Chapter 20

WHEN Kent Murdock re-entered the apartment with his camera and a pocket full of flashbulbs Bacon was staring stonily out of the window. Sydney French was leaning sideways against the wall, contemplating the design in the carpet. Damin had remained where he was and all three turned silently to watch Murdock put his camera and topcoat aside.

Bacon cleared his throat and it was instantly apparent that he was not in one of his better moods. His long face was severe, his grey eyes suspicious. Everything about him seemed to indicate not only that he considered such proceedings highly unorthodox, but that he disapproved of himself for coming here at all. When he spoke his voice was curt, impatient, and hard.

‘You’re going to crack this for me, is that it?’ he said.

‘I said I had a lead’, Murdock answered, knowing how it was with Bacon. You’re going to do the cracking if the lead is any good.’

Bacon wasn’t buying anything yet. ‘All right’, he said. ‘Let’s have it.’

Murdock had walked over to the recorder and now he indicated the tape on the two reels. ‘I’ve got a recording I want you to hear.’

‘Where’d you get it?’ countered Bacon, still suspicious.

‘In this drawer.’

‘When?’

‘This morning.’

‘Oh no, you didn’t.’ Bacon advanced slowly. He had his chin out an inch and a half and he was not Murdock’s friend now; he was a cop who, having hitherto been ineffective and thwarted in his investigations, no longer cared whose toes he stepped on. ‘I know how many reels of tape there were in that drawer last night’, he said. ‘I know how many Sergeant Unger checked this morning. I listened to them. I know what was on them.’

He rocked on heel and toe, his jaw ridged. ‘If you’ve got a new recording you didn’t get it here today. You got it here last night before we came. You found the tape and you took it out and hid it until you could check on it yourself. Don’t ask me why. You’ve done it before—held out because you wanted to cover for someone or thought you could wind up with exclusive pictures—and you saw a chance to do it again. Now you tell me the reel was here all the time, hunh?’

Murdock took it. He did not like it but he was honest enough to recognize the soundness of Bacon’s assumption; for he had, in fact, done exactly as Bacon had said, the only difference being that what he had held out was the two negatives he had found on Klime. He wished now he had not done so even though the pictures no longer seemed important. He could feel the flush moving up along his neck and the stiffness working on his jaw, but he met the lieutenant’s gaze and spoke evenly.

‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you. The reel was here. Unger played one side of it. What he didn’t know was——’

He broke off to look at the door. Bacon was already striding toward it, intent on answering the sudden knocking. When he jerked it open Audrey Wayne and Jeff Elliott were standing side by side in the hall.

Bacon looked them over. He stepped back and glanced at Murdock. ‘What is this?’ he asked querulously.

Murdock did not have to answer because by now the girl had seen him and was coming in, her smile tentative, her green eyes a bit anxious. She was wearing her brown suit and alligator shoes with reasonable heels. A scarf was knotted loosely about her throat and she looked out of breath and a little windblown, her two-toned hair awry with stray wisps that brushed the tawny cheeks.

‘I got your message’, she said. ‘I came as soon as I could.’ All this was for Murdock. She walked up to him as though he were the only one in the room. ‘I’m sorry’, she said, lowering her lashes. ‘I couldn’t stand staying in that room alone any longer.’

Murdock let his breath come out, a little surprised that he could be so pleased to see her. He found himself returning her smile until he remembered why he was here.

‘How did he find you?’ He glanced at Elliott who had opened his coat and was passing his hand over his close-cropped hair as he looked about the room.

‘Oh, he didn’t. I telephoned him. I thought he might take me to lunch and he did … Oh, hello, Mr. French. I’m sorry about the audition. I told Jeff and he said maybe we could fix up another appointment.’

French shifted his weight and pushed away from the wall, his round face bewildered. Then Bacon took over and called the meeting to order.

‘All right’, he said impatiently. ‘All right. I guess we got a quorum so let’s get down to business. You two over there on the couch’, he said, gesturing to Audrey and Jeff. ‘Sit down, French. You, too, Murdock. Now what’s this about the recording?’

Murdock sat down and thought it over, aware that he had a great many things to say and hardly knowing where to start, now that he had the opportunity. When he discovered that everyone was watching him, he looked up at Bacon.

‘Is it okay to tell it my way?’

‘What way is that?’

‘From the beginning, or at least the afternoon of the wedding. I’d like to start with your theory. I think it’s the right one.’

‘I know damn well it is’, Bacon said. ‘The hell of it is I can’t prove it … Can you?’

Murdock ignored the question. He asked Bacon to go over the theory again and the lieutenant did so without delay, and with no hesitation once he had started.

He said Garvin had been strangled in the Canning home, had been removed after the reception by some of the Cannings or Elliotts, with Damin’s help, and dumped in an Allston alley. The motive was blackmail by Garvin because of letters the Canning girl had written years before.

‘You stuck your nose out,’ he continued to Murdock, ‘by going to Garvin’s hotel room to look for evidence, but Damin beat you to it and was waiting in the bathroom.’

Damin was leaning back in an easy chair, legs crossed, his new-looking felt balanced on one knee. Now he grunted softly and angled one black brow at the lieutenant.

‘Who,’ he asked, ‘says Damin did?’

‘Murdock’, said Bacon, turning to look at the other. ‘You went up to the girl’s room’—he glanced at Audrey—‘to get this other envelope you’d heard about, missed it, and then got Klime and somebody else to tail Murdock and the girl and make the grab.’ He stopped suddenly, brow furrowing as his glance came back to Murdock. ‘Was this tape recording you’ve been talking about in that envelope?’

‘I think the original was’, Murdock said.

‘Original?’

‘I think Klime made a copy; that’s why he’s got two machines here. Damin came over and heard the original that first night.’

‘That,’ said Damin, ‘you would have to prove.’

Murdock ignored the comment and waved his hand at the shelves of records at the end of the room.

‘That record meant plenty to Klime because he knew music and lyrics. I’ll play it for you,’ he said, ‘but first I want to tell you why Sergeant Unger missed it.’

He stood up and explained how the new recorder used only half of the tape at one time, how it could be reversed.

‘Unger didn’t know that. He’s no expert on recorders. That’s not his job.’

‘But you did’, Bacon said.

‘Not this morning, I didn’t. Not until I got a demonstration from the place that sells these.’ He was at the machine now, turning it on to let the tubes warm, then starting the tape. He glanced about as the voice and piano accompaniment filled the room.

For perhaps two bars no one moved, no one spoke. Then Audrey’s lips parted and her eyes opened wide. Sydney French had been sitting with one leg stretched straight out, his gaze focused idly on the tip of his shoes. Now he rolled on one hip and his head came up, round face stormy.

The girl spoke first.

‘Why——’ she gasped. ‘Why, that’s “The Man for Me”. That’s Mr. French’s song.’

‘Sure it’s my song’, French yelled. ‘My first hit.’

‘But the words’, the girl said. ‘They’re not the same.’

‘They’re not my lyrics’, French said. ‘Who taped that? Under what title?’

Murdock stopped the machine. ‘It’s called “Me and My Man” on this recording’, he said quietly.

Bacon, whose knowledge of popular music was apparently not too comprehensive, had got lost along the way. He looked from one to the other; then thumped the table for attention.

‘Wait a minute’, he said. ‘Wait—a—minute!’

They looked at him.

Bacon glared back. ‘What is this?’ he demanded.

‘It’s my song,’ French said, ‘with different words.’

‘What you’ve just heard,’ Murdock said, ‘is what I heard when I first played the thing about an hour ago. I had the same idea because I recognized Syd’s tune. Then I put myself solidly in left field.’

He leaned against the wall and they gave him their attention. When he spoke his tone was deprecating and sardonic.

‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘I manage to be a very stupid guy. I’m not always too bright, and this was just one of those days. I heard those words and instead of going back to the beginning and getting the real picture I jumped to a conclusion, the wrong one. I grabbed at the first idea that popped into my pointed little head. I knew the words were wrong, even though I didn’t recall the right ones. I was thinking about murder and the kind of guy Lew Klime was, and I got the idea that those words had a special message, that there was a clue somewhere, like a code that had to be deciphered. I couldn’t even accept the obvious.

‘Maybe,’ he said dryly, ‘it’s because I’ve been listening to too many of these crime programmes on the radio. I don’t know. All I could think of at the time was to get someone who knew the right lyrics. I called Audrey and then I called Syd. Not until I started the tape from the beginning did I realize how simple the whole thing was.… That,’ he said to Bacon, ‘was when I decided to call you. Listen.’

He rewound the reel and started it from the beginning.

‘Recorded at Alpert and Leeds,’ the announcer’s voice said, ‘West Los Angeles. February 1949. Take it away Neil Garvin.’ There was a pause and then a different voice began to speak in offhand, self-confident phrases. ‘I’ve got three tunes I want you to hear’, it said. ‘All of them different, all of Hit Parade material … The first is a little jump tune I call “Me and My Man” and don’t let the vocal throw you because it’s the only voice I have. Just get the melody and the nice up-beat and see how you like the lyrics … Okay? Then give a listen.’

The piano had been softly chording behind the introduction and now it modulated and a man began to sing, not expertly but pleasantly enough and with nice phrasing. After that Murdock listened and so did the others. At the final chord they were still listening and when Bacon cleared his throat Murdock held up his hand.

What came out then was another introduction. A ballad this time. ‘A little thing called “Forevermore” ’, the voice said.

And once again it was Audrey Wayne who interrupted before the song was half finished. She was shaking her head from side to side, the hair flying in violent denial.

‘No’, she cried. ‘That’s “Eternally”. I’ve sung it.’

‘Of course it’s “Eternally” ’, French said. ‘I ought to know.’ He stared at Murdock. ‘I don’t get it’, he said. ‘My tunes with a few lyric changes——’

Bacon interrupted. The conversation was still going over his head and it made him sore.

‘Who cares whose tunes they are?’ he shouted. ‘What’s it prove?’

‘A motive for murder’, Murdock said. ‘Lew Klime knew it the minute he heard the recording. I figured Damin did too. I had an idea they quarrelled over it last night and Damin got in the first shot.’

He grunted disdainfully and said: ‘Then I saw it was a bad idea because I talked with Hilda Klime yesterday afternoon and she said Damin had a tin ear, that if you played “Star Dust” for him he couldn’t tell if he’d ever heard the tune before. I believe her. The record meant nothing to Saul but Klime knew what he had and how to collect.’

‘Who from?’ Bacon wanted to know.

‘Why—from Syd’, Murdock said. ‘Garvin wrote the songs and Syd stole them.’

‘Are you crazy?’

Syd French leaned forward from the waist, his face shiny and oddly corrugated, his eyes obscure.

‘Slightly,’ Murdock said, ‘but not about this, Syd.’

Bacon was quietly attentive. He inspected French thoughtfully and did the same for Murdock, and it probably came to him that he had known the photographer a long time, that when Murdock talked like that it was a good idea to give him the benefit of the doubt; at least for a while. Now he tipped his head to look down his thin nose, his grey gaze calculating.

‘Suppose you’re right’, he said. ‘Can you take it from there?’

‘I can try.’ Murdock pulled a straight-backed chair closer and sat down. He glanced at Damin, who sat un-moving and silent but missed nothing. He considered French, wishing he had more concrete evidence but knowing he had gone too far to back out now. He’d have his say and let Bacon carry the ball from there because that was Bacon’s job.

‘You had a theory on French the other morning’, he said. ‘I talked you out of it.’

‘I remember’, Bacon said.

‘You said Syd could have killed Garvin. I said Syd would not have had time to do the job during the reception, as you suggested, or the opportunity. What I didn’t think of was that he had come earlier, before the reception, while the others were at the church and the house nearly empty. I didn’t happen to see him or think to ask his men when he came—you can check with them—but I was out on the porch for at least ten minutes before the bride returned and during that time I know no car came or left the house. Yet when I went back to the main rooms Syd was there with his band.’

He took a breath and said: ‘I argued that the ninety-day stretch Syd served wasn’t motive enough for murder and that’s the only time I was right. The motive was that tape recording. Check the date and you’ll find it was made before Garvin was sent up for three years; it was made while French was in jail. When he got out he discovered his wife had divorced him for Garvin. He found out about the songs——’

Bacon interrupted. ‘We checked some more on Garvin. At the trial he screamed that he’d been framed, that someone had planted the junk in his car.’

Murdock was watching French and the man sat as he was, leaning back a little, one leg outstretched, hands on his thighs.

‘It doesn’t matter now whether French framed Garvin or not, though he hated him enough to do so; what is important is that somehow he got hold of the manuscripts of those songs. He brought them East, knowing Garvin would show up one day to yell that he’d been robbed but knowing also that it would do no good. Syd had the copyright. Garvin couldn’t prove a thing—so Syd thought. What he didn’t know was that Garvin had taped the songs in the beginning before he went to jail and thereby had positive proof that he was the guy who had written them back in ’49.

‘Garvin probably told Syd that first night he was in town’, he added. ‘He told him what he wanted and made a date for lunch. He also told Syd he was going out to the Canning place the next day to do some collecting.’

He tipped one hand and said: ‘The point is, Syd knew Garvin could ruin him. There wouldn’t be any marriage to Vivian Keith. He’d not only lose his job at WXCD, he’d have to pay back every penny the songs had earned. Maybe he didn’t have murder in his mind then, maybe not even when Garvin didn’t show up for lunch. But he must have been wondering plenty; it must have occurred to him that Garvin might have got into trouble at Canning’s, that there was a chance he was still in the house. If so the place to look would be on the third floor, away from the guests. I say Syd had a look and found Garvin in that closet, maybe during those ten minutes I was on the porch, maybe before that.… The p.m. showed that Garvin was strangled by a man’s left hand. Luther Canning was left handed.’

‘So was his brother, Todd’, Bacon said. ‘I checked.’

‘Syd’s a guitar player’, Murdock said. ‘One of the best. He’s been at it a long time. And a guitar player’s left hand is much stronger than his right; it’s the one he does all that fingering with and the muscles have to be strong.’

Bacon gave Murdock a glance of quick respect and then centred his attention on French.

‘What do you say, Syd?’

‘I say he’s nuts.’

‘You deny everything, hunh?’

‘Certainly.’ French swallowed and wrapped his topcoat about his stomach. ‘Except maybe the part about the tape and even that you’d have to prove. As for the rest of it——’

He broke off, his tone contemptuous. He looked over at Jeff Elliott, his gaze challenging the big man to deny what he was about to say.

‘As for the rest of it,’ he continued to Bacon, ‘hell, you can’t even prove Garvin ever was in the Canning house.’

Elliott gave immediate corroboration to French’s statement even though he and everyone in the room knew he was lying. He even made it sound convincing.

‘That,’ he said, ‘I can go along with.’ He looked about, big, blond, assured. ‘We say Garvin was never in the house. We intend to keep on saying it.’

Bacon’s neck got red. He looked as if he wanted to shout at Elliott. In the end, apparently deciding that nothing would change the other’s story, he tightened his mouth and kept his voice down.

‘If Syd did the job on Garvin,’ he said to Murdock, ‘and knew about the tape, why didn’t he look for it?’

‘Maybe he did.’ Saul Damin crossed his legs and shifted his hat. ‘It’s nothing you could use in court because it’s hearsay, but I heard that Garvin’s hotel room was searched before anyone came looking for the letters.’

‘You mean before you got there’, Bacon said, his neck still red.

‘Not me, Lieutenant’, said Damin with mock innocence. ‘Just something that I heard. I thought it might fit. French comes looking for the tape and doesn’t find it. Maybe he finds the letters and maybe not but they’re not important to him so he leaves them, not knowing the envelope with the tape has been left at the desk for the girl by Garvin.’

That told Murdock all he wanted to know. Damin would never admit he was involved. Elliott would never admit Garvin had been at the Canning place. He glanced over at the couch to find Audrey sitting close, and when he saw Elliott was holding her hand he knew it would do no good to repeat the confession Elliott had made to her earlier, since it was obvious from the way the girl kept glancing at her ex-husband that she would deny it.

Bacon, too, seemed to realize that while Murdock’s theory was good there was neither proof nor corroboration for the things he said. For the first time he looked discouraged rather than frustrated.

‘So what have we got?’ he said finally.

‘Nothing’, said French. ‘You never did have because it’s not true.’

Bacon ignored him and continued to Murdock. ‘We know Garvin went to Cannings but right now we can’t prove it. You say Syd killed Garvin but you can’t prove that.’

‘He also killed Lew Klime’, Murdock said.

‘Can you prove that?’

‘I can try.’

Bacon said: ‘Ahh——’ but without too much enthusiasm.

Murdock took a second to marshal his thoughts and now the feeling of excitement that had been dissipated by all the talk began to tug at his nerves again. In his own mind he knew he was right; he also knew he had to gamble on one assumption, that if he was wrong he was through.

‘Klime stole the tape recording,’ he said, phrasing his thoughts with care, ‘and when he played it he knew that he had not only a motive for Garvin’s murder but a wonderful chance to collect. He made a copy because he was that kind of guy, and then he made a date for last night with Syd. He must have intimated what he had because Syd came with a gun, the same one he had fired at Audrey the night before.’

He said: ‘When Syd heard what was on the tape he knew he had to have it. He pulled the gun and tore the tape out of the machine. He had already killed once and there’s no point now in trying to guess whether he shot Klime deliberately to protect himself or whether——’

Damin cut in, his voice mean.

‘Lew was no coward’, he said. ‘He wouldn’t stand still for a pitch like that, not from a guy like French.’

‘Whatever happened,’ Murdock said, ‘Klime got that centre drawer open and went for his own gun.’

‘Not only that,’ Bacon said, ‘he fired it.’

‘And you didn’t find the slug.’

‘Not yet.’

‘The man who ran out on the street and took a shot at me limped. I thought it was Todd Canning. Now I think he limped because he was carrying Klime’s slug.’

He paused to glance at French and the man stared back at him, his moustached face tight and shiny and colourless, his body twisted and stiff looking.

‘I’ve been watching you, Syd,’ Murdock said, ‘ever since you came in. I might not have noticed it if I hadn’t already made up my mind about you, but you’re favouring that right leg, aren’t you? You walked a bit stiffly when you came in. You kept shifting your weight when you were standing; you’ve been holding the right leg straight.’

He nodded to Bacon. ‘Let’s take him into the bedroom’, he said. ‘I think if we strip him we’ll find Klime’s slug. That ought to be——’

He never finished the sentence, nor was there ever any answer. He was watching Bacon and he saw the lieutenant jerk forward and grab the chair arms. He heard Damin curse once. That was all the warning he had. When he turned his head he saw the gun in French’s hand.