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

The buzzer sounded from the door, and when she opened it, Lew Ryerson stood there, his eyes going from her to Ragan. He seemed about to speak, but Ragan beat him to it. “Hi, Lew! Nice to see you.”

Ryerson came on into the room, his eyes holding Ragan’s. “Heard you were wrapped up in a murder case?”

“Yeah, but I took time off to drop around for a drink.”

“Looks like I’ve got competition.” There was no humor in the way he said it, and his eyes were cold, measuring.

“With a girl like Luretta you’ll always have it.”

Ryerson looked at her, his lips thinned down. “I guess that’s so,” he said, “but that doesn’t make me like the idea any better.”

She followed Ragan to the door. “Don’t mind him, and do come back!”

There was ugly anger in Ryerson’s eyes. “Luretta,” he said, “I want you to tell him not to come back!”

“Why, I won’t do anything of the kind!” She turned on Lew. “We’re only dating occasionally, Lew. I told you after Charlie was killed that it wouldn’t be any different. I just wasn’t tying myself down. If Mr. Ragan wants to come back, he’s welcome!”

“Thanks, honey,” Ragan turned to Lew. “See you later, Lew. It’s all fun, you know?”

Ryerson glared. “Is it?” he demanded. “I’m not so sure.”

Sam Blythe was waiting for him when he walked into the office at Homicide. His face was dark and angry. “What goes on here?” he demanded. “Who gave you the right to have my gun tested by Ballistics?”

“Nobody,” Joe admitted cheerfully. “I knew you didn’t carry it off duty, and figured I’d have it checked. I had mine checked, too, and Stigler’s.”

“What?” Stigler glared. “You had Ballistics check my gun?”

“Sure!” Ragan dropped on a corner of the desk. “I had to have some dope, and now I’ve got it.”

“Aside from fooling around, how are you coming with the Ambler case? Have you found the murderer?”

“Sure I have.”

Stigler jumped and Blythe brought his leg down from the arm of his chair. “Did you say — you have? You know who did it?”

“That’s right. I know who did it, and that means I know who killed Charlie Vent, too.”

He scowled suddenly, and picked the phone from its cradle, dialing a number. Luretta answered. “Joe here,” he said, “still busy?”

“Yes.”

“Luretta, I wanted to tell you but forgot. The same man who killed Pike Ambler killed Charlie Vent.”

“What?” He heard her astonished gasp, but before she could ask questions, he interrupted.

“Honey, don’t ask any questions now, or make any comments, but you do some thinking, and then call me, any time of the day or night.”

He replaced the phone and turned back to Stigler, who took the cigar from his mouth. “All right, give! Who did it?”

“Stigler,” Ragan leaned back against the desk, “you’d call me a liar if I told you. Nor have I evidence enough for a conviction, but I’ve arranged a trap for him if he’ll only walk into it. Also, he pulled those jobs for which Blackie Miller, Ed Chalmers and Jack Smiley are now awaiting trial!”

“That’s impossible!” Stigler protested, but Ragan knew he believed. Sam Blythe sat back in his chair watching Ragan and saying nothing, his eyes cold and curious.

“Well, then. What happens now?” Stigler demanded.

“We sit tight. I’ve some more prowling to do.”

“What if your killer lams? I want this case sewed up, Ragan!”

“Just what Wells Ryerson told me. You’ll both get it.” Ragan studied his shoes. “Anything about Charlie Vent’s murder ever puzzle you, Chief? You’ll recall that he was shot three times in the face, and that’s not a normal way to kill a man.”

“I’ve thought of that. If it hadn’t been a gang killing, I’d say it was jealousy or hate.”

“That’s my idea. Somebody wanted to take over, all right, but the muscle was on Charlie’s girl, not the rackets.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Blythe protested. “Lew Ryerson is going with her.”

“And how many other guys?” Ragan asked. “She’s a doll, that one.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed dryly, “I could name three of them right now.”

The phone rang. Ragan dropped a hand to it, lifting it. “Joe, this is Luretta. I think I know what you mean. Can you come over about ten tonight?”

“Sure, and not a minute late.” He hung up and glanced around at them. “That’s a date for ten, and I think we’ll get all the evidence we need. If you guys can sit in a car and wait for awhile, I’ll give you a murderer.”

It was dark under the row of trees along the curb opposite the apartment house where Luretta Pace lived, and the dark, unmarked car was apparently empty. Only a walker along the walk between the park fence and the trees might have seen the three men who sat in the car.

“You’re sure this deal is set right, Joe? We can’t slip now!”

“It’s set. Just sit tight and wait.”

Rain began to fall, whispering on the leaves and the car top. It was almost 8:40 when Ragan suddenly touched Stigler on the sleeve. “Look!” he whispered.

A man had come around the corner out of the side street near the apartment house. He wore a raincoat and his hat brim was pulled down. He stepped quickly into the door.