Ed Lacy - Room To Swing
“Don't ask questions about police business.”
“Of course, you're right,” he said, driving away. Ted parked and got out, locking the car. The New Jersey guy was waiting at the corner for a light, looking back at us. It was okay, we looked like detectives, burly, and Ted dressed like one. I told Ted to wait. When the guy finally turned the corner, we crossed over to her house, rang her bell. When the door buzzed open I said, “Two of us can't fit in this elevator. I'll walk up, you give me a minute's head start.”
“Good, but wait until I get there before you show yourself.”
I sprinted up the cement stairs, then waited, panting, until the elevator came and Ted stepped out. He walked over to the door, held his gold shield against the peephole and said, “Detective.”
As the door opened he pushed in and I ran in behind him, shut the door. Wearing a pale blue Chinese housecoat over a slip, Kay was standing by the door. Barbara was sitting at a table set for supper, an apron over her gray-knit sheath dress.
They both screamed: small yells of fear and surprise. Then Kay wailed, “Touie, they have you!” That was a confusing sound too, sort of a hysterical sigh.
Bobby jumped to her feet, ready to scream again, or burst into tears. Ted said, “Now ladies, things will be fine if you'll relax, no screams, don't run to the phone or—”
I cut in with, “This is Ted Bailey, a friend of mine. He's a private detective.”
The real relief I saw on both their faces was a shot in the arm—neither Kay nor Bobby had blown the whistle on me. Kay hugged me. “I've been so worried about you, Touie. I felt at fault for involving you in all this.”
I held her for a moment, asked, “You two alone?”
“Yes. Oh Touie, are you all right?”
“I don't know,” I said, pushing her away—gently. “The police been asking about me?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Of course, when we read about the murder the office was thrown into a first-rate gasser. It was immediately agreed to drop the Thomas story from You—Detective! Then—”
“Kay, you mean Central hasn't told the police about me?”
Kay gave me her tight smile. “Of course not. Very few people knew of the publicity stunt, and in view of the murder any news of it would now be in extremely poor taste. Of course we had no way of knowing what you would say, and that had us worried. Naturally I discussed it with B.H.
He had a chat with a member of Central's legal staff who happens to be a personal friend of somebody high up in the police department. In an off-the-cuff talk with the police, our lawyer was told the police knew all about you, that is, knew your identity. It was agreed Central would be kept out of the case as far as possible.”
“How would Central be kept out? By making sure a trigger-happy cop killed me if I should be collared!”
“Don't be nasty, Touie. We decided that if you were caught, we would see you had the best lawyers. There would be a slight change in our story, something you couldn't possibly object to: I had hired you merely to recheck the facts on Thomas. After all, you can't blame Central—they have millions invested in their network.”
Their millions and shame on this brown boy! I thought.
Kay smiled again. “I wouldn't let them throw you to the dogs. This way we'd covered ourselves and it turned out fine. The police weren't too interested in you or—”
“I don't get this about the cops,” Ted cut in.
“The cops aren't interested in me, only in framing me into the electric chair!” I got it all right: if I said anything about the publicity deal, Central would claim I was nuts.
“There!” Bobby said, as if making a profound statement. “I told Kay you didn't do it.”
Kay waved a slim hand in the air. “Now I never said— My God, what did happen in that room, Touie?”
“A setup. Somebody claiming they were you phoned my office, left a message I was to be in Thomas' room at midnight. He was dead when I got there. Moment later a cop came busting in.”
“Claiming I was calling?” Kay began. “I don't see how anybody could know—”
“That's what I'm here for, to find the answers to a few questions. I'm still under the frame. Two things I want to know. You said after the Thomas case was televised, you— Central—had a stooge set to turn him in to the police. Who is the stooge?”
“Because of the secrecy, we hadn't told the—eh—stooge yet. There's a pensioned watchman who worked for Central we planned to hire. Either he or his wife, they could use the money.”
“Okay, we'll forget that angle. Now, what's playing between you and Steve McDonald?”
Kay flushed. “What has my—?”
“There's nothing between them!” Bobby said loudly, rushing over to place a protective arm around Kay. “She was home the next morning. She's finished with him.”
Kay broke away from Bobby, took her pipe out of a pocket in the Chinese coat, calmly lit it as Ted's eyes got large. “I really don't see what my personal affairs have to do with all this, Touie.”
“Kay, I'm not asking to keep up with the local gossip. I have a damn good reason.”
Kay blew a whiff of smoke at me. “I'm smoking that brand you recommended. About Steve, it isn't worth talking about. I admit, I was silly. Steve isn't anything... a... caterpillar. So terribly dull that actually all that happened was I got very drunk at his place.”
“And passed out?”
“How did you know? We started out late in the afternoon and he acted so cocky, and over nothing, why, it became boring. I drank too much, did a loop-the-loop early in the evening. Now that I've confessed my all, I still don't get the bit about Steve.”
“He is—or was—Thomas' cousin.”
“Honest?” Kay asked, as if we were playing kid games.
I nodded.
Kay chuckled as she dropped on the couch. “Oh, this is simply priceless. His cousin! And the way the smug louse ate up the white-haired wonder-boy role. This explains how he was able to come up with a complete script on Thomas overnight. It was his speed that nailed down the writing assignment for the rest of the scripts and—”
“Did McDonald know about your publicity idea?” Ted cut in.
Kay gave him a long look. “I see you do, too.” Then she sent an accusing glance at me.
“For the love of Mike, Kay, snap out of it. Sure I told Ted. What about Steve, was he in on things?”
She ran a hand over her cropped copper hair, as if fitting it on her head. “The morning after I hired you, when I was telling B.H. about it, long distance, he suggested letting Steve in on it. He seemed such a buster of an idea boy we thought he might come up with—God, you think he did it?”
“I don't know, but I'm going to find out tonight—if you'll help me.”
“What's Kay got to do with this?” Bobby asked. “I'm certainly not going to chance her getting hurt or involved in—”
“Be still, Butch. What is it you want me to do?”
I told her what we had in mind and Ted added, “You see, Miss, he'll shoot off his mouth to you, to a girl. Me or Toussaint confronted him he'd clam up. If we beat it out of him, it wouldn't stand up in court.”
Kay touched her hair again, nodding as she puffed on her pipe. She seemed only interested in watching the smoke going up toward the ceiling. Bobby said, “Surely you aren't asking Kay to risk her neck with a murderer!”
“Ted and I will be in the next room. We'll take care of Steve before he can do—”
Kay went through the slim hand-waving routine again. “Now shut up, the two of you. I want to think. It has its points. Trouble is, if I'm involved the publicity angle might come to light. That would be disastrous for the network.”
“The hell with the network, my life is at stake!”
Kay showed me her tight little smile once more. “Touie, I realize that, but don't be melodramatic. Career is another word for life and my career is at stake.”
“Kay is right,” Bobby said. “Suppose Steve isn't the killer, or won't admit a thing, where does that leave Kay?”
Kay shook her head. “Bobby, I'm not worrying about that cockroach. No, suppose he is the murderer, where does that leave Central and the show?”
“Damn you, Kay, this is murder, not a goddamn show!” I said, trying not to shout.
Like somebody in a hammy play, she puffed on her pipe for a moment, and the silence in the room seemed ready to explode. Then she stood up. “I'm going to chance it!”
“Oh, Kay,” Bobby said.
“I'm counting on the sponsor being a crime fan, that he'll buy it. The way I see all this, assuming Steve is our boy, we switch the Thomas sequence to the opening show —we'll be all over the papers for the next eight days. I'll see to that. We open to nation-wide headline publicity. The show will be watched by everyone in the country. Yes! Bobby, you know I have a special sense about publicity, and this hits me exactly right. A natural. Of course the publicity angle can't be exposed.... Touie was merely hired to check on Tutt really being Thomas. Don't you see it? A show which caused a Central writer to murder... and the network boldly solves it, cleans its own house in the name of law and order. This can't miss!” Her voice actually came alive, full of excitement.
“Now, Kay, honey,” Barbara said, “hadn't you better check with B.H. first? Call him and—”
“No, no,” I cut in. “No phoning anybody. If McDonald is warned I'm sunk.”
Barbara said, “You don't think we'd—”
“Look, for all I know B.H. can be the killer, or in on it with McDonald.”
Kay said, “Stop all the talk. I'm not calling B.H. I'm doing this solely on my responsibility. It'll amount to more if I pull it off.”
“Sure, it will amount to my life—if anybody is interested in that besides me,” I said.
“Oh stop the self-pity,” Kay told me. “Now what is it you want me to do—in detail?”
Ted said, “First off, can you hire my agency? Officially. I want to be in on this.”
“Damn it,” I said, boiling over, “give her the pitch some other time. Now listen, here's the deal.” I told her about the bug and the recorder and getting Steve up to her place. When I finished Kay didn't hesitate a second to say, “Fine. I'll phone Steve right now.”
But Bobby got to the phone first. “Kay, why can't I be the one? He knows I'm familiar with all the details of the publicity project, so it would be logical for me to suspect him.”
“That's terribly sweet and brave of you, Bobby-boy, but you see it has to be me because I'm representing Central in all this mess. I'll phone him now, hint something has come up concerning the studio—that should bring him on the run. How soon should I tell him to come?”
“Right away,” I said. “There's one more piece of business before we start. I've socked a cop. Now, if we pin anything on Steve, I want you three to stick with me all the time I'm with the cops, even at the precinct house. I'm not going for any beating.”
“Don't worry,” Ted told me blandly, “we give them the real killer and they'll be happy.”
“Maybe, but I want you around for insurance.”
“Touie is right. We all know why the cops may want to beat him up, and I have a better idea,” Kay said, knocking the ashes out of her jeweled pipe. “Let me phone a reporter friend, have him stand by. If we get anything on Steve, we'll phone the reporter before calling the police. Publicity-wise it will be fine, because this fellow works for one of the big wire services. Okay, Touie?”
I nodded and she dialed some guy and, after the small talk and assuring him this wasn't merely another news plant or publicity release, he agreed to wait for her call. We were wasting time and I had her call Steve, the tenseness inside me coiling tighter with each turn of her phone dial. After a moment Kay hung up, said there wasn't any answer. The letdown must have shown on my face; she said, “He's probably out for supper, Touie. It isn't seven yet. I suggest we finish eating. Hungry, Mr. Bailey?”
Matter of fact, I was starving, and damn if we all didn't have supper as though we were waiting to go on a party instead of hooking a killer. Kay kept trying Steve's number every fifteen minutes, and in the meantime we had to watch TV. Kay wanted to “catch” certain shows and commercials. Ted phoned his wife to tell her he was working, and then he sat and stared at Bobby and Kay, his eyes bewildered. I had the same feeling I had in Bingston hanging around the Davis house: I began to wonder if all this was real or a nightmare.
Ted went down to check his car, kept worrying somebody would steal the equipment. Bobby had a kettle boiling in the fireplace and served hot rums. By ten I was a jumpy wreck, certain Steve had flown the coop. Kay was sipping too many rums and I snapped, “Don't get crocked.”
“I'm too excited for that. But I do need a few belts from the bottle of courage, as the non-A.A. people romantically call it. Rum doesn't relax, Bobby. Butch, you look tired, why don't you take a sleep pill?”
At five to eleven she finally got Steve, and I almost melted away with relief. Kay asked, “Steve, can you come up to my place at once? What? Don't be an ass, this is strictly business. I've found out something at the office that will make you drool. Oh, don't hand me any creative-mood junk. You can write later: this is important. No, no, I can't discuss it on the phone. Okay, stay with your typewriter, Hemingway.” She winked at us over the receiver. “But I have the inside dope on a new show—biggest thing in your career—a full net series, twice a week. Oh, I'm not kidding. You'll have to get on your horse and bring in a sample outline by tomorrow afternoon. Bighearted? Listen, I want a straight twenty per cent cut if you land the scripting.... I don't see why you can't come over. What? I'm offering you a big deal on a silver platter and you're playing coy....”
I tapped her shoulder, said in pantomime, “Tell him you'll go to his place.”
She nodded. “Steve, this is really big; suppose I come up to see you. You're damn right I'm money-hungry... when it's upper-bracket money. I'll be over within the hour. I have to dress and— All right, all right, cut the sex talk. I'm serious. I'll be up as soon as I can.”
As she hung up, Bobby cried, “Kay, don't, don't!”
“Oh, Bobby, relax. Take your pill and go to sleep.”
