A Handy Death

Ross was listening intently. Mike picked up a paper clip and began to unbend it, straightening it out as he talked.

“My guess is the thing worked like this: Neeley and Grace Melisi were in this swindle racket, as you surmised. They rented the second apartment as a base of operations. While it’s true the average New Yorker doesn’t pay any attention to his neighbor, they probably felt there was too much danger in sharing Neeley’s aparment while using it for their racket—”

He paused, thinking, his brow furrowed, and then shook his head. Ross waited patiently.

“No,” Mike said. “That doesn’t make sense. The single apartment would have been ideal for the swindle, but it would have been disastrous for the murder scheme. So the chances are that Grace Melisi insisted on separate apartments. Who knows? Maybe she was modest. In any event, they rent the second apartment. And Neeley is waiting there when the woman brings the fly into the spider’s web. Neeley waits until the woman has time to set the stage and then walks in with the empty suitcase. And — unfortunately for him — right into a gun filled with real bullets.”

Ross thought about it a moment and frowned.

“I like it up to a point, but something in my mind sticks at the shooting. Why would she arrange to have Neeley shot?”

“Well,” Gunnerson said with elaborate sarcasm, “I doubt she did it as a sign of excessive friendship.”

“I’m serious. Why not wait until they’d milked the sucker and then arrange for Neeley to — as the morticians say — pass on? She wouldn’t even have to split. Why go to all the trouble of setting up the deal and then throw it all away?”

“My guess,” Mike said, “is that probably the opportunity to have Neeley shot and be home free didn’t present itself every day. I figure she felt she had to forego the money for the pleasure of having Neeley knocked off.”

“I’m still not sure,” Ross said. “Did she live in that apartment alone?”

“As far as the renting agents know, although they wouldn’t have fussed if she lived there with a basketball team. It’s that kind of place.”

“Anyone living in the building now who lived there then?”

“No, because I already thought of that and checked. It’s not the kind of place,” Mike said, “that people choose for retirement.” He suddenly frowned. “What are you getting at, Hank? You think she might have been in the deal with a third party?”

“It makes more sense,” Ross said. “Someone had to get that gun and hand it over to her. And it couldn’t have been Neeley.”

“Why not?”

“Because they couldn’t take the chance that Dupaul would see him and remember him if he picked it up during the contract signing, or during any other time at the hotel. What did Neeley do for a living, do you know?”

“No idea. But bringing in a third party merely complicates things that are already too complicated.”

“Don’t worry,” Ross said, and grinned. “Things are always darkest just before the dawn.”

“You mean, to coin a phrase.”

“Exactly. How far have you gotten in tracing her after she skipped the apartment?”

“Well,” Mike said, “we have a name for her — Grace Melisi, whether it’s a real name or not. It sounds it. And she used it once and may have used it again, and there’s a chance at least her initials are the same. We have her description as given by Billy Dupaul, and while it fits a million women, there are one hundred million it doesn’t fit, which is a tiny step forward for mankind. And we have her signature—”

He saw the look on Ross’s face and smiled.

“She signed the rental papers, remember? And we figure she probably got as far away from New York and Raymond Neeley as possible, because she knew he’d come out of the hospital with a few questions, like, ‘Why did you have me shot, Grace, dear?’”

“Unless, as I said, she had a partner who arranged the loaded gun without her knowledge.” Ross paused. “Although I don’t suppose Neeley would have bought that story, true or not.”

“I rather doubt he would. I know I doubt I would.”

“So where do we go from here?” Ross said. “You have a description that doesn’t mean much, a name that’s probably false, a signature, and the whole wide world in which she could hide. And a lapse of eight years...”

“Well,” Mike said cheerfully, “we have as much as we get for most skip-tracing jobs. Plus one little thing: Neeley must have known something about her, and I intend to backtrack Neeley, too. When is the trial coming up?”

“Gorman is in a rush, I guess. The preliminary proceedings are scheduled for tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll push’ for trial as soon as possible afterward. He’ll want to rush us before we can come up with anything. It’s his usual tactic, so we can’t waste time.”

“We won’t,” Mike promised. “What did you get from your visit to the Tombs?”

“A few things,” Ross said.