He nodded. “Sure,” he said. “We may get going a week late at the outside, but I doubt it. I’ll call around and dig up another lead. I know it sounds ghoulish but that’s show biz, to coin a phrase.”

  “The show must go on?”

  “Uh-huh. A lot of backers have a lot of dough in this. Why? You sound like you think we ought to dump the thing, Jan.”

  The eyes clouded, then turned to the floor. “Maybe we should,” she muttered. “Maybe we should.”

  “Huh?”

  She sighed. “I told you I was scared,” she said. “I’m not scared because I’m a woman and a vicious killer is walking the streets. That’s garbage. I don’t scare that easily, Johnny. I’ve got a better reason than that.”

  He was interested. “Okay,” he said, “let’s hear it.”

  “I’m scared because I’m in A Touch of Squalor.”

  Johnny stared at her. “You heard me,” she went on, “Somebody has it in for this show, Johnny. Somebody who wants to keep us from opening in the worst way. I don’t believe this sex-nut story. I don’t believe it at all. I think Elaine was murdered because she had the lead in the show.”

  “You been smoking the wrong kind of cigarettes again, Jan?”

  Her temper flared. “That was a damn lie,” she snapped. “And if you’d wait a goddamn minute you’d find out what I’m talking about.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be. I’ve had three phone calls,” she said. “Three times a male voice has told me to drop the show cold or get my head handed to me. I was supposed to quit or get killed—that was the message.”

  “And you didn’t tell me about it?”

  “I thought it was a gag. An actor making jokes. It’s the kind of joke an actor makes, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so. Did the—this voice—did it say anything else?”

  “Just that somebody important didn’t want the show to open. That was all. Johnny, I didn’t even think about it the first time. The second time it wasn’t funny anymore but it still seemed like a gag. When the third call came I was pretty teed-off. I gave the guy on the other end of the phone a few choice directions and slammed the phone down hard enough to hurt his ear. Then later on I was thinking about it again. I was with Elaine and I mentioned the calls to her. I asked her if she thought they were a gag.”

  “How did she take it? Did she laugh?”

  “Like you laugh at a funeral, that’s how she laughed. She went white in the face and her hands started to shake. I told her to relax, it was only a joke, and besides, I was the one he was threatening. And she repeated that of course it was a joke. And she calmed down, or put on a good act.”

  Johnny nodded. Maybe Jan wasn’t out of her head at all. Maybe she had gotten hold of something—something not very pretty.

  “Well, Johnny, what do you think?”

  “The same as you, probably. She must have received similar calls herself. And when you told her she wasn’t the only one . . .”

  “She took it seriously.” Jan sighed.

  Johnny closed his eyes and tried to think straight. He was damned if he knew who would want to keep a play from opening. There were people who tried to make sure plays closed early—they called themselves critics—but few who didn’t want a show to open in the first place. It didn’t make any sense.

  What if he postponed rehearsals a month and delayed the opening by that much time? The backers would not be able to wriggle free; the money was already committed. The delay would run into a certain amount of money but the play was a strong enough property to carry through.

  He frowned. It wouldn’t work—he couldn’t announce it as a delay or the murderer, whoever he was, would still be out for blood to prevent the show from opening at a later time. And he couldn’t fake it through by announcing that the show was cancelling itself or there would be hell to pay. The backers would demand their cash and the cast would look around for other work. Could he call it a closing while cluing in cast and backers to the truth? No, he couldn’t, he thought. Because he might manage to clue in the murderer in the process.

  “Ito!” he bellowed. The servant came on the run, bowing for Jan’s benefit. “Call the cast,” he said. “We’ll be staying in the city until further notice. I’m busy looking for the right replacement for Elaine James and our opening will probably be postponed two weeks, maybe longer. Everybody should get his lines down pat and do a lot of constructive thinking about his part. Got it?”

  Ito nodded.

  Johnny paced, trying to think straight. “Better call the trade papers, too. Give them the same news but phrase it differently. We’re all broken up over what happened to Elaine and we’re taking a two-week break to honor her memory, or something like that. Everybody will figure out what that means but it looks better in print. Otherwise they’ll think I’m a cold-hearted bastard.”

  Ito nodded again and went looking for a telephone. When they were alone Jan looked at Johnny and smiled grimly. “You,” she said, “are a cold-hearted bastard.”

  “I probably am,” he agreed. He finished the combination of coffee and bourbon and got another cigarette going. His mind was working much better now and his body was not objecting quite so strenuously to the lack of sleep. His body, as a matter of fact, was proving that it was alive. The presence of Jan Vernon was having a disconcerting effect upon him.

  If Jan could project sexiness from the stage to the balcony—and she definitely could—the effect was greatly increased in the privacy of a living room. She did not seem as frightened now as when she had arrived. She was relaxed in her chair, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, and Johnny had trouble keeping his eyes from her limbs.

  They were good limbs and she knew it. There was nothing wrong with the rest of her, either, and she knew this as well. She would not have worn tight sweaters, for example, if she were not thoroughly satisfied with the quality and quantity of her mammary equipment.

  The elaborately rumpled hair and the pouting mouth did not detract either. The play of the breasts within the sweater when she yawned and stretched was no soothing balm. Obviously, Jan’s position in life was basically a horizontal one and Johnny struggled with a strong urge to haul her off to the bedroom and ravish her. He had a hunch she would not mind at all.

  Johnny sighed and switched back to business. “You didn’t tell Haig about the phone calls, did you?”

  “I didn’t think about them. Why?”

  “Just an idea,” he said. “If he ties it to the show none of us will have time to breathe. I’d rather sound out the rest of the cast first and find out who’s been getting the same kind of call, if anyone has. And there’s still the chance that this is a fluke—a sex-killing coincidentally tied in with a not-too-practical joke.”

  She looked at him quizzically. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “I don’t know what I believe. I’ll have Ito set up a cast meeting for this evening. Over here, say, at eight o’clock. Just the principal players, plus Ernie—if some joker is trying to stop the show he won’t bother frightening bit players. We can sit around together over a drink or two and get everything out into the open. It’ll clear the air. Because if anybody else has been getting phone calls and hasn’t mentioned it, he’s scared out of his wits.”

  “I know what you mean,” Jan said. “I’m a little steadier now that I told you. Johnny, why don’t we have the meeting at my place? It’s certainly big enough—I’ve been rattling around in it since I got rid of my last husband. And it’s more convenient. Most of the people in the show live downtown.”

  “Well . . .”

  “And I’m a sissy,” she said, grinning. “The less I go out at night the better I like it.”

  “Good enough. You’re around the corner from Gramercy Park, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Expect company at eight, then. We shouldn’t take too long.”

  “That’s fine,” she told him. “And if you get there a little early, that’s also fine. My coffee is every bit as good as Ito’s, you know. And I may think of something I’ll want to tell you in private.”

  He saw her to the door, then paced the living room. The last bit of byplay had been an open enough invitation, especially in view of the fact that Jan Vernon had done the inviting. Which raised an interesting ethical question. It was bad form for the producer to sleep with his leading lady, true. But what about the second lead?

  He thought of writing to Variety and asking them. He laughed softly, then went to the telephone to get busy calling agents. But he couldn’t get the idea completely out of his mind. Whatever the ethics of the situation, he was sure it would be a pleasant experience to share Jan Vernon’s bed.

  The phone rang harshly. Johnny picked it up in the middle of the first ring and snapped a hello into the mouthpiece.

  “You’re a tough man to get hold of,” Haig barked. “You leave your phone off the hook? I’ve been calling you for the past half hour or so.”

  “I was fighting with agents. Why?”

  “I have the Medical Examiner’s report,” the Homicide lieutenant said. “And we can probably forget the sex-killing theory. At least, it wasn’t rape.”

  “Nobody touched her?”

  “Just with a razor. That’s what it was, incidentally. I didn’t think anybody used a straight razor anymore. I’ve had an electric for the past ten years.”

  “I use a safety razor. I can’t get close enough with an electric.”

  “Now that’s very interesting,” Haig said sarcastically. “I guess that proves you didn’t kill the girl. I’m glad to hear that. You have no idea how glad . . .”

  “I—”

  “Now do you want to know what we found out or would you like to tell me what soap you use in the shower?”

  Johnny did not say anything.

  Haig said, “Okay—the ME fixed time of death at twelve or twelve-thirty that night. He says the girl wasn’t pregnant, which wasn’t too much of a surprise. He also said she was a virgin, which is. That was your guess, wasn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The lab turned the place upside down. The girl’s prints were all over everything, of course. But there was one other set of prints that turned up on everything that would hold a print. And we identified them.”

  “Who did they belong to?”

  “You,” Haig said.

  “Oh.”

  “We’re in a fairly blind alley,” the cop said. “It could still be sex. The nude body and the razor—they can fit in. Not every pervert is a rapist. Some nut might get his kicks just using his razor.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  Haig’s voice was tired. “I don’t think so. I think somebody didn’t like the girl very much. I think somebody disliked her enough to slit her throat. Now all I have to do is find out who the somebody is. Just routine, ma’am. All we need are the facts.”

  “What facts have you got so far?”

  “I’ve been bothering your cast. One kid was going out with the James girl on a fairly regular basis. What’s-his-name—Stan Harris. The one who plays her older brother.”

  Johnny grunted. He hadn’t known that.

  “There’s a funny bit in there. He was willing to admit that he was dating her. So we asked him if he was sleeping with her and he blushed a little and said that he was. Which was tricky, since the girl was a virgin. We hit him with that one and he blushed a little more and got his tongue tangled up in his teeth.”

  “And?”

  “We put two and two together,” Haig said. “The normal procedure. We figured she wouldn’t come across so he killed her. You know what cops are like. Stupid, crude people. No souls. You got any idea how many girls get killed because they won’t come across?”

  Johnny didn’t have an answer to that.

  “So I bothered your actor a little. But he had an alibi and we checked it out and it held up. He was up at his folks’ place in New Rochelle getting some stuff together for the trip. He didn’t get back to the city until two-thirty or so and he was away from dinner-time on. Which probably puts him in the clear.” Haig cleared his throat. “So we’ve got no suspects for the time being. The rest of your cast managed to give a fair accounting of their time. I want ’em all to stay in town.”

  “They will. We’re staying put for the next two weeks at least, so I can find another actress.”

  “Good.” A long sigh came over the phone. “You just have to grind and grind until something gives. You pick up all the bits and pieces and after a while some of them add up to something. I should have been a shoe salesman. It would have been a whole hell of a lot simpler.” Another sigh. “How about you, Johnny? Come up with anything? Remember any little point you didn’t think of last night?”

  Johnny considered. He knew something, all right. And he could probably tell Haig about the conversation with Jan without tipping the whole story to the newspapers. Still, first he wanted to meet with the cast and find out what was going on. If nobody else had gotten a call it might be just a false lead that would tie everybody up, a waste of everybody’s time.

  No, he would not tell Haig. Not yet. Nothing would be lost by waiting, and in the meantime Haig might find the killer on his own.

  “Johnny? You still there?”

  “Uh-huh. I was trying to think. Nothing new as far as I know. I’ve been either sleeping or on the phone since I saw you.” He drew on a cigarette. “And I only had five hours sleep,” he went on, “so I’m not functioning properly yet.”

  “I feel sorry for you,” Haig said. “Only five hours. I haven’t been to bed yet. Cops have a soft life, Johnny. And they’re all overpaid. The Harris kid gave us a vague line on a few of Elaine’s friends. She hangs out—hung out—with a pretty strange crew of Village types. Girls who don’t comb their hair and boys who don’t shave. I think they call them beatniks this year. Every year there’s a new word.”

  “She would have outgrown it. She was young.”

  “Yeah. But she didn’t get the chance. Anyway, we know who a few of her friends are. A girl named Sin Cardamine. It’s supposed to be short for Cynthia, I think. Boys named Jerry Linden and Lee Sandow. I should be out looking for them right now, asking pertinent questions, figuring all angles. But you know what I’m going to do instead?”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to sleep,” Sam Haig said. “I’m going back to my place and I’m going to sleep. Cops are lazy bastards, Johnny. I’ve only been up for twenty-six hours. They ought to throw me off the force.”

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  At three o’clock in the afternoon, Ernie Buell called. He wanted to know why in hell they had to have a stupid meeting that night and why in hell the damned show was being delayed and why in hell some girl wasn’t being auditioned for Elaine James’ role. Johnny counted to ten twice, reminding himself that the director was a genius and had to be tolerated, before explaining gently that he would get the answers at the meeting. Buell was not mollified, but careful verbal handling managed to soothe his pride a bit—at least long enough for Johnny to get rid of him.

  At three-thirty Carter Tracy called. The actor’s voice was firm but Johnny could detect suppressed urgency behind the words.

  “I have to talk to you,” Tracy said. “A few problems have arisen lately, Lane. I’d like to give you a run-down on them and I don’t want to go into detail over the phone.”

  “Something to do with Susie?” Johnny asked. Susie was the character Elaine James had been scheduled to play. If Tracy had anything to say that could not go over the phone, that would simplify things.

  “More or less.”

  “Can you save it for the meeting?” Johnny asked. “There may be a few developments tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t want to raise the point at the meeting.”

  “Then we can get together afterward,” Johnny said smoothly. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “I guess so,” the leading man said dubiously. “It’s at eight tonight at Jan’s place, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. Want the address?”

  “I’ve been there,” Tracy said.

  After he had hung up, Johnny mulled over Tracy’s last line. He had sounded a bit smug about it, Johnny thought. And he didn’t really have much right to. One hell of a lot of men had been to Jan’s apartment.

  Johnny frowned. This should have made her less desirable, he thought. When a girl has been had by half the world—the male half—it’s no great source of triumph to get her into the rack. But somehow Jan seemed more desirable than ever, at least to him, no matter how much mileage she had on her.

  Maybe it was the fascination of a mechanic for a highly complex and inordinately efficient piece of machinery. He wasn’t sure. But he had a strong hunch that the sensuous brunette was going to be on his mind for quite a while. If on nothing else.

  The other telephone call came at a quarter to five.

  Ito was near the phone when it rang. He picked it up and Johnny waited patiently while his face took on a puzzled cast. Then Ito covered the mouthpiece with one hand and turned to him.

  “It’s for you,” he said. “But I don’t know who it is. Whoever it is, they aren’t saying.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Neither,” Ito said unhappily. “Or either. The caller whispers softly and strangely. Are you out?”

  “Hell, I might as well take it.” He walked to the phone and took the receiver from Ito, held it to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Lane?” The voice was a whisper, a whisper that seemed to be coming through a handkerchief stretched over the mouthpiece of the phone. It was impossible to tell anything about the caller from the voice.

  “Who’s this?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” the voice hissed, sounding like a snake moving quickly through tall dry grass. “You should abandon plans to produce A Touch of Squalor. Drop it cold. The James broad got killed because she wouldn’t take a hint. The same thing could happen to the rest of the cast. It could happen to you.”

 

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