, remember? And however we split the proceeds he’d be getting his share from you. There’s also the likelihood that you could be identified as the seller. Then there’d be a tidy circumstantial case against you as Boyd’s killer.” He butted his cigarette in the tray. Her eyes held a cold glint.

Novak said, “I’m glad you haven’t a gun, sweetheart. The mood you’re in I’d be lucky to leave in one piece.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Chances are you’ll thank me one day.”

“I doubt it like hell.”

Novak laughed, turned and crossed to the door. Letting himself out he saw that she was still staring at him. “Don’t bother to come back,” she called harshly. Novak shrugged and closed the door.

Crossing the corridor he squared his shoulders and rang the bell. It was nearly nine o’clock, the time Julia Boyd had specified.

It took several rings to bring her to the door. Her hair was untidy, her face marked with sleep lines. She was still in her nightgown, a puffy, powdery bulk with large sagging breasts. As he followed her into the sitting room she said, “You’re on time, I’ll say that. Did you get it back?”

Opening the cloth on the coffee table he stood back. Julia Boyd reached for the bracelet first, pressed it lovingly to her breast, then fitted on the ring and admired the brooch in the light of the window. Turning she said throatily, “I’ll get your money.”

“I think I’d like a witness.”

Her penciled eyebrows lifted questioningly. “What for?”

“Humor me, Julia. It wasn’t a restful night.”

“You’re being paid for it,” she snorted. “Witness to what?”

“That I returned the jewels to you. That you paid me for services rendered. Doc Bikel would do nicely.”

Shrugging she laid down the jewelry and walked to the bedroom door. “Eddie,” she barked, “come on out.”

Novak grinned. “Wasting no time,” he murmured and saw her angry glance.

Bikel trudged into the sitting room. He wore white pajamas piped in royal blue and his face was unhappy. When his eyes fixed on Novak his upper lip drew back over his teeth.

Julia Boyd said, “This man has brought my jewelry back to me, Eddie. He wants you to witness that fact. Why I don’t know. I promised to pay him a thousand dollars for them.” Her gaze turned toward Novak. “I don’t have that much in cash here. You asked for cash as I remember.”

Novak nodded. “A thousand dollars would just complicate my tax return, Mrs. Boyd. I’ll settle for a yard— one hundred dollars. Ten percent of what you offered me.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “You crazy?”

“Maybe. But basically I’m just a small-timer. In my world a hundred’s what a thousand is in yours. Getting the jewels back took not over two hours of my time, and the risks weren’t heavy. I’ll settle for a hundred dollars.”

Julia Boyd looked wonderingly at Bikel. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t heard it,” she murmured and disappeared into the bedroom. She was rummaging through her purse when she came back. From it she took a fifty, two twenties and two fives. She laid them on the table beside the jewelry. Novak got up and went over to the writing table. On a sheet of hotel stationary he wrote: “I, Julia Boyd, acknowledge receipt of three pieces of jewelry from Mr. Novak, an employee of the Hotel Tilden, Washington, D.C. The items consist of a diamond bracelet, a sapphire ring and an emerald brooch. In consideration of his services I have rewarded Mr. Novak with the sum of one hundred dollars.” Novak dated the statement and carried it over to Julia Boyd. When she had read it she shrugged and passed it to Bikel. “See anything wrong with this, Ed?”

Bikel studied it carefully. He fingered his thin mustache, then shook his head. “Looks all right to me,” he said uneasily.

Novak gave his pen to Julia Boyd who signed, followed by Bikel. Novak capped his pen, folded the statement into his wallet and picked up the bills. “Thanks, folks,” he said. “You can hit the kip again. Sorry about the hour, but a hotel is a small city, and the trash collectors start pretty early.”

Bikel smiled sardonically, toyed with the neck of his rumpled pajamas.

Novak grinned back. “One advantage in marrying Eddie is not having to change the initial on your linen.” Then he turned and went out the door.

Crossing the corridor he punched Paula’s button and waited until she called, “Who is it?”

“An old friend,” he said. “Just wanted you to know she’s got the rocks, and I’ve got a signed receipt. Witnessed by Bikel.”

“Damn you,” her voice came through the door.

“You said that before. Well, I wanted you to know that part’s over. Tied up in satin. You can forget the jewelry the boyfriend unwisely lent you.”

“Lent, nothing. It was a gift.”

“Next time, get a bill of sale.”

She swore at him. Novak left the door and walked on down the corridor.

Stopping in front of Bikel’s room, he used his passkey and went in. The blinds were drawn, and the room was dark. Novak turned on the ceiling light and strode to the writing table. The Western Union pad was where he had last seen it. Peeling off the top sheet he carried it back to the door, went out and heard the spring lock click shut.

Back in his office he laid the telegram blank on his desk and took Julia Boyd’s receipt from his wallet. He beckoned Mary over and showed it to her. When she had read it she gave it back to him. “How’d you manage that, Pete?”

“It’s a fairly complicated story. One for a rainy afternoon and a thermos of coffee.”

Mary went back to her desk. Novak folded the receipt into an envelope and dropped it in a safe drawer. Then he sat down at his desk and tilted the telegram blank under the desk lamp. He was reaching into a desk drawer for a brush and a bottle of graphite powder when the door opened and Lieutenant Morely came in.

Mary’s typewriter was making little spattering sounds like hail on a cardboard roof. If they were still making roofs out of cardboard. As Morely advanced toward him Novak slid the telegram blank into the top drawer.

Morely’s face showed a night’s growth of beard, and his eyes were veined. Before he reached the desk Novak had the cigar box open. Morely took two and lighted one. When the end was glowing he said, “By God, you’re a working man at that! Thought you planned an extra hour in the sack.”

“Conscience booted me out. Busy night?”

“Two calls after you left. A bum hung hisself in Rock Creek Park, and an oyster boat fished a stiff out of the channel.” He grinned. “Wow, nothing stinks like an old corpse.”

“Or an unsolved murder.”

“That, too.” He knocked ash from the cigar. “Thought I’d check with you before I went up to see the Barada piece. Professional courtesy.”

“I’d do the same for you. And she’s calling herself by her professional name: Paula Norton.”

Morely smiled lewdly, “What profession?”

“Give her a break if you can.”

Morely whistled. “Must be quite a dame if she’s gotten under your hide.” He stood up. “She’ll get all the breaks she’s entitled to as a citizen. Nothing more. That’s how we play it in the District.”

“Unless she happened to be some Senator’s sweetie. Don’t feed me burnished morality so early in the day. Anyway, I can save you a trip. As of yesterday Barada was in the Vernon Motel this side of Alexandria—outside your jurisdiction. He’s not there now.”

Morely’s eyes narrowed. “How the hell would you know all that?”

“She told me.”

“And you held back the information from me?”

“I don’t recall being asked the question.”

Morely’s face reddened. “I asked for your cooperation, Novak. I expected to get it. You say Barada’s skipped out? Well, I’ll remember how you helped him.”

“You’ve gotten the cooperation you’re entitled to as an officer of the law. That and nothing more—to quote your own words. I’ve got my own grudge against Barada, but I’d be glad to have you settle it for me. Where he was yesterday you couldn’t touch him.”

“And I’ve got a big fat chance of tracing him today.” Morely’s lips curled. “I’m not so crazy about you as I used to be. I didn’t like the jewelry caper last night, and I like it even less right now.”

“The widow’s got it now. And there’s no law against a person buying back his own stolen property. Insurance companies do it as a matter of course. If it was stolen.”

“If
it was stolen? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Morely roared.

“Kick it around a little, Lieutenant. You have Julia Boyd’s unsupported word that it was stolen. Nothing more. In legal terms I did her a favor last night. She’s got her stuff back, and she’s satisfied. I’ve got a signed receipt to prove it.”

“And you let a possible murderer slip away in the darkness. Buddy, you got a funny way of looking at things.” His voice was hard, his face taut with anger. “The hell with you, pal. I’m going to talk to Mrs. Barada, anyway. Maybe she’ll be a little more helpful than you’ve been.” He stormed out of the office.

Novak stood up and looked at his secretary. “Apparently I’m a son of a bitch,” he said slowly.

“He didn’t say so.”

Novak shrugged. “The cops have a name for everything. Either you do the whole job for them or you’re a dirty name.” He shook his head. “Morely had a bad night. By the time he gets upstairs maybe he’ll simmer down.”

“I thought he was a friend of yours.”

“Cops have no friends. The nature of the work’s against it. They’ll guzzle a beer with you, work out in the gym with you or shoot a round of practice targets, but that’s as far as it goes. The world’s full of thievery, bribery and violence. They can only hope to tackle a part of it. A few years on the job and they suspect everyone. Then they turn bitter. Talk to a cop’s wife for an hour. Find out what kind of a home life she has.”

Mary said nothing.

Novak walked past her, around the lobby wall and into the coffee shop. As he settled onto a stool Jerry came over, drew a glass of water and placed it in front of him. “Coffee, Pete?”

“Milk.”

She studied his face and smiled. “Cranberry eyes. Okay, one milk coming up. Anything else?”

“Danish pastry and a few kind words.”

She opened a carton of milk, poured it into a glass and cut a piece of pastry into small squares. Novak said, “You’d look pretty cute across a breakfast table, redhead.”

“So they tell me.” She rested her elbows on the counter and watched him eat. After a while she murmured, “You wouldn’t look so bad yourself—after a night’s sleep. Your job pay anything?”

“Practically nothing.”

Her lips pursed and her head moved from side to side. “No sale. I could have gotten married when I was seventeen. The guy drops in here now and then. He’s got a radio repair shop, a wife, four kids and more debts than he knows what to do with. My mother steered me out of that one, blessings on her grave. I figure a girl can only make one big mistake. I don’t want mine to cost me a lifetime.”

“Someone’s got to marry the poor guys. Ever think of that?”

She stood back from the counter. “That’s for someone else. Jerry’s got other plans.”

“Famous last words,” he murmured and drank his milk. Jerry made a vixen face and moved down along the counter. Novak signed the check and crossed the lobby to the Assistant Manager’s office.

Connery was wearing a pinstripe suit with a light blue shirt. There was a red carnation pinned on his lapel. When Novak came in he said, “Used Car Dealers’ Convention next week. I’ve blocked eighty rooms for them. Plus the mezzanine reception room, banquet hall and the main ballroom for the last night. You may need some extra men for the night functions. Let me know how many before you go hiring them.”

“Check.”

“And make sure they look the part. Pressed tuxedos and clean cuffs and collars. We can do without more of your crummy waterfront pals.”

“I’ll march them in here to give them a look at a natty dresser. That do?”

Connery snorted. “Anything new on Boyd?”

“The cops haven’t confided in me. One’s up talking to Miss Norton right now.”

“Who’s she?”

“A friend from Chicago.”

“Of the family?”

“She knew Boyd pretty well.”

Connery’s eyebrows lifted. He made a low whistle with his teeth. “So it’s like that.”

Novak lighted a cigarette, tossed the match in the wastebasket and gestured goodbye to Connery. After his discussion with Morely, he was in no mood for another inquisition.

He ambled out to the lobby and drifted from there through the dining room and the bar where waiters were readying for midday business, chatted with some of them and pushed through into the kitchen. He watched cooks adding ingredients to big aluminum kettles, then down to the laundry where women were feeding sheets through automatic ironers. A turn around the engine room, a friendly cup of coffee with the chief engineer and back up to his office.

Paula Norton was sitting in a chair near the reception desk. She was wearing a beige wool suit, matching pumps, a small crescent hat and gloves. When she saw Novak she got up and walked quickly toward him. Her eyes were wide, and her lips moved nervously. She put her hands on his arms and said excitedly, “Pete, the most wonderful news! While I was talking with that detective there was a long-distance call. From a lawyer in Winnetka—Chalmers’s lawyer. Pete, Chalmers left a lot of money to me. The lawyer wants me to go to Winnetka right away.” Her hands trembled with excitement.

“How much money?”

“He doesn’t know yet—but it’ll be plenty.” She breathed deeply. “Half of the estate.”

“Congratulations,” Novak said stiffly.

Her face clouded. “Aren’t you glad for me?”