5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 86: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

86 cited about something. He reassured her and hung up. Then he called Wal- ters, the manager of the West Coast Agency. When the manager heard Harrigan’s voice, he almost exploded. Harrigan talked fast. He told him to get in touch with his, Harrigan’s, land- lady at once. “IT want some information,” he said, “so listen before you start bawling me out. I want to know about that trust fund for the Gaudel kid. Has his uncle taken any legal steps to try and get his fat fingers onto it? And if the kid should die, who would get it—the mother? _ Yeah, I'll call you back, and don’t get ex- cited every time I get my name in the papers. It’ll kill you with your high blood pressure, and, yeah, one other thing—they got my name wrong again.” He hung up quickly and dialed a sec- ond number. A girl answered and said that Mrs. Rinkle couldn’t come to the phone. But Harrigan outtalked her, and Mrs. Rin- kle was not long in coming. She sounded excited when she heard who it was. “Wait until I tell the police, just wait—” Harrigan said desperately, “You want the guy who killed Al, don’t you?” “Yes”—she was quieter—“yes, I want him—bad.” Harrigan’s voice gritted as he said, “And so do I. Al was one of my best friends, whether you believe it or not. The only way I can square things now is to get the killer. Did you see him at all?” “Just a glimpse.” “Was he alone?” She was silent for a moment. “I think so. When I ran in, after Al was shot, he was going out the door with the kid. I saw him get into a car. I think he was driving himself.” “Now think carefully,” Harrigan urged. “How big was he? Was he—I mean, do you think it could have been me?” FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE HE ANSWERED almost at once. “I know it couldn’t. When you walk through a door, you pretty well fill it. This guy didn’t, even with an overcoat on.” “Thank you.” Harrigan’s voice had a sincere ring in it. “Joe’—she sounded distressed—“I didn’t mean what I said to the cops this morning.” “I know, sure,” he answered. “I’ll be around to see you pretty soon, Mary. Maybe tomorrow.” Harrigan went out to the soda foun- tain, drank a coke, then went back to the phone and called his chief. ‘‘Get the - dope I wanted ?” He listened closely while the man at the other end of the line talked. He said, “Uh-huh,” a couple of times and kept nodding his head. . so if the kid should turn up dead,” Walters concluded, “Ray, being his mother, would get the dough.” “All right, now listen,” said Harrigan and he talked at some length. “Do that and call me here.” He gave the number of the pay phone to his chief. “And hur- ry. If it’s a wrong guess, my goose is fried.” He hung up and turned around, ready to leave the booth. Two plainclothes men whom he knew had come in. Harrigan saw them order coffee and sandwiches. He swore under his breath. It was hot and close in the booth, and it grew steadily worse. He eased the door open a little. Twice he had to turn and pretend that he was using the phone. Just as he was beginning to think that he could stand it no longer, the instru- ment rang. He heaved a sigh of relief. “Any luck?” he asked his chief. He listened. “Yeah, sure, I know,” he said at last. “Okay, now listen.” He talked fast. After he hung up, he called Phil Scott’s office. The lawyer sounded sur- prised to hear his voice. “Boy, you certainly started some- thing,” he said. Harrigan cut him short. “Have the GOMmMiGcbdoo cS CO)