Black Mask (Vol. 33, No. 3 — September 1949)

Ryerson had borrowed him a few days before from the Homicide Squad, for Ragan had been the ace man on the burglary detail before he transferred to Homicide.

Ragan ran his fingers through his hair and returned to the club. He was remembering the stricken look on the face of Ruth Smiley when he arrested her husband. There had been a feeling then that something was wrong, yet detail for detail the Smiley job had checked as this one checked with Slonski.

Leaving Lew Ryerson and Sam Blythe to question Ambler, he returned to Headquarters. He was scowling thoughtfully when he walked into Wells Ryerson’s office. The lieutenant looked up, his eyes sharp with annoyance. “Ragan, when will you learn to knock? What is it you want? I’m very busy!”

“Sorry,” Ragan dropped into a chair. “Are you satisfied with the Smiley case?” Briefly then, he explained their findings at the Fan Club.

Wells Ryerson waited him out, his irritation obvious. “That has nothing to do with Smiley. The man had no alibi. He was seen near the crime within thirty minutes of the time. We know his record and that he needs money. The tools that did the job came from his shop. The D.A. is well satisfied and so am I.”

Ragan leaned his thick forearms on the chair arms. “Nevertheless,” he insisted, “I don’t like it. This job today checks with Slonski, but he’s dead, so where does that leave us with Smiley? Or with Blackie Miller or Ed Chalmers?”

Ryerson’s anger and dislike were evident as he replied. “Ragan, I see what you’re trying to do. You know Dixon is to retire and if you can mess up my promotion you might step up. Well, you go back to Homicide. We don’t want you or anybody like you. As of this moment you’re off the burglary detail.”

Ragan shrugged. “Sorry you take it that way. I’m not bucking for your job. I asked for my transfer to Homicide, but I don’t like to see an innocent man go to prison.”

“Innocent!” Ryerson’s contempt was thick. “You talk like a school boy! Jack Smiley was in the reform school when he was sixteen, and in the pen when he was twenty-four. He was short of cash and be reverted to type. Go peddle your papers in Homicide.”

Joe Ragan closed the door behind him, his ears burning. He knew how Ryerson felt, but could not forget the face of Ruth Smiley, nor the facts that led to the arrest of her husband. Smiley, Miller and Chalmers had been arrested largely on information from the modus operandi file.

It was noon and lunch time. He hesitated to report to his own chief, Mark Stigler. Yet he was stopping his car before the white house on the side street off Melrose before he realized it.

Ruth Smiley had no welcoming smile when she opened the door. He removed his hat, flushing slightly. “Mrs. Smiley, I’d like to ask a few questions if I may. It might help Jack if you’ll answer them.”

There was doubt in her eyes, but a flicker of hope, too. “Look,” he said, “something has come up that has me wondering. If the Department knew I was here they wouldn’t like it, as I’m off this case, but I’ve a hunch.” He hesitated. “Now, we know Jack was near the scene of the crime that night. What was he doing there?”

“We told you, Mr. Ragan. Jack had a call from the Chase Printing Company. He repaired a press of theirs once and they wanted him there not later than four o’clock as they had a rush job to begin the following morning.”

“That was checked, and they said they made no such call.”

“Mr. Ragan,” Ruth Smiley pleaded, “please believe me! I heard him talking! I heard his replies!”

Ragan scowled unhappily. This was no help, but he was determined now. “Don’t raise your hopes,” he said, “but I’m working on an angle that may help.”

The Chase Printing Company was no help. All their presses were working and they had not called Smiley. Yes, he had repaired a press once, and an excellent job, too. Yes, his card had been found under their door when they opened up.

Of course, the card could have been part of an alibi, but that was one thing that had bothered him all along. “Those guys were crooks,” he muttered, “and yet none of them had an alibi. If they had been working they would have had iron clad stories to prove them elsewhere!”

Yet the alternative was a frame-up by someone familiar with their working methods. A call had taken Smiley from his bed to the vicinity of the crime, a crime that resembled his work! With their records he would certainly be convicted.

He drove again to the Fan Club. Pike Ambler greeted him. “Still looking? Have you any leads?”

“A couple.” Ragan studied the man. “How much did you lose?”

“Two grand three hundred. I can’t bake it, Joe.” His brow creased with worry. “Luretta hasn’t been paid and she’ll raise a squawk you’ll hear from here to Flatbush.”

“You mean Luretta Pace? Charlie Vent’s girl?”

Ambler nodded. “She was Vent’s girl before he got himself vented.” He smiled feebly at the pun. “She’s gone from one extreme to the other. Now it’s a cop.”

“Cop?” Ragan looked around at Ambler. “Who?”