Sally's in the Alley by Norbert Davis (top 100 novels of all time .txt) 📖

“Who?”

“That’s the sixty-four dollar question.”

“Didn’t you see him?”

“No. I chased him, but he was too fast on his feet.”

“Did he hurt Dust-Mouth?”

“No. And I’d just made him a present of part of Iowa, so I think he’ll probably call me up again when he gets through shaking.”

Arne breathed hard through his nostrils. “Probably! That’s not good enough. We stayed out of the way. We gave you a clear channel. And now look. A fine thing! And you’re supposed to be a smart operator!”

“Fire me,” Doan suggested.

“We can do better than that,” Arne said. “Or worse. You gave the knife that killed Free-Look Jones to the bellboy, by name of Joshua, in the Double-Eagle Hotel in Heliotrope.”

“Did I?” said Doan.

Arne stared at him. “Haven’t you any conscience at all? Did you want to get that poor devil convicted of murder?”

“We must all serve our country as best we can in these grim times,” Doan said. “Is he? Going to be convicted of murder, I mean?”

“No. He has a perfect alibi. He was making root beer in the drugstore next to the hotel. He put some ether in it, and it knocked him cold. He couldn’t possibly have been running around loose at the time Free-Look was killed. He couldn’t navigate at all. The druggist carried him over and dumped him in the broom closet. Now they’re looking for you.”

“I thought they would be,” Doan admitted. “But of course the government will protect me from being charged with any minor misdemeanors like murder.”

“Ha-ha,” said Arne.

Doan nodded. “Why don’t you two go home and get a good night’s rest?”

“We’ll give you twenty-four hours more,” Arne said. “Come on, Barstow.”

“What happens after twenty-four hours?” Doan asked.

Barstow looked back from the doorway. “You were wrong before._ That’s_ the sixty-four dollar question. Cheer-o.” He closed the door softly.

“I’ve got a good mind to write a letter to President Roosevelt,” Doan said to Carstairs.

He sat down on the chesterfield and took off his shoes. He slid the Police Positive under the cushions, and then lay down on his back and stared gloomily at the ceiling. Carstairs stared at the ceiling, too, and then wearied of it and went to sleep in the middle of the floor.

Someone knocked gently on the door.

“What now?” Doan said, not moving.

The door opened, and Harriet looked in.

“Mr. Doan, I forgot to ask you. Did you take care of the matter of that dead man who was in your hotel room?”

“Oh my, yes,” Doan said. “I managed things in my customarily brilliant manner.”

“Well, why was he killed?”

“That’s a military secret.”

“Oh, I see. I don’t suppose you can tell me who killed him, either?”

“I don’t suppose I can,” Doan agreed glumly. “You don’t know how I wish I could.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Doan. I can stand the suspense.”

“Yeah,” said Doan. “But can I?”

The telephone buzzed.

“Ah-ha!” Doan exclaimed, jumping up off the chesterfield. He picked the instrument up. “Yes?”

“This is Edmund, Mr. Doan. At the desk. Woo-woo!”

“What?” said Doan.

“Oh boy! Wow! Wheel You got a visitor. Have you got a visitor! Mr. Doan, it’s Susan Sally, and she wants to see you! Woo-woo!”

“Woo-woo!” said Doan. “Send her right up!”

He dove for the chesterfield and got hastily back into his shoes. He slicked his hair down and straightened his tie.

“What is it?” Harriet asked, startled. “Is something going to happen?”

“Probably not,” Doan told her. “But you can’t blame me for hoping.”

Harriet watched him suspiciously. “Is it that theatrical person?”

“How did you know?” Doan demanded.

Harriet nodded slowly and meaningly. “I thought so. She said she thought you were a very interesting person. I knew what that meant.”

“What?” Doan inquired.

“I knew she’d try to see you again. Do you want me to tell her you’re busy or not here or something?”

Doan’s mouth dropped open. “What?” he repeated incredulously.

“She’s not the sort of person you should associate with when you’re performing a dangerous and vital mission for your country. I don’t approve of her at all.”

“Your ballot is void,” said Doan. “Would you mind running home and knitting yourself a muffler?”

“You’re not going to see her alone? In your apartment? At night?”

“I certainly am,” said Doan. “And that reminds me.” He nudged Carstairs with the toe of his shoe. “Get. Go with the nice lady.”

Carstairs sat up and glared at him in outraged protest.

Someone stumbled in the hall. Doan pushed Harriet aside and opened the door wide. Susan Sally was leaning against the wall opposite, and her eyes were glazed, and she was swaying a little.

“They got me, toots,” she said. The muscles in her soft throat tightened suddenly, and the expression on her face changed to one of incredulous, shocked surprise. “Doan!” She coughed. The sound was deep and bubbling in her throat, and then she put out one hand gropingly in front of her and fell forward in a graceful, limp whirl.

Doan caught her before she hit the floor. He stiffened, holding her, staring over her shoulder. On the wall, where she had rubbed against it, there was a wet, red smear.

“What—” said Harriet, scared. “What—”

“Shut-up,” said Doan. “Take care of her.”

He flicked the .25 automatic out of the breast pocket of his coat and ran down the hall. The self-operating elevator was up at this floor, its door open. Doan went down the stairs three at a time.

Edmund was contemplating his radio diagram with a slap-happy expression on his face. He looked up and saw Doan and the automatic, and came to with a startled gulp.

“Who was with Susan Sally?” Doan asked tightly.

Edmund made stiff mouthing motions and shook his head mutely and helplessly.

“Who came in after her?”

“No—no—no—” Edmund said, doing a little better.

“Who was in the lobby when she came?”

Edmund’s face was paper-white. He pointed to himself.

“No one else?”

“N-no,” said Edmund. “She ain’t m-mad, is she? I didn’t do nothin’. I juh-juh-just asked her for an autograph, is all.”

“Didn’t you notice anything the matter with her?”

Edmund swallowed hard. “I thought maybe she was a little drunk. I mean, she staggered. Not much, though.”

“What’d she say when you asked her for an autograph?”

“She just said she was in a hurry now, and she’d give me one when she came out.”

“Did she use the elevator?”

“Yes. I told her the stairs were quicker, but she said she couldn’t make it. That’s what she said. ‘I can’t make it, bub’. So I thought that was why she was drunk. I mean—staggering and—and that…”

“Where are those damned G-men hanging out?”

“D-down in the garage in the janitor’s apartment, but I’m not s-supposed to tell anybody…”

“You tell them to get up to my apartment. Now.”

“Yes, sir!” said Edmund, plugging in hastily on the switchboard.

Doan ran back up the stairs. Susan Sally was no longer lying in the hall, and he trotted quickly down it to his apartment and pushed the door open.

Harriet stood up beside the chesterfield. There was blood on her hands, and her face was greenish.

“They never taught me anything like this… I—I think she’s…”

Susan Sally was lying face down on the chesterfield. Harriet had taken off her jacket and blouse. There was a little jagged tear, no wider than a man’s thumbnail in the softly tanned skin of her back, left of her backbone, just under her shoulder-blade. Dark blood made a thin scribble down toward the hollow of her back.

Doan picked up one hand and felt for the pulse in the wrist. There was none. He pressed his fingers against the side of her neck. Then, very gently, he turned her head sideways and lifted the lid of one eye.

Harriet gulped.

“She’s dead,” Doan said tonelessly.

Arne came in the room and stopped short. He looked from Susan to Sally to Harriet to Doan. He didn’t say anything.

“She was coming to see me,” Doan said in the same toneless voice. “Somebody didn’t want her to.”

Arne touched the flesh around the wound on Susan Sally’s back with quick, impersonal fingers. “This is another job by the same one who operated on Free-Look Jones.”

“I know!” Harriet cried suddenly. “Oh, I know! Her manager! That’s the one! His name is MacAdoo! He did it because he was jealous of her going to see Mr. Doan!”

“What?” said Arne blankly.

“He did! He’s a nasty little man! He knew Mr. Doan would win her away from him!”

Arne looked at Doan.

Doan shrugged. “She goes on like that all the time.”

“Well, I’m right!” Harriet shrilled. “Of course I’m right! He just couldn’t stand the thought of her being interested in anyone else, and so he stabbed her!”

“Elmer A. MacAdoo is the name,” Doan said. “In case you’re interested.”

Arne picked up the telephone. “Janitor,” he said when Edmund answered. After a moment he cupped his hand over his mouth and talked in an inaudible voice at some length.

He waited, then. The silence in the room grew and expanded like a living thing. Carstairs stirred uneasily on the floor. Doan looked at him, and he became quiet again.

“Yes,” Arne said into the telephone. He listened for a moment and then turned to Doan. “This MacAdoo lives at Malibu Beach. That’s about thirty-five miles from here. He’s at home. This is supposed to be he on the extension now. See if it is.”

Doan took the telephone. MacAdoo’s voice was saying angrily, “Hello, hello! Operator! Who is calling? Is this New York? Hello!”

“This is Doan, MacAdoo,” Doan said.

“Who? Who did you say?”

“Doan. You met me in Heliotrope.”

“Oh! Mr. Doan. Yes. What is it?”

“Susan Sally is here.”

“What? She is? Why, she hasn’t any business being there! She promised me faithfully she’d go straight home. She has to start a picture tomorrow. She has to be on the set at seven-thirty. Let me talk to her!”

“I can’t. She’s dead.”

“Now, Mr. Doan, I’m her manager, and I’m not going to argue… What did you say?”

“She’s dead.”

MacAdoo’s voice went up a notch. “Now this is no time for jokes! She has to get her sleep, and she knows very well—”

“She’s dead,” Doan said patiently.

There was a long silence.

“Dead,” said MacAdoo. “Oh, no. Oh, no, no!”

“At the Orna Apartments,” Doan said. “On Harkness, just off Vine.”

He put the telephone down and nodded at Arne.

Arne said, “She couldn’t possibly have driven that far with that kind of a wound. I don’t think she could have traveled a hundred yards. A wound of that type is fatal within minutes.” He studied Doan for a second. “I’ll notify the police. You two stay here and give them a statement. I don’t want to appear as yet. There’ll be no publicity of any kind—for twenty-four hours. I’ll see to that.”

He went out and shut the door behind him.

“I don’t like him,” Harriet said.

“He’s getting on my nerves a bit, too,” Doan answered absently.

Harriet looked down at Susan Sally. “I—I’ll get a blanket and cover her up. It isn’t nice for her to lie there…” She paused. “You know, I didn’t like her, either, but I don’t think anyone should have stabbed her like that.”

“I don’t think anyone should have, too,” said Doan mildly.

Carstairs sat up and looked at him in a worried way.