Gloria, Motley's kid sister, was young and more than attractive. Motley had had little difficulty in persuading her to show off her charms before Howard.
Within a month Howard had married her, realizing when it was too late that the Captain of Police he planned to get rid of was now his brother-inlaw.
From that time on Motley was sacrosanct. Howard quickly found that if
he put any kind of pressure on Motley, he was promptly shut out of his wife's room. So long as he let Motley alone, Gloria performed her wifely duties. Crazy about this vivacious, beautiful girl, he had now accepted the position and had taken the line of least resistance.
Adams sitting opposite the Commissioner, was aware of these facts. He knew Motley was useless, as a police captain, and he knew, if Motley went, he himself would be the automatic choice to replace him. For months now he had been patiently waiting his opportunity to get rid of both Motley and Donovan. He had discovered, however, that it would need a major political explosion to blast Motley out of office, and even now, while he listened to Howard talking, his mind was trying to find a way to use Fay Carson's death as the spark to touch off the explosion.
'I want this cracked and cracked fast!' Howard was saying, in a soft furious voice. He looked across at Motley. 'Get every man working on it! We've got to nab this killer! A house full of prostitutes! You told me there wasn't a call-house in town.'
Motley smiled, showing tobacco-stained teeth.
'There are always call-houses,' he said. 'We shut them up and they open again.'
'Why didn't you shut this one up?' Howard demanded.
Motley stared at him.
'You know why, don't you? It's one of O'Brien's houses.'
Howard flushed, then went white. He looked quickly at Adams, who was staring down at his brightly polished shoes, his face blank. Howard was reassured: either Adams hadn't heard Motley's remark or O'Brien's name meant nothing to him.
But O'Brien's name meant plenty to Adams. He new O'Brien was the money behind the party. He knew he was the boss of the party machine. He felt a tingle run up his spine. This could be it. So O'Brien owned 25 Lessington Avenue. Here was the scandal he had been hunting for months. If he could trap Motley into giving O'Brien away, the explosion he had been waiting to touch off would take place.
Only a few of the higher-placed officers of the Administration knew O'Brien was behind the party. Adams wasn't supposed to know, but there wasn't much about the party he hadn't found out.
Howard felt a restricting band of rage tighten across his chest. This fat, loose-mouthed slob must be crazy to shoot his mouth off about O'Brien in front of Adams. He looked again at Adams. No, he didn't know about O'Brien. The remark had passed over his head. Adams was a good police officer, but that was all. He was only interested in his work: politics meant nothing to him.
Howard had no idea O'Brien owned 25 Lessington Avenue, and he was dismayed to hear it. If the press found out, the repercussions might very easily unseat the Administration.
It was essential that this killing should be cleared up as quickly as possible and the killer caught.
'How far have you got to now?' he asked Motley.
Motley waved an indifferent hand towards Adams.
'He's taking care of it. You know, Paul, you're making a hell of a fuss about the killing of this woman. Who cares, anyway?'
'You'll care when you see the press tomorrow morning,' Howard said grimly. 'Got any leads yet?' he went on to Adams.
'We have a description of a guy who could have done it,' Adams said. 'Donovan's working on it, now.'
'Donovan? You should be working on it,' Howard said violently. 'Donovan . . . !' He stopped short, scowled down at the desk and then shrugged.
Motley watched him and concealed a grin.
Donovan was Motley's special pet. Howard and Motley had clashed over him before, and Adams knew it. He knew also that Gloria had been used to save Donovan from returning to a beat, and Howard wasn't likely to start trouble for Donovan again, unless he was forced to.
'Donovan's a good guy,' Motley said, patting his heavy paunch. Although he was only thirty-eight, lack of exercise, heavy drinking and gross feeding had thickened his figure, making him look a lot older than he was. 'We don't often get a murder case, and this could be Donovan's chance. I want him to re-establish himself. The press has been picking on him for months. It's time he had a chance to show what he can do.'
'This isn't a one-man police force,' Howard said, controlling his temper with difficulty. 'I want every man working on it. We've got to nab this killer, Joe.'
'Sure, sure,' Motley said indifferently. He got slowly to his feet. 'Well, I've got to run along. I'm going to the club tonight and I've got to get a haircut. Gloria said she'd be at the dance. You coming?'
'We have a murder on our hands, Joe.'
Motley stared at him.
'So what? That doesn't mean you and I can't go to the dance does it? What the hell have we got Adams for? He'll take care of it.'
'You go. I have things to do,' Howard said curtly.
'Gloria won't like it. She's relying on you.'
Howard started to say something, then stopped. To cover his embarrassment, he stubbed out his cigar which was only half burned.
