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  Maybe, I thought—but if Earl Salem was the killer it wasn’t because Eve Delmar had threatened to tell Anne Salem about Earl’s adultery. An infinitely stronger motive was written on the piece of paper in my breast pocket. I wondered what Anne would do with the information. Would she turn him in to the authorities in Virginia? I decided she wouldn’t; if she did, he’d retaliate by hitting her as hard as he could with whatever it was he was holding over her head. It was more likely that she’d use the information to gain her freedom.

  I said. “I still don’t understand why you’re so anxious to hire me. As I pointed out, I’m not going to concentrate on your husband alone. Why not save your money?”

  “Because paying for your investigation is the only way I can participate. I believe Earl killed her. If you can help prove it, then I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing I’ve contributed to his arrest and conviction. Obviously, I can’t go to the police with what I know—Earl would find out about it. But you can go to the police. You can suggest that they look into Earl’s check account.”

  “What if I don’t agree to go to the police? What if I decide to keep the information to myself for the time being?”

  “That’s up to you. There are no strings attached.”

  “Anne, how much money do you have?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. “Don’t worry about that. I can manage.”

  “I charge a hundred dollars a day plus expenses.”

  “That’s acceptable.”

  “At my rates, three hundred dollars won’t go far.”

  Her face went hard. “I can get another five hundred dollars by tomorrow.”

  “How? By pawning your jewelry?”

  Her eyes flashed. “It’s no concern of yours how I get the money!”

  “I say it is. How do I know you can pay your way if the investigation lasts three or four weeks? Can you show me a bank account, a checkbook? Well, can you?”

  “No, I can’t.” Her voice was small.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I can raise perhaps a thousand dollars in all. I’m willing to buy that much of your time.”

  “Sorry, honey. That’s not nearly good enough. The only clients I accept retainers from are those who can afford it.”

  Her eyes showed surprise, then they narrowed, seemed to harden. She said, “You must have another client. It wouldn’t be my husband, would it?”

  “I don’t have a client.”

  “I think I see. You’re going to pay Earl a visit.”

  “I may. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’ll deny everything I’ve said to you!”

  I laughed.

  “So it’s all an act,” she said, her voice sharp, angry. “Your talk about friendship ... your moralistic patter. You’re just like the rest of them, looking for an angle. The only thing I’m surprised about is that you refused my money. Why not take it and go to Earl and show it to him? Better yet, why not wait until Eve pawned my jewelry—then you’d really have something to show Earl!”

  She got to her feet. Her face was flushed. Her hands were bunched into fists.

  I said, “You’ve got a pretty low opinion of the human race, haven’t you?”

  “I should have known you wouldn’t be any different,” she gasped out.

  She turned on her heel, headed for the door. I went after her, caught her just before she reached the door, grabbed her arm.

  “Let me go!”

  She tried to twist out of my grasp. I grabbed her other arm.

  “First hear me out, honey. Just give me a minute. But before you give me the minute, hand me a dollar bill from your purse.”

  She stopped struggling. “A ... dollar?”

  “One buck. Before an agreement can be legal there has to be payment of at least one dollar.”

  I released her, laughed at her look of bafflement. “There’s one other thing you should know,” I said. “Once I accept a client I’m honor-bound not to work for another in the same case without an okay from the first client. I’ve broken this rule a few times in the past, but I promise I won’t break it with you. So ...” I held out my right hand. “... if you think I’m worth a dollar …”

  She swallowed, moistened her lips, worked her eyelashes. “I feel awful,” she breathed.

  “Don’t change the subject,” I said. “You owe me a dollar.”

  She opened her purse, rummaged around, came up with a half dollar and two quarters. I accepted the coins, put them in a pocket, went to my desk and made out a receipt.

  “I don’t think I should take that,” she smiled. “Earl may find it in my purse.”

  “Good point,” I said.

  “Would you keep it for me?”

  “Think you can trust me?”

  “I think so,” she said, soberly.

  I folded the receipt, dropped it in an empty flower vase.

  “I’ll come and collect it one of these days,” she said. “I’d like to keep it as a souvenir.”

  “Any time.”

  She smiled, ruefully. “Mr. Kent, I—”

  “Uh-uh!” I shook a reproachful finger at her. “The ideal relationship between detective and client—in this case, anyhow—is one of informality. So ... Larry?”

  “All right.”

  “But not in front of your husband. By the way, I’d like to see him soon. But I don’t want him to think I’m pumping him.”

  “Why not come to the club?”

  “That’s what I had in mind. Come to think of it, your husband invited me to drop in. Said I should ask for him. What time does the club open?”

  “At eight, but the crowd doesn’t come until about ten.”

  “Then I’ll be there before nine.”

  “I’ll be there, too.”

  “Just remember one thing, Anne. We don’t know each other.”

  “I’ll be careful ... Larry?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  She kissed me. Just a light peck on the lips, then she turned and went to the door and let herself out.

  Chapter 7 ... the sexless piranha ...

  At twenty after eight there was still plenty of parking space on the street near Earl’s Court Discotheque. I backed the Corvette in, stopped the engine. But before I could get out of the car, someone rapped on the passenger side window. It was Anne Salem. I reached over to unlock the door and she got in.

  “Let’s get away from here,” she said.

  I twisted the ignition key. “What’s wrong?”

  “Earl left the club about half an hour ago. Hurry, please, I don’t want any of the club employees to see me with you.”

  I turned out of the parking space, gunned the engine. Anne twisted around as we moved away from the club entrance.

  “Good,” she said. “I don’t think anyone saw me. I was worried when Earl left the club. I didn’t know how to let you know without giving away the fact that we’d met before. And if that happened, one of Earl’s men would have been sure to tell him.”

  “You’re really afraid of that guy, aren’t you?” I made it a statement rather than a question.

  “I have reason to be,” she said.

  I let a few moments go by.

  “Where do you want me to take you?” I asked.

  “Seventy-Third Street, between Lexington and Third Avenue—”

  “Right.”

  “I was in Earl’s office just before he left the club,” she said after a moment. “He received a phone call. I couldn’t hear what the caller said, but I’m sure it was a stranger to Earl. It seemed to me that he was very careful about what he said.”

  “He’d be careful what he said in front of you, wouldn’t he, if it was one of his girl friends?”

  “This wasn’t that kind of a call. I just know it wasn’t.”

  “Go on.”

  “He was worried, Larry. Whatever was said to him over the phone, it shook him up. And it wasn’t my imagination—I know how Earl reacts to things.�
��

  “What did he say over the phone?”

  “He listened for the most part. He said things like ‘Is that a fact?’ ... ‘Are you sure about that?’—things that mean nothing in themselves. He kept his voice at a natural level—he even smiled—but I knew he was rattled.”

  “How did he end the call?”

  “I think he made an appointment to meet the caller. I heard him say ‘Where?’—and then, after a moment, ‘All right’.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “He made a remark about the night-club business being a constant headache. About people being too stupid to make simple decisions on their own. Then he said he had to leave the club, that he mightn’t be back until eleven or twelve if at all. A moment later he told me he had a lot of business to discuss over the phone before he left the club. This meant he wanted to be alone, so I left his office and sat down at the bar. About fifteen minutes passed, then two men entered the club and went to Earl’s office. Tough-looking men. I’d seen them before in the club. All I know about them is that one is named Greg.”

  “Joe Greg?”

  “I’m not sure if it was his first or last name.”

  “A big fellow?”

  “Yes.”

  “About four inches taller than me, with a busted nose and close-cropped brown hair?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s Joe Greg all right.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I’ve seen him around. He’s a thug. A strong-arm artist. He was arrested three or four times on murder charges, but the police couldn’t make them stick. He’s a collection specialist. The loan sharks use him when a client is behind in his payments. After Greg works a man over, the guy usually finds the money somewhere, even if he has to steal it. The police feel he’ll go as far as murder if the price is right. Did Greg and the other fellow leave the club with your husband?”

  “Yes. They were in the office only a few minutes. Earl didn’t even see me at the bar. I heard him tell one of his employees that he might not return to the club.”

  I glanced at her. She was pale. She pulled hard on the cigarette. Her mouth, which had looked so soft in my office, was a dark slash across her face.

  “You’re pretty shaken up,” I said.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Now I’m absolutely certain that Earl killed Eve—and I think the phone call had something to do with the murder. Don’t ask me what makes me so certain; I don’t know; I do know that Earl was frightened.”

  I said, “It may not have anything at all to do with the murder. It could be that you’re letting your imagination get the best of you. Remember, I saw your husband leave Eve Delmar’s suite at the Sunshine Garden Hotel.”

  “He could have returned.”

  “I think he has a pretty good alibi. If the police weren’t sure of your husband’s movements last night I doubt that they’d have been so quick to arrest Jack Delmar and charge him with the murder. Did Earl go to the club after getting back from Jersey?”

  “No. He came to our apartment.”

  “What time did he arrive?”

  “Just before eleven-thirty. I was watching the eleven o’clock news.”

  “Well, Eve was killed at ten to eleven. That would give your husband forty minutes to drive back to the city and get to the apartment. Less than forty minutes if the eleven o’clock news was still on TV. How did your husband act?”

  “Well ...”

  “You claim you can tell when he’s disturbed.”

  Anne sighed. “You’re right. I am jumping to conclusions. Earl didn’t seem in the least bit upset last night. But—that phone call ...”

  “Your husband’s in a tough business.”

  “And those two men ...”

  “You saw them in the club before tonight. This means your husband had other occasion to use them. Well, maybe he’s using them for the same sort of job tonight. It probably has nothing to do with Eve’s murder.”

  “That’s true,” she said. “What you say makes sense.” A pause. “And yet ...”

  “Intuition, Anne?”

  “Yes.”

  I glanced at her. “If you’re waiting for me to laugh,” I said, “forget it. I’m one of those rare males who has a lot of respect for feminine intuition. During the Salem witch-hunts, for every man burned at the stake there were ten women.”

  “Now I’m a witch.” I glanced at her. She was smiling.

  “A good witch,” I said.

  She moved closer and I was sorry that my Corvette had bucket seats. “I’m worried,” she said after a while. “Worried and frightened. There’s something bothering Earl …”

  “Any idea what?”

  “No.”

  “Then try to forget about it.”

  “I can’t. Whatever it is, he’s desperate. Earl isn’t an ordinary man, Larry. He’s two men. There’s the smiling, charming sophisticate ... and there’s the other Earl Salem ... a beast he keeps locked inside himself.” She laughed, suddenly. “I’m being melodramatic, aren’t I?”

  “You’ve lived with him,” I said. “I guess you know him.”

  Her hand grasped my arm. “Don’t underestimate him, Larry.”

  “I have no intention of doing that, Anne. I knew he was no pushover the moment I saw him.”

  “I don’t think Eve knew. She was too sure of herself ...”

  Eve wasn’t too sure of herself the night before, I thought. There had been moments when her fear had been only too apparent. It was unfortunate that alcohol had dulled her senses. Sober, Eve would have talked, I was sure of it. But what about the phone call from the woman who gave her name as Eve Delmar? Had it been Eve? A sober Eve, terrified? Maybe; but I didn’t think so. Actually, it wasn’t necessarily significant that a woman spoke to my answering service. A man may have been behind the call—a man who had a special reason for wanting me to visit Eve Delmar. But ... why?

  “What are you thinking about?” Anne asked.

  “Thinking?” I shook my head. “I was just giving my gray cells a ride on a merry-go-round. Tell me something, Anne. Was Jack Delmar ever at the club?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Then you’ve never met him?”

  “No.”

  “Did Earl ever meet him?”

  “I don’t think so. However, Eve usually talked about her husband when she came to the club. She said she was going to take him for every cent she could get. She made no bones about it.”

  “That’s the trouble,” I said. “Every time she talked about Jack she gave him a perfect motive for murder.”

  Yet Eve had told me that she was willing to be reasonable with her divorce demands. Had this been just so much talk? Had she changed her mind when Jack appeared? There was no way of telling with a woman like Eve.

  We were moving north along Park Avenue. I turned off the avenue on 72nd Street, went to Third Avenue before turning north again.

  “It’s just around the corner of Seventy-Third,” Anne said. “Take the first parking spot you see.”

  I drove directly into a parking spot.

  “All out,” Anne said.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Wait and see.”

  We entered a narrow brownstone building, walked up a flight of stairs. Anne took a key from her purse.

  “Is this your apartment?” I asked.

  “Of course not, Larry. It’s a girl friend’s place. She went away for a few weeks and I’m taking care of her fish and canaries.” She smiled impishly. “Afraid to come in with me?”

  “I’m game if you are.” It was an inadequate remark but it was the best I could do on such short notice. I hadn’t even thought about where I might be taking Anne.

  She unlocked and opened the door. I followed her into a large, expensively furnished living room. She hadn’t been kidding about the birds and fish. One wall of the living room was lined with fish tanks. Near the windows were six bird cages, a canary to each cage. The birds started to sing
.

  “Look at the fish while I see to the birds,” Anne said. “I’m sure you’ll find the fellow in the third tank very interesting.”

  The occupant of the third tank was a piranha. The big headed, evil-eyed fish weighed about a pound. It was motionless in the water.

  “A cute fellow,” I said. “What’s his name?”

  “Either Charley or Rita,” Anne said. “My girl friend started with two of them. The man at the pet shop told her not to—he said a hungry piranha would eat anything that moved; but Louise—that’s my girl friend—is a romantic; she thought true love would triumph over all.”

  “Hello, Charlie,” I said.

  “I prefer to call her Rita,” Anne said, and we both laughed.

  “What do you feed him—her—it?” I asked.

  “Raw meat. The man at the pet shop tried to talk Louise into buying cheap minnows—said she’d get quite a shot at feeding time—but Louise doesn’t lean in that direction.” A sudden gust of laughter came from Anne’s throat—laughter that was absolutely devoid of humor. “A piranha would be a perfect gift for Earl. I think I know what he would feed it.”

  The piranha’s eyes seemed to watch my every move. Its mouth unhinged for a moment and I saw its needle-sharp teeth. I moved to the next tank, which was inhabited by gray, black and brown stunted catfish. Then Anne began to move past the tanks, shaking food onto the surface of the water for the fish. The piranha swam slowly around the tank.

  “Rita knows it’s feeding time,” Anne said. “Just don’t put your hand in the tank.”

  “I’m not what you might call a piranha lover,” I said.

  “How about fixing us a drink then? I’ll have a martini—two martinis, doubles. You’ll find everything you need behind the wall bar.”

  While I made martinis Anne went into the kitchen. She returned after a moment with a handful of diced meat. She dropped the meat into the piranha tank. Rita—or Charlie—went up vertically and attacked the meat as soon as it hit the water.

  “It would be nice to have a few hundred of these in a swimming pool,” Anne said. “Earl loves swimming.”

  She sounded so serious that I gave her a sharp look. She laughed, walked over to the bar, perched herself on one of the two stools.