Free Too Soon Dead by Michael Kurland

“Gloria, you will escort Mrs. Fox to the Manhattan Bank branch on the corner tomorrow morning and open an account for her.” He transferred his gaze to Cathy. “Unless you already have a bank account.”
    “What would I do with a bank account?” she asked.
    “They are very useful,” he told her, “now that Mr. Roosevelt has given us some assurance that they have to keep to some of the same standards that they demand of their customers. A savings account, I think. Gloria will help you. The process will be painless; Mr. Mergantaler, the branch manager, owes me a favor. Actually, several favors. Being a journalist has certain advantages.”
    “I guess everyone likes to have their name in the paper,” Cathy said.
    “In this case I kept his name out of the paper,” Brass told her. “Don’t be alarmed; it had nothing to do with his handling of the bank’s affairs.”
    Brass leaned back in his chair. “Now,” he said. “I have something to discuss about the recent events.”
    Cathy jumped to her feet. “About William?” she asked in one explosive breath.
    “No,” Brass said. “Not directly. But it does concern you. Please sit down.”
    She lowered herself onto the edge of the chair. It was a close approximation of sitting.
    “I’ve just come from a meeting with the Big Three,” Brass told us. “The publisher, the managing editor, and the city editor. All of whom were convinced, for some reason, that I had information about William Fox’s murder that I was withholding from the police.”
    He stared at Cathy for a minute, and then transferred his gaze to me. “They said I would not have had Fox tailing someone on mere speculation. They had discussed it. They all agreed. They intimated that I would not have spent my own money unless I was sure of results, hinting at a reputation for penuriousness that I didn’t know I had. They asked—they
demanded
—to know what that information was.”
    “What did you tell them?” Gloria asked.
    “I told them that they didn’t want to know. I said what I knew couldn’t be used by the
World.
That if it leaked out it would ruin the lives of many important people. They said that surely they could be trusted.”
    Cathy returned to her feet. “Then you do know something more about William’s death!” she said, her voice rising.
    “Please, sit down,” Brass said testily. “If you keep jumping up and down, it will make me nervous.”
    She perched herself on the edge of the chair like a bird that was ready to take flight at the next loud sound.
    “But you didn’t tell them anything,” Gloria said. “You wouldn’t.”
    “I don’t know whether I wouldn’t,” Brass said, “but I didn’t.
    “What do you know about Bill’s death?” Cathy asked. “Whatever it is, I have a right to know.” She clenched and unclenched her fists. “Migod—I can’t not know!”
    Brass looked thoughtfully at her for a moment and then sighed.
    “I will tell you if you ask. Would it help if I say that you can be actively involved in the search for your husband’s killer, if you wish?”
    Cathy regarded him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean that the
World
will hire you, at a salary of twenty-five dollars a week, as a researcher.”
    “Twenty-five dollars!” Cathy sat down. “Thank you,” she said. “I know you did this for me, and I appreciate it. But I’m not a researcher, I’m a singer.”
    “I did this for both of us,” Brass said. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you can put your singing career on hold for a little while, I would appreciate it. I am going to need some assistants who I can trust completely, who owe no allegiance to the paper, or the police department, or the people of the State of New York. At least as far as this matter is concerned.”
    Cathy pursed her lips and thought it over. “I will certainly stop singing for a while if I can truly be of help in catching Bill’s killer,” she said. “But surely there are many people