open a seam.
An edge of a letter stuck out of it.
I tugged it loose, didn’t bother to look at it then because they were coming in downstairs now, racing up the stairs. I stuck the letter in my pocket and called for Pat.
He got the import of it right away but didn’t say anything. From all appearances this was a break-in and anybody could have done it. The implications were too big to let the thing out now and he wasn’t going to do much explaining until we had time to go over it.
The reporters had already gathered and were yelling for admittance. Tomorrow this kill would make every headline in the country and the one in Brooklyn would be lucky if it got a squib in any sheet at all. There was going to be some high-level talk before this one broke straight and Pat knew it too.
It was an hour before we got out of there and back in the car. Some of the bigwigs of the political party had arrived and were being pressed by the reporters, but they had nothing to say. They got in on VIP status and were immediately sent into the den to be quizzed by the officers in charge and as long as there was plenty to do we could ride for a while.
Pat didn’t speak until we were halfway back to the city, then all he said was, “One of your theories went out the window today.”
“Which one?”
“If Sim planned to kill Sue, how would he excuse it?”
“I fell into that one with no trouble, Pat,” I said. “You know how many times he has been threatened?”
“I know.”
“So somebody was trying to get even. Revenge motive. They hit the kid.”
“But Sue is still alive.”
“Somebody thought he got her tonight. I’ll tell you this . . . I bet the first shot fired was into that bed. The killer turned on the light to make sure and saw what happened. He didn’t dare let it stand like that so he waited around. Then in came Sim. Now it could be passed off as a burglary attempt while the real motive gets lost in the rush.”
I tapped his arm. “There’s one other thing too. The night of the first try there were two groups. Levitt and Kid Hand. They weren’t working together and they were both after the same thing . . . the kid.”
“All right, sharpie, what’s the answer?”
“I think it’s going to be three million bucks,” I said.
“You have more than that to sell.”
“There’s Blackie Conley.”
“And you think he’s got the money?”
“Want to bet?”
“Name it.”
“A night on the town. A foursome. We’ll find you a broad. Loser picks up all the tabs.”
Pat nodded. “You got it, but forget finding me a broad. I’ll get my own.”
“You’ll probably bring a policewoman.”
“With you around it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he said.
He let me out in front of my apartment and I promised to call him as soon as I heard from Velda. He was going to run the Torrence thing through higher channels and let them handle this hotcake.
I went upstairs, called through the door, and let Geraldine open it. Velda still hadn’t gotten back. Sue was inside on the couch, awake, but still drowsy from the sedatives she had taken. I made Geraldine sit down next to her, then broke the news.
At first Sue didn’t react. Finally she said, “He’s really dead?”
“Really, sugar.”
Somehow a few years seemed to drape themselves around her. She looked at the floor, made a wry face, and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Mike. I don’t feel anything. Just free. I feel free.”
Geraldine looked like she was about to break, but she came through it. There was a stricken expression in her eyes and her mouth hung slackly. She kept repeating, “Oh, no!” over and over again and that was all. When she finally accepted it she asked, “Who, Mike, who did it?”
“We don’t know.”
“This is terrible. The whole political . . .”
“It’s more terrible than that, kid. Politicians can always be replaced. I suggest you contact your office when you feel up to it. There’s going to be hell to pay and if your outfit gets into power this time it’ll be by a miracle . . . and those days, believe me, are over.”
She started asking me something else, but the phone rang and I jumped to answer it. Velda said, “Mike . . . I just heard. Is it true? ”
“He’s had it. What did you come up with?”
“About the time you mentioned . . . nobody could account for Torrence’s whereabouts for almost two hours. Nobody really looked for him and they all supposed he was with somebody else, but nobody could clear him for that time.”
“That does it then. Come on back.”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Shake it.”
In a little while I was going to be tied in with this mess and would be getting plenty of visitors and I didn’t want either Geraldine or Sue around. Their time would come, but not right now. I called a hotel, made reservations for them both, dialed for a cab, and told them to get ready. Neither wanted to leave until I told them there was no choice. I wanted them completely out of sight and told Geraldine to stay put again, having her meals sent up until I called for her.
Events had moved too quickly and she couldn’t think for herself any longer. She agreed dumbly, the girls got into their coats, and I walked them out to the cab.
Upstairs I sat at the desk and took the letter out of my pocket. Like the straw, it was crisp with age, but still sealed, and after all these years smelled faintly of some feminine perfume. I slid my finger under the flap and opened it.
The handwriting was the scrawl of a drunk trying hard for sobriety. The lines were uneven and ran to the edge of the page, but it was legible enough.
It read:
