“About that murder?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, Phil, I want to talk with you, but I don’t want to talk with you where I’m going to be interrupted.”
“Can you come to the office, Sam?”
“No, I don’t want to. I want to meet you somewhere away from the office. Where’s Barney?”
“He’s out at Dixon’s place, going over the case on the ground. He’s making a detailed check-up.”
“He hasn’t made a complete report?”
“Not yet. I’m waiting to hear from him. He’ll be here shortly.”
“I tell you what you do, Phil. Don’t tell anyone that you’re going to meet me. I’ll drive my car down to the corner below your office. You come down within five minutes and I’ll pick you up. We can sit in the car and talk.”
“I’ve got some questions I want to ask you, Sam,” the district attorney said patiently.
“You can ask them there.”
“All right,” Duncan said, “in five minutes.”
“Check,” Sam Moraine said, and hung up.
Sam Moraine drove his coupe through the city streets, taking great care to violate no traffic ordinances which would result in any delay while he argued with a traffic officer. His eyes were clear. He gave no evidence of his sleepless night. The Turkish bath, the shave and the facial massage had left him pink-skinned and clear-eyed. He slid the car in close to the corner, and Phil Duncan stepped out from the entrance to a building.
“Why couldn’t you come to the office?” he asked, as Sam Moraine opened the door of the coupe for him.
“I had several reasons,” Moraine told him. “I want to drive you around a bit and talk to you.”
“I’ve got some things I want to ask you, Sam. Did you know that Pete Dixon was dead? Did you know anything about his death?”
“I know what you told me over the telephone. I haven’t seen a newspaper.”
“That’s not answering my questions,” Duncan said. “I took quite a serious responsibility early this morning when you assured me that your trip to Sixth Avenue and Maplehurst had nothing whatever to do with the death of Ann Hartwell. Now, with this other development, Barney Morden is very bitter against me. He feels that he should have been allowed to question you last night.”
“Barney’s under you, isn’t he?” Moraine said casually. “Why don’t you fire him if he gets tough?”
“Technically,” Phil Duncan said slowly, “Barney Morden is under me, but you forget that there’s an election coming up. Regardless of what the voters think about the qualifications of an individual, no man ever stands a chance at getting the district attorneyship unless he is backed by one of the major political parties. You are familiar with the situation here. Dixon has controlled one of the parties; Carl Thorne the other. Dixon has been my enemy. Thorne has been my. friend.”
“You mean he’s posed as your friend.”,
“We’ll let that pass,” Duncan said patiently. “The fact remains that without Thorne’s support I stand no chance of getting elected. I’m afraid that Barney Morden has gone to Carl Thorne, and I’m afraid that Carl Thorne has become definitely antagonistic.”
“You mean he’s going to back someone else for the office?”
“He’s intimating that he may do so unless I snap into line.”
“What does he mean by ‘snapping into line’?”
“I think it’s going to have something to do with you and with your secretary,” Duncan said. “I’m telling you this frankly, Sam. Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I thought I’d put my cards on the table and see if I couldn’t persuade you to put your cards on the table.
“I know quite well that you didn’t kill anyone. You’re my friend. You’re not the type who murders. But I think you are protecting someone.”
“Who?” Moraine asked.
“That’s what I don’t know just now,” Duncan said, “but don’t ever fool yourself, Sam, that I can’t find out, and that I won’t find out.”
Moraine said, “Well, now you’ve got that off your chest, let me talk with you. There were some irregularities in the Better Home Building and Loan Company. A couple of men were headed for jail. They were never prosecuted. Why?”
“Of course,” Duncan fold him wearily, “that’s one of the things that’s going to be harped on by my opponents in my campaign. As a matter of fact, Sam, it would have been a difficult case in which to get a conviction. Popular sentiment was in favor of prosecution, but there’s some question whether the two men in question had really been guilty of a crime, or whether they’d been guilty of irregularities. But, anyhow, the files in the case disappeared. I presume that’s more or less an open secret. It’s been hinted at in the newspapers.”
“Suppose I should tell you, Phil, that those men were guilty of more than irregularities? That they had systematically looted the company and had salted away a good part of the money? That they paid a nice bit of good hard coin to have those files taken from your office. Then what would you say?”
The district attorney stared at him with thoughtful, narrowed eyes.
“I would say that my public career was finished if those facts ever became known.”
“Suppose I should tell you that your friend, Carl Thorne, made over fifty thousand dollars in the paving contracts on the West End?”
“I wouldn’t believe it.”
“Suppose I could prove it?”
“It would prove most embarrassing if such a disclosure were to be made at this time.”
“Suppose I should tell you that graft money could actually be traced to your office?”
Duncan stared at him incredulously.
“You’re crazy!”
“I’m not crazy.”
“What do you mean when you say to my office?”
“To people who were working under you.”
“And their conduct was influenced by such contributions?”
“Of course. And they, in turn, influenced your conduct. You were too credulous. You followed their advice. The result, in the long run, was the same.”
“That,” Duncan said slowly, “would mean that I was ruined. But it’s all a lot of hooey. You’re pulling it to distract my attention, Sam.”
“That,” Sam Moraine told him briefly, “isn’t hooey. It’s what you’ve got to face. Sooner or later this stuff is coming to light. I don’t want to talk with you about Dixon, Phil. I want to talk with you about yourself.
“I’m your friend. I want to find a way out for you. You’re quick enough to suspect me, why not be equally skeptical with some of your other friends? Phil, I’m giving you my word of honor you’ve been sold out.”
Duncan sighed. His shoulders settled forward. He seemed to sag inside of his clothes. His face looked worn and haggard.
“I can’t believe you, Sam,” he said.
Moraine placed a hand on Duncan’s knee.
“I’m giving you the worst side of it, Phil. Now, then, I want you to have confidence in me. I think I can handle the situation in such a way you’ll be in the clear.”
“Not that situation you can’t,” Duncan said grimly, “not with the grand jury in session.”
“What’s wrong with the grand jury, anything in particular?”
“Everything,” Duncan said, “so far as I’m concerned. The grand jury is composed of men who are opposed to the political party that’s in power here in the city and county. It was a political blunder ever letting such a grand jury come into existence, but it was done — no one knows just how. There’s been a rumor around that they’re getting ready to uncork some political dynamite. They’re for a reform party and a clean sweep.”
“I think,” Moraine said musingly, “that I know just where that political dynamite is now.”
“Where?”
“That,” Moraine said, “would be telling. Are the grand jury opposed to you personally?”