DO THE POLICE know who did it?” “The girl didn’t say. And I imagine she has an angle in not giving them my name. The point is, Puma, can you keep my name out of it?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I’ll try, Mrs. Diggert. I’d better call George’s office right now.”
I hung up and looked at Mary Cefalu. I said quietly, “George Ryerson has been killed. I questioned him this morning and the police will want to know why.” She stared at me. “So — ?”
“If I tell them I was employed by Dora Diggert to locate Jean the police will know what Jean is. Do you want them to know that?”
She shook her head and continued to stare at me.
“But if I tell them you hired me, as Jean’s roommate, the reasons why she went to the motel will never come out.”
Mary asked, “You’d lie about that?”
“Wouldn’t you, for Jean? Won’t you?”
She nodded. “Of course.” She took a deep breath. “I’m a little frightened, though.”
I smiled at her. “Paisan, so am I. May I use your phone?”
She nodded absently and poured herself another cup of coffee.
I phoned George Ryerson’s office and a voice I thought I recognized answered the phone.
“Joe Puma,” I said efficiently, “calling George Ryerson.”
“Is that so, Puma? And where are you now?”
It sounded like Sergeant Lehner, but I couldn’t be sure. I asked, “To whom am I speaking?”
“The law, Puma. Sergeant Lehner. Where are you now?”
“At a client’s apartment,” I said. “Why?”
“The client that sent you over here this afternoon?”
“That’s right, Sergeant. A Miss Mary Cefalu.”
“And what’s her connection with Ryerson?”
“There isn’t any. Would you mind telling me what this is all about, Sergeant?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you. Give me your client’s address. And wait there for me.”
I gave him Mary’s address and went back to the wrought-iron table. I sat down and poured another cup of coffee.
Mary looked at me with a question in her eyes.
I said, “At least one officer is coming here, a Sergeant Lehner.” I smiled reassuringly at her. “It’s very simple. Jean was missing and you hired me to find her. Jean is a model, though she hasn’t had much work in that field lately. The man she was to meet was a man named George Ryerson. But later, Jean’s brother phoned and told you what he did. All of it is the truth except for the simple switch of clients.”
“And Dora Diggert gets off the hook,” Mary said bitterly.
“We’re not thinking of her. We’re thinking of Jean, aren’t we? It’s only Dora’s good luck that we’re thinking of Jean in this.”
She sighed. “I guess. But I don’t like it, somehow.”
“It’s all the truth,” I insisted. “And you can tell them about Jean’s brother, his tie-up with the mobs if you like. Tell them all the truth except the truth that will hurt Jean.”
She stood up and stretched her long, taut body. She looked down at me thoughtfully. “Can I trust you, Joe Puma?”
“To the grave,” I said.
She went to the kitchenette and came back with a bottle of Bushmills. “Join me?” I nodded.
As she poured them, I said, “Remember, we don’t know George Ryerson is dead. If Dora hadn’t phoned, I wouldn’t have known it, and we don’t want her mentioned. So let them break that news.”
“I’ll remember,” she said. She lifted her glass. “To luck.”
We drank to that. We could use it in the next few hours.
• • •
Lehner came with another officer, but we never got to talk with him. Lehner did all the interrogating.
Mary gave him her story honestly and completely except for the single lie about being my client.
When she had finished, Lehner asked, “If her brother phoned, why were you still worried about her?”
Mary said evenly, “For two reasons. First, her brother is a hoodlum and I didn’t like his story. And second, how could I be sure it was her brother?”
Lehner’s thin, pugnacious face was bland. “I suppose you couldn’t. And how did Miss Talsman happen to know Mr. Ryerson?”
“I have no idea. She has a number of friends we don’t share.”
“I see. What … uh … business did you say you were in, Miss Cefalu?”
“I didn’t say. I’m a model. Coats, suits and hands.”
“Uh-huh. Could you give me the names of some of the agencies you work for?”
Her chin lifted and her gaze was cool and candid. “Are you being insolent, Sergeant?” She was once more a countess.
He shook his head, studying her quietly.
She said in a cold, level voice, “I can give you the phone numbers of half a dozen major agencies I’ve worked for in the last two months. Would that be sufficient?”
“That would be fine,” he said, and turned toward me. “Well, what’s your story?”
“I was born in Fresno,” I began, “of poor but proud Italian parents in the year — ”
“Don’t get smart, Puma,” he said. “I want to know why you went to see Ryerson.”
“Miss Cefalu has told you. And before I tell you anything, Sergeant, I want to know why we’re being questioned. This is still America, despite your inflated opinion of yourself and your power.”
The other man seemed to move closer. Lehner said softly, “Easy, Puma. You were never on my hit parade.”
“A repugnance I reciprocate,” I answered. “Let’s go down to the station and talk to Captain Jeswald.”
He stared and I stared and the other man muttered something. Finally, Lehner said, “I suppose it’s your size that’s made you so arrogant.”
“My size and cops like you,” I admitted.
“Officers,” he corrected me.
“Officers like you,” I said. “No matter what you may think of me, Sergeant, I’m still a citizen and helping to pay your salary. I think I warrant your respect.”
He stared some more. If I had been fifty pounds lighter I might have been frightened.
Finally, he said, “Ryerson’s dead.”
“Murdered?”
He nodded.
“All right,” I said. I settled back in my chair. “I was one of his visitors today. I asked him what business he’d had with Jean Talsman and he claimed he didn’t even know her. I asked him if he had phoned her for one of his clients and he admitted that might be true. That was all he’d tell me.”
“I see. And where was this engagement supposed to have taken place?”
I told him about the motel and my trip out there and the information I’d garnered from the desk clerk. And finished by saying, “So naturally I came back here to find out from Miss Cefalu if Jean’s brother fit the description the desk clerk gave me of this man.”
He looked at Mary. “Is there any picture of her brother around?”
“Not to my knowledge,” she answered. “There might be, in one of her drawers.”
Lehner’s sardonic face turned my way again. “Was Ryerson registered at the motel?”
“Not by that name. Under the name of George Reimers.”
He smiled cynically. “And the girl is a model, you say, like Miss Cefalu here?”
“I never compared her with Miss Cefalu,” I said stiffly. “I never met her.”
He stood up. “Well, with your permission, Miss Cefalu, we’ll check the apartment for a picture of this brother. You may do it under our guidance if you prefer.”
“Or you can refuse to,” I explained to her, “unless they bring a warrant.”
Lehner didn’t look at me as he said, “That’s correct.”
“I’ll do it,” she said. “I’ve nothing to hide.”
They went into the bedroom, leaving the other man with me. He sat down at the table and brought out a crumpled cigarette package. It was empty. He sighed.
I threw my pack across to him and said, “There’s still some coffee. Want a cup?”
He glanced toward the other room and then smiled at me. “I guess.” He picked up the cigarettes. “You and the sergeant aren’t buddies, are you?”
“Even in the Department,” I said, “he hasn’t got any buddies.” I poured him some coffee.
“You could be right,” he said sadly, “and it’s a damned shame. Because he’s a very competent man.”
“That’s not enough, not today,” I answered. “The bedside manner is important, too, today. You’re new to plainclothes, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “How’d you guess?”
“All the uniformed men are so polite in this town. It still sticks with you a little.”
“Don’t butter me, Puma,” he said with a grin. “I don’t like private men any more than he does.”
I didn’t argue with him. I asked, “How did Ryerson get it, and where?”
He frowned and glanced again toward the other room.
“For God’s sake,” I said, “it will be in all the papers in another half hour.”
He smiled. “You can wait, then.”
I leaned back and smoked and ignored him. He smoked my cigarette and drank Mary’s coffee and ignored me.
George might have been a Syndicate kill but the Syndicate kills these days were very rare and never over the fate of a call girl. It would more likely be due to some shenanigans of George with the account of some maverick hood. The big boys can make all the money they need by using lawyers and accountants instead of torpedoes. Las Vegas had set up the new semi-legal criminal element, the smooth boys who looked almost like human beings and who paid fifty thousand a week for single entertainers in their legalized clip-joints.
But to get back to my problem, the death of George Ryerson might possibly have nothing to do with the disappearance of Jean Talsman. The whole mix-up could have been simply an unfortunate coincidence.
Though for some reason I doubted that.
And the redhead …? She had told me she’d never heard of Dora Diggert. Then how could she have phoned her at an unlisted number? She must have lied when we first met. Because Ryerson had done some income tax work for Dora and the redhead looked like one of those efficient girls who don’t forget a client’s name.
• • •
Sergeant Lehner came back into the room with Mary. He said to the other officer, “Nothing in there. And Miss Cefalu tells me there is no photograph anywhere in this room. We’ll go out to that motel.” He looked at me. “Come down and make out your report at your convenience, Mr. Puma. Any time within the next hour will be soon enough.”
“Thanks, Sergeant,” I said. “Remember me to the Captain.”
“That I will,” he promised. “I’ll tell him all about you.”
They left and Mary stood at the open doorway, staring at me. Then she closed the door and began to cry.
“Have another snort of that Bushmill’s,” I suggested. “Jean could be perfectly all right. This might have nothing to do with Jean.”
She came back to sit at the table while I went to the phone to call Dora Diggert.
I told Dora, “Miss Cefalu had a phone call from a man who claimed he was Jean’s brother. He said he and Jean were going to Palm Springs for a few days. So I guess you get one of your hundreds back.”
“Not so fast, Puma. I hired you to find Jean, not dig up hearsay. You find her.”
“I’d be getting into trouble, Ma’m,” I said. “The law frowns on private men who get involved in homicides.”
“Jean isn’t involved in murder if she’s in Palm Springs. And you’ve got to protect me, too, Puma.”
“Protect you from what?” “From the police.”
“And the best way to do that,” I pointed out, “would be for me to withdraw from the case this second. I’m involved with the police. But you, thanks to an assist from Miss Cefalu, are not.”
“I don’t need anything from Mary Cefalu. And what about that office girl of Ryerson’s? What was her angle?”
“I don’t know, but maybe some mild blackmail. I mean, she might want a little something for keeping your name out of the mess.”
“Well, you find out what her angle is.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll check her and finish the day.”
“And report back to me,” she said crisply.
“Yes’m,” I said meekly. “Yes’m, I’m on the way.”
The station Lehner worked out of was Hollywood and I could get there easily from Ryerson’s office. I decided that would be my schedule.
At the table, Mary stared at me tearfully.
“I won’t leave until I’m sure you’re all right,” I offered.
The enormous brown eyes were brimming and her long, beautiful hands trembled on the glass table top. “Some of the men she knew,” she said hoarsely, “some of the monstrous men she — ” She inhaled heavily. “Jean was a — nice girl.”
“I’m sure she’s not in the past tense yet.”
“I didn’t mean that. And I didn’t mean she was — is moral. Whatever that means. I meant she was generous and friendly and bright and fastidious. She — ”
“So okay,” I said. “This town is full of nice girls who get involved with swine. All towns are but this one more so, because there are more wealthy swine here. Let’s not jump to any tragic conclusions, honey.”
Mary put both hands to her temples. “But murder — ? Oh, God!”
“The second that I locate Jean,” I told her gently, “I’ll insist that she phone you.” And when, I asked myself, did I decide to continue looking for her?
Mary said, “You told Dora you weren’t going to look any longer.”
“I’ll look because of you and Dora can pay for it. It’s simple reciprocity after what you did for her.”
She wiped her eyes and tried to smile. “Did I lie all right? I’m not very good at it, am I?”
“You were superb,” I said. “Some night, could we go to a movie, or like that?”
She nodded gravely. “We could. Be careful, paisan.”
“Okay, Tulare. And some other day, we’ll take a trip up that way, won’t we?”
She nodded. “My folks are still there. You have Jean phone me, hear? You tell her I think she’s a fool.”
I promised I would. I made a face at her and left.
• • •
The redhead was still at the office when I got back to Ryerson’s. Her name, I learned, was Eileen Rafferty. She had recovered from the shock of Ryerson’s death, she told me.
I said respectfully, “I had no idea you had been in shock, Miss Rafferty. You certainly showed poise in immediately phoning Dora Diggert.”
She said heatedly, “I thought it was important. Don’t you?”
“Both Dora and I do,” I admitted. “We wondered why you did.”
“Because George Ryerson has a lovely wife and two wonderful children. Why else?”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine. You told the police about me. Weren’t you afraid I might have to tell them I was working for Mrs. Diggert?”
She nodded. “I worried about it. But my first instinct was to protect Mrs. Ryerson and the children. Are you going to tell the police about Mrs. Diggert?”
“I may have to.” I paused. “I’m thinking of Jean Talsman’s reputation. We’ve told the police she was a model. She lives with a model.”
Eileen Rafferty made no comment about that. She began to sort papers for filing.
I asked, “Any theories about what happened?”
She looked at me candidly. “George — Mr. Ryerson has always handled a number of, well — I suppose they could be called doubtful accounts. Not that everything wasn’t legal, you understand?”
“Hoodlums’ accounts, do you mean?”
She shrugged.
“How did that happen?”
“Well, he used to be a gambler, you know.”
“George Ryerson — ? That — ”
“Square?” she supplied. “Yes. He’s a whiz with figures. I mean he was. And right after he graduated from college, he thought he could invade Las Vegas with a system he and a friend had worked out. For almost a year, it looked like it would work. But then it began to fail them.”
“For almost a year, in Las Vegas? Couldn’t he retire on that?”
She shook her head. “You misunderstand. Any system that’s based on sound mathematical principles is geared to show a very small profit over a long period of time. I mean a small percentage of profit. It requires a lot of money to show any worthwhile profit.”
“You’re quoting,” I accused her.
She nodded. “I’m quoting George Ryerson. I heard that speech often enough.”
“Maybe he planned to go back there and try it again.”
“I don’t think so. Some of the wheels around Vegas got interested in his experiment and that’s how he got friendly with them. And when he opened this office, he convinced a number of them he could save them important money on their income taxes.”
“And,” I added, “keep them out of jail too.”
She smiled acidly. “I didn’t say it. Well, I’m about ready to lock up, Mr. Puma. Anything else?”
“Only the same question I asked before — any theories on who might have killed him?”
“None,” she said.
“And will you be out of a job? Or will the firm continue?”
“The firm will continue. George had an order of succession all written up. He was a very careful man.”
Not quite careful enough, I thought. I asked casually, “Did you know George — socially?”
She looked at me a moment before answering. Then: “I’ve been to his house for dinner. Is that what you meant?”
“I guess,” I said. “Good luck, Miss Rafferty. Take care of yourself.”
“I always have,” she assured me.
At the station, I was told that Sergeant Lehner and his partner were not in, but I could dictate my statement to a stenographer and drop back to sign it after it had been typed.
That took less than half an hour and it was still too early to eat dinner. I was restless and irritable for no reason I could think of. This afternoon’s violence had happened countless times before; murder was nothing new.
What had probably bothered me this afternoon was the public apathy toward hoodlums and the public support of this scum in such gilded cesspools as Las Vegas and Reno. Crime was now respectable; it was even admired.
I went up to the office and made out a report of the day’s doings. From the office next door, I could hear the whir of Dr. Graves’ drill and from the street below came the muted sounds of the fat-tired traffic on Beverly Drive.
We were in a money time again. Was that why I was so depressed: because I wasn’t getting my slice of it? Why this adolescent petulance? I was a big boy and I had earned a hundred dollars today. I was no poet; I was a big, tough wop.
Suddenly my door opened and a man stood there. He was a big man. He stared at me without speaking.
“The washroom is at the end of the hall,” I told him.
“Don’t get smart, shamus,” he said tightly.
I studied him, the breadth of his shoulders, the broken nose in the otherwise personable face, the costly tailoring and the clenched fists at his sides. I figured him to go about 190 pounds.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Never mind that. Where’s my sister?”
“If your name is Kelly,” I said, “your sister’s in Monaco. If your name is Falkenburg, she’s in New York. If — ”
“I warned you not to get smart, shamus. My name is Tom Talsman.”
“Oh,” I said, and stood up. “As far as I know, then, your sister is in Palm Springs. Maybe the police would know by this time. Shall I call Sergeant Lehner and ask him?” I reached for the phone.
He came over swiftly and clamped one big hand around my wrist.
We stood there glaring at each other like a pair of juvenile delinquents.
“You’re big,” I said reasonably, “but I’m bigger. Take your hand off my wrist or I’ll belt you.”
The back of his other hand came around to sting my cheek.
The rest I dislike to relate. My only excuse is the afternoon’s depression and the peeve against hoodlums I had been building in my mind. I’m not normally pugilistic without cause.
He was holding my right wrist; I put my weight into the left I hooked in under his heart. He said “oof” and caught the edge of my mouth with a wild right hand.
I had turned now and he was still wavering from the hook. His back was to my desk and the route to his chin was unimpeded. I threw the big right hand.
He went down and the back of his head caught the edge of the desk with a sickening thunk. He was out before he hit the floor.