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“
But
where would I have got the gun if not from Larry?”

“
Vital
had no rod. Could be that was his.”

I
kept trying. “Didn’t Larry go with Vital to see Howard
Pine?”

Lieutenant
Woodfinch had a light that satisfied him. He answered that one. “Pine
says only Vital visited him. Only Vital visited the hospital and
asked about the bag. Only Vital spoke to Patrolman Craw who drove
Teacher to the hospital with your wife, and he learned from Craw that
the bag was probably still in the car. Larry is just somebody you
told us about.”

“
And
I suppose the same goes for the man with the crooked nose?” I
said angrily.

“
Well,
he at least was seen by Mr. Redfern,” Woodfinch conceded. “But
we don’t know who he is except that he had asked Mr. Redfern
how long you’d worked for him and didn’t leave his name.
We’ve only your word that he was watching your house and later
followed you and Larry.”

“
Gillette
saw him outside my house.” “Gillette remembers that you
spoke to a man, but he says he paid no attention to him and has no
idea what he looked like.” '

“
What
about the man who phoned me about the bag and said he was Teacher’s
brother?”

“
Once
again — we have only your word to go on, Mr. Breen. Sorry.”
“That’s no surprise,” I said. “But I spoke to
.whoever that man was and my wife spoke to him too. Isn’t she a
witness? And look — he must also have made inquiries about the
bag before he knew it was in my car.”

Woodfinch
started a nod and cut it in half. “There were two inquiries.
Vital spoke to Patrolman Claw in person. Shortly after that a phone
call came to the desk about the bag and Claw was put on the wire-
Guess he was the guy who. phoned you because he also said he was
Teacher’s brother. Claw saw no reason not to believe him and
told him where he thought the bag was.”

“
What’s
the matter with you police?” I said. “That bag was police
business when Teacher died. Claw should have gone to my house for it
as soon as he realized it had been left in the car.”

“
We
all make mistakes,” Woodfinch said in the tone of a cop
placating an irate citizen. “Claw couldn’t know the bag
was valuable or important.”

“
Anyway,
you can’t say I dreamed up the man who said he was Teacher’s
brother. He was after that bag. He went straight to the garage and
found Vital there and killed him and left with the bag”

“
Is
that your idea?”

“
It
stands to reason. I can’t prove it. That’s your job.”
I turned to Scavuzzo. “Were there fingerprints on the tire
iron?”

“
Brother,”
Scavuzzo said, the cigar bobbing in his mouth, “these days
killers know too much about prints to leave ’em around. Even
when they’ve had no previous experience. That tire iron was
wiped clean except for the bloody part. All it shows is that you
could’ve wiped it off. Say, another one of your red herrings.”

“
So
that’s it?” I said to Lieutenant Woodfinch. “That’s
the way you’re going to play it?”

He
didn’t appear to have heard me. He stood up and put his hat on
without saying anything to me.

“
Does
that mean you’re finished with me?” I asked.

The
corners of his mouth lifted in what was possibly a smile, but the
rest of his face remained static. “No, Mr. Breen, I’m not
finished with you. Stay here till I come back.”

“
Have
you the legal right to hold me?” I demanded.

“
No,
Mr. Breen, I have not, but I can get it if you make me. I’m not
holding you.” He knocked out his pipe and headed toward the
door. The stenographer closed his notebook and followed, and so did
Scavuzzo.

“
Lieutenant,”
-I said. All three men turned. “Last night I told you that
Larry mentioned somebody named Tilly. Is that a clue?”

Woodfinch
looked vaguely annoyed. “There are thousands of women named
Tilly, or it might be a Mr. Tilly.”

“
There
was an address that went with it. Bad-something. I can’t
remember exactly. I think I told you Badley Place. Tilly on Badley
Place. That ought to narrow it down.”

Lieutenant
Woodfinch shrugged. “Except that there is no Badley Place in
Brooklyn or anywhere in New York.”

So
that was that. Everything that might have helped came smack up
against a dead end. I crushed out my cigarette in Woodfinch’s
ashtray piled high with pipe ashes and burned matches. I heard the
door close and they were gone.

I
wasn’t left alone for more than a couple of minutes. Scavuzzo
returned unpeeling the wrapper of a fresh cigar. This time he placed
a chair behind his desk and sat in it tilted back precariously and
blew smoke at the ceiling.

It
was four-ten on my wristwatch. I went to one of the windows and
looked down at back yards through a screen of clotheslines. I could
feel Scavuzzo’s eyes on my back.

“
Is
Lieutenant Woodfinch going to search my house for the bag?”

“
If
he wants to. He’s got a warrant in his pocket.”

“
Why
doesn’t he want me around when he searches the house?”
Scavuzzo grinned and blew smoke at the ceiling.

I
smoked four cigarettes, lighting one from the stub of the other. Then
I said: “Have you any idea what was in the bag?”

“
We’re
waiting for you to tell us.”

“
It
was heavy,” I said. “Something like large stones inside.
Maybe jewelry.”

“
Sure.
Say fifty pounds of uncut diamonds. Say a couple of thousand carats
each so they’d rattle like large stones.”

“
How
about gold bullion?”

“
Where’d
they get it? Rob Fort Knox?”

“
It
wasn’t money,” I said. “But something valuable
enough to kill a man for.”

“
Now
you’re kidding, Mr. Breen.” He grinned again.

Conversation
didn’t get anywhere. I went to the window again and looked at
back yards and smoked cigarettes until my pack was empty.

At
a few minutes after five the phone on Scavuzzo’s desk rang. He
grunted into it, hung up, told me I could go home.

CHAPTER
SIX

The
offices of the Homicide Squad were on the second floor of the police
station. Scavuzzo accompanied me to the head of the stairs. “Stick
around where we can get you when we want you.”

“
You
know,where I live,” I said.

“
Well,
don’t leave town.”

“
Why
should I?”

Scavuzzo
grinned and said, “Be seeing you,” and went back up the
hall. I descended the stairs.

In
the lobby a young woman stood with .one arm on the high desk. The
desk sergeant, a bald, chubby man, was simpering at her, and she was
laughing in a husky, pleasant voice. Whatever wit was passing between
them was ended by my appearance. The sergeant said in a stage
whisper: “There’s Breen.”

She
turned. She was tall and broad shouldered and wore a wide-belted blue
coat which did not quite reach her knees. “So long, Sarg,”
she said with a smile that took thirty years off his age.

I
waited for her to come over to me. She had a forthright mannish walk.
“I’m Molly Crane of the
Courier-Express
,”
she said.

“
I’ve
nothing to say,” I muttered and headed for the door.

Molly
Crane fell into step beside me, not having to hurry like other women
who tried to keep up with my stride. We went through the swinging
doors together, each of us through a door, and then down the steps
like the leaders of a platoon marching in double file. It was comic
in a way, especially as she said nothing during the march, and there
was nothing I wanted to say to any reporter.

When
we were on the sidewalk, she tucked her hand intimately through my
arm. “What we need, Adam, is a drink.”

“
You’re
wasting you sex-appeal on me. Not that you haven’t plenty, but
I’m not in the mood for it. I’ve done enough talking for
one day.” “The cops must have given you a pretty bad
time, Adam.”

“
Mr.
Breen to you,” I said. “I’m going to be as formal
as hell if that will help get rid of you.”

Molly
Crane hung onto my arm and smiled. That smile was calculated to melt
stone. It didn’t make me simper the way it had the desk
sergeant, but you couldn’t get tough with it. Besides, I could
use a drink after that session with Lieutenant Woodfinch, and I could
think of worse drinking companions.

“
Okay,”
I submitted.

With
her hand still through my arm, we walked up the street. She wore no
hat. A wide blue ribbon was tied over her hair which was the color of
store-bought honey. It fell loose and wavy to within an inch of her
shoulders. Her shoes were low-heeled. They helped her mannish stride
and cut her down nearer to the size of ordinary women, though even so
her shoulders weren’t more than four inches below mine.

Around
the corner there was a beer joint. A couple of men were drinking beer
at the farther end of the bar and listening to the Dodger-Giant game
on the radio. It was at the end of the eighth with the Giants ahead
9-3, but the two men and the bartender were tense with hope because
we had two men on base with one out.

I
ordered a bourbon highball and Molly Crane a sidecar. The bartender
mixed the drinks with a head cocked to the radio.

“
Look,”
I said to her. “It’s not much of a murder. No glamor.
Nobody important is the victim or the killer. The Brooklyn papers
aren’t giving it much space and the New York papers only a
couple of lines or nothing. Why should the New York papers send you
over here for a story they’re not interested in?”

“
I
wasn’t sent. This is my own idea. I’m a feature writer,
and the city editor lets me dig up my own stuff. You know, human
interest.”

“
Molly
Crane,” I said, thinking about the name. “I read the
Courier-Express
. I don’t remember your name.”

“
I
almost never get a byline. Not yet. But a really big story will make
me.” She touched my hand and gave me the smile. “I think
you can help me get it.” Her eyes were gray flecked with
yellow. Her earrings looked like wedding rings, broad gold bands, two
of them on each ear. They jangled when she turned her head to the
bartender bringing up our drinks. ■

“
What’s
big about this story?” I asked when the bartender had hurried
back to the radio. The Dodgers had the bases loaded now and still
only one out. A six-run rally wasn’t impossible. We’d
done it before.

Molly
Crane sipped her sidecar and made a wry face. “Bitter.”
She put the glass down. “I’ve been hearing things, Adam.
I’m friendly with a number of cops.”

“
Lieutenant
Woodfinch?”

“
I
know he did. That’s the only way thoughlin- itmakessense.”
'

“
I
haven't met him, though I intended to. Cops aren't in the habit of
chasing me away.”

“
You
don’t strike me as being easy to chase away.”

“
Anyway
— “ She lifted her cocktail glass and spoke into it.
“There’s a rumor that you know what was in the bag
Teacher left in your car.”

“
That’s
a polite way of putting it.” She drank, her face showing that
she didn’t like the sidecar, but she finished it. “The
police think you have the bag.” I pushed my half-finished
highball away and got off the stool-and dropped money on the bar. She
stood up also. A Dodger hit into a double-play, ending' the inning
without a score.

“
You’re
a funny guy,” Molly Crane said when we reached the sidewalk.

“
I
like a good joke. I’m almost hysterical with laughter because
the cops are on the neck of an innocent man, and I’m the man.”

“
You
haven’t denied that you have the bag.”

Her
hand was back on my arm. I shook it off. “What are you after?”
I said. “If I say I haven’t the bag, there’s no
story for your paper. If I have it, I wouldn’t tell you. Either
way you don’t get anything.”

Her
gray eyes regarded me gravely. “We could help each other.”

“
We
could if you have any idea who the man is who phoned me last night,
the one who wanted the bag and called himself Teacher’s
brother.”

“
You
think he murdered Jasper Vital?” f

“
I
know he did. That's the only way it makes sense.”

“
I've
been around. If you're perfectly frank with me, I might be able to
help.”

“
Look,”
I said. “I’m tired and frightened. I admit it. To you
this is just a story, a chance to rate a byline in your paper, maybe
by luring me into making a confession. I’ve told everything I
know to Lieutenant Woodfinch. He has it neatly typed out. Your
sex-appeal will persuade him to show it to you, and then you won’t
believe it any more than he does. So long.”

I
walked away.

“
Thanks
for buying me a drink,” she called after me.