Masters of Noir: Volume Two (11 page)

"It's true, every word of it,” Malone told Maggie when he got back to the office. “Even to the mother in Monte Carlo. Just the same I advised her not to leave for Monte Carlo just yet. If the police get wind of this they will want to question her, and it won't look so good if she's left the country in such a hurry."

The telephone rang and Maggie answered it. “It's Von Flanagan,” she said.

Malone said, “Tell him I'm in conference."

Maggie relayed the message and handed the phone to Malone saying, “Tell him yourself. This is no fit language for a lady's ears."

Malone took the receiver and held it twelve inches from his ear till the bellowing stopped. “Malone, Malone, are you there?” the voice resumed, in more moderate volume.

"Yes, I'm here,” Malone replied. “Where are you, in Indo China? I can't hear you very well."

"You can hear me all right,” the Chief of Homicide replied. “What I want to know is, what have you got to do with this payroll robbery and murder? We found your name and address on the victim's body."

Malone said, “Maybe he was planning to give me as a character witness to St. Peter at the pearly gates."

"That must be it,” Von Flanagan came back, in a voice that had more edge and less volume to it. “Because right here in his little book—entry made last Saturday—John J. Malone, retainer, twenty dollars. Are you going in for cut rates now?"

"Got to meet the amateur competition,” Malone said. “Anyway, it looks as if my client has met with foul play. I suppose you know by this time who his assailants are."

"Don't give me that, Malone. What I want to know is, what was Algernon Petty doing in your office the day before he was murdered?"

Malone said, “He wasn't consulting me about getting himself murdered, if that's what you're thinking. The man you should be questioning is George V. Benson."

"What's he got to do with it?"

"I don't know,” Malone said, “but I've got a hunch."

"Benson was in Pittsburgh when the job was pulled.” Von Flanagan said. “He's due back in less than an hour, and if you've got any evidence involving him in the crime bring it to my office and confront him with it. And it better be good, or you'll need that twenty buck retainer to buy yourself cigarettes in the County Jail. Ever hear of false arrest, accessory before the fact, giving misleading information, failure to report—"

Malone hung up the receiver and jumping up reached for his hat.

"What's the hurry?” Maggie called out after him.

"I've got to go see a lawyer,” Malone said, and bolted, with surprising celerity, out the door.

5.

"To the Municipal Airport,” Malone told the cab driver, “and never mind the red lights. I've got friends at City Hall."

"I've heard that one before,” the cabby shot back over his shoulder. “What's the big rush?"

Malone said, “The
accessorius post mortem
has just been caught
in flagrante delicto."

"Happens all the time,” the cabby said, and settled back into moody silence the rest of the way.

At the airport Malone went straight to the ticket window. “I've got to fly to Pittsburgh Saturday afternoon and be back here in time for an important homicide last night,” he told the clerk. “Can I make it?"

The clerk blinked, started writing up a ticket, blinked again and, “You mean Saturday night out of Pittsburgh,” he said, “There is an extra plane back to Chicago on Saturday nights, arriving here Sunday morning at—"

"Did you say Sunday morning?"

"Yes sir, Sunday. But that won't leave you much time in Pittsburgh. I wouldn't advise it, sir—"

Malone said, “Thank you, I was only inquiring."

At the information desk he was told that the plane from Pittsburgh was preparing to touch down, and put in a page call for George V. Benson.

Malone waited till Benson had shaken off reporters with a curt “No comment,” and presented his card. “The matter of a loan of three thousand dollars you made my client, Mr. Algernon Petty, last Saturday,” he explained.

Benson had stuck the card in his pocket with the air of a man who has other business on his mind and is not to be detained. Now he took it out again and read aloud, “John J. Malone. Not
the
John J. Malone,” he said.

"Thank you,” Malone said. “I thought you might wish to discuss this little transaction before you talk to the police."

"It was simply a matter of helping out an old employee in a jam,” Benson told Malone over a highball in the airport bar a few minutes later. “Besides, it would have been bad publicity for the company. I had no idea it would lead to anything—he seemed like such a harmless sort. Must have been in a lot deeper than he let on, to try anything like this."

"What do you mean?” Malone said.

Benson said, “Surely, Mr. Malone, you don't think Petty could have thought up anything like this by himself. He must have had confederates."

"Then why did he come to you with his story about the embezzlements?"

"Oh, so you know about that too?” For the first time Benson looked disturbed. “What else did he tell you?"

"He said you promised to leave the three thousand for him in the safe Saturday afternoon. Of course you knew the payroll cash was in the safe. Didn't you think it was a bit of a risk to leave a man like Petty alone with two hundred thousand dollars when he had just confessed to embezzling company funds?"

Benson looked down at his glass. “I can see now how that might be misconstrued,” he said. “Of course you understand I had no intention of accusing Mr. Petty of anything. It was just that I couldn't understand—” He took out his wallet and handed Malone the confession the little bookkeeper had signed. “Here, you keep this,” he said. “Or better yet, destroy it. There is also Mrs. Petty to consider. And the trouble he was having—with women, I mean. I suppose he told you about that too? Imagine, women! A man like Petty. I wouldn't want to have it on my conscience—"

"That's very generous of you, Mr. Benson,” Malone said. He put the signed confession in his pocket.

"I would destroy that if I were you,” Benson said. “I wouldn't want anything to come out that might be misinterpreted—can I give you a lift, Mr. Malone?"

In the cab on the way to police headquarters Benson was still nervous and disturbed. “I dread all this fuss—reporters, police—I suppose I'll have to testify at the inquest. It would be a great relief to me if I had a good lawyer—” He looked speculatively at Malone.

The little lawyer nodded. “Come and see me. Any time.” At police headquarters he took leave of Benson, explaining it was only a short walk to his office. “I might begin by giving you one piece of legal advice,” he said on parting. “If Von Flanagan should ask you why you took the midnight plane back from Pittsburgh Saturday and what you were doing in Chicago Sunday night, don't tell him a thing. Remember nobody is compelled to testify against himself."

Without turning to look back Malone hurried to the corner and boarded a streetcar to the office. No point in running up cab fares, he told himself. Not on a twenty-buck retainer.

6.

Back at the office Malone handed Maggie the signed confession, saying, “Put this in my safe deposit box first thing tomorrow morning when you make the bank deposit. Did I have any phone calls?"

Maggie gave him a straight look.
"What
bank deposit? And whom did you expect a call from?"

"There
might
be a bank deposit, and I'm expecting a call from George Benson. I just left him at police headquarters. He seems to think he'll be needing my professional services."

"Don't tell me it was Benson!"

Malone said, “I'm not ready to say it was anybody—yet. But it
could
have been Benson. Let's take a trial balance.” He took out a fresh cigar and lighted it carefully before continuing. “All right, motive: Two hundred thousand dollars is enough motive for anybody, anytime. Opportunity: He could have flown to Pittsburgh Saturday afternoon, checked in at a hotel and seen or called somebody from the home office, and caught the night plane back to Chicago with plenty of time to kill Petty and return to Pittsburgh on the night plane, and deposit the payroll money in an airfield locker. Meanwhile the police would be searching for the bandit killers, and—no bandits. Because ... “ Malone watched a funnel of cigar smoke ascend slowly to the ceiling, “because the safest crime to commit is one in which the only obvious suspect is the one everybody is searching for and nobody can find—because he doesn't exist."

"Perfect,” Maggie said. “Unless somebody saw him come back. Unless somebody noticed that he hadn't spent the night in his hotel room, or saw him getting off the plane there in the morning, or returning to his hotel room. And what about the murder weapon? And the night watchman?"

"No crime is that perfect,” Malone said. “Besides, Benson may save everybody a lot of trouble yet by cracking up and coming clean with the whole story. He was pretty scared when I left him. Yes, I have an idea we'll be seeing Mr. Benson soon."

That evening the papers carried the news that all reports of the fleeing bandits had proved false alarms, that auditors had failed to find any irregularities in the slain bookkeeper's accounts, and that, according to Captain Von Flanagan, the department had undisclosed information on the identity of the payroll mob and was preparing to stage a series of lightning arrests. There was also a statement by George V. Benson to the effect that no effort or expense would be spared by his firm to bring the murderers to justice.

It was nearly midnight when the telephone in Malone's apartment rang. It was George Benson. His voice was low but urgent. “I've got to see you right away. Alone. I'll be right over.” In less than fifteen minutes he was at the door, a shaken, almost incoherent, man.

"I need your help, Malone. You'll have to believe me. I had nothing to do with the robbery or the murder. I was only trying to help Petty. But what do you suppose happened tonight? Eric Dockstedter came to my home. He's our night watchman, you know. For the longest time he kept talking, beating around the bush, and then it dawned on me what he was trying to say. He suspects me of having committed the robbery and the murder! Didn't want to make any trouble for me, he said, loyalty and all that, to the firm, to me personally, but he had a sick wife, a son-in-law that was in some kind of jam, he wasn't in too good health himself and was thinking of retiring anyway, and all that kind of talk. Trying to shake me down. Trying to blackmail me!"

"What did you say?"

"What
could
I say? I denied it, of course. I couldn't fire him. He might go to the police anyway. I stalled. Told him I'd have to think it over. There must be some way to stop him, Malone. But quietly, without any publicity. There'll be expenses, of course. I'm not a rich man, Malone, but a thing like this—will a thousand take care of it? The initial expense, I mean."

Malone tried not to look at the crisp hundred dollar bills on the coffee table. “As your lawyer—and I haven't said I'll take the case yet—I would have to ask you a few questions first, Mr. Benson,” Malone said. “Why did you fly back from Pittsburgh Saturday night, and what were you doing in Chicago between Sunday morning and Sunday night when you flew back to Pittsburgh?"

"How did you know—” Benson began, and stopped himself abruptly. “Who says I was here Sunday? Did anybody see me?"

"I was only guessing,” Malone admitted. “Just a shot in the dark, but it seems to have rung a bell. Come now, Benson, I'll have to have the whole story—straight—if I'm going to take your case. You may have to explain it to the police later, anyway."

"I suppose so,” Benson replied dejectedly. “Although there's nothing to it, really. Nothing that has any bearing on the case. It—it's something personal."

Malone said, “I see. The blonde alibi. You'll have to think of something more original, Mr. Benson."

"I'd hoped I could keep her out of this,” Benson said, shaking his head sadly, “But I suppose you'll have to check on it. I'll need time, though, to sort of prepare her for it."

Malone shook his head. He handed Benson the telephone. “Now,” he said. “Just say I've got to see her right away. Alone. And don't try coaching the witness."

Benson did as he was bidden, then drove Malone to the rendezvous. As he pulled up before the apartment hotel he turned to Malone. “This is going to be a delicate business,” he said. “I can trust you, of course."

"You can trust a lawyer with anything,” Malone said, “and don't mention a word of this to your wife."

7.

The blonde alibi proved to be a blonde all right, and everything else a man could wish in the way of an alibi. Serena Gates was neither surprised nor shocked.

"I've been expecting something like this ever since it happened,” she told Malone right away. “I'm not the kind of a girl you think I am, Mr. Malone. Things are not really as bad as they look."

Malone looked again and decided things didn't look bad at all. In fact, things were every bit as good as they looked, even in the dim half light that concealed as much as it revealed of the shapely figure.

"You'll have to excuse my informal attire,” Serena said, drawing a wisp of the filmy negligee over her shoulder. “You see, I had already gone to bed. It's about yesterday you want to question me, isn't it? Can I fix you something to drink?"

After the fourth highball and what Malone told himself was a very satisfactory investigation of the facts, he came away with the conviction that Benson's alibi was just a trifle short of what he needed to eliminate him as a suspect. According to Serena Gates he had left her apartment shortly after eight o'clock in the evening driving a rented car, as he usually did on his visits. The crime was committed at ten. This would have left him plenty of time to drive to the plant, return the rented car and take a cab to the airport. Serena might have been lying about the time, but if she was it did not promise well for Benson if he had no better alibi than she was willing to give him. Besides, she seemed to be prepared to take an entirely fresh view of her amatory loyalties. The little lawyer made a mental note to look further into this aspect of the case.