“Give it to me or, by heaven, I’ll take it away from you?”
Layton crossed his legs very suddenly, and Hathaway involuntarily took a half-step back. “My strength is as the strength of ten because I’m on a reporter’s diet. Besides, I’m a generation younger than you, Mr. Hathaway. And while the position I’m in seems to make me a sitting duck, allow me to point out that before you could land a blow you’d be nursing a broken kneecap.” His right foot, crossed over his left thigh, was swinging gently. At the top of its arc it came within an inch of Hathaway’s right knee.
Hathaway completed the backward step and turned and went across the room and slowly sat down on the sofa, under the blots and doodles. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
“It wouldn’t do you any good to muscle Exhibit A away from me, anyway,” Layton said. “I have Exhibits B, C, D and so forth stashed elsewhere. They prove, Hathaway, that you’ve been taking measly but indisputable payola from at least a dozen record companies for five years. Will you please tell me how in hell you allowed them to pay you off by check, and on top of that saved the letters with those ridiculous secretarial ‘enclosure’ lines?”
The hands dropped; everything in the handsome face was sagging. “Nobody thought it would ever come out. Stupid, stupid. And the letters. I’d told my wife to burn them. I thought she had. The bitch. The treacherous, lecherous bitch!” He looked over at Layton. “I suppose you’re going to publish them.”
‘“Not necessarily,” Layton said.
The feeblest hope kindled in Hathaway’s eyes. “You have a price?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Your cooperation.”
“Cooperation?” Hathaway stared. “In what?”
“In getting at the truth of Tutter King’s death.”
“What truth? I told you, and I told those detectives, King committed suicide.”
“And I told you,” Layton said, “I think he was murdered.” He got up and began to stroll around the room, hands in his trouser pockets. “I’m going to level with you, Hathaway. I want you to realize the spot you’re on. If this was murder, you’re a prime suspect.”
“You mean you think I killed King?” Hathaway cried.
“I didn’t say that. I say the facts now suggest it.”
“What facts?” The handsome old man was wholly ashen now.
“You instructed Edwards, your engineer chief at the station, to cut King off the air if he started to say anything nasty about anyone connected with KZZX. The letters your wife gave me show what you might have been afraid King would say. If it came out that you’d been taking payola, too, you’d be out of KZZX on your ear in five minutes. Mrs. Hathaway told me you’re broke, that you have nothing but your salary. At your age, and with that kind of public smear — in this town! — what chance would you have of getting another job? I think the police would consider all this a mighty convincing motive for shutting King’s mouth.”
Hathaway said hoarsely, “As God is my witness, Layton, I didn’t kill King. If he didn’t commit suicide, somebody else killed him.”
“Then you tell that to Sergeant Trimble.”
“Is that what you meant by cooperation?” Hathaway gripped the edge of the sofa suddenly. “Or am I missing something? You could have taken those letters straight to Trimble. Why didn’t you?”
“Because I’m a newspaperman,” Layton said, “not a cop. First, I’m giving you a chance to come clean with me — everything you know. I’m after a story — a damn big story, if you ask me.”
“I come clean with you, as you put it, and you hang me,” Hathaway muttered. “Is that it?”
“Not if you had nothing to do with King’s death.”
Hathaway was silent. After a while he said, “What about those letters?”
“What about them?”
“Would you use the letters if I can somehow convince you I didn’t kill Tutter?”
“It’s Sergeant Trimble you’ll have to convince.”
“So you are going to turn the letters over to Trimble,” Hathaway said bitterly. “Big deal!”
Layton turned to face him. “Let’s understand each other, Hathaway. I’ve certainly no intention of withholding material evidence from the police. At the same time, if you co-operate, I’ll do my level best to keep the letters from being published.”
“You wouldn’t use them, of course,” the TV executive said with a hard laugh.
“I’d be a pretty bum reporter if I couldn’t see what a story they’d make. But I’m willing to horse-trade. You give me a better story and I’ll do everything I possibly can to protect you.”
“A better story.” Hathaway mused. Then he looked up. “Keep going,” he said.
Layton sat down on the edge of the contour chair, leaning forward. “I’ll ask Trimble to sit on the letters. I can’t guarantee he will. If he decides to release them, I’m obviously not going to let the other papers scoop me on my own story. In that case, you can be damn sure the Bulletin will publish the letters faster than you can lift your leg. But if Trimble agrees to play ball, you’re safe.”
“For how long?” Hathaway jeered. “So I’ll be ruined next week instead of tomorrow.”
Layton said patiently, “Not if you’re innocent. If Trimble decided to book you for murder, naturally he’d present the letters in court as evidence, to establish your motive. If he doesn’t have to use them as evidence, my personal opinion is that he’ll go along with my request to keep them in confidence.”
It was the station manager who got to his feet this time and paced.
“You’ve got me hung up by the crotch,” he muttered. “If I talk, I’ll be fired just as surely as if you’d published the letters.”
“Not if you talk off the record. I’ve never violated a confidence in my life.” Layton added, “Always provided, of course, that what you tell me isn’t self-incriminating. I won’t sit on a confession.”
“I have nothing to confess.” Hathaway halted to study the reporter. “You’ll guarantee not to disclose the source of your information if and when you relay it to the police?”
Layton nodded, “With the aforementioned proviso.”
The old man struggled with himself. He sat down again suddenly. “What did my wife tell you about those checks?”
“That they were bribes for not interfering with King’s subsidized song plugging.”
Hathaway shrugged. “That’s true only in effect. Actually, there was never any understanding, written or oral. The checks just started coming. What would you have done? Sent them back?”
Layton said dryly, “You knew what they were for, didn’t you? The point is, you kept the money and didn’t interfere with King.”
Unexpectedly, the old man laughed. “It’s almost funny. I couldn’t have touched King anyway.”
“Why not?”
“Orders.”
“From whom?”
George Hathaway said, “Hubert Stander, chairman of the board.”
Layton was silent. Then he said, “Stander... What was Stander’s interest in Tutter King?”
“King plugged his records.”
“Stander’s records? What are you talking about?”
“Stander owns the controlling interest in the Southwestern Recording Company,” Hathaway said with relish. “King gave Southwestern’s platters a free ride with the understanding that his payola deals with other companies wouldn’t be interfered with.”
Layton said softly, “So Stander has secret control of a record company. Wouldn’t the FCC regard that as a conflict of interest?”
“You’re damned right they would,” Hathaway snapped. “At worst, KZZX could have its license suspended, maybe revoked. At best, Stander would be forced to dispose of his interest in either the station or the recording company. Why should the announcement King said he was going to make have concerned me? He had a lot bigger fish to fry. It was Stander he was after.”