Free Hard Case Crime: House Dick by E. Howard Hunt

Well?”
    “She was your husband’s mistress?”
    “Unless the detective I hired reported nothing but lies.”
    “Do you think she was responsible in any way for your husband’s death?”
    “I certainly do!” she screeched. “I told that police lieutenant all about her.”
    Novak stood up. “The wise thing to do. For now I’d leave it with the police. Slander can cost a pile of money.”
    “Well,” she snapped, “are you taking the job?”
    Novak pursed his lips. “Cases of this sort can run into surprising difficulties. For now I’ll reconnoiter the ground—see what the lady looks like first. A little caution could pay off.”
    “Don’t be too damn cautious,” she bristled. “For my thousand dollars I expect action.”
    The door opened and Bikel slid in. “Julia, you must remain calm. Please. We mustn’t have one of your spells now.”
    Staring at him levelly she spat. “Drop dead, Eddie.”
    Bikel choked, colored and disappeared.
    Julia Boyd watched the retreat with evident pleasure. “That creep,” she snarled, “may well be my next husband.”
    Novak blinked. “He won’t last.”
    “And why not?”
    “You’ll eat him alive and stuff the skin for your bedroom.”
    Julia Boyd cackled hoarsely. “I like you, Novak—Pete, is it? You say what you think. Yes. A man spending my money owes me certain obligations. Chalmers forgot his. You may go now. But I expect to hear from you. Understand?”
    “You won’t care if I break a couple of her arms?”
    She chortled greedily. “I’d love it. Now get busy.”
    Novak went out of the bedroom and saw Bikel slumped in a chair staring out of the window. “Brace up, Doc,” he said cheerfully. “Everyone has days like this. A little pink pepsin compound ought to calm her down.”
    Bikel shot him a venomous glance. Novak opened the door and went out.

8
    As he walked down the corridor he shook out a cigarette, moistened dry lips and lighted it. So Julia Boyd had known about Paula and her hubby. That was a small item Morely had neglected to pass along. Already Paula was under a degree of suspicion.
    Paula thought she had the jewelry safely hidden, then found out it was missing. Maybe Boyd had waited until Paula went out, opened her door somehow and searched for the jewelry. Maybe he had found it, then later got himself killed. For what? For the jewels? Or maybe the murder of Boyd and the theft of the jewels were two unrelated happenings. Barada had been in a wild mood last night. He had plenty of reason to resent Boyd. Suppose he came back for another chat with Paula and found Boyd there, with or without Paula. Maybe Barada had pulled a gun and shaken down Boyd for the ninety grand payoff money, drilled him and waltzed away with the jewels to boot.
    So far he had been accepting Paula’s version as close to the truth. Of what other things she might be guilty he didn’t care. He had believed her last night, believed her enough to move the corpse from its compromising location. But Julia Boyd had pushed her into a hot skillet anyway. Before Morely did anything he would take a hard look at the evidence, at where the threads wound. Then, if he were convinced, he would move in ruthlessly.
    “What if she killed him?” he said half-aloud, and thought, how far would you go to save her?
    Not a centimeter, a voice said coldly. Then another voice: You’d want to find out why she did it. Then make up your mind.
    “Yeah,” he said to the empty hall. “That’s what you’d do.”
    Back in his office Novak phoned the Credit Central and asked for traces on Bikel. Lighting a cigarette he stared through the Venetian blinds at the sunny street. Whir of traffic, click of heels, chatter of voices. The outside world.
    A grand from Julia Boyd to get back jewelry from Paula Norton who no longer had it. Who, then? The murderer, probably, but no long odds on that, either. Or had Paula staged a little act for his benefit? In the normal course of events Boyd would have gone