So Nude, So Dead by Ed McBain Read Free Book Online Page B

look.
    “Police,” he said tonelessly. “Dale Kramer in there?”
    The bouncer licked his lips, then wiped away the wetness with the back of his hand. “He ain’t gonna like you, Mac.”
    “I’m not interested in his likes or dislikes,” Ray said coldly, his heart hammering in his chest. “His wife was murdered. I want to ask him a few questions.”
    The bouncer swung his leg over the chair, stood up, his shoulders wide against the door. “You and every other cop in New York,” he said. He reached behind him, twisted the door knob, flicked open the door with a hair-covered hand. “He’s the short one in the blue jacket.”
    “Thanks,” Ray said. He stepped through the door, started walking quickly toward the bandstand. It had been too easy, too easy. There’d been nothing to worry about at all. He hadn’t even needed the fortifying drink, and he began to regret the money he had paid for it, money that could have gone toward another shot. He heard the door close behind him, glanced over his shoulder to make sure the gorilla was on the other side of it. He was.
    The boys in the band were lounging around the room, and Dale Kramer was penciling some marks onto a music sheet when Ray came up to him.
    “Mr. Kramer?”
    Kramer looked up. He was thin-faced, with high, protruding cheekbones and arching eyebrows. His eyes were green, and they went well with his slightly curving, feminine nose. A pencil-line mustache was sketched in over his upper lip, and his mouth opened now in surprise.
    “Yes?” His voice was wary. He put the pencil down on the sheet, ran his hand over his thinning, black hair.
    “Police,” Ray said, giving the word as much conviction as he could.
    Kramer screwed up his face. “Aren’t you boys working overtime? You’re the third one today. First there was Monaghan, and then—I forget his name. Big beefy guy with red hair.” He lifted his eyebrows inquiringly. “Know who I mean?”
    “Sure,” Ray lied. “I won’t take up much of your time, Mr. Kramer.”
    “That’s what the other two said.” He stood up, put his foot on the seat of the chair, carefully preserving the crease in his gabardine slacks. He rested his arms on the raised knee, hunched slightly forward. “All right, fire away,” he said.
    “I understand your wife was a singer,” Ray said, not knowing exactly where to start.
    “That’s right, Mr.— I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
    “David. Lieutenant David.”
    “Mmmm. Yes, my wife was a singer.”
    “How come she wasn’t singing with your band?”
    “You all ask the same questions, don’t you? What do you do, compare notes afterward?”
    Ray smiled. “Sometimes.” This was going fine. He was doing all right. He was beginning to feel like a cop.
    “My wife used to sing with the combo, Lieutenant. In fact, she was on the band until a few months ago.”
    “Oh?”
    “That’s right. She left to join the Scat Lewis combo. You know Scat Lewis?”
    “I’ve heard of him,” Ray said.
    “My wife was singing with him up until her death. He’s playing at the Ace High, if you’d like to check.”
    “Don’t you have a singer?” Ray asked. His eyes traveled over the men in the room.
    “Sure. Barbara Cole.” Kramer grimaced. “It gets complicated about here. Babs used to sing with Scat Lewis. She and Eileen arranged the switch. I got Babs, and Scat got Eileen, and everybody was happy.”
    “I see.” Ray found his mind beginning to wander. He clamped his jaws together. He knew he’d be thinking of a shot again, and he wanted to keep that off his mind. “How come your wife left the band? Isn’t that a little odd?”
    “Not at all. She wanted to sing with Scat, and Babs wanted to sing with us. As simple as all that.”
    “Where’s your singer now?”
    “Never rehearses with the band,” Kramer said. “You familiar at all with music?”
    “No,” Ray lied.
    “Well, she’s a bop singer, strictly ad lib. We give her a background, and she plays