Tiger By The Tail

"This girl didn't work the streets. She had regulars. Guys who recommended her. I want to talk to as many of them as I can find. One of them might be this guy in the grey suit."

Adams shrugged.

"Okay: you might do worse."

Donovan hurried out of the room. As he ran down the stairs, be was thinking at last he was getting a break. That's all he asked for. Given a little luck, he might crack this case, and men he would spit in Adams' right eye.

III

Police Commissioner Paul Howard sat behind his big mahogany desk, a cigar between his strong white teeth, his hard weather-beaten face worried.

Howard was fifty-one. He was an ambitious man, climbing laboriously up the political ladder, hoping soon to be made a judge and later a senator. He was well in with the political machine, willing to do as he was told, providing the rewards were adequate. He was in a good position to grant favours, and had acquired considerable wealth from the financial tips he had received for turning a blind eye to the corruption and racketeering running rife through the present Administration.

In an armchair by the window, Captain of Police Joe Motley sat with his legs outstretched, a cigar between his fingers, and his flabby, purplebloomed face expressionless.

Motley was Howard's brother-in-law, the only reason why he remained Captain of Police.

When Howard first took over office, Motley realized his own job was in jeopardy. Motley had no interest in the police force. He was a racing man, but his position was a useful one and he had no intention of losing it. He was a judge of character, and it didn't take him long to discover Howard's weakness for young, attractive girls.

Gloria, Motley's kid sister, was young and more than attractive. Motley had had little difficulty in persuading her to show off her charms before Howard.

Within a month Howard had married her, realizing when it was too late that the Captain of Police he planned to get rid of was now his brother-inlaw.

From that time on Motley was sacrosanct. Howard quickly found that if

he put any kind of pressure on Motley, he was promptly shut out of his wife's room. So long as he let Motley alone, Gloria performed her wifely duties. Crazy about this vivacious, beautiful girl, he had now accepted the position and had taken the line of least resistance.

Adams sitting opposite the Commissioner, was aware of these facts. He knew Motley was useless, as a police captain, and he knew, if Motley went, he himself would be the automatic choice to replace him. For months now he had been patiently waiting his opportunity to get rid of both Motley and Donovan. He had discovered, however, that it would need a major political explosion to blast Motley out of office, and even now, while he listened to Howard talking, his mind was trying to find a way to use Fay Carson's death as the spark to touch off the explosion.

"I want this cracked and cracked fast!" Howard was saying, in a soft furious voice. He looked across at Motley. "Get every man working on it! We've got to nab this killer! A house full of prostitutes! You told me there wasn't a call-house in town."

Motley smiled, showing tobacco-stained teeth.

"There are always call-houses," he said. "We shut them up and they open again."

"Why didn't you shut this one up?" Howard demanded.

Motley stared at him.

"You know why, don't you? It's one of O'Brien's houses."

Howard flushed, then went white. He looked quickly at Adams, who was staring down at his brightly polished shoes, his face blank. Howard was reassured: either Adams hadn't heard Motley's remark or O'Brien's name meant nothing to him.

But O'Brien's name meant plenty to Adams. He new O'Brien was the money behind the party. He knew he was the boss of the party machine. He felt a tingle run up his spine. This could be it. So O'Brien owned 25 Lessington Avenue. Here was the scandal he had been hunting for months. If he could trap Motley into giving O'Brien away, the explosion he had been waiting to touch off would take place.

Only a few of the higher-placed officers of the Administration knew O'Brien was behind the party. Adams wasn't supposed to know, but there wasn't much about the party he hadn't found out.

Howard felt a restricting band of rage tighten across his chest. This fat, loose-mouthed slob must be crazy to shoot his mouth off about O'Brien in front of Adams. He looked again at Adams. No, he didn't know about O'Brien. The remark had passed over his head. Adams was a good police officer, but that was all. He was only interested in his work: politics meant nothing to him.

Howard had no idea O'Brien owned 25 Lessington Avenue, and he was dismayed to hear it. If the press found out, the repercussions might very easily unseat the Administration.

It was essential that this killing should be cleared up as quickly as possible and the killer caught.

"How far have you got to now?" he asked Motley.

Motley waved an indifferent hand towards Adams.