Figure it Out For Yourself Read online

  'I know. I've seen them. Now look, Tim, Perelli happens to be a friend of mine. He didn't kidnap Dedrick. It's not his line.'

  Mifflin groaned.

  'Gimme a butt. I've smoked all mine.'

  I gave him a cigarette and lit it for him.

  'Do you think he's the kidnapper?'

  'I don't know. Maybe, but probably not. Was it you who sent Francon down?'

  'Yeah. Did he get in?'

  'Can you imagine anyone keeping him out? He got in, all right. I reckon he saved Perelli's life. They were certainly working over him.'

  'Was it a tip?'

  Mifflin nodded.

  'Yah. And that's what makes me think it's a phoney. Whoever it was, asked for Brandon; nobody else would do. Brandon talked to him. This guy wouldn't say who he was, and that means he's gypped himself out of the reward. To me that stinks. No one in their right senses would pass up a reward that big unless he was scared of getting involved. He told Brandon to go right away to Perelli's apartment, where he'd find the death gun down the side of a settee and other evidence that would pin the kidnapping on to Perelli. Brandon tried to find out who he was, but he got jittery and hung up. We've traced the call to a call-box in Coral Gables, but that's as far as we've got.'

  'Someone who must hate Perelli's guts.'

  'Could be, or maybe one of the kidnappers with cold feet. I don't know. Anyway, Brandon made the pinch himself. Know what he found?'

  'He found the gun.'

  'He found that. He also found three oilskin wrappers, a hundred thousand grand in used twenty-dollar bills and a fishing-rod which was probably used to take the money off the shed roof.'

  I whistled softly.

  'Where did he find them?'

  'The money was in a suitcase in a cupboard. The oilskin wrappers were at the back of a drawer and the rod was under the bed.'

  'As if anyone in their right minds would keep evidence as hot as that in their apartment. Can't he see it's a plant?'

  'Look, Brandon wants the Feds out of the city pronto. Perelli's got a police record. This is a gift to him. If he stares at it all day and all night, it wouldn't be a plant to him.'

  'Has Perelli an alibi for the kidnapping?'

  'One full of holes. He says he was playing cards with Betillo in a private room in Delmonico's Bar. We've talked to Joe. He says Perelli played cards with him until nine-thirty. Joe remembers the time because Perelli was winning and sud- denly said he had a date. Joe was sore because he wanted to get back some of his losses. Perelli swears he played on until ten thirty. The kidnapping, if you remember, took place at ten past ten.'

  'Anyone see Perelli leave?'

  Mifflin shook his head.

  'He went out the back way.'

  'Well, who'd believe a rat like Betillo, anyway?'

  'Brandon does. He'd believe anyone as long as he gets the Feds out of town. The money worries me, Vic. Everything looks like a plant until you come to the money. A hundred grand is an awful lot of money to throw away to frame a man. A couple of grand would have been enough.'

  'That's just the reason why it was planted. The kidnappers have still four hundred grand to keep him warm. Leaving an amount that big in Perelli's place would make people think just what you're thinking.'

  'It's throwing money away. I can't see anyone doing it.'

  'That's because you're badly paid. A lot of people in this city wouldn't think anything of passing up a hundred grand.'

  'Juries are badly paid too. They wouldn't believe it.'

  I flicked my cigarette out of the window and shrugged. He was right, of course.

  'How is he, Tim?'

  'Perelli? Not so bad, considering. They didn't shake his story, and they certainly tried. I think he'd have croaked if Francon hadn't breezed in. Those two punks, MacGraw and Hartsell, get under my skin. They like nothing better than to be turned loose on a guy in handcuffs.'

  'Yeah. They tried to bash me once. Any chance of my seeing him?'

  'Not a hope. He's Brandon's special prisoner. Even the Fed had to get tough before he'd let them look at him.'

  I lit another cigarette and passed him the pack.

  'I don't think he did it, Tim.'

  'Well, you'll be about the only one by the time they get him before a jury. Wait 'til you see the morning newspapers. As far as they're concerned, he's been tried and found guilty already. The only way to get him off is to produce the real kidnapper.'

  'I've got to do something for him. What'll Brandon do now?'

  'Nothing. As far as he's concerned, the case is closed. He's got Perelli, and he's got all the evidence he needs. It's in the bag.'

  I opened the car door and slid out.

  'Well, at least it gives me a clear field. I'm going to start in and dig.'

  I wish you luck,' Mifflin said. 'But you've got a sweet job on your hands. Where will you dig? What have you got to work on?'

  'Not much. I'm going after Mary Jerome. I have a feeling she knows more about this than you think.'

  'Maybe, but I doubt it. If she had anything to do with the kidnapping, she wouldn't have come back like that.'

  'She may have left something in the room and had to come back. She wasn't to know I'd be there. The chances are she doesn't know anything, but I'm going to find her and make sure.'

  'Okay, anything I can do, let me know. I think Perelli's been framed myself, but that's strictly off the record.'

  'Thanks, Tim. I'll probably have something for you. So long for now.'

  I climbed into the Buick, waved my hand to him and drove fast to Centre Avenue. Half-way down the broad thoroughfare I spotted a call-box and swung to the kerb. I dialled Justin Francon's number.

  He answered the telephone himself.

  'What do you make of him, Justin?'

  'I don't think he did it,' Francon said briskly. 'But that doesn't mean I can get him off. I'll try, but it looks pretty hopeless. The frame's too good. Whoever planted the evidence knew his business. The money is damning. Shall we get together tomorrow morning at my office? We'll have a look at it from every angle and see what we can do. Make it ten. All right?'

  'I'll be there,' I said.

  'Don't expect too much, Vic. I don't like to say it, but I think he's a dead duck.' 'He isn't dead yet,' I said shortly and hung up.

  III

  Justin Francon sat in his desk chair with his legs hanging over one of the arms, his thumbs hooked into the armholes of his vest, a dead cigar jutting out of his face.

  He was a thin, small, leathery man with a straggly black moustache, high cheekbones, a big, bony nose and small, bright black eyes. He reminded me of a ferret. You wouldn't think to look at him he was the smartest lawyer on the Pacific Coast, but he was. He was in a class of his own, and had more millionaire clients in his fee-book than any other lawyer in the country.

  Paula, Kerman and I sat in a half-circle before the massive desk. Francon allowed us the doubtful privilege of studying his profile while he stared out of his office window at the golden beach stretched out twenty storeys below him. The silence mounted in the big air office while he turned the facts over in his mind.

  Finally, he shrugged, swung his legs off the arm of the chair and faced us.

  'Nothing you've told me would convince a jury that Pereli didn't murder Souki or kidnap Dedrick,' he said. 'You'll have to get me some ammunition. Right now we haven't a damn thing. There's enough evidence on Perelli to convict him without the jury leaving the box. You've got to face it. Feeling is running high. He won't get a fair trial. His record's against him. Unless you hand me something pretty substantial to hit the D.A. with, there's nothing I can do for him except talk a lot of hot air that won't get him anywhere. They intend to indict him on Souki's murder, but if, in the meantime, they find Dedrick's body, they'll hook the two killings together, and it'll be all over bar the gas chamber.'

  He stared at his dead cigar, frowning, then dropped it into the trash basket.

  'Now let's see what they'v
e got on him. They've found the gun in his apartment. If I worked hard enough, I could convince a jury the gun was a plant. The fishing-rod could be disposed of too. Anyone can have a fishing-rod. But the money is something no one will believe was planted. That's where the fellow who planted it showed he has brains. A hundred thousand is a whale of a lot of money. We're agreed on that, aren't we?'

  I nodded.

  'All right. Well, so far the one thing we can't get around is the money. The oilskin wrappers could have been planted, but once the jury makes up its mind the money wasn't planted, then there's no reason why the gun, the oilskin wrappers or the rod should have been also planted, and that makes the DA's case watertight. You see that, don't you?'

  Yeah, but all the same, we know the money was planted. Couldn't you persuade the jury that the kidnapper, to save his own dirty hide, would be willing to part with a fifth of his spoils?'

  Francon shook his head.

  'I don't think so. It'd be too much of a risk. If Perelli had a good alibi, we might get away with it, but he hasn't. And another thing, his fingerprints are on the gun.'

  'I heard that, but I don't believe it.'

  Francon nodded his head.

  'If s a fact. I've seen them.'

  But Perelli didn't handle the gun.'

  'He says Brandon gave him the gun and asked him if he could identify it. He handled it all right, but he handled it after it was found.'

  'For Pete's sake! You're not going to let Brandon get away with that, are you?'

  'It's Perelli's word against the Captain of Police. Who do you think would be believed?'

  There was a long pause, then he went on, 'So you see how it stacks up. I've got to have something hot and meaty to go into court with, and if I don't get it, I'm passing up the case. That's the position. I've got to have something to work with. Its up to you to give it to me.'

  'I'll dig up something if it kills me,' I said. 'The only way for us to crack this case is to start right from the beginning and dig until something turns up. I have an idea at the back of my mind that this isn't just a gang of kidnappers at work. I may be right off the beam, but it's a hunch that's growing stronger every day.'

  'I don't follow you,' Francon said, frowning at me.

  'I don't exactly follow myself,' I said and grinned. 'I do know that Franklin Marshland's damn' pleased that Dedrick is among the missing. I'm going to find out why. He looks a harmless little guy, but every now and then you catch a look in his eyes and you suddenly realize he could be dangerous. The wedding was secret. Why? Suppose Marshland's at the back of the kidnapping? Suppose he realized that Serena had married a crook who was only after her money? Suppose he decided to get rid of Dedrick and staged a faked kidnapping? I'm not saying this happened, but it's an idea. Suppose this Mary Jerome is hooked up in some way to Dedrick's past. You see what I mean? If this is an ordinary kidnapping job, and the kidnappers are just a gang from anywhere, then we're sunk. But if this is an inside job, if Marshland's at the back of it, then maybe we can crack it.'

  Francon was looking interested now.

  'You might have something there, Vic. It's worth trying.'

  'It's the only thing we've got. I'm going after Mary Jerome. She was first seen at the Acme Garage, and that's where I'd going to start to look for her. If I can trace her from the garage to Ocean End on the night Dedrick was kidnapped then I may come across something on the way. I'm going to dig into Souki's past. No one's bothered with him yet. Then there's Dedrick himself. I'm sending Jack to Paris right away to get hold of every scrap of information about Dedrick he can find. All this may be a waste of time, but it's our only chance. We're digging a big plot of ground in which something valuable may or may not be buried. If we don't dig, we won't find it, and if it's not there to find then, it's just too bad.'

  'I think Mary Jerome's a good line of investigation,' Franco said, pulling at his long, bony nose, 'but I can't see any point in bothering about Souki.'

  'That's just why I'm going to do it. No one's bothered to look at Souki. He's just the corpse. I'm leaving nothing to chance. I can't afford to.'

  'Well, all right, but don't waste too much time on it. You wouldn't know if Perelli had an enemy, would you? Someone must have hated him pretty badly to have hung that frame on him.'

  'Yeah. I've been thinking about that. There's one man who's tailor-made for the job. A nasty little rat named Jeff Barratt. He's a reefer-addict and a thorough bad egg. He has an apartment opposite Perelli's. I went on to tell Francon how I had called on Barratt and how Perelli had saved my life.

  'Does Brandon know this?' Francon said, interested.

  'No; but if he did, it wouldn't make him change his mind. I'm going to dig into Barratt's background. That fishing-rod is something you couldn't easily conceal. Someone had to carry it into Perelli's apartment. I'm hoping whoever it was was seen.' I stood up. 'Well, we'd better get moving. As soon as I have something for you, you'll have it.'

  The sooner the better,' Francon said.

  Outside in the corridor Kerman said, 'What was that again about me going to Paris?'

  'Yeah. I want you to get off right away. Paula will fix the details. You can have what spending money you want within reason. You won't object to a trip to Paris, will you?'

  Kerman rolled his eyes and tried to conceal his excitement.

  'I'll put up with it,' he said. 'It's in a .good cause. Besides, from what I hear these French wrens are pretty accommodating.'

  'They'll need to be if you're going to hum around them,' Paula said tartly.

  IV

  Mrs. Martha Bendix, Executive Director of the Bendix Domestic Agency and an office neighbour of mine, was a big, hearty woman with a male haircut and a laugh like the bang of a twelve-bore shotgun. She was coming out of her office as I was coming out of mine, and, as soon as I saw her, I knew I wanted to talk to her.

  'Hello there, Vic,' she boomed. 'Where have you been hiding yourself? Haven't seen you in days.'

  'I want to see you, Martha. Can you spare a moment?'

  She looked at her wrist-watch, about the size of a cartwheel, decided after all she wasn't in any hurry and opened the office door.

  'Come on in. Suppose you want to pick my brains again, huh? I gotta date, but it's nothing important.'

  She led the way through the outer office where a pale blonde with a face like a happy rabbit pecked at a typewriter and gave a coy little smile as she passed.

  'If Mr. Manners calls, Mary, tell him I'm on my way down,' Martha said, and breezed into her cream-and-green office.

  I followed her in and closed the door.

  'Turn the key, 'Martha said, lowering her voice. It probably could still be heard at the far end of the corridor, but she im-agined she was speaking in a conspirator's whisper. 'I've a bottle of Vat 69 that wants breaking open, but I wouldn't like Mary to think I drink in office hours.' She hoisted a bottle into sight as I sank into an armchair. 'I wouldn't like her to think I drink at all, for that matter.'

  'What makes you so positive she doesn't know?'

  'What makes you so damn positive she does?' Martha said and grinned. She slapped a threeinch snifter down on the desk in front of me. 'Rinse your phlegm out with that.'

  'There are times, Martha, when I don't believe you're even civilized, to hear you talk,'I said, collecting the glass. 'Well, bung-ho.'

  'Fungus on your adenoids,' she boomed, and downed her drink at a gulp. 'Not bad, huh? Want another?'

  I shook my head, and accepted the three coffee-beans she dropped on the blotter before me.

  'Well now, what's your trouble?' she asked, sitting down and getting to work on the beans herself. 'What do you want to know this time?'

  'I'm trying to find out something about a Filipino named Toa Souki; Serena Dedrick's chauffeur. She engaged him in New York, and I'm wondering if your New York office handled the job.'

  Martha looked insulted.

  'My good man! I'll have you know we don't handle coloured people
. You're not sticking your nose into that case, are you'

  I said I was sticking my nose into that case.

  'How can I get a line on Souki?'

  Martha scratched her head with the paper-knife while she thought.

  'I suppose I could find out for you,' she said, a little grudge-ingly. 'Syd Silver runs the biggest colour agency in New York. He's a friend of mine, the dirty little rat! I'll ask him. If his boils aren't bothering him, he might find out for you. Anything in it for him?'

  'A hundred bucks.'

  Martha's eyes popped.