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

bird, ma’am?” said Rosenblatt dryly.
    â€œHe’s my husband’s superior in the Metropolitan Police,” Daisy admitted, hoping they would not have heard of the Met.
    â€œMetropolitan … Isn’t that Scotland Yard?” The Deputy D.A. blinked. “Your husband’s a Scotland Yard man?”
    â€œYes, actually. He’s a Detective Chief Inspector.”
    â€œGeez, Chief Inspector? Whassat in our ranks?” demanded Sergeant Gilligan.
    â€œI’m afraid I don’t know. I’m sure the system is quite different, and in any case he has no official standing here,” Daisy said tactfully.

    â€œChief Inspector Fletcher is in Washington in his official capacity,” Lambert contradicted her with a certain relish. “He is advising our government.”
    â€œAw, rats!” said Gilligan.
    â€œIn Washington,” Rosenblatt pointed out. “Not here. Mrs. Fletcher, ma’am, I’d be grateful if you could see your way to giving us your evidence now, so that we need not keep you any longer.”
    Daisy decided to exploit her newfound advantage. “Would you mind awfully if I finish my sandwich first, Mr. Rosenblatt? I really am frightfully hungry.”
    Gilligan turned an interesting shade of purple, and Rosenblatt looked as if he was biting his tongue. Fortunately, a large, stolid uniformed policeman—patrolman?—came in to report, so Daisy didn’t discover the limits of her power. She listened as she munched.
    â€œWhole building’s been combed, sir, roof to basement. Ain’t nobody that don’t have a good reason to be here.”
    â€œWhassa doorman say?” asked Gilligan.
    â€œDoor men , Sergeant. There’s two main entrances, on the Avenue and Broadway. They say nobody’s been let to leave since the first patrolman got here after the homicide was phoned in. But gen‘rally they don’t make a note of everyone that comes in and don’t take no notice of them going out, ’specially at lunchtime. It’s a commercial building, see, not like one of them fancy apartment buildings that no stranger gets in without they buzz the residents.”
    â€œI know it’s a commercial building,” Gilligan snapped.
    â€œAnd then there’s the doors from the lobby to the shops on the street level. They got outside doors, too. We talked to all the shop clerks, but there’s people going in and out alia time, specially in the lunch hour. They don’t notice
’em ’less they looks like they’re gonna buy sumpin or pinch sumpin.”
    The sergeant groaned. “What about the elevator attendants? Someone gotta of seen sumpin!”
    â€œSeems three of ‘em goes unofficially off duty between the lunch rush out and the lunch rush in. Poker in the basement, I reckon. They ain’t none of ’em noticed nuttin outta the way, ’cepting the old buzzard what the stiff fell on toppa his elevator.”
    â€œAnd what did he see?” asked Rosenblatt.
    â€œThe stiff on toppa his elevator, sir.”
    The D.A.’s mouth twitched, whether in amusement or irritation Daisy couldn’t tell. “The stairs start at the second-floor level,” he said. “So our fugitive must’ve taken the elevator down to the ground, so one of the men must’ve seen him.”
    â€œThere’s service and emergency stairs from first to second, sir. I guess he musta took ’em. The doors ain’t locked.”
    â€œThey wouldn’t be,” Rosenblatt sighed. “You took the name and address of everyone in the building that doesn’t work here? And where they claim to have been when Carmody was shot?”
    â€œYessir. Detective O’Rourke’s got the dope.”
    â€œO.K., we’ll try to get a decent description of the guy that was seen running off, then we’ll need—lessee—make it four men to go round again. The rest of you can go for