MAX GOLD’S remark brought me up short. I said, “You mean Candy wasn’t kidnaped?”
“I mean we don’t think so. She goes away without leaving word, which ain’t unusual. She makes all the ransom arrangements over the telephone. The day after the money is paid—a half million smackers—she comes back, bright and chipper. She tells a story that’s as full of holes as Swiss cheese. What she describes is an abduction that turns into kidnaping. She says she was treated wonderful. She describes a guy to us that could be anybody you pass on the street. She gives us a name that means even less than that. The only way she slips is that she mentions New Jersey. That makes it interstate and brings in the F.B.I, boys.
“They question her, too. She hands them the same double-talk. When they try to pin her down, she clams up. She makes it clear that she doesn’t want this guy found and prosecuted. So even if he was found, she’d be a hostile witness. No indictment we could bring could be made to stick. So the case is shoved into a file to be pulled out when, as, and if needed. She makes us play it her way, but we don’t have to believe her. It’s a helluva life, bein’ a cop.”
I made some inane remark which didn’t mean anything. Then Gold asked abruptly, “You ever get a hunch on who put that hundred thousand in your account?”
I shook my head.
“Maybe it was Candy Livingston,” he suggested. “That’d be just so much bird gravel to her.”
I said, “I didn’t know her then.”
“So what?” So maybe she knew you. Maybe you looked like somebody she’d like to give a hundred thousand dollars to.”
“That’s silly, lieutenant.”
“Okay,” he said placidly. “I just happened to be thinking that the dates were all bunched up along there. Also that when a dame like Livingston makes a play for a guy, he usually has more than you’ve got.”
I said, “Aren’t we getting pretty far away from what just happened out yonder?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Dana said, “You don’t think Candy . . . ?”
“Ma’am, I don’t think nothing. Candy was here tonight. If she had any reason, she could have done the shooting; just like, if she had of had a reason, she could of slipped Douglas that hundred thousand.” He put up his hand. “Don’t say it, Miss Warren. I’m six jumps ahead of you. Candy didn’t have no reason. Okay. But who did? I’m just tossing her around in my peanut brain until something better comes along.”
I said quietly, “Maybe I can give you something better.”
“Yeah . . . ?” His voice didn’t change, and his eyes were still calm and friendly. But I knew he was listening hard.
I didn’t look at Dana. I wanted her to hear what I had to say, and knew it would be tough. But I had to say it anyway.
I said, “I may as well start off by reminding you that I’m in love with Miss Warren, and want to marry her. Therefore you can discount what I’m going to say as coming from a prejudiced witness. What I’m driving at is that I think the time has come to quit holding out on you, which I only did because I couldn’t find anything solid on which to base my suspicions.”
“Holding out ain’t so good,” commented Max.
I started to tell him about Ricardo. As soon as I mentioned the name, Dana drew in her breath sharply and said, “Kirk! Don’t! ” and I said, “I’ve got to, honey. You’ll see why.”
I told Max Gold everything I knew about Ricardo. I told him about falling in love with Dana and the way Ricardo had reacted. I told him about the missing luck piece and how it had turned up in my apartment. I gave him the battered coin. I told him that, to my knowledge, Ricardo had never been in my apartment. I told him about our fight at the rehearsal hall. I told him that only recently Dana had notified Ricardo that she was quitting the act, regardless. The one opinion I expressed was that nothing could hit Ricardo much harder than that, because his profession—and the position he held in it—probably meant more to him than anything else in the world, and that Dana would be almost impossible to replace.
Gold let me finish. He gave it plenty of time to sink in. He said, “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because . . .” I hesitated, and he encouraged me with, “Keep going, Douglas.”
“All right,” I said. “Here’s the last touch. When Ricardo & Dana left the floor tonight, Miss Warren stopped at our table. Ricardo went into the corridor. His dressing room is right across the hall from this one. When I heard the shot, I ran into the corridor. I saw that door open and Ricardo came out.”
“Out of Miss Warren’s dressing room?”
“Yes. Out of this room we’re in now.”
“Did he have a gun?”
“I didn’t see any.”
“Did he know Miss Sheridan?”
“Casually.”
“Why would he shoot her?”
“I don’t think he would. Except by accident.”
Gold ground the fire from the end of his cigarette. He nodded thoughtfully. “That adds up better than some of the ideas I’ve had, Douglas. You figure Ricardo was sore about a lot of things, but mostly because he was going to lose an ace dance partner. He was waiting in her dressing room. He saw her coming with somebody else and took a shot at her. Only he ain’t so expert, so he blasts Agnes Sheridan instead of his wife. Is that what you think?”
Dana was trying to say something. She was trembling again. I said, “I don’t think anything, lieutenant.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because,” I said carefully, “I believe that whoever did the killing was shooting at Dana—not at Miss Sheridan, And I’m afraid—for her.”
Dana stood up. “I can’t think it was Ricardo. He’s tough, but I don’t believe . . . Does it strike you as reasonable, lieutenant?”
Gold said, “Yes. And No. There’s enough motive, but the way it was done—there’s lots of flaws in it. Even if he wanted to kill you, it doesn’t seem hardly probable he’d have gone through with it when he saw you wasn’t alone. Of course, there’s still another angle. An amateur gets himself nerved up to do something. He knows he’ll never get that hopped up again. So he lets fly anyway.” Gold walked to the door and called somebody. There was a brief, whispered conference, then he came back to us. “They’ll case Ricardo’s room. I’ll give him a going over later.” He turned his attention to me. “Ricardo was making a play for Candy Livingston, wasn’t he?”
I said, “I don’t know.”
“I got reason to think he was. If she liked you, that would be something else that wouldn’t make Ricardo happy.” He shook his head. “Jeez! feller, you sure got yourself in the middle of a mess, didn’t you?”
“Yes. But that isn’t what worries me. Fm concerned about Dana. If what happened tonight was an attempt on her life, it might happen again. There must be some sort of way to guard against that.”
Dana said, “I can’t believe Ricardo could hate me that much, or that I’d be so valuable to him as a dance partner. I can give you an alphabetical list of all his faults. But I can’t see him as the killer type.”
Max said dryly, “You’d be surprised, Ma am, what kind of folks can get a sudden itch to commit homicide.” He turned his attention to the luck piece again. “So he was sore when he found it was missing, huh?”
Dana said, “Yes,” and I said, “Miss Warren told me he seemed more upset than the loss of a luck piece could possibly explain.”
“And Ricardo commenced getting real ugly as of then?”
Dana nodded. Gold said, “Some guys is superstitious as hell.” He looked across at me. “This thing was found under the edge of the rug in your apartment, Douglas?”
“Yes. Under the couch.”
“You should of told me.” Gold’s voice was gently reproving. “It’s tough enough to go places even when we know everything. Having somebody hold out . . . well, that ain’t so good.”
“I’m sorry. But you understand why I did it.”
“I know. The scandal.”
“I was trying to find out if Ricardo had ever known Ethel Brower. If it turned out that he had, I’d have come to you with the whole story.”
“I’m a funny guy,” Max said. “I like to do my own thinking. How much do you know about this Agnes Sheridan?”
“Very little. Except that she worked as a nurse’s aide at the McKinley Hospital.”
“I liked her,” volunteered Dana. “She seemed like a thoroughly nice person.”
“She ever tell you anything about herself?”
“No. I gathered that she lived alone, that she had a comfortable income, and that she was a very patriotic person.”
Gold shrugged. “We oughn’t to have much trouble checking on her.” He walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and said, “Thanks to both of you.”
“What do we do now?”
“How should I know. Whatever you like.”
“We can go?”
“Why not?” His lips spread in a broad grin. “But get this, Douglas: Next time you get hold of any information, give me a thought. You ain’t got any idea how much it helps.”
He stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. I stood up and put my arms around Dana. She said, “You don’t really think Ricardo did it, do you?”
“I don’t know what to think. I only know I’m afraid. I know I hate to have you go through things like this . . .”
She leaned back in my arms and stared hard at me. She said, in a tight little voice, “You’re afraid for me, aren’t you, Kirk?”
“Naturally.”
“And I’m afraid for you.” I looked puzzled, and she went on: “It all seems to center around you: the money in the bank, the dead girl in your apartment, someone trying to kill Arthur Maybank for no apparent reason except that he is your friend, the thing tonight—whether it was meant for Agnes or for me. It’s you I’m afraid for, Kirk . . . can’t you see that?”
I shook my head. I told her she was crazy, but I knew she wasn’t. I tried to quiet her. I held her close. I told her how much I loved her.
I finally succeeded in easing the tension. She started to cry. She cried like a little girl. Softly. And I stood there patting her and feeling rotten.
I got her quieted down. I sat uncomfortably while she went behind the screen and changed.
We left the dressing room together. Someone told us that the supper show had been called off.
The corridor looked normal. Even Agnes Sheridan had gone. They had taken her body to the morgue.