The Case of the Murdered Muckraker by Carola Dunn Read Free Book Online

cigar, looked truculent, Rosenblatt worried.

    â€œMrs. Fletcher? Rosenblatt, Deputy District Attorney. Say, who’s this guy Lambert? What’s his connection with this business?”
    â€œYou’ll have to ask him, Mr. Rosenblatt.” Daisy wasn’t going to let herself be drawn into any complications. “I only know that he told Mr. Thorwald and me that he is a federal agent. All I can tell you is what I saw.”
    â€œYes, we’ll get to that in a minute, ma’am. Mr. Pascoli, you know something about the federal connection, sir?”
    â€œNot exactly,” Pascoli hedged. “Nothing to do with the Justice Department specifically, more of a general Washington connection. Otis Carmody ruffled plenty of feathers in the capital. He was an investigative journalist, see, and a good one.”
    â€œA muckraker,” said Rosenblatt, depressed. “Probably had half of the last administration out for his blood.”
    â€œGot what was coming to him,” Gilligan grunted.
    â€œMaybe,” Rosenblatt snapped, “but we still have to pin it on someone. What was he doing in New York?”
    â€œHe, uh, wanted to write for the magazine I edit,” Pascoli said evasively.
    â€œWhich magazine is that?”
    â€œTown Talk,” admitted Pascoli with obvious reluctance.
    Rosenblatt gave him a hard stare. “I know Town Talk . That’s an opposition paper.”
    Pascoli shrugged. “Hey, I don’t set policy. You don’t like it, you talk to my publisher.”
    â€œHad Carmody written anything for you yet? Leopards don’t change their spots. What’s he been writing?”
    â€œEver heard of the First Amendment, buddy?”
    â€œSay, listen,” interpolated Sergeant Gilligan, “maybe we don’t wanna know …”

    â€œSamwidges!” A boy in a cloth cap and a jacket several sizes too large ducked under the arm of the plainclothesman on duty at the doorway to the hall. He bore a white cardboard box in his hands. “Samwidges and coffee for Thorwald.”
    â€œAt last,” sighed Daisy, reaching for her bag.
    â€œI’ll get it,” said Pascoli. “It’ll come out of petty cash, don’t worry.” He went over to the boy.
    â€œSay, listen,” Gilligan repeated, “maybe we don’t wanna know who the stiff was digging up the dirt on here in Noo York.”
    â€œWe gotta find out,” Rosenblatt said gloomily. “The Feds are sure to. And we gotta clean this up quick, with the election next week, or the Hearst papers will wipe the floor with us again.”
    â€œYou think that’s what this guy Lambert’s after, sir? Maybe he ain’t got nuttin to do with what Carmody was up to in Washington. Maybe he’s here to make trouble for us.”
    â€œNo doubt we’ll soon know,” said the D.A. as the door of Thorwald’s office opened and Lambert came out.
    He and the sandwiches reached the round table at the same moment. “Food!” he exclaimed, sniffing the air. “And coffee. Gee whiz, I could kill for a cup of coffee.”
    Pascoli glanced at Thorwald, now whuffling gently in his sleep. With a sigh, he pushed one of the sandwiches and a large mug of coffee across the table towards Lambert.
    Meanwhile, Sergeant Gilligan was staring suspiciously at Lambert. “Kill?” he growled, his right hand sliding inside his jacket. “You talk mighty easy about killing. Is that maybe what you was sent from Washington for? To croak the guy that blew the gaff on your boss?”

    Lambert’s mouth, open to take a bite of sandwich, stayed open though the sandwich came to a halt in midair. After a horrified moment, he squeaked, “Who, me?”
    Daisy recalled that Lambert had been given back his automatic, and she knew all New York police were armed. Was it time to dive under the table before a gun battle erupted? She hastily swallowed the bite of