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

“Lew Ryerson’s dating her.” Ambler shrugged. “I don’t blame the guy. She’s a number, all right.”

Ragan returned to the office and reported, then completed some routine work. It was late when he finally got to bed.

He awakened with a start, the phone jangling in his ears. He grabbed it sleepily. “Homicide calling, Joe. Stigler said to give it to you.”

“To me?” Ragan was only half awake. “Man, I’m off duty!”

“Yeah,” the voice was dry, “but this call’s from the Fan Club. Stigler said you’d want it.”

He was wide awake now. “Who’s dead?”

“Pike Ambler. He was shot just a few minutes ago. Get out there fast as you can.”

Two patrol cars were outside and a cop was barring the door. He took his arm down to let Joe in and he walked back to the office. Ambler was lying on his face alongside the desk, wearing the cheap tux that was his official costume. His red face was drained of color now, the blue eyes vacant.

Ragan glanced around to the doctor. “How many times was he shot?”

“Three times, and damned good shooting. Two of them right through the heart at close range. Probably a .45.”

“All right.” Ragan glanced up as a man walked in. It was Sam Blythe. “What are you doing here?”

“Prowling. I was talking to the cop on the beat when we heard the shots. We busted in here, and he was lying like that, with the back window open. We went out and looked around but nobody was in the alley and we heard no car start.”

“Who else was in the club?”

“Nobody. The place closed at two, and the last one to leave was that Pace gal. What a set of gams she’s got!”

“All right. Have the boys round ’em all up and get them back here.” He dropped into a chair when the body had been taken away and studied the situation, with Blythe watching him through lowered lids.

He got up, finally, and made a minute examination of the room, locating two of the three bullets and digging them from the wall. They were .45’s all right. He studied them thoughtfully.

“You know,” Blythe suggested suddenly, “somebody could be playing us for suckers. Kicking his modus operandi stuff around like they are.”

“Could be.” What was Blythe doing here at this hour? He got off at midnight. “Whoever it is has established a new method of operation. All these jobs, Smiley, Chalmers, Miller and this one, all between 3 to 5 a.m. The technique of other men, but his own working hours,”

“You think those jobs were frames? Ryerson won’t like it!”

Ragan shrugged. “I’d like to see his face when he finds I’m back on this case.”

“You think its the same one?” Blythe asked quickly.

“Don’t you?” Blythe was shrewd, “I don’t know. Those were burglaries, this is murder.”

“Sure,” Ragan said, “but suppose Ambler suspected somebody otherwise not suspected? Wouldn’t the crook have a motive for murder?”

A car slowed out front and then a door slammed open. They heard the click of angry heels and Luretta Pace swept into the room. Her long almond shaped eyes swept from Blythe to Ragan. “You’ve got a nerve!” she stormed. “Getting me out of bed in the middle of the night! Why couldn’t you wait until tomorrow?”

“It is tomorrow,” Ragan replied. He held out a crumpled pack of smokes. “Have one?”

She started to refuse, but something in his amused gray eyes made her resentment flicker out. She turned abruptly, seated herself on the arm of a chair. “All right, ask your questions!” she flared.

She had green eyes and auburn hair. Ragan found himself liking it. “First,” he suggested, “tell us about the fight you had with Ambler.”

Luretta Pace stiffened and the warmth left her face. “Listen!” she protested sharply. “Don’t try to frame me! I won’t stand still for it! I was out of here before he was shot, and you know it!”

“Sure, I know it. And I don’t think you slipped around back and shot him through the rear window, either.” He smiled at her. “Although you could have done it.”

Her face paled, but Luretta had been fighting her own battles too long. “Do you think I’d kill a guy who owes me six hundred bucks? You don’t collect from a corpse! Besides, Pike was a good lad. He was the first guy I’d worked for in a long time who treated me right.”

“What about the fight?” Joe persisted.

“You’ll hear about it, anyway,” Luretta said. “Joe owed me money and couldn’t pay up. The dough he figured on paying me was in that safe, so when he was robbed, I figured I was working for nothing. I can’t afford that, so we had some words and I told him what he could do with his night club.”

“Did he say when he could pay? Or tell you when he might have money?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact he said he would have it all back, every dime. He told me he would pay me tomorrow. I didn’t believe him.”

“Where do you think he planned to get it?”

“How should I know?” Luretta shrugged a rounded shoulder.

“Then,” Ragan asked gently, “he said nothing about knowing who robbed him?”