Come Die with Me (8 page)

T
HE MAID OPENED THE
door. She led me through the white and gold of the immense living room down a hall that led past two open bedroom doors. Gina Ronico was nowhere in sight. The maid opened a door at the end of the hall and said, “Mr. Callahan is here, Mr. Giovanni.”

“Send him in,” a voice said.

The maid stood aside and I went in and she closed the door from outside.

It was a study, paneled in luan mahogany. One wall was bookshelves but there were very few books there. Behind a huge desk near a window, Frank Giovanni sat.

He had immense shoulders and a massive head. And though I couldn’t see them, I knew he also had thin, bowed, short legs which the most expensive tailoring couldn’t disguise. His broad face was like gray rock.
Upon this rock
…

“Well,” he said genially, “it’s been some time, hasn’t it, Brock?”

I nodded.

He indicated a chair. “Sit down. Drink?”

I sat down. “I don’t drink. Only beer, and I don’t want any of that right now.”

He pushed a cigarette box across the desk. “Smoke?”

“I don’t smoke.”

For a second his eyes held mine and then he smiled. “No vices?”

“A few,” I said.

Again his eyes held mine. Then, “We don’t seem to be getting off to a very good start. Any reason for that?”

What could I tell him? That I hated hoodlums? There are limits to my courage. I said, “I was simply being businesslike, Mr. Giovanni.”

“Oh!” He settled back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “My niece seems to be in trouble. That’s very important to me.
She’s
very important to me. My only sister’s only child. My sister is dead.”

But how alive your niece is,
I thought. And said nothing.

There was a long silence and then Giovanni said, “Jessup and Calavo were investigating Malone’s death this morning. They work for me. I didn’t authorize them to work as—vigorously as they did.”

I said, “We have a police department in this town, Mr. Giovanni. Why should Jessup and Calavo investigate a murder?”

“Because I told them to. Just as somebody told you to. Are you on the police force, Mr. Callahan?”

“In a sense. I’m licensed by the State of California.”

He smiled. “I’ve known a lot of private detectives. I never knew one who worked completely within the law.”

I said nothing.

He said, “I don’t want to fight you. I respect your reputation. I respect you.” He took a breath. “But nobody is going to railroad my niece into court.”

“Nobody has tried to yet,” I pointed out.

“Nobody had better try to. She’s going places, that girl. She’s going to the top. And it’s going to be clean, clean, clean all the way.”

“Clean …?” I said. “With two hoodlums muscling a pair of innocent gamblers who knew her boy friend? With Miss Ronico involved with a married man. Is
clean
the word you meant to use?”

“Clean,” he said grimly. “No scandal, no peepers, no gigolos, no cheap pictures or cheesecake publicity.”

I smiled and said nothing.

He asked “Why did you smile?”

“You sounded like a maiden aunt. I don’t know what you meant by this ‘top’ your niece is supposed to be headed for, but if you meant it artistically, that would require talent. And if you meant it commercially, the studios will decide how much cheesecake there will be and what kind of pictures she’s suited for. You sounded very naïve, Mr. Giovanni.”

His voice was soft. “Did I? And do you think I am?”

I shook my head.

“She’s talented,” he said. “She’s beautiful and spirited, like her mother was.”

I said nothing.

“And she was not involved,
physically,
with Tip Malone,” he went on. “And she had nothing to do with his death.”

“Okay,” I said.

His gray face was rigid. “Watch your tongue.”

I stood up. “Okay. Good-bye, Mr. Giovanni.”

“Sit down,” he said. “I haven’t finished.”

“I have. I’ve heard enough. I intend to investigate this murder, cooperating with the Los Angeles Department. No threat of yours or anyone else’s is going to prevent that.”

His voice was softer. “Sit down, please. Have I threatened you?”

“Indirectly. And one of your hoodlums tried to muscle me.”

“I’m sorry about that. Please sit down.”

I sat down and looked at him steadily.

He took another breath and looked at his folded hands.

He said quietly, “My boys have learned a thing or two about Tip Malone. Their investigative methods may be rougher than yours but they seem to have met with more success, too. The girl he was really involved with is a girl named Selina Stone.” He looked up. “Have you heard of her?”

I nodded. “I talked with her this morning. I hope your idiot employees didn’t try any rough stuff with her.”

“Why shouldn’t they?”

“I can’t stand men who manhandle women. That Calavo wouldn’t want to tangle with me again, I’m sure.”

Giovanni smiled. “Are you? He says you were lucky.”

“
He
was lucky, Mr. Giovanni. You tell those freaks to stay away from Selina Stone.”

Silence continued as we thought our separate thoughts. I couldn’t be sure what his were, but I was wondering about myself. I was old enough to know people don’t talk like that to Frank Giovanni. But I was also young enough to remember my father had been killed by hoodlums.

The silence lengthened, stretched. Sweat ran down my sides.

Finally Frank Giovanni said, “Nobody has talked this way to me for thirty years.” A pause. “Even those Congressional committees used politer language than you do.”

“My father was killed by a hoodlum,” I said.

“I’m not a hoodlum.”

I said nothing.

He asked quietly, “Am I?”

I took a breath and said candidly, “You’re probably the only man in America who knows if you are or not. Go back to your mother’s standards and examine yourself.”

“My mother,” he said heavily, “died of tuberculosis in a charity ward.”

“I know.”

He shook his head. “You’re a strange man. I’ve heard you were and now I believe it.”

I smiled. “You’re not exactly standard yourself.”

He asked, “Is there any reason for us to fight each other?”

“Possibly not,” I admitted. “Frankly, Mr. Giovanni, I don’t relish being on the opposite side of the fence from you, but a man has to be what he is.”

He was silent. Finally, “I think we’re on the same side of the fence. Though we both want it for different reasons, we both want to know who killed Tip Malone.” A pause. “I suppose you wouldn’t like to work with Calavo and Jessup?”

“I wouldn’t.”

He nodded wearily. “Suppose then that I relay to you, from time to time, anything they might learn? You wouldn’t rebel at that, would you?”

“Of course not. I’d be glad for any information I could get.”

“All right, we’ll leave it at that. I’m sure I can help you. I’m sure I have sources of information not available to you.”

“Fine.” For the second time I stood up. “I hope you’ll inform your employees that I’m no longer the enemy. The redhead might be luckier next time.”

“I’ll inform them. Good-bye, good hunting.”

I had the same feeling going out that I had when I left the dentist’s office after learning I had no new cavities. It hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected. He had seemed like a reasonable man except for his unreasonable expectations for the future of his shapely niece. I had the feeling about her that she would go only as far as her bust would carry her. Though that wasn’t so limited, these days.

The elevator went down softly and gently and deposited me in the plush lobby. And there the object of my meditations was seated on a satin-upholstered love seat near the doorway.

She rose as soon as she saw me and waited there, near the door. Her eyes were on my face and her attitude seemed worried, to me.

When I came abreast she said, “Why did he call you? What did he want?”

I smiled. “He wanted to warn me that he intended to protect your interests. Your Uncle thinks a lot of you, Miss Ronico.”

She nodded, her eyes searching my face. “Did he—did he threaten you?”

“Not exactly. From a man of your Uncle Frank’s—influence, the slightest suggestion could be read as a threat. He wants to help me find Malone’s murderer.”

Her eyes widened. “Why …?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. One guess could be that he hopes to clear you that way. That’s
one
guess.”

“You’re guessing some other way, aren’t you?”

“Not at the moment. Guesses don’t bring anybody to justice. We need the facts, ma’am, the facts.”

She looked away and back. “Did you talk with Selina Stone?”

I nodded.

“And …?” she prompted.

“And our conversation will have to remain private. Miss Ronico, if you hope to continue your career, don’t you think it would be bright to listen more carefully to your Uncle?”

“I intend to,” she said fervently. “Believe me, from now on I intend to.” She put a hand on my arm. “Do you think the police will bother me any more? Do you think I’ll be getting a lot of bad publicity?”

“I have no idea,” I told her. “Just keep your nose clean, listen to Uncle Frank and hope for the best. Remember, you’re his sister’s only child.”

With that paternal advice I left her and went out into the blazing afternoon sun.
The face of innocence,
I thought for some reason, and pictured her with a knife in her hand. But no, she had been cleared by the L.A.P.D.

The afternoon traffic was heavy, and in the distance I could see the yellow pall of smog over the city, a product of all those turning engines. My eyes smarted as I walked over to the flivver. I climbed in, turned down the hill for Santa Monica Boulevard and headed for Malibu.

Of all the people I had met, Selina Stone had seemed to be the most involved in the death of Tip Malone. He had gone to that house to meet her and she had found him there, dead. Giovanni’s information on her had undoubtedly come from his niece and not his stooges. But I couldn’t be sure of that.

The bathers’ cars were parked solidly along the Coast Highway and a good percentage of the sun worshippers were in the water. Just a week ago it had been cold and wet. A week from today it could be cold and wet again. Erratic climate.

Catalina was visible and all the fishing boats on the horizon. Above Point Dume a jet climbed on its tail. Perhaps it was the sight of all this life that made me think of the dead Tip Malone. And I went inescapably from that to the thought of my own death, and I shivered on this hot day. And the thought came to me that compassion was identification, everybody who mourned thought of his own funeral.

I turned up the road that led to Big Rock Mesa, and around one of the turns near the top a Cad De Ville was parked under a tree. It was a duplicate of the car the hoodlums had driven and my eyes searched the hills, but there was nobody in sight.

It could have been a realtor’s car. Many of the realtors in Southern California drive Cads, Lincolns, Imperials and Continentals.

My flivver complained on the last big turn and now the cantilevered redwood and glass house was in view. There was a Plymouth parked in the parking area, next to the Aston-Martin.

Why had I come here without phoning? Because, my honest inner voice told me, you wanted to look at her slim elegance again, Callahan, and feast on your unspeakable dreams.

She opened the door to my ring and her narrow face was pale under the jet-black hair. She said shakily “Now, what?”

“I thought we could talk,” I said. “Some things have happened since we talked this morning.”

A pause, and then, “Come in.”

I came into the view-dominated living room to see Harry Adler standing near the windows, staring out at the hills and the sea. He turned and looked at me dully.

“I was just going,” he said quietly.

“Playing Detective, Harry?” I asked him.

He said wearily, “Not quite. Just calling on Tip’s friends.” He looked at Selina Stone.

She said stiffly, “He was questioning me. I don’t know how he heard about me. I’m sure Tip didn’t tell him.”

Harry said softly, “You’re wrong about that. He told me about you.” His face hardened. “Tip liked to brag.”

For a moment nobody spoke. Selina Stone stared rigidly at Harry, hate in her eyes. Harry looked at her without interest.

I said, “Your ten percent relationship with Tip ended with his death, didn’t it, Harry? You never pretended to like him.”

“He was still my client,” Harry said. “And I am interested in his death. I never said I didn’t like him.”

Another silence, and then I said, “Well if I’m in the way, I’ll run along.”

Miss Stone said sharply, “You’re not in the way.
He
is.”

“I’m going,” Harry said. “I’m going. I didn’t come here to make trouble. I wouldn’t waste the gasoline, just for that. I came here to find out what I could about Tip. Maybe the police will have better luck.”

“Harry,” I said, “you’d be doing me a big favor if you didn’t go to the police just yet.”

He stared at me. “Why not?” He nodded toward Miss Stone. “You involved with her, or something?”

I shook my head. “You know better than that. It’s simply that I haven’t included Miss Stone in any of the reports I’ve sent to the police and your going to them now would put me in a bad light.”

“That’s too damned bad,” he said.

“It wouldn’t help his widow,” I pointed out. “I tried to keep the information about Miss Ronico from the police, too. I always try to keep the innocents from the police until I learn they aren’t innocent. Because of the newspapers, Harry.”

“All right,” he said. “All right!”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he said sullenly. “But Callahan, you had better come up with something.” He glanced coldly at her and walked out without another word.

The door closed and I looked at Miss Stone. I said, “It doesn’t figure. Why should he be playing detective?”

“He has to hate somebody,” she said. “After all, the murderer cost him ten percent of Tip’s life.”

“That’s cynical,” I said.

She exhaled. “Is it really? You’re not?”