I’ve been working on this angle while your men are following up a local lead.
“The bald-headed bartender back there is mixed up in it somehow. What sort of story did he hand you? And what’s your name, by the way? I’d like to tell Hogan how intelligently you cooperated with me.”
“Grady, it is.” The Irish brogue deepened under Shayne’s commendation. “Baldy, back there? I was passing by when he hurried out and said there was some trouble inside. A drunk molesting a young lady.”
“He should be watched,” Shayne said sternly. “I know you’re not a detective, but I can clearly see you’ve got the makings of one. How’s for it if I tail the girl and you go back to keep an eye on Jack? Or aren’t you allowed to leave your beat for something like that?”
Completely won over by Michael Shayne’s blarney, Officer Grady said proudly, “That’s what we’re on beat for, of course. To take action in any emergency as seems fitting. It’s in the rule-book. I’ll tell the sergeant when I phone in next. What would you suspect Baldy of being up to?”
“Tipping someone off that I’ve caught him in his lie and they’d better do something about it. If you’re back there quickly, you might earn a detective rating for this. Stick with him, and report direct to Hogan if he does anything suspicious.”
“Right you are.” Grady swung a beefy hand In a half-salute, swung on his heel and hurried back toward the barroom. Shayne moved up his pace somewhat to close the gap between Estelle and himself to half a block.
She was walking fast along the uncrowded avenue, not looking back at all, evidently certain in her own mind that Shayne was still being detained by Grady.
As Shayne had anticipated, Estelle continued northward about ten blocks before turning into Lew Recker’s hotel. He slowed his pace and sauntered on, allowing her plenty of time to pass through the lobby before turning in himself. There was an older woman at the desk this time, and she glanced at him incuriously as he went directly to the elevators at the rear. One came down a moment later, and the detective was taken up to the 5th floor. He turned to his left and went to Recker’s door. He listened for a moment, but could hear nothing from within. He tried the knob and found it locked, then knocked lightly.
After a few moments, Lew Recker’s voice came suspiciously from the other side of the locked door. “Yes? Who is it?”
Shayne said, “Special Delivery letter,” hoping it wasn’t the custom of this hotel to telephone up first before making a delivery. Evidently it wasn’t, because the knob turned and the door opened a narrow crack.
Shayne moved against it with his shoulder, shoving Recker back as he stepped inside.
Estelle Stevens faced him across the room in front of the typewriter desk. Her face was pale and frightened as she gasped out: “That’s the man, Lew. The one I was telling you about.”
“I thought I recognized your description,” said Recker angrily, confronting Shayne with glittering eyes. “I know all about him, Estelle. He’s an impostor who forced his way in here earlier to question me about Elsie, pretending he was a cop. There’s probably a warrant out for his arrest right now. So you’d better beat it while you can,” he flung at Shayne venomously.
The redhead grinned happily and heeled the door shut, moving back to stand with his back to it. “On the contrary, bud. We three are going to have a nice cozy talk about Elsie Murray… and about another friend of yours who was murdered three months ago. Elbert Green.”
Estelle stiffened and her upper lip drew back from her teeth when she heard the name. Lew Recker merely grunted angrily and moved back toward the telephone stand. “I’ll tell the police anything they want to know.”
He leaned down to reach for the phone, but Shayne moved swiftly and flung him backward across the room toward Estelle. “You’re talking to me. And now. One more yap from you will get your face spoiled.
“Listen to me carefully, you two,” he went on fast and rough. “This isn’t a game you’re playing. Two people are dead already, and maybe a third. I know things the police don’t know, and you know things I’ve got to know.
“Don’t be a childish fool,” he went on harshly to Recker who had sunk into a chair and was nervously rubbing his face with a handkerchief. “If you talked to Detective Peters after I left this morning, you know I’m perfectly legitimate even if I am private from Florida. He may have told you I have no official standing in New York and no authority to ask questions, but this is my authority right now.” He doubled a big fist and shoved it menacingly under Recker’s nose. “Start talking.”
“I don’t know…” Recker stopped and swallowed hard. He looked up plaintively at Estelle and asked her, “Do you know what the man wants, dear? You were just telling me how you met him in some cocktail lounge…?”
“The one Elsie Murray used to go to when she lived down the avenue,” Shayne cut in fast. “The one she went into for the last time around twelve o’clock the night Elbert Green was murdered… after she had passed out at a party she attended with you two. Does that jog your memory?”
Lew Recker’s face presented a curiously contrasting interplay of emotions. There was comprehension, and fear, and honest puzzlement.
He wet his lips and said, “Elbert Green? I do remember that name vaguely.” He looked at Estelle appealingly. “Wasn’t he the fellow the police questioned Elsie about the next day after he was found dead in some hotel?”
Her face was cold and restrained now. She said, “I guess so, Lew. They came around to see me, too. But I didn’t know anything except she had smooched with him when she was tight.”
“But what’s his death got to do with Elsie now?” protested Recker to Shayne. “She was completely exonerated at the time. As I recall it she had a perfect alibi which satisfied the police.”
Shayne nodded grimly. “An alibi I’m going to bust wide open with a little help from you two and maybe some others who were involved at the time. There’s a small matter of a telephone call she made to Green that night which the police never heard about. Why did the bartender lie to me about that?” He swung on Estelle with the question.
“I have no idea,” she said thinly. “If he did lie to you. I heard you accuse him of doing that, but I’m sure I know nothing about it.”
“I’m not so sure,” Shayne told her grimly. “Can you prove you didn’t go there this morning after you heard about Elsie’s death to bribe him to lie about it?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you realized that her death would inevitably open up the old investigation again and the police might eventually get around to asking Jack the same question I asked him. Isn’t that why you sent her there?” he flung at Lew Recker.
“I didn’t send her there. First thing I knew of all this was a few minutes ago when she came in frightened to say she’d been insulted by a redheaded drunk. Isn’t that the truth, Estelle?”
She nodded, tight-lipped. “I just happened to drop in for a cocktail before lunch. I’d read about Elsie and so had the bartenders who used to know her. We talked about how awful it was, that’s all. Then you insisted on sitting at my table, and accusing Jack of lying about some telephone call. And that’s all I know about any of it.”
Shayne paused a moment. He was at a distinct disadvantage in not knowing how to connect these two up with the persons Elsie had described in her script. He didn’t know positively, of course, that either of them was the original for any of her characters. But he had a strong hunch that at least one of the couple before him would turn out to be either Ralph or Dirk or Doris or Ina or Bart. If he could guess the true identity of either and throw his knowledge of their involvement in Green’s murder at them, they might possibly break down and start giving him the information he needed.
Elsie had, of course, described Green’s roommate almost exactly as Lew Recker. Yet she had told Halliday she had changed the physical descriptions of all her characters, and also, from Radin’s newspaper clippings he knew the roommate’s name was actually Alfred Hayes.
Dirk, Ralph, or Bart?
“You’re not married, I take it?” he asked Recker abruptly.
“Hell, no. What’s that got to do…?”
“What kind of a car do you drive?”
“I’ve got a Chrysler right now, if that helps solve your case.” Lew Recker was over his first fright now. He was reverting to the suavely sardonic man-of-the-world pose he had adopted with Shayne earlier.
“I think maybe it does,” Shayne said thoughtfully. “Is it the same car you drove Elsie home in the night Green was murdered?”
Recker’s mouth gaped open in utter consternation and fear. His eyes goggled at Shayne and he stammered weakly, “I… I don’t know…”
