I couldn't move ten yards on the streets without some visiting Pressman letting off a camera in my face. Kerman, described as 'the man who saw the ransom taken,' was badgered from dusk to dawn for his autograph, his nail-pairings, locks of his hair and clippings from his suit by wild-eyed, sensation-hungry souvenir-seekers until he was scared to leave the safety of the office.
The massive gates of Ocean End were closed. The telephone was disconnected. A quiet, deathly hush hung over the place.
Rumour had it that Serena Dedrick had collapsed and was seriously ill.
All day long aircraft circled overhead, searching the sand dunes, the foothills and the approaches of the city. Every road was patrolled. A house-to-house inquiry was set on foot; sus-picious characters were rounded up and questioned; a squad of police went into Coral Gables, the east-end district of the city, and checked over the more disreputable inhabitants.
The activity was enormous, but for all the efforts made by the Federal agents, the police, state troopers, the Army and hundreds of amateur investigators, neither Lee Dedrick the kidnappers were found.
Then, on the fifth morning, Serena snapped out of her grief and took a hand in the hunt herself. It was announced through the Press and over the radio that she would pay a twentythousand-dollar reward to anyone giving information that would lead to the arrest of the kidnappers, and a thousand-dollar reward for any information remotely connected with kidnapping.
The result of this announcement turned practically every citizen, except the wealthy, into amateur detectives and made Orchid City a temporary hell on earth.
It was on the sixth night after the ransom had been paid that I let myself into my quiet little cabin, thankful to get away from the strident hubbub of the hunt, with the intension of locking the door and getting myself a little peace and an early night in bed.
My cabin is situated in the sand dunes, facing the sea, and is a quarter of a mile from the nearest house. It has a small weed-infested garden which I pay Toni, my good-for-nothing house-boy, to keep neat; a veranda with faded sun blinds, one big living-room, two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen big enough to swing a cat in, providing it is a Manx cat.
The charm of the place to me is that it is lonely and quiet and you can't hear anyone's radio and you can sing in your bath without getting a brick through your window. But because it is so isolated it is also an ideal spot for anyone who wants to slit my throat. My yells for help would be as futile as a short-tempered man trying to slam a revolving door.
I was sinking the key in the lock when I heard a soft foot-fall behind me. Normally my nerves will pass in a crowd with a light behind them, but the excitement and strain of the past five days had made them a little edgy. I swung around with a quick intake of breath to find a shadowy figure right on top of me.
The right-hand punch that automatically started got no more than half-way when I saw that my visitor was a woman. I lowered my fist, gulped in a little of the hot night air and said as even as I could, 'Must you sneak up like that and scare me out of my wits?'
'Your name Malloy?'
I peered at the slim figure before me. It was too dark under the veranda roof to see much of her, but what I could see appeared to be worth looking at.
'Yeah. Who are you?'
'I want to talk to you. Let's go in where we can park.'
As I led the way into the main room, I thought it was a pity she had a voice hard enough to crack a rock on. We stood in the darkness, close together while I groped for the light switch. I found it, thumbed it down and looked into a pair of wide brown eyes that knew all the answers and most of the questions too.
She was around twenty-four or five, and dark. Her thick glossy hair was parted in the middle and framed a face of standard prettiness that was a shade paler than it should have been and too hard and bitter for the number of years she had been using it. Her over-bright red lips, put on square, and the faint smudges under her eyes gave her a sexy look that would make men stare at her and wonder, but probably they'd get no farther than wondering. Her figure under the fawnand-green silk wind-breaker and the highwaisted slacks was good enough to advertise the best foundation garment in the business.
'Hello,' I said, staring at her. 'Sure it's me you want?'
'If your name's Malloy, I'm sure,' she said, and moved past me to the fireplace. She faced me, her hands thrust deep into her trouser pockets, her eyes searching my face. 'Nick Perelli told me to come to you.'
"Why, sure,' I said, and looked sharply at her, wondering who she was. 'Has he been sandbagging anyone recently?'
'No, but he's in trouble,' the girl said. She took out a crumpled package of Lucky Strike, flicked one into her mouth, scratched a match alight with her thumbnail and set fire to the cigarette. 'He's been pinched for the Dedrick snatch.'
In the pause that followed, the clock on the mantelpiece ticked busily and the refrigerator in the kitchen gave an irritable grunt.
The girl continued to watch me, not moving, her head tilted a little on one side so the smoke of her cigarette wouldn't get into her eyes.
'Perelli?' I said, as blank as I sounded.
She nodded.
'He said you were a bright boy. Well, go ahead and be bright. Someone's got to be if he's going to beat this rap.'
'When did they take him?'
'An hour ago.' She glanced over her shoulder to look at the clock. 'An hour and five minutes to be exact.'
'The Feds?'
She shook her head.
'A smooth, well-dressed fatty and a couple of hard-faced dicks. There were two bulls outside with the car.'
'Was it Brandon? Short, fat, white-haired?'
'That makes him Brandon. Who's he?'
'Captain of Police.'
She drew on her cigarette, examined her nails and frowned.
'I didn't know police captains made arrests.'
'They do when there's a lot of money hanging to the pinch, and a lot of juicy publicity as well. Besides, Brandon would want to get in front of the Feds.'
'Well, he's got in front of them.' She moved away from the fireplace and sat down on the divan. 'Nick said you'd get him out of it. Can you?'
'I don't know. I owe him something, and if there's anything I can do, I'll do it. What does he expect me to do?'
'He didn't say. He was a little rattled. I've never seen Nick rattled before. When they found the gun, he told me to come to you.'
I went to a cupboard, took out a bottle of Scotch and two glasses and set them on the table. I fetched a jug of ice water from the refrigerator.
'Let's start from the beginning. It'll be quicker that way. Do you like your whisky straight or with water?'
'For a bright boy, you haven't much imagination. Right now they're beating his brains out. Do you think I want to drink whisky when I know that's going on?'
I made myself a stiff drink and sat down.
'You don't know for certain, and worrying about it won't help him.'
She jumped to her feet and took three or four quick paces across the room, turned and went back to the divan. She sat down again and began to pound her fist into the palm of her hand.
'Who are you, anyway?' I asked.
'Myra Toresca. Nick's girl.'
'All right. Now let's take a look at it. Give me the details, but make it fast'
'I arrived with them,' she said, and went on practically in one breath: 'Nick and I were going to the movies. He was late. I 'phoned and he said to come over while he changed. I went over. I rode up in the elevator with the three of them. I knew they were cops. We got off at the fourth floor, and I let them go ahead. When they turned the corner, I went after them. They were standing outside Nick's door. Two of them had guns in their hands. I watched. They didn't notice me. The fat one rapped on the door. I guess Nick thought it was me. They jumped him, and had the cuffs on before he knew what had hit him. Then they started to ransack the place. The front door was pushed to, but not closed. I looked in. Nick was standing by the wall watching them take the place to pieces. He looked my way and made motions for me to keep out of the way. I stuck around, watching. Then they found the gun down the side of the settee. Brandon got awfully excited. He said it was the gun that had killed Dedrick's chauffeur. Nick got rattled then. He and I play cards for a living. We can lip-read. It helps when the cards don't fall right He told me to come to you. I left them shouting at him.'
'How did Brandon know the gun killed Dedrick's chauffeur?' I asked.
She shook her head.
'I don't know.'
'What happened then?'
I waited across the other side of the street. After about half an hour, they brought him out. He could scarcely walk, and there was blood on his face and his clothes.' She got up to grind the cigarette out in the ash tray. 'They took him away in a police car. Then I came on here.'
I sat staring at her for a second or so.
'Do you know anything about the kidnapping?'
The brown eyes met mine. 'Only what I've read in the papers.'
'Nothing else?'
'No.'
'Does he?'
'No. He wouldn't touch a thing like that. All right, maybe we are a little tricky with a deck of cards, but that's as far as we go.'
'Has he ever been caught?'
Her eyes hardened.
'Now and then.'
'Has he a police record?'
'I guess so. He drew two years in San Francisco. He hasn't been out more than four months.'
'Anything before that?'
'You want to know a lot, don't you?'
'I want to know his record. If s important.'
'Six months, a year and two years. Spread over eight years.'
'Card-sharping?'
She nodded.
'Did he ever hurt anyone with that cosh of his?'
'No one's ever complained.'
'You're quite sure about the kidnapping? You don't think he pulled it without telling you?'
'He didn't do it! It's not his line. Can't you understand that?'
I decided to believe her.
'All right. I'll see what I can do.' I reached for the telephone and dialled a number. After a while a polite voice said, 'This is Mr. Francon's residence.'
'Mr. Francon in? This is Vic Malloy.'
'Yes, sir. I'll put you through.'
After more delay, Francon came on the line. 'Hello, what's on your mind?'
'An hour ago, Brandon, with a couple of dicks, picked up a guy named Nick Perelli at his apartment on Jefferson Avenue. They searched the rooms and found a gun. Brandon said it was the gun that had killed Lee Dedrick's chauffeur. They've arrested Perelli for the Dedrick kidnapping. I want you to represent him, Justin. Expense no object, and I want you to get over to Headquarters and look after him. They're pushing him around and I want it stopped. Will you do it?'
'Has he anything to do with the kidnapping?'
'I don't know. His girl, who ought to know, says he hasn't. It looks like a frame to me. Brandon couldn't know the gun was the death gun by just looking at it. He either brought it with him and planted it or he's guessing.'
'You can't say a thing like that!' Francon's voice was shocked.
'Off the record I can. It would be a terrific boost for Brandon if he could crack this case and steal a march on the Feds. I wouldn't put anything past him.'
'Who is Perelli, anyway?'
'He's a card-sharper with a record.'
'That doesn't help. What's he to you?'
'He did me a good turn once. As a personal favour, Justin, I want you to get down there right away and stop them working on him.'
There was a long pause on the line while he chewed it over. I didn't hurry him.
Finally, he said, 'I'm not sure I want this job. Brandon must have something more solid to work on than the gun.'
'Maybe he has, but that isn't the point. You're not going to let him hang something on this guy just because he's got a record, are you?'
Well, no. All right, Vic. I'll go over there and see him. But I warn you, if I think he's guilty, I'm pulling out. There's too much publicity tied to this business to be in on the losing end.'
'I still think it could be a frame. Take a look at him, anyway. And don't worry too much about what they've got on him. I'm going to take a hand in this, Justin.'
'Well, all right. I'll see what I can do. Better see me tomorrow morning at my office.'
'I'll ring you tonight.'
I hung up before he could protest.
Myra was watching me, an intent expression in her eyes.
'Who's that?'
'Justin Francon. The smartest criminal lawyer on the Pacific Coast If he believes Perelli is being framed, he'll never stop fighting until he's freed him.'
'Is he going down there?'
'You bet he is, and he'll block Brandon off.'
She lit another cigarette. Her hand was noticeably unsteady.
'I guess Nick knew what he was doing when he told me to come to you.'
From her that would be praise.
I finished my drink and stood up. 'Where can I reach you?'
'245 Monte Verde Avenue. It's a little green-painted shack on the left-hand side as you go up. I live alone.'
While I was writing the address down, she went on, 'This will take some money, won't it?'
'I told Perelli I'd be glad to help him any time, and it'd be on the house. That still goes.'
'Thanks.'
'Forget it. I owe him a stab in the belly. Now look. I'm going down to Police Headquarters right away. There's not much I can do until I find out just how much they have on him. I might even have a word with him if I'm lucky.'
'You mean they'll let you talk to him?'
'I don't know. The Homicide Lieutenant is a friend of mine. He might swing it.'