The Complete Casebook of Cardigan, Volume 1: 1931-32 Read online

Cardigan’s voice dropped another note. “You know as well as I do that I was the one who was supposed to have got bumped off last night. Me. I was tailed to that speakeasy. The rats didn’t have the guts to come in after me. They waited out in the street, probably all hopped up, and when I came out—and when Akeley stumbled and got in the way—those guys’ hands were so hot on their rods they had to let go. Me they wanted. Akeley they got—a skinny little no-account newshawk. You hear!”

  Ullrich stepped back, putting his hand to his chest, looking shocked and innocent. “But my dear Mr. Cardigan, my sympathy is all with the family of the deceased. It is, truly. But yet I cannot fathom out why you burst in here—”

  “For the love of God,” Cardigan’s deep voice throbbed, “don’t go in for the old run around! Don’t!” He chopped his fist through the air. “You know me. I know you. Standing orders from my boss in New York are never to break a political scandal. Never. Unless it’s the last resort. Phil Gould—and you—and Ackerman—you’re all in a dirty big puddle. I could make a fortune springing what I know about you. I’ve turned down a bribe already. I never went out of my way to find these things out about you guys. It just happened. Yet, by cripes, all of you have done your damnedest to silence me. First by bribery—which I turned down. Then guns. Then guns again—last night—and another blunder. I was willing to play the lone wolf. I never run to the cops crying for help. I was ready to snoop out these heels of yours and shoot it out with them. But it’s off now. It’s no go. Somebody has to take the rap for the murder of Akeley. Somebody—” his voice grated “—in your own back yard.”

  Ullrich pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, patted his forehead, his cheeks, raised his chin and patted his throat.

  “I will say, Mr. Cardigan, that you gave me a start. Indeed, sir, you gave me a start. Indeed you did!”

  “You can’t laugh it off, Ullrich. I promise you, you can’t laugh it off.”

  Ullrich folded his handkerchief carefully, slipped it into his breast pocket, patted the pocket. “Now, Mr. Cardigan—my dear Mr. Cardigan. You assume too great a public spirit—and the weight of it may one day bear you down—”

  “It’s not public spirit, Ullrich. It’s just that some guys have gone into a huddle and come to the conclusion that my aide Miss Seaward gave Akeley the works.”

  “How atrocious!”

  “To me, it’s just lousy. And there’s only one thing to do about it. The night, one month ago, when Burt White was murdered while in my car, it was forgotten quickly because White himself was a heel. I’d recovered stolen diamonds from him and he’d shot his girl friend, run out, jumped in my car. A murder car got him—thinking it was me. That was easy to forget. But this time a reporter was bumped off. That’s bad. So there’s only one thing to do. I want the guys that did Akeley in.”

  Ullrich put his head on one side. “I see you are in deadly earnest, Mr. Cardigan.”

  “It’s got to be swan-song for somebody—and not for Miss Seaward or me.”

  “You are an uncommonly hard man to handle, Mr. Cardigan.”

  “You and your mob have tried like hell to get rid of me, Ullrich. I’m hard to get rid of. In the beginning I never knew one tenth as much about you as you thought I did. But now I know a lot. Ordinarily I’d shut up. But you guys forced this. Get started doing something. Miss Seaward’s in the holdover and she’s got to be out by night.”

  Ullrich tried to look cheerful through a sheen of perspiration that had formed on his face. “Sit down, Mr. Cardigan. Please sit down.” He bobbed to the desk, rubbed his hands together, took a deep breath, reached for the telephone.

  Cardigan said: “And no clowning.”

  Chapter Five

  Scarehead Stuff

  SENATOR ACKERMAN was a lantern-jawed tall man with steely eyes weakened by dark half-moons beneath them. He closed the heavy office door quietly, flexed his lips against his teeth and put fists into the pockets of his dark blue coat. He made his stare hard and straight on Cardigan.

  Ullrich said, bounding from one foot to the other: “Mr. Cardigan has a grievance.”

  “I like how you put it,” Cardigan chuckled harshly.

  Ackerman’s voice was blunt. “Now see here, Cardigan; I’ve had enough of your interference.”

  “I’m not interfering. I’m here to get the guys that bumped off Akeley. I’ve not been engaged by anybody to get them. But headquarters has got Miss Seaward in for questioning and there’s influence that will hang the kill on us.”

  Ackerman scowled. “What makes you think we know anything about the murder?”

  “It’s not the first time your mobsters tried to get me, senator. But it’s the last. Miss Seaward got onto the tail of two guys that were tailing me last night. When I went in that speak they waited outside. She tried to warn me by telephone but the connection was cut off. Akeley got in the way—and Akeley got killed instead of me. There’s only one guy would want to see me silenced. And you’re the guy. I’m banking on that.”

  “You cannot prove that, Cardigan.”

  “Does Miss Seaward stay in the holdover tonight? Am I going to be hauled in on a framed charge, cost myself and my agency a lot of money? Or are you going to turn over the guys that killed Akeley?”

  Ackerman’s eyes were frigid. “I—am—going—to—do—nothing, Cardigan.”

  “You’ve got the most guts of anybody in your scatter,” Cardigan said, “but that’s not enough. Your reputation’s at stake. I see your point of view. You’ll brazen it out.” He shook his head. “But you’ll never make it. I can give what I know to The Star-Dispatch, but for spite I haven’t so far. I can, though. I hate McClintock and his whole tribe but I can forget that. I want the guys that did the killing.”

  He strode to the desk, put his hand on the telephone.

  “Who made the pinch of your aide?”

  “Bush.”

  Ackerman cursed. “Give me that phone.” He called headquarters, spoke with Bush tartly, told him to come over. “And right now!” he finished hotly.

  When Bush arrived he was quite out of breath.

  Ackerman said coldly: “Bush, Cardigan tells me that you pinched Miss Seaward on suspicion for the Akeley murder.”

  “Yes,” Bush said, scowling at Cardigan, “and before night we’re going to clamp on this guy too.”

  Ackerman’s voice grew colder. “Why did you pick the woman up, Bush?”

  “We had a right to. She was around the scene of the murder. She made a telephone call to Cardigan from a store a couple o’ blocks away. Then Cardigan takes Akeley out. Then Akeley’s bumped off and the woman never shows her mug.”

  Ackerman scowled. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me something about this?”

  “I wanted to surprise you. It’s a red-hot, Senator. Akeley was trying for a couple o’ weeks to get something on Cardigan about the recovery of that ice from Burt White—”

  “Who told you that?”

  Bush colored, swallowed. “A—a guy on The Star-Dispatch.”

  Cardigan growled: “McClintock put that bug in his brain.”

  “McClintock!” Ackerman got up, his face darkening. “You fat-head, what right have you to go into cahoots with McClintock?”

  Bush looked scared. “I ain’t in cahoots. But it was hot—it was red-hot. He was sure the woman did it and he gave me lots of reasons for it.”

  “I don’t give a damn what he thought!” Ackerman bellowed. “You half-witted idiot! McClintock—of all men, McClintock!”

  Bush gaped. “But why?”

  “I’ll tell you why,” Cardigan said. “And it’s a scream. Mac’s one of your great enemies, senator. And he’s one of mine. I hate him like nobody’s business. And here he is playing us one against the other. The bum tried to pay me seven-thousand bucks to break him some dope about you and Gould’s casino and some other things I’m supposed to know about you. I kicked him out. Because I hate his guts and because I never take a bribe. I’d always have to be living it
down. So he comes back at me through Bush. He gets Bush all steamed up about Miss Seaward and Bush falls for it. Why? Because Bush hates me like poison. Because he’d like to see me take a long rap. And because he’s dumb—or wise, and if wise, he’s taking a slice of graft from The Star-Dispatch.”

  Bush shook with rage. Spluttering made his lips wet. “That’s all one of your dirty lies, Cardigan. It’s—”

  “Shut up,” Ackerman cut in icily.

  The room fell silent.

  “Oh,” ground out Ackerman, “you unmitigated fool! You idiot! You hopeless blockhead!”

  “Good gracious!” breathed Ullrich.

  Bush stuttered, “B-but—”

  “Enough!” chopped off Ackerman. “I see it all. I see McClintock’s line of thought. No, you wouldn’t. But it’s got to stop, Bush! McClintock will throw you to the wolves when he’s used you. You’ve got to take water. You’ve got to let that woman go, that’s all.”

  Bush went white. “Let her go! By God, I can’t. It’s slated for the evening papers. Inspector Knoblock’s working on the case too, now, and—God, I can’t take water! I can’t explain. If I let McClintock down—”

  “Who’s your friend, Bush,” Ackerman said, “McClintock or me? Who’s the man who put you where you are today?”

  “But don’t you see—”

  “I see either one of two things. Either you’re dumber than I ever thought you were, or you’re double-crossing me.”

  Bush raised a shaking hand, shook his head violently. “No—no, I’m not double-crossing anybody—”

  “Me, you’re trying to,” Cardigan said.

  “You—you!” Bush bellowed. “You are always razzing me! Ever since you came here—”

  “Quiet,” Ackerman said. “This guy Cardigan is after us. You’ll have to drop this case against him. You’ll have to tell Knoblock and the chief anything you want—but this case must be dropped. We can’t afford it.”

  Bush made a sound something like a moan. “I didn’t mean wrong, senator. Honest to God, I didn’t!”

  Ackerman was cold. “You made the wrong move, Bush. You’ve got to straighten it out.”

  The words ached out of Bush’s throat: “But I can’t!”

  “My dear senator,” said Ullrich, fluttering, “let us pause to consider, to reason things out.”

  “There’s nothing to reason out,” snapped Ackerman.

  Cardigan said: “I’ll say there isn’t,” and stood up, a lowering look in his eyes. “The whole trouble here is that all of you guys are in the mud. You want to throw Bush for the fall-guy now. But that won’t end things. I’m tightening down. I’m after material evidence—and the best material evidence will be the two guys that bumped off Akeley. And that’s what I want.”

  Ackerman, his face livid now, crossed the room and faced Cardigan. “I warn you to damper down, Cardigan.”

  Cardigan reached out and laid his hand on the telephone. “I warn you, senator.”

  Bush began raving like a man gone mad. “I won’t be no fall-guy! I got the jane and this guy to rights. I can hang this kill—”

  “You rat,” Cardigan muttered.

  Bush held his hand out. “I’ll take your gun, Cardigan.”

  “You will?” Cardigan showed his teeth. “I’ll show you something you won’t forget, gumshoe. I’ll show—” He slipped his hand beneath the left lapel of his coat.

  Ullrich, his eyes shimmering, moved on his heel. A gun leaped in his hand. Exploded.

  Cardigan turned half around, looking at Ullrich with shocked eyes. Cardigan wheeled against the desk, bounced away from it, hit a chair and crashed down to the floor, taking the chair with him. His head banged against a radiator.

  Ullrich wore a pop-eyed smile. His voice leaped from his lips. “This does it, my dear senator! He tried to draw a gun on a police officer! Assault with intent to kill!”

  Bush spluttered, “He—he—”

  “Shut up, Bush!” Ullrich cried. “You saw him! You, senator—you saw him! It’s the only way out—it’s the only out! Indeed—indeed it is!”

  Ackerman stood rigid, rooted to his feet, his eyes staring at Ullrich. “By George!” he whispered hoarsely. “You’ve hit upon it! I always knew you could be relied upon—in a pinch!”

  Cardigan lay panting, half propped against the radiator, his hands spread-fingered on the floor.

  Ullrich took two bobbing steps, moistened his lips, gripped his gun hard. He looked at Ackerman.

  He whispered, showing his teeth in a queer smile, “It would be doubly certain if he were exterminated completely. We hang suspended by a single cord.” His wide, bubbling eyes turned on Cardigan. His gun came up.

  Cardigan’s voice rushed out. “Do it and weep, Ullrich! I’m no fool! Not all fool! Before I came here I wrote out the highlights in the dirt against you. I sent it to myself—registered mail—care of my office. It’s in the mails now—where you can’t get it, where, by God, you can’t bargain with me to get it! Pull that rod, you wiper—pull it!”

  Ullrich almost stumbled. His fat hand began to shake. His eyes did not bubble. His fat face became contorted and his lower lip popped out with a slight sound, hung loose and shining.

  Bush put a hand to his eyes, moaned. Veins stood out on Ackerman’s temples.

  Outside the door, suddenly, there were sounds of a scuffle, a hoarse cry. The door whipped open violently and McClintock, his derby smashed in, his tie half undone, barged in, slammed the door shut, locked it.

  “This is the lousiest, damnedest place to get into I ever saw!” he rasped.

  THROATY, rattle-voiced, Ackerman said: “There has been a little unpleasantness here.”

  “Now isn’t that news! By cripes, I’ve been parked half an hour on my pants downstairs trying to get up here. The longest I’ve ever waited for anybody—two presidents and a bootlegger included. So I heard the boom-boom… and was it a close race to the door with your secretary? Boy, did I sock him?” He became suddenly sky-eyed. “Well, senator?”

  Ackerman nodded to Cardigan. “This fellow came in here. You know him, I believe. Detective Sergeant Bush came here after him—to take him to headquarters for questioning. He resented by attempting to draw a gun.”

  Ullrich nodded politely, saying: “I did my best to protect an officer of the law.”

  Cardigan got up slowly and leaned against the radiator. He took off his topcoat, suit coat and vest; took a handful of his shirt and ripped it off; ripped off his undershirt. He twisted his neck and looked down at his right side, where blood flowed slowly. He made a face.

  “This is going to be a story,” McClintock said. “A lalapaloosa! Did you shoot him from behind, Ullrich, or was he looking at you? How’d he do it, Cardigan, you big bum?”

  Ullrich said: “Cardigan went for his gun. He shoved his hand inside his lapel—”

  “Oh, yeah?” Cardigan said. “When my gun is—” he drew it from his hip-pocket “—here!”

  Ullrich stared. “You said—”

  “I said I was going to show Bush something he’d never forget.” He took from his upper left-hand pocket of his vest a small slip of paper. “This. The receipt for that registered letter. The letter that’s in the mails now!”

  Bush swung on McClintock. “You said you were sure Cardigan and the woman had a deal in that Akeley kill. Tell him! When I tried to pinch—when I asked him in a nice way for his gun—”

  “You damned liar!” Cardigan roared. “You’re all liars! I had you all tied up. Only Ullrich saw a way out—when you went meshuga and asked me for my gun. Only Ullrich—and the fat slob yanked his gun and let me have it. Let me have it—because he had two witnesses to say I pulled a rod! Pulled it from an armpit holster! When you see—now—and even McClintock sees that it was on my hip. And I’ve got you all tied up now.”

  He lunged to the desk, grabbed up the phone. Ackerman jumped and got him from behind, around the neck. Yanked him away and sent him spinning against the wall. The phone banged to the
desk. Drops of blood flew from Cardigan’s wound.

  “Let me at that phone!” Cardigan bellowed.

  Ackerman said: “Listen—a minute,” and got in Cardigan’s path.

  Cardigan hit him on the jaw and sent him against Ullrich, and Ullrich fell down. But Ackerman stayed up and flung himself between Cardigan and the desk.

  “Let me—get Knoblock!” Cardigan snarled.

  McClintock grabbed up the phone and snapped into it: “Get me The Star-Dispatch!”

  Ullrich knocked him down and McClintock, hanging on grimly, tore the telephone wires from the box.

  Ullrich panted: “Please, sir—”

  “Please me—will you!” McClintock cried, scrambling to his feet.

  He hurled the instrument at Ullrich.

  Bush, looking horrified, turned and fled. Fled to the door. Got his hand on the knob and was turning the key when Cardigan came plowing across the room, grabbed him by the neck, swung him around and hurled him across the room. Bush recovered and tried again.

  “Let me out of here!” he cried. “I ain’t done nothing! I want to get—”

  “Stay back!” muttered Cardigan savagely. “You heel, you’re a disgrace to the shield you wear!”

  But Bush was crazed. “So help me Cardigan—” His gun was in his hand.

  Cardigan crowded him, grabbed Bush’s gun hand. The gun boomed.

  A gash appeared in the dark wood of the wall and Cardigan, dripping blood and sweat, twisted Bush to the floor, twisted the gun from his hand, left Bush moaning and grovelling.

  Ullrich fell into a chair, a glazed stare in his eyes.

  Ackerman took two steps, ripped the gun from Ullrich’s hand, turned it on himself. McClintock fell on him—but as the gun exploded. Ackerman went down to his knees, fell forward on his face.

  The room was a shambles when a dozen men broke down the door and rushed in.

  “Listen, Cardigan,” McClintock barked. “What the hell’s the use of bleeding to death? Why don’t you let me bind you up?”

  “You sure think the world of me, don’t you?”

  “Yeah—a world of dirty names. But I like your style, big fella. And—say—what a story!”