He looked at Prior. “You forgot about that, didn’t you?”
Prior spread his hands and looked at them expressionlessly and then he sighed and rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “It doesn’t matter,” he said thickly.
Jake watched the irrelevant patterns made by the smoke curling from his cigarette. “I heard May’s story tonight,” he said. “The story was about Prior. How May met him in 1944 when he was a clerk for the War Resources Board. She reminisced about their brief and not too exciting affair, and discussed with considerable humor the fact that even then he had considered her a social liability. He couldn’t be seen with her, and he couldn’t introduce her to his friends. May was amused because she delighted in making him feel that he was degrading himself.
“Then Prior swam back into May’s ken, and she was doubly amused, because he’d heard about the book she was going to write, and he was terrified that she would include him in the cast. Prior knew that Senator Hampstead’s reaction would be volcanic if his chief investigator turned up in a Sunday supplement role in an expose of wartime fornication and chicanery. Hampstead would plant his foot squarely in Prior’s posterior and kick him right out of Washington.
“So Prior begged May not to use anything about him. And she agreed. But Prior wasn’t satisfied. He asked to see the diary, to make sure he wasn’t in it, and May said all right. And he had another request. Would May call his assistant, Coombs, and make an appointment with them for the next morning? Prior needed an excuse for knowing May — he knew he’d meet her — and if she made the first overture that would explain his knowing her.
“Well, Prior saw the diary. And he wasn’t in it. And then he realized that that wasn’t enough. If May was going to be involved in the Riordan investigation — as she would have been — their previous relationship would be smoked out. Reporters would have gotten hold of it, and Riordan’s lawyers and press agents would find out about it and use it for all it was worth to discredit Prior. He probably saw himself humiliated, excoriated, and broken because of the scandal.
“That is guesswork of course. I don’t know what the hell he was thinking about. But the fact is he put a sash around her throat and strangled her. Who can say why he did it? One person murders another and later on it is decided it was a crime of passion, of revenge, or lust, or a hundred other things, but the real reason exists probably for one split second while the murder is committed and after that the motivations become blurred and meaningless.”
Jake smiled tiredly. “This recondite philosophizing is tossed in without charge. Getting back to the raw facts, however, Prior, in looking at May’s diary, saw the dope on Riordan, and being efficient, made a note of it for use in his work. That, in the classic parlance, was his first and fatal mistake.”
He glanced to Martin. “That’s the works. It’s all yours now.”
Martin cleared his throat and walked over to Prior and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’d better get ready,” he said. “I’m taking you in.”
Prior was still rubbing his forehead. “All right,” he said in a low voice.
There was a knock at the door and Murphy came in, a portable Dictaphone under his arm. He made a circle of his thumb and forefinger and smiled at Jake. “Right on the dot.”
“I don’t think we’ll need it,” Martin said.
Murphy took an object wrapped in a handkerchief from his pocket and said, “This is for you, Lieutenant. Davis sent it over. He said you were right.”
Martin unwrapped the handkerchief carefully and displayed a nickel-plated .32 revolver. He smiled at Jake. “I knew that Prior and May were close friends for a month or so back in ’43. We got that the way we get damn near everything in police work, by scrounging and hunting around and asking a thousand questions. So when Prior lied about knowing her I got interested and put a tail on him. Prior went out toward Niccolo’s apartment tonight but my man lost him. I told him to get over to Prior’s hotel, too, and take a look around. This is what he found. It’s probably the gun that killed Niccolo.”
Jake took Sheila’s arm and said to Martin, “You don’t need me any more, I’m sure.”
“Just one thing. What about those lipsticked crosses on the mirror, and so forth?”
Jake said, “Prior did that, I would guess, in an attempt to disguise the reason for her murder. He made it look like a Black Hand killing as a pulp writer would imagine it. It should have been an immediate tip-off, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it was corny, unimaginative and routine. If we had looked for someone like that we’d have found Prior.”
“Yeah?” Martin said dubiously, and then pushed Jake lightly on the shoulder. “Thanks, friend. If you need a job come see me.”
Jake grabbed Sheila and started for the door, but Brian Riordan, who had gotten to his feet, stepped in front of him.
“Wait a minute, smart man,” he said. “What was the idea of teeing off on me and Denise?”
Jake studied him calmly and then glanced at Denise who had come to Brian’s side.
“I kind of thought you deserved it,” he said mildly. “You’re a delightful pair of people, you know.”
Denise flushed but Brian forced a mocking smile to his lips. “What have you got to be so damned superior about?” he said.
“Didn’t you know?” Jake smiled. “I’m a noble character. I quit my job because it involved meeting too many people like you. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
He opened the door and put his arm about Sheila’s waist as they walked briskly toward the elevators. “Darling, you were superb!” Sheila said. “I was so damn proud of you.”
“Naturally,” Jake grinned.
A shout from behind caused them to stop; and when they turned they saw Noble hurrying toward them along the corridor, an anxious, pleading expression on his face.
“Jake, old man,” he said. “You can’t run out like this. I need you.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Jake said.
Noble looked as if he might weep. “Jake, you’ve just got a mild attack of morals. It’ll pass over in a day or so. Come in and see me, eh? There’ll be other accounts like Riordan, don’t forget.”
Jake patted Noble on the shoulder. “Thanks for reminding me of that, Gary. When my resolution falters I’ll hold that thought before me and take strength from it.”
The elevator door slid open and Jake stepped inside with Sheila.
“Remember me to the mob,” he said, as the door slid shut in Noble’s stricken face.
As they came through the revolving doors the doorman smiled politely at them and went into the street and began blowing his whistle.
Jake and Sheila stood close together watching the snow that fell like a dotted Swiss curtain between them and the cold night. The only sound was the cheery piping of the doorman’s whistle.
Sheila turned suddenly and put her hands on his shoulders. There were a few snowflakes in her hair and her eyes were shining. “Let’s go home,” she said, “to my apartment. I still make wonderful breakfasts. Is that all right?”
Jake kissed her and said, “It’s the best offer I’ve had today.”
The doorman thanked Jake for the bill he put in his hand; and then he looked at it again, and said, “Thank you, sir,” and closed the cab door behind them reverently.
They drove out Michigan Boulevard and Sheila snuggled close to him.
Something occurred to Jake then and he put his hand carefully into his breast pocket and removed Mike Francesca’s card. He looked at it with a slight smile. Mike wanted a public relations man and would probably be a liberal boss.
He glanced down at Sheila and after a moment or so sighed philosophically and dropped Mike’s card out the window.