Another negative. He asked me if there was any trouble.
I said, "No, but there damn soon will be. Somebody's ruined my joint."
He got excited at that, but I told him to keep quiet. I didn't feel like answering questions or scaring the neighbors. I went into the bedroom and started to yank the covers from the heap in the corner. The overnight case was there under the layers of wool, the top gaping open and the baby clothes scattered around it. Some of them hadn't even been unfolded. Both side pockets and the top pocket had been ripped completely off and the lining opened so a hand could search underneath.
And the folder of pictures was gone.
I took an inventory of everything in the house, a search that cost me two hours, but the only thing missing was the pictures. Just to be sure I looked again. I needn't have bothered. Fifty-four bucks and a wristwatch lay on top of the dresser untouched, but an old set of films was gone.
They didn't mean anything to me, but they did to somebody else. That's why Ann died. I sat on the wreckage of a chair with a butt dangling from my lips, tallying things up. A lock lay on the floor, smashed from a heel. A cigarette box was forced open, broken. A socket fixture on the wall had been pried loose, leaving the wire ends hanging out like broken fingers.
I looked around me more carefully this time, noticing the pattern of the search. They took the pictures, but they were looking for something else, a something small enough to hide in almost anything. The inkwell had been emptied on the desk, and I remembered the salt and pepper shaker that had been dumped in the kitchen.
Sure, it was simple enough. I lifted my hand and grinned at the ring. "They'll be back, kid," I told it. "They didn't get you that time, so they'll be back. And we'll be waiting for them."
I could relax now. It was going to cost me, but I could relax. The pattern was taking shape. Nancy was the figurehead. The ring was Nancy. And they wanted her pictures back. What for, I couldn't say. They were old and they didn't show anything, but they were important, too. The baby clothes didn't mean anything to them, but the ring and the pictures did.
My eyes were staring into the distance and I was seeing Nancy's letter to me. Some day she might need me again... she was doing many things... only one of which had any meaning to her... ours was a trust.
Words. Now I had a lot of words. Some of them were tugging at my brain trying to claw their way into the clear. What was it? What the hell was it I was trying to remember? It was shrieking out to be heard and my mind was deaf. I was listening but I couldn't hear it. Damn it, what was there? What was I trying to remember! Somebody said something. It didn't mean a thing then, yet it sank in and stayed there until now. Who said it? What was it?
I shook my head to clear it, hoping to bring it back. The shrill clamor of the phone snapped me out of the fog and I got up and answered it. Pat's voice said hullo with a tone that had a snap to it.
"What's up, Pat?"
"I just want to tell you we went over the thing again. It works out. The coroner and the D.A. are calling it murder. Now they want an answer to the suicide note. It was authentic as hell. What was the idea you had?... I'm up the creek without a paddle."
I answered him listlessly. "Go ask some questions of her friends. See if she ever talked about committing suicide. There's a chance she did at one time and wrote the note. Somebody could have talked her out of it, then kept the note for future use."
"You think of everything, don't you?"
"I wish I did, Pat."
"It isn't going to be as easy as that. I put the whole question to the D.A. and it stood him on his ear. He thought the idea was preposterous."
"What do you think?"
"I think we got a snake by the tail."
"That's the only safe way to pick up a snake."
"I hope you're right. You still playing ball, Mike?"
"All the way, kid. You'll hear from me when I have something. Like now. Somebody broke into my apartment and wrecked it. They were looking for Nancy's ring. They didn't get it, but they did take those snapshots I got from the blonde."
"Hell!" Pat exploded. "What made you keep them? You know better than that!"
"Sure, I'll close the barn door after the horse is stolen. I wouldn't have known they were important if they hadn't been lifted. I'm not worried about them. They wanted the ring, why, I don't know. It's impossible to trace the thing, but they wanted it."
Pat was silent, then he said, "I've got news for you, too. I got an answer from a hospital in Chicago. We were lucky to get it back so quickly."
I squeezed the receiver. "Yeah?"
"Nancy Sanford had a baby there four years ago. She was an unwed mother. She refused to divulge the name of the father and she was put in a charity ward sponsored by a group that takes care of those affairs. It was a stillbirth. Nobody knows where she went after that."
My hand was shaking and my voice was almost a whisper when
I thanked him for the information. Before I could hang up he said, "That ring... better drop it off with me, Mike."
I laughed harshly. "Like hell! Nancy is still an accident on your books. When you call it murder you can have it."
Pat was arguing about it when I interrupted.
"What are you going to do about the blonde?... and Murray?"
"He was just picked up at his club. On his way over now. Listen, about the ring, I want..."
I said thanks and cradled the receiver. Murray was about to be questioned. That meant a couple of hours at least, unless he had a good lawyer and good connections. It was enough time.
Chapter Nine
Murray Candid had two listings: one at the club and the other in a fancy residential section of Brooklyn. I didn't like either one of them. I tried the one in Brooklyn, and a butler with an English accent answered and told me Mr. Candid was out and wasn't expected back until the club had closed for the night, and could I leave a message. I told him never mind, and hung up.
A butler yet! Probably golden candelabra and rare Ming vases, too!
I held my hand over the dial, and on second thought punched Lola's number out. She recognized my voice and smiled over the phone. "Hullo, darling. Where are you?"
"Home."
"Am I going to see you?"
She made me feel nice and warm with just a few words. "In a little while maybe. Right now I'm up to my ears in something. I thought you might be able to help."
"Of course, Mike. What... ?"
"Did you know Ann Minor? She worked for Murray."
"Certainly. I've known her for years. Why?"
"She's dead."
"No!"
"Yes. She was murdered and I know why. It had to do with Nancy, only the cops are in on this one."
"Oh, Mike... what makes these things happen? Ann wasn't one--one of us. She never did anything wrong. Why, she used to take care of the kids in the racket... try to help them. Oh, Mike... why? Why?"
"When I know that I'll know who killed her, honey. But that's not the point. Do you know where Murray might have a private hangout? Not his place in Brooklyn, but some place where he could do some trick entertaining or contact business associates?"
"Y-yes. He used to have a place in the Village. It won't be the same one I knew because he changed his spots regularly. He didn't like to stay in one place too long, but he favored the Village. I... was up there once... a party. It wasn't nice, Mike; I'd rather not speak about it."
"You don't have to. Where was the place?"
She gave me the location and I scribbled it down. "You'd have to ask around to see where he is now. I could find it, I guess, but..."
"You sit pat. I'll find it myself. I don't want you sticking your neck out."
"All right, Mike. Please don't get hurt... please."