The Ace of Spades - Dell Shannon (23 page)

Hackett agreed absently, still looking at the coin.
"Funny-looking thing. Looks damned old, doesn't it? There's a
fellow down in Records, O'Brien, I ran into him at lunch one day
awhile back— — he's an amateur what-you-call-it— numismatist. I
wonder if he'd know anything about what kind of thing this is."

"No harm to go and ask. Take it if you like ....
Yes, of course it looks like a straightforward pro business—
whether it was murder or not, legally speaking. From the little we've
got on it. And yet, Lydia— "

Hackett was still turning the little coin over in his
fingers. "I think," he said suddenly, "you've got hold
of a couple of different picture puzzles, and're trying to fit pieces
from both into one picture. It could be that Domokous is just exactly
what he looks like— and Skyros didn't know one thing about it, but
took the little opportunity it offered to mention Bratti's name in
connection, hoping it'd take root, so to speak. And whatever business
this is about Miss Weir's car, and whoever took it, and about this
thing, and this Bouvardier woman, it hasn't anything to do with the
dope-peddling."

"
Eso es lo peor
,"
said Mendoza, "that's the worst of it. I have a feeling that's
so, it's something different entirely. But both Skyros and Lydia are
tied up to both ends of it."

Hackett eyed him exasperatedly. "Sometimes I
wonder why I don't put in for a transfer to some nice quiet routine
place like Traffic or Records. Where I'd have a chance of getting a
superior officer with just an ordinary-bright I.Q., who didn't go off
at tangents after ghosts nobody else can see."

"So why don't you?"

"I'll tell you. Just one reason. It's always
helpful toward promotion if you've got another language besides
English, and I'm improvin' my Spanish quite a lot working under you
.... Does that blank stare mean you've had another idea?"

“
A brilliant one," said Mendoza truthfully. It
had just occurred to him that by what Mr. Elgin said those kittens
should be due about the middle of next month: which meant that they'd
be ready to leave home and mother just around Christmas. Such an
excellent excuse for the unsolicited gift. Of course one would want
to be sure of choosing people who liked cats, would provide good
homes— but so much easier to present the seasonal gift than chase
all round first asking the hopeful question, Wouldn't you like— ?

It was definitely an idea. "Well," and he
stood up, "if I'm going to get anything done today at al1— my
God, look at the time, nearly noon, the whole morning wasted. I want
to see Driscoll and find out where the insurance comes in, if he's
chastened enough to tell me."

"I'l1 go hunt up O'Brien. I called Callaghan's
office, by the way, just before you came in— he's over at the jail
questioning your thugs. Maybe he'll get another little piece for you
to fit in."

"I'm not," said Mendoza, "nearly so
interested in the thugs as I am in Lydia— "

"
¡Naturalmente!
"
said Hackett. "She's female!"

* * *

Mendoza met Callaghan just emerging from the inside
block of the county jail. "Anything new?"

"This and that," said Callaghan. "Come
and have lunch with me, I'll brief you. I've earned it, God knows,
been hammering at these boys most of the morning."

"I haven't got time. Owing to various
excitements I was up half the night and I've wasted half today
already. I've got some hammering to do myself. Tell me here."

They sat down on the bench along the wall and lit
cigarettes. "Prettyman isn't coming out with anything. He's a
smart boy. Also there's probably a deal set up— usually is— about
his boss getting a lawyer for him, and in return he keeps his mouth
shut. The lawyer— we see a lot of him and a couple of others the
same kind— knows what the setup is, but so long as he gets his fee
he figures what the hell. Somebody's got to represent the Prettymans
in court, and he might as well get a piece of what's going. From the
other three I've got a little useful talk about this Castro, but they
don't know who his immediate boss is, of course— they're just
punks. I did also hear a few things about this Angie."

"Ah," said Mendoza.

"It seems to tie up in a sort of way, but I
don't see what it ties up to. What they dropped about Angie— I had
to put two and two together on it, because they're trying to be awful
damn cagy, you know— I gather he's another pusher like we figured,
in this same string— "

"Yes, Pretty's best boy."

"And he's been sharing quarters— maybe still
is, but it's on the cards when we hauled these four in and went
through the Elite, the rest of 'em'd scatter quick in case we had 'em
spotted— with one Denny. That is, if it's the same Denny that
Prettyman knows. Seems likely. And from a couple of little things, I
don't think Denny's on this lay at all."

"That figures. Denny. For Dennis? Another Irish
name."

"Well, we come all sorts like other people,"
said Callaghan. "Does that say anything to you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. That's about it? Well,
I'll go and ask my questions and maybe this'll mean a little more."
Mendoza went on in and requested admittance to Driscoll.

Driscoll was a sorry sight after his hours in a cell;
he was disheveled, he needed a shave, his eyes were puffy and
bloodshot, and he was probably suffering from a headache and a bad
case of indigestion— he looked it. He almost fell on Mendoza,
babbling eagerly at him the minute he came in sight.

"Lieutenant, say, I certainly owe you an
apology, way I've been acting— don't know what got into me, I know
better than to act that way— you've got to make allowances, I've
been drinking kind of heavy, had some personal worries on my mind,
you know how it is— "

The jailer banged the cell door shut and Mendoza
surveyed Driscoll leisurely. "So you're ready to co-operate now,
Mr. Driscoll? Yes, I rather expected you'd take it like this. You
have been a nuisance, Mr. Driscoll— I might say a damned nuisance.
Ordinarily men in your job are quite co-operative and polite, we
find— especially those associated with as large and well-known a
firm as yours. Despite popular fiction, it usually does pay an
investigator— public or private— to remember his manners, you
know. At least I've always found it so. There's an old saying that
one catches more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"Listen, Lieutenant, my God, I know all that, I
said I been worried, drinking a little heavy, and you know how it
takes some— couple of drinks, they're spoiling for a fight, pick a
fight with anybody looks at them— I'm kind of like that— "

"So am I," said Mendoza conversationally,
leaning on the door, "so I don't drink much. It saves a lot of
trouble."

"I want to apologize, I know I've made you mad,
and no wonder. Don't know what got into me, I know better— listen,
you'll give me a break, Lieutenant, you look like a regular guy, you
won't complain to the company, will you?— swear I never acted like
this before, and— "

"I am not so constituted," said Mendoza,
"that I enjoy being fawned on, Mr. Driscoll. I don't give one
damn for your relations with your company, but I should doubt that
you keep your job much longer whether or not I issue an official
reprimand. All I'm interested in right now is some straight answers
you should have given me three days ago."

"Yes, sure, I know, Lieutenant, be glad to tell
you whatever you want to know .... Skyros . . . Well, I'll tell you,
maybe I better just let you have it from the start, see, tell you
just how it was . . ." Driscoll went on talking for some time,
going into elaborate details. And that built— in sense of order
somewhere inside Mendoza, that thing that was rendered so acutely
wretched by the wrinkle in the rug, the picture hanging crooked, the
untidy scattered pieces of the jigsaw puzzle— it began to settle
down into peace and cease to nag at him. It was satisfied. So that's
how it is, that's the pattern, or a large part of it; just the
background to fill in. Oh, very nice— pieces dovetailing into each
other neat and meaningful. Yes. He felt better than he had all week,
since this had been on his mind. He even began to feel slightly
benevolent toward Driscoll.

At the end of what Driscoll had to say, he saw to the
necessary forms for his release and drove happily back to
headquarters. His mind was busy filling in background details, and of
course there were a few little things he still didn't know—

Such as who had killed Stevan Domokous—

But such a large part of
it unraveled now, the rest ought to be untied easily ....

* * *

He stopped at First Aid and had his hand redressed,
thinking that he'd probably be too busy the rest of the day to bother
with it. And he was not wrong.

Sergeant Lake greeted him with relief. "I was
hoping you'd be in pretty soon, knowing how it's on your mind sort
of, Lieutenant. One of Callaghan's office men just called down, said
they had orders to relay any news about this Skyros. The tail they've
got on him had just called in, said there was the hell of a ruction
of some sort going on in his office, and a call out to the precinct—
"

"For God's sake, what about? All right, I'd
better go and find out," and Mendoza snatched up his hat again
and made back for the elevator.
 

SEVENTEEN

Mr. Skyros had had only one brief moment of alarm. Of
all the little shocks and worries he had suffered lately, this was
the easiest to handle, because he knew about Domokous. Earnest young
Domokous saying, "A little it worried me, sir, I don't like to
think bad things about you, and maybe I just misunderstood some
meaning— "

Domokous had known nothing definite, so obviously the
girl knew nothing.

Really a most unattractive girl: that long sallow
face, tangled black hair— and she was staring at him with
bright-eyed vindictive triumph, as if she actually thought she had
said something meaningful.

"My dear young lady," he said, smiling,
sure of himself, "first I say I'm very sorry to see Stevan's
girl with such thoughts in her head— it's not a nice thing. And
you're all wrong, you know, this is a very silly little business
altogether, you have got this funny idea from Stevan, I know, yes,
but it was just a little mistake."

"It wasn't no mistake!" she said. "He
told me all about it— he'd found out just what you're up to—
that's why you killed him, I know! I know about everything, Mr.
Skyros— but you won't hurt me, you won't dare, see? I've got it all
wrote down, just like I say, black 'n' white, an' I got it put away
in a box at the bank, where nobody can't get at it but me. See? But
you give me the five thousand dollars an' I won't tell— that's
fair, isn't it? I'd promise never to tell— "

Mr. Skyros laughed. "Miss Roslev— really, I
don't know what I should say to you, this silly little thing, this
nothing! I don't want to call the police, tell them this bad thing,
how you have such crazy ideas— "

"You wouldn't dare— I know!"

"But that's just what I tell you, young lady,
you don't know, isn't it? You don't know anything at all. Come now,
what is this bad thing I'm supposed to do, eh? I steal from somebody,
I break in a house to rob, maybe? And you say, my good God, me, I
murder Stevan? Now this isn't funny, I don't like it."

"I know what you done! And it's all wrote down—
"

"Then you let me in on the secret, eh? What is
it all about?"

"Stevan told me— he'd found out— "

"But nobody tells me," said Mr. Skyros.
"Now you listen to me, young lady. Yes, sure, poor Stevan, maybe
he tells you how he hears a little something one night, makes him
think bad things about me. This I don't doubt he says to you, because
he comes to me and tells me, he's worried for it— such a nice
honest young man he was, isn't it?— and I have set his mind at
rest. It was a little mistake was all, he don't know some of the
words we use in a business way, you see. And I straighten it out in
his mind, so he knows everything's O.K., I'm no big public enemy like
the papers call it! That's all it was, a little mistake, you see?
This you didn't know, that we'd talked it over— poor fellow, he's
dead before he sees you again, I suppose. And I'm patient to explain,
tell you how it was, because I'm sorry for you, such bad ideas in
your head."

She stared at him stupidly, across the desk there.
"That's not so, that's a lie! I know— about a lot of money—
there, that tells you I know! An' I'll tell everybody if you don't
give me— "

"Oh, my good God in heaven," exclaimed Mr.
Skyros. "This is a comedy, like in the films— only maybe not
so funny. Very good, young lady, you go to the police and say, this
Andreas Skyros is a bad man, he's figuring to steal a lot of money—
you tell everybody just how and where and when, isn't it? Only you
can't tell, nothing you've got to tell, and this I know! Now be
sensible, Miss Roslev, go away and put these crazy ideas out of your
head."

"No!" she said, and she leaned forward,
gripping the edge of the desk hard, fingers pressed bone-white. "It's
all lies— I do too know-everything about it! And I'll tell— you
got to give me five thousand dollars right now— then I won't— "