in Helen’s apartment to have learned all these details. It was obvious too that June Chalmers had known I had gone to Sorrento to be Helen’s lover when I first met her at the Naples airport. Then why hadn’t she told Chalmers?
I hurriedly folded the file and put it away in my pocket. I couldn’t remain here any longer. There was always the chance that the janitor might take a walk around the office block and catch me here.
I put my tools in my pocket, then after peering cautiously down the long corridor I made my
way quickly down the stairs and out into the street.
I drove back to my apartment. Stripping off my raincoat, I sat down and again went through the file.
It was far more comprehensive and complete than Sarti had led me to believe. Not only were the telephone conversations recorded, but also my conversations with Helen while I had been with her. There were conversations between her and other men also recorded that made hairraising reading: the file was bulging with evidence that proved beyond doubt the kind of immoral life Helen had lived. Every one of these reports had been sent to June Chalmers, either to New York or to Paris.
Why hadn’t she used this information? I kept asking myself. Why hadn’t she given me away to Chalmers? Why hadn’t she warned him of the life his daughter was leading?
I had no answers to these questions and, finally, I locked the file away in my desk.
The time was now after five o’clock. I put a personal call through to Jack Martin, and was told there was a half-hour wait for New York. I booked the call, and went over to the window and stared down at the fast-moving Sunday traffic until the call came through.
“Is that you, Ed?” Martin asked as I came on the line. “For the love of mike! Who’s paying for this call?”
“Never mind that. What have you got for me? Have you managed to dig up anything on Manchini yet?”
“Not a thing. I’ve never heard of him,” Martin returned. “Are you sure you’ve got the name right? You don’t mean Toni Amando, do you?”
“My guy calls himself Carlo Manchini. Where does Amando come in?”
“Your description fits him. He’s big, tough and dark, and he’s got a zigzag scar on his chin.”
“That sounds like him. My man’s got a voice like a hog caller and he wears a gold ear-ring in his right ear.”
“That’s the fella!” Martin said excitedly. “That’s Amando! There can’t be two of them.”
“What do you know about him, Jack?”
“He’s not here any longer, I’m glad to say. He was a troublemaker and as dangerous as a rattlesnake. He’s somewhere in your territory, I believe. He left with Frank Setti when they ran Setti out of the country.”
“Setti?” My voice shot up.
“That’s right. Amando was Setti’s gunman and lieutenant.”
This was the first really constructive piece of news I had had up to now.
Setti’s gunman!
Now, at long last, some of the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle were falling into place. Martin was speaking again. “Have you run into him in Italy?”
“Yes. I think he’s hooked up in a dope-smuggling racket. I wanted to get a check on him.”
“Setti ran dope here before he was kicked out. He’s in Italy, too, isn’t he?”
“So I hear. Look, Jack, I can prove Amando flew from Rome to New York two days before Menotti was knocked off, and he returned to Rome the day after.”
“Well, that’s something. I’ll pass the information to Captain Collier. He may be able to use it. That may be the link he’s looking for. He was so sure either Setti or Amando knocked off Menotti, but both of them had cast-iron alibis at the time Menotti died. They had a flock of witnesses that put them in a gambling joint in Naples.”
“Amando boasts that he is red-hot at manufacturing alibis. Talk to Collier, Jack, and thanks for the information.”
I began to pace the room while I turned over this new information. It looked as if my theory that Carlo had killed Menotti and that Helen had tried to blackmail him was right. But I hadn’t as yet a shred of evidence that would convince a jury. It was all theory, but I was moving in the right direction.
I was tempted to go to Carlotti and tell him the whole story. With his organization, there was a chance that he might get at the truth with this theory as a lead.
I resisted the temptation. The moment Carlo learned that I had been to Carlotti, he would produce his mass of evidence against me and that would cook me.
It wasn’t the time yet to tell Carlotti the truth. I had to have some real concrete evidence.
I spent the rest of the evening going through Sarti’s report again and racking my brain for angles. My hope now, I decided, was to concentrate on Carlo. When I got to Naples, I would go out to Myra’s villa and see if I could turn up anything there.
II
Before I caught the first plane out to Naples on Monday morning, I called Gina at her apartment.
“Hello, Ed,” she said. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. What is happening?”
“Plenty. I can’t talk now. I’m in a rush. I’m flying down to Naples in five minutes to attend the inquest. We’ll get together when I get back.”
“But you keep saying that. I’m sure there is something wrong. I’m worried about you, Ed. Why do you keep avoiding me?”
“I’m not avoiding you! I’m busy! Skip it, will you? I’ve only got a couple of minutes. Here’s what I want you to do. The police have taken the guard off Helen’s apartment. The key is with the janitor. Will you get the apartment cleared for me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ll be back sometime to-morrow and I promise to call you. Can you do something about the apartment to- day?”
“I’ll try.”
“Tell Maxwell the old man wants it done. He won’t raise objections.”
“And you will call me when you get back?”
“Yes, of course. So long for now.”
I had to run across the tarmac to catch the plane.
I reached Naples soon after ten-thirty. I booked a room for the night at the Vesuvius, had a wash, then took a taxi to the coroner’s court.
I was surprised to find I was the only witness to be called. Grandi and Carlotti were there. Grandi gave me a long, gloomy stare and then looked away. Carlotti nodded, but he didn’t come over.
Giuseppe Maletti, the coroner, a bald-headed little man with a sharp, beaky nose, avoided meeting my eyes. He kept looking in my direction, but always managed to focus on a spot just above my head at the last moment.
I was called upon to identify Helen’s body and to explain why she had been in Sorrento.
The three newspaper men who attended were obviously bored by the proceedings, and their expressions became gloomier as I explained that, as far as I knew, Helen had rented the villa for a month’s vacation. There was nothing said about her renting it in the name of Mrs. Sherrard.
As if for something to say, Maletti asked me if I knew if Helen had had a bad head for heights. I was tempted to say she had, but, catching Grandi’s sardonic eyes at this moment, I decided it was safer to say I didn’t know.
After a few more stock questions that got no one anywhere, Maletti indicated that I could step down. He then called Carlotti.
Carlotti’s evidence electrified the three newspaper men and the odd straggler who had come in to pass an hour out of the heat.
He said he wasn’t satisfied Helen’s death was accidental. He and the Naples police were pursuing certain investigations that would probably prove that Helen had met with foul play. He said their investigations should be successfully concluded by the following Monday, and he would like the inquest adjourned until then.
