A Short Bier, page 14
“I think I’ve uncovered a helluva lot better motive.”
“What?”
Liddell grinned at him. “I’d rather check it first. Personally.” He pointed to the bottom drawer. “Any of that decompressing fluid left?”
The editor glared at him, yanked open the bottom drawer, brought up the half-filled bottle of bourbon. “Why I should feed your habit, I don’t know.” He pushed the bottle across the desk, watched morosely while Liddell made the trip to the water cooler, brought back some cups and some water. “You serious? You think we still have a chance?”
Liddell filled the two paper cups almost to the brim, added a touch of water. “Dead serious.” He handed one drink to Kiely. “Can you get Marty Day in here?”
Kiely picked up his phone, tapped the crossbar. “Have Marty Day come into my office.” He dropped the receiver on its hook, watched Liddell while he emptied his cup in one swallow. “If this thing gets too cold, Johnny, we’ll never be able to make a case. Every day that passes — ”
“Stop worrying. If I’m right, we’ll be able to wind this thing up before long. It’s just a matter of playing our cards right. Rushing in and trying to bull our way through could kick the whole thing over.”
There was a tap on the door. Kiely quickly swallowed the contents of his cup, tossed it into the basket, replaced the bottle in the drawer. “Come in.”
Marty Day, the sports editor, pushed the door open, walked in. He was chomping on a wad of gum that ballooned his right cheek. He looked from Liddell to Kiely. “You wanted to see me, Jim?”
Kiely nodded to Liddell. “Johnny has some ideas. He thinks you can help.”
“I already checked the Commission,” Day said, “and you were right — ”
“This is another angle, Marty. Al Madden got a girl?”
Marty Day didn’t miss a beat on the gum, nodded. “Margot Stanton. You never met her?” Liddell shook his head.
“Real tiger. She’s been Al’s Girl Friday and every other day in the week for years. Handles all his affairs. Runs his office, stuff like that.”
“Sort of a combination manager and housekeeper, huh? Hold his hand, hold his head, and keep the covers up around his neck at night. That it?” “Pretty close to it.”
Jim Kiely looked thoughtful. “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, Johnny, it doesn’t sound like it’ll work. A dame like that — ”
“Is hell on wheels when she’s scorned.” Liddell nodded.
“Is she being scorned?”
Liddell grinned. “It’s going to be part of our job to convince her that she is. Then all we have to do is stand around and pick up the pieces.”
Marty Day continued to give the wad of gum a beating.
“If somebody has to go up against Marge, better you than me.”
“I don’t intend to,” Liddell told him. “I was figuring on sending Al Madden up against her.” He reached over onto the desk, snagged a piece of copy paper and a pencil.
“Where’s the best place to find this babe?”
“Al’s office. But he hardly ever shows there. He just uses it to — ”
Liddell nodded patiently. “But she does?”
The sports editor bobbed his head.
“What’s the address?” Liddell wanted to know.
“The Cartwright Building. 56th and Park. I’ve been there a couple of times to press conferences and stuff. But like I said Al usually doesn’t show there. It’s either Stillson’s, Sardi’s or — ”
Liddell scribbled the address on the sheet of paper, straightened up. “Thanks, Marty. I’ll get to Madden later. Ladies first.” He folded the paper, stuck it in his breast pocket.
“That all you wanted, chief?” Marty Day turned to Kiely.
The managing editor nodded, waited until Day had left. “How you figuring on playing this babe off against Madden, Johnny? You got something to go on?”
Liddell grinned. “I hope so, Jim. I sure hope so.”
chapter
19
Al Madden occupied a suite of offices on the 48th floor of the Cartwright Building. A thick, wheat-colored broadloom stretched from the elevators to the double, ground-glass doors that bore the information: Madden Enterprises, Inc. Underneath it, in smaller letters it said, Albert W. Madden, President.
Johnny Liddell pushed through the doors that opened on the outer office of the suite. A cool-looking brunette in a tan wool dress sat behind a desk. She glanced up with no change of expression as Liddell walked in.
“Mr. Madden.”
The girl’s gray eyes flicked over him coolly. “Your name, please?”
“Johnny Liddell. I’m a private detective.”
The girl seemed unimpressed by the information, depressed a key on the intercom. “There’s a private detective here to see Mr. Madden, Miss Stanton. He says his name is Johnny Liddell.”
A muted voice came back to her, she looked up at Liddell. “Would you mind telling me what it’s about?”
“Mr. Madden’s engagement to Miss Adair.”
The brunette relayed the information. There was a slight pause, then the muted voice instructed her to send Liddell in.
When she stood up, Liddell could see that the receptionist was taller than he had expected. The tan wool clung to her ample curves lovingly as she turned, headed for the door marked Private.
“Will you walk this way, please?”
Liddell watched the play of her rounded hips against the tight fabric, sighed. “I don’t have the proper equipment.”
The blonde gave no sign she heard, held the door to the inner office open. She stood in such a position that he had to brush against her to get by. He had the impression of the firmness of her breast, the roundness of her thigh, a whiff of the exotic perfume that she wore.
A woman was standing at the oversized desk that dominated the room. She had corn-colored hair piled on top of her head; a severely cut business suit failed to disguise the magnificence of her façade. She stood drumming on the desk with scarlet-tipped fingers.
She nodded to the girl in the tan knit dress, waited until she had closed the door behind her, whirled on Liddell.
“Now, what’s this all about?”
From closer, Liddell realized she wasn’t as young as he had first guessed. There was a fine network of lines under her eyes, and her make-up was waging a fight with the beginnings of crow’s feet at her eyes and at the side of her mouth. She looked tired.
“I’ll tell Madden.”
“You’ll tell me. I’m Margot Stanton, Madden’s confidential secretary. Anything you have to tell him, you tell me.”
Liddell looked the girl over, estimated she’d weigh in at about 120, with not an ounce misplaced or unaccounted for. “You might not like it.”
“Let me decide.”
Liddell shrugged. “I’m working with the Dispatch-”
“That rag! You deserve each other.”
Liddell nodded. “We’re interested in Madden’s sudden interest in politics. Pushing an old hack like Adair, for instance. We were wondering about his sudden civic consciousness. For instance, what’s he got out of it.” He held his hand up, waved off an interruption. “We found out. We just want a verification.”
Margot’s eyes narrowed. “Verification of what?”
“Madden’s payoff for his support. He’s going to marry the judge’s daughter, we hear.”
The girl’s face went white. “You’re a liar. You print that and — ”
“And I’ll be playing gin with Larry Jensen?” Liddell grinned humorlessly. “Unpleasant things seem to happen to people who get too interested in Madden’s affairs.”
“You trying to say something, mister?”
Liddell nodded. “Yeah. And pretty soon, I’m hoping to have the proof to make it stand up. By the way, have you heard from Rivas yet?”
“Get out. I wish Madden was here. He’d throw you out bodily.”
“He might try,” Liddell conceded. He pulled a card from his breast pocket, dropped it on the desk. “That’s my number on the card. Madden might want to contact me. Or maybe even you.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“You never know. We might find a lot to talk about, friends in common. Like Alice Johnson, Diego Martinez. Loads of them. It might be like old-home week.”
The woman turned her back, walked to the window. “You’re wasting my time.”
Liddell walked to the door, stopped with his hand on the knob. “I imagine the judge will be giving his daughter away. Ever think of doing the same for the groom? It might be an interesting switch.”
As soon as Margot heard the door slam behind him, she turned, walked back to the desk. She picked up the card he’d dropped, started to tear it across. On second thought, she stuck it in her pocket, picked up the phone, pushed the button on its base. The cool voice of the brunette in the outer office came through.
“We heard from Mr. Madden today?” Margot wanted to know.
“Not today, Miss Stanton.”
“See if you can reach him.” She paused for a moment. “Try Judge Adair’s place first.” She dropped the receiver on its hook, picked up a pencil from the desk, started splintering it with her teeth.
The phone rang almost immediately.
“I have Mr. Madden on the line for you, Miss Stanton.”
“Where’d you reach him?”
“Where you told me. At the judge’s house.”
Margot slammed the splintered pencil into the waste basket. “Put me through.”
There was an irritated note in Madden’s voice. “What is it, Margot?”
“I’ve got to see you, Al. Right away.”
“It can’t be done, Margot. Not today anyway. I’m up to my ears in ward-heelers. A couple of the boys need persuading to get behind the judge.”
“Tonight then.”
“Sorry, kid. I’m having dinner with the judge. We’ll be here until all hours.”
“And his daughter?”
“Of course his daughter. What is this, a third degree?”
Margot reached for a fresh pencil, started doodling on the desk pad. “It might be a smart idea to forget about the judge and his daughter, Al. Johnny Liddell just left here. He was the guy who roughed Rivas up. He knows an awful lot about people like Martinez and Alice Johnson — ”
“He couldn’t prove a thing. Now, look, Margot — I’m busy and I’m going to be busy all night. I don’t want to be disturbed again.” There was a sharp click as the man on the other end slammed down his receiver.
Margot dropped her phone on its cradle. She walked to the window, stared down at the traffic crawling along forty-eight stories below. After a moment, she took Liddell’s card from her pocket, stared at it thoughtfully, then tapped it against the nail of her thumb.
At nine o’clock that evening, Johnny Liddell leaned against the bar in Mike’s Deadline Café, made concentric circles on the bar with the wet bottom of his glass. Only a few of the Dispatch staffers were still at the bar, adding to the man-made fog that swirled lazily near the ceiling with their pipes and cigarettes.
Liddell checked his watch, wondered how much longer he’d have to wait for Muggsy. He looked up, saw the bartender’s eye fixed approvingly on the entrance. Liddell turned, saw the woman standing at the top of the short flight of steps that led down into the barroom.
Margot Stanton had changed the severe business suit for a black sheath that acted as a perfect showcase for the fullness of her figure. She was standing there, her eyes moving from one customer at the bar to the next, until they came to rest on Liddell. She smiled slightly, started down the steps and crossed to where he stood. She paid no apparent attention to the obvious inventory the other customers were taking of her assets.
“Well, well. Miss Stanton. What a coincidence!” Liddell drawled.
“It was no coincidence. I came looking for you,” Margot told him. “Your answering service suggested that I might find you here.” She looked around. “Is there any place where we can talk?”
“It just so happens that I maintain a branch office here. The rear booth.” He drained his glass. “Will you have a drink?”
“Not right now,” Margot told him impatiently.
Liddell motioned for the girl to precede him, followed her to the rear of the Deadline. He waited until she was seated, slid in opposite her.
“I’m afraid I was very rude to you today, Mr. Liddell,” she told him. She found a cigarette in her purse, held it for him to light. “I don’t want you to think that’s the way we usually handle people working for a paper like the Dispatch. You just caught me at a bad moment.”
“Happens,” Liddell conceded.
“Do you still want to see Mr. Madden?”
Liddell pursed his lips, nodded. “As soon as possible.”
“Mr. Madden is having dinner tonight with Judge Adair and his daughter. It occurred to me that would be a perfect place for you to get an answer to your question.” She took a deep drag on the cigarette, blew the smoke at the ceiling. “As a matter of fact, I think it would be to everybody’s advantage to have that rumor corrected once and for all.”
“Or verified?”
Margot took the cigarette from between her lips, frowned at the carmined end. “Or verified.” She looked up at Liddell. “Either way it will go a long way toward clearing the air.”
Liddell checked his watch. “Where does the judge live?”
“I’ll take you there.”
Liddell raised his eyebrows. “You’ll be along?”
Margot replaced the cigarette between her lips, took a deep drag. “I’ve got some things to talk over with Mr. Madden and the judge. I thought I could kill two birds with one stone by bringing you along.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
Liddell stood up. “Okay.” He caught the girl’s arm, helped her slide out of the booth. He waited while she crushed out the cigarette in the ash tray on the table. “I had a date but I can leave a message.”
Margot headed for the door, Liddell behind her. At the bar, he signaled the bartender over. “Mike, Muggsy should be here sometime tonight. If she does come in looking for me, tell her something has come up.”
The bartender stared past Liddell to where Margot was climbing the short flight of stairs to the exit, her skirt pulled tightly across her hips, nodded. “Want me to fill her in on the details?”
Liddell grinned at him. “Don’t be such an optimist. This is business.”
“Looks like business is getting a lot better,” Mike told him with a leer.
chapter
20
The cab dropped Margot Stanton and Johnny Liddell outside a large private home on upper Fifth Avenue facing Central Park. As Liddell reached forward to collect his change from the cabby, a bulky-shouldered man materialized from the shadows alongside the entrance to the house.
He ambled over to the open door of the cab.
“Sorry, pal, but the judge is busy tonight, and — ”
“That’s all right, Packy,” Margot Stanton called from inside the cab. “Mr. Liddell is with me. The boss expects him.”
Packy peered into the cab, recognized Margot. He pulled off his battered fedora. “I didn’t see you in there, Miss Stanton.” His head looked like a cue ball with twisted lumps of scar tissue for eyebrows and a nose flattened against his face. “I didn’t know you was coming tonight.”
Liddell got out, held the door for Margot.
“Something’s come up. The boss called, asked me to bring Mr. Liddell to see him.”
Cue Ball bobbed his head, scuttled to the front door, opened it for them. He continued to bob his head as Margot led the way into a large reception hall.
“If you’ll just wait here.” Margot dropped her bag and gloves on a marble-topped table, headed for the closed door to the library. She opened the door, stood in the doorway.
Inside the room, a tall, stoop-shouldered man with thick white hair was pouring brandy into three snifters. On a couch, her legs crossed decorously, a blonde girl leaned back comfortably. Her long hair was parted over her left eye, allowed to cascade down to her shoulders. She was listening to a heavy-set man with thick black hair, going white at the temples.
At the sound of the opening door, all three turned to look.
The girl and the white-haired man eyed Margot Stanton with polite curiosity. Al Madden jumped to his feet, a dull red flush creeping up from the collar of his tuxedo jacket.
“What are you doing here?”
“I told you I had to see you. I brought along the man I told you about.” She ignored the fury in Madden’s face, turned her back. “Will you come in now?”
Liddell joined the girl in the doorway.
“This is Johnny Liddell, a private detective working with the Dispatch,” Margot announced. She indicated the white-haired man. “Judge Adair. His daughter, Emily.” She dismissed the girl with a wave of her hand.
“And my associate, Al Madden.”
“I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed tonight,” Madden roared at her. “Get out and take this shamus with you.”
“Mr. Liddell has a question he’d like answered. The question was, I believe, when are you going to announce your engagement to Emily Adair?”
Judge Adair started, spilled some of the brandy on the top of the portable bar. “Just a minute, Al. It was my understanding there would be no announcement until after the primaries.”
Madden nodded. “Don’t worry about it. There won’t be any announcement until I say so. If that rag publishes that — ”
Margot walked up to him. “So he was right? Your price for getting this old hack the nomination was her. When were you going to tell me about it — ”
Emily Adair got up from the couch. “What is all this, Al? Don’t let that woman talk like that. Since when do we have to discuss our private affairs with a secretary — ”
Margot whirled on her. “Why, you little tramp — ”
