“But you couldn’t sell it to them because you didn’t have it?”
“That’s right.”
“Who was at this directors’ meeting?”
“Orville Seebright, the president, Armstrong, vice-president, a fellow named Farnham, another named Dorcas and a guy named Walter Doniger.”
Lieutenant Rook studied a worn spot in the rug on the floor, then suddenly he looked up at Johnny Fletcher, as if hoping to catch a fleeting, give-away expression. “Which one of them killed Marjorie Fair?”
“You think Douglas Esbenshade killed her.”
“I do, but I want to know who you think is the guilty one.”
“What difference does it make what I think.”
“Because you’ve been dipping your beak into this more than you’ve a right. You’ve poked and pried and you’ve gotten someone so scared that he took the trouble to beat the hell out of you. That means you’ve picked up some things you weren’t supposed to — from the murderer’s viewpoint. I want to know what those things are.”
“I’ll give you a tip, Lieutenant. The switchboard operator over at the Mariota Record Company got a threatening letter telling her to keep her mouth shut...”
“Her trap,” corrected Sam.
“All right, her trap. The girl knows something the murderer’s afraid of... the only trouble is she doesn’t know what it is she knows. And that’s me, Lieutenant. I know something — yes. Only I don’t know what it is.”
Rook groaned. “Tell me everything you know. I’ll sift it out and maybe I can make sense of it.”
Johnny drew a deep breath. “The Mariota Record Company signed up Con Carson, the crooner. How or why, isn’t important; except that they practically gave him the business to get him away from Consolidated Records. Carson made one record — not even a good one — and then was called to Hollywood. He took a plane and was killed in Nevada, along with about twenty other passengers. So the recording the company made of Con Carson is the last Carson record there will ever be. It’s worth a hundred thousand dollars to Mariota... or would have been worth that, if it hadn’t disappeared...”
“Do you think the company could have staved off bankruptcy if the record hadn’t been stolen?”
“Of course they could have... Only the record wasn’t stolen—”
“But you said—”
“I said it disappeared. The people over at Mariota think it was stolen, that is, all except one of them. He figured out where the record went...”
Lieutenant Rook exclaimed. “What’re you trying to do — leave me hanging on the cliff? Where did the record go?”
“Marjorie Fair got it. She was scheduled to make a recording at the same time as Con Carson. They had the orchestra there and they wanted to polish her off, without having to bring them in again. So, while waiting for Carson they gave her a once-over lightly. Carson came in and they shooed Marjorie out. But she waited out in the reception room for the verdict. After Carson left, the executives of Mariota voted against Marjorie. She asked them for the master of her recording. Somebody sent it to her, or gave it... at least that’s what they thought. But a mistake was made and Marjorie received, instead of her own record, the one made by Con Carson. And because of that she was murdered...”
“I follow you part of the way, Fletcher,” said Rook. “The business about the Carson record meaning life and death to the company. But this mistake about sending the record to the girl — why should that be a motive for murder...?”
“That’s the part I’m working on now.”
“What do you mean you’re working on it?”
“I’m thinking about it — why the mistake should make someone want to kill Marjorie Fair.”
Rook exclaimed angrily. “It doesn’t make sense. Who mailed the record to her — a clerk in the office? Anybody can make a little mistake like that — you don’t kill for it.” Suddenly he stabbed a forefinger at Johnny. “Say — the company turned her down: she got sore at them and then somebody made a mistake and sent the Carson record to her...” His eyes widened in astonishment. “That’s it! That’s it! She saw what the record was, knew how important it was to the company... and she called them up. ‘Pay, boys,’ she told them, ‘pay or you never see this record.’ It was life and death to the company, so... she got killed and the killer grabbed the record.”
“That’s a good theory,” said Johnny. “It was the first one I thought of. There’s only one trouble with it, one thing wrong with it.”
“What?”
“Whoever killed her didn’t take the record back to Mariota. He didn’t save the company.”
Rook’s face fell. Then he cocked his head to one side.
“He’s holding the record for ransom — he knows they’ve got to pay... any amount...”
“Who, the receiver?” Johnny snorted. “Do you think a receiver will pay a ransom — and let a company get back on its feet? You underestimate receivers. They liquidate companies... and pay themselves nice, fat salaries and perquisites.”
“You’re telling me! There was a ward heeler down in my precinct, whose uncle was a judge. The judge appointed him receiver for a furniture company... and when the receiver got through liquidating the company he was fixed for life. I think the creditors got four cents on the dollar.”
His eyes suddenly narrowed. “Say, Esbenshade’s the biggest creditor of Mariota, isn’t he? It was kinda silly of him to throw the company into bankruptcy. As long as they were a going concern he had a chance to get his money, or most of it, but by closing them down, he’s going to lose quite a roll...”
“On the other hand,” said Johnny, “he could have made a deal to move into the company.”
“Why didn’t he? From the company’s viewpoint it was better than going into receivership and losing everything.”
“You’re getting warm now.”
“What do you mean — warm?”
“Marjorie Fair was Esbenshade’s girl — he put the squeeze on them to give her an audition... and then they turned her down. So he got sore and threw them into receivership.”
Rook thought of that for a moment but didn’t like it. “If he thought that much of the girl...”
“Yes,” said Johnny, “if he thought that much of her, he wouldn’t kill her, would he?”
Rook slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “What’d you have to tell me that for? Now, I can’t arrest him.”
“If you had arrested him, you’d have bought yourself a one way ticket to Staten Island.”
“Maybe that’s where I ought to be?” Rook said bitterly. He jerked his head at Sergeant Kowal. “Come on...!”
Kowal started for the door, but Rook turned back to Johnny.
“Look Fletcher, do you or do you not know who killed Marjorie Fair?”
“If I knew,” said Johnny, “I could collect a thousand dollars this morning... and I need a thousand dollars more than the devil needs a deep-freeze cooler.”
His, lips protruding in a big pout, Rook left the room.
When the door was closed, Johnny turned to Sam and exhaled heavily. “He almost had me a couple of times.”
“What do you mean, Johnny?”
“When he got on the subject of me getting beat up, I was afraid he was going to ask why someone thought I had the record.” Johnny shook his head. “That’s such an obvious question, too.”
“I don’t see what’s so obvious about it.”
“You’re thinking like Rook, Sammy. You and I don’t work for Mariota Record Company. We never had any contact with them until Marjorie Fair was killed... so how could anyone have thought I had such a record? Unless he knew.”
“Repeat that, Johnny!”