Free The Black Hearts Murder by Ellery Queen Page A

anything from a neighborhood tavern to a nightclub. Its pine green matched her eyes and haloed her auburn hair.
    Her pale skin pinked at McCall’s admiration. After a moment she tossed her shining head. “Well, are you just going to stand out there, Mr. McCall? I don’t bite.”
    â€œI do,” McCall said.
    â€œYou’d find me tough chewing, Mr. McChaser,” Laurel said sweetly. “As the immortal Miss West said, I like a man who takes his time. But thank you for what I take it was meant as a compliment.”
    She stood aside, and he stepped into her tiny living room. There was nothing distinctive about it, and he felt a twitch of disappointment. The hair sometimes fooled him. Everything was brand-new and of discount-store quality. But the easy chair looked cosy, the lamp behind it shed a good reading light, and there were books as well as a hifi-radio-TV set. He would know a little more when he had a chance to check out the book titles.
    He tried to ignore the fake fireplace with its artificial-log-type gas burner.
    â€œWould you care for a drink?” Laurel asked.
    â€œI can wait,” McCall said. “How about you?”
    â€œAll right. I’ll get my things.”
    She went into what he assumed was her bedroom and closed the door behind her. McCall homed in on the bookcase. He immediately felt better. Sociology and psychology textbooks, several volumes on the Peace Corps, a sprinkling of fiction—Malamud, Cheever, The Ugly American , an old copy of Kuprin’s Yama: The Pit; a wide-ranging selection. The lack of distinction in her apartment was probably the result of economics, not taste. She must have bought it all on the installment plan.
    Laurel returned carrying a black velvet cape and a matching bag; the evening was too cool for bare arms. She handed McCall the cape with a natural gesture, as if she had been brought up to expect the traditional courtesies. He draped it about her shoulders with the feeling that it was going to be a warm and satisfying evening.
    He could not help thinking of Chief Condon’s secretary as he handed Laurel into his car. Laurel was all woman. So was Policewoman Beth McKenna, but he suspected that Policewoman McKenna would have emerged from her bedroom with the cape already in place.

NINE
    The desk clerk, who apparently felt no particular loyalty to the Banbury Plaza’s Revolutionary Room, had recommended the Capri Club’s food as the best in town. On the way McCall told Laurel about LeRoy Rawlings’s arrest and the outrageously high bail set by Judge Edmundson.
    Her first reaction was indignation, but then she looked puzzled. “How does a municipal court judge take jurisdiction in a case involving a felony? I thought such courts handle only misdemeanors.”
    McCall explained that a writ of habeas corpus required that the person in custody either be released immediately or be brought at once before the nearest available magistrate.
    â€œThe term ‘nearest available’ gives the official on whom the writ is served considerable latitude. What it amounts to is that he can pretty well choose the judge. And all magistrates, of course, have the authority to preside over preliminary hearings and fix bail. The trial itself will be held in district court, and once Rawlings is arraigned the district court judge can reduce the bail if he wants to. But by the time a grand jury acts, or the D.A. gets around to filing an information—whichever route he chooses to go—Rawlings may have been in jail for a month or more.”
    At the Capri Club, which was already filling up, the maître-d’hôtel took one look at McCall, snapped his fingers for a cocktail waitress, and placed them at a corner table marked RESERVED . By which McCall knew that the Banbury Plaza desk clerk was a steerer for the club.
    Laurel, ordered a vodka martini. McCall, whose reputation as a hard drinker was wholly undeserved—his job