Black Mask (Vol. 29, No. 3 — January 1947)

“Not incriminating — except in connection with other circumstances to be proved. Price was on the spot — the check spoke for itself. It showed that he, Price, had written it to cash. Either he told the D.A. to whom he’d given it or he’d have been indicted himself. As a lawyer you know that a lawyer doesn’t have to keep his mouth shut about his client’s affairs if doing so incriminates him.”

“You think we’ll find Sutton with Price, then?”

“If not, Price will know where to find him.”

We had just reached the main floor again when the siren sounded. We sprinted to my car, and I got away fast. I didn’t see the approaching police car, for it evidently was coming up Elmhurst. I kept on going out Arlington Road, then cut back downtown.

“Well,” asked Shelton, “what do you think?”

“Somebody’s phoned the cops about the body, of course. Maybe one of the guests got conscience-stricken. I don’t really think anybody was trying to nail us there before we got away. If that had been the case, they could have had the place staked out.”

I made another turn and drove toward the north side, where Worthington Heights, a swanky new addition, was located. Sam Price had sunk about seventy grand in a big house out there, and I had an idea he’d be at home rather than at the office. I also had an idea that the D.A.’s boys would have the place staked out, so I took it easy when I got there, driving by slowly.

Sure enough, a little blob of light was extinguished as I went by some shrubbery — one of the D.A.’s trained seals was right on the job. I turned a corner and got out of the car.

“Go back to Keever and report,” I told Shelton. “I’m going to pay a little visit on Price via the back way.”

Shelton didn’t like the idea, but he obeyed meekly enough. I legged it through some back lots, hoping I wouldn’t be shot at for a snooper and finally got in back of Price’s big stone house. No light had shone from the front, but there was a light in back, all right, and a Cadillac parked there. I couldn’t be too sure, but I was betting that it was Sutton’s Cadillac.

The light came through French doors opening on a terrace. One of the doors was ajar, and I heard a voice. By the time I had reached the doors I knew it was Price talking and that he was using a phone. I paused to listen, but all I heard was: “O.K., Brocky, I’ll call you back.”

Then Price hung up. I tried to remember whom I knew named Brocky, but I couldn’t think of anyone. I stepped into the doorway and said:

“Hi-ya, Sam. What’s new?”

Price jumped a foot. He whirled and said angrily: “What the hell you doing here? I’ve seen enough cops for one night!”

“I’m different.” I walked into the room, got out a cigarette and lighted it, looking over the room. It was a sort of combination office, library and den. There was a walnut table in the middle and built-in bookcases on the side walls. The ends were variously adorned with gun racks and flashy nudes. The guns were trap guns, expensive English importations, and the nudes also looked expensive.

“O.K.!” Price snapped. “What the hell are you doing here? I told Keever over the phone I had nothing to say.”

I regarded Price before answering him. People credited him with a lot of legal brains because of a ferret-like face and a pair of shifty eyes.

Price had the reputation, anyway. He was the kind of lawyer Sutton would take to, and though Sutton used several lawyers, Price was far ahead of the field in the enjoyment of his patronage. That was the main reason why I thought Price was my best lead to Sutton.

“I don’t care what you told Keever,” I said. “I want Sutton. Tell me where I can find him.”

Price gestured with his hands and gave me what he intended to be a look of despair. “I wish to heaven I knew! This thing broke before I could contact him, and I’ve turned the town upside down!”

“Isn’t that Sutton’s car out there?”

“No. That’s my daughter’s car. I wish she would put it up. She leaves it out every night because she gets home too plastered to drive it into the garage. I hate to say a thing like that, but I’m getting desperate about that girl. I guess a father can’t bring up a girl the way she should be.”

I remembered that Price’s wife had died years before. He had never remarried, and he had a reputation for getting around. I didn’t know the daughter; she would run with a lot younger set them I did and a lot more expensive set, too.

“Come on, Sam,” I said. “Stop stalling. If you don’t know where Sutton is, nobody does.”

“It looks as if you’re right — nobody does. Why wouldn’t the fool phone me before this? I suppose he’s out drinking his head off again. I never saw a man lap up as much booze as he does.”

“I wish I knew where he gets his booze. Maybe it would make me smart, too.”

Price deprecatingly waved a hand. “You. don’t have to be smart to make money. You. just have to not give a damn what you touch.”

I thought Price would be an excellent authority on that.