I recognized her right away. I’d seen pictures of her in the glossy magazines around the time she’d married Galecci. She’d been Gloria Benton then, I recalled. Some kind of model, small-time, posing for the usual run of photographers and trying to get into the movies. A statuesque blonde with vivid blue eyes, standing over six feet in her nylons, with a body to match.
Now she was dressed in a white sweater and shorts, and certainly not looking like the grieving widow to me.
“I have to talk with you, Mister Merak,” she said in a low, husky voice. “It’s important.”
After what I’d seen in that vault, I figured this might provide a pleasant diversion, and followed her along the short corridor into the room near the end.
The place was fitted out as a gymnasium with all of the usual gimmicks; exercise machines, weights, climbing bars. I guessed it had been done for her benefit. Galecci hadn’t looked the kind of guy who took much trouble over his physical shape. She closed the door behind us.
“Okay,” I said. “What is it you want to see me about?”
Without answering, she walked towards the middle of the gym. There was a barbell on the floor and she came to a halt a little way from it, her back to it. Smiling a little, she performed a graceful back bend, hooking her hands under the bar. She held the pose for several seconds as I stood there, wondering what was coming next. Then she drew in a deep breath that did wonders for the sweater and straightened up, seemingly effortlessly, until she was standing, holding the weight over her head.
Somehow, I managed to pop my eyes back into their sockets.
She stood there for a full minute, the faintly supercilious smile on her full lips, before lowering the barbell slowly to the floor.
Standing back, she motioned towards it. I got my hands around it and tugged hard. I only managed to get it to my knees. It was the real McCoy all right and I guessed it weighed close on a hundred and fifty pounds.
Straightening up, I said harshly, “Okay, Mrs. Galecci. But you didn’t ask me to come here just to show me how strong you are.”
She sobered instantly. “No, you’re right. I know my husband’s been murdered. One of Rizzio’s men told me just before I met you. Has Rizzio hired you to find his killer?”
“No,” I shook my head. “He’s leaving it in the hands of the police.”
“Good. Then you’re hired.”
“Hey, hold on a minute,” I said. “I’ve seen what’s in that vault. This isn’t the kind of case I’m interested in. Finding errant husbands is one thing, but a murder that’s impossible is another. Rizzio made it clear he only wants the police in on this. He’s already been in touch with Lieutenant Donovan of Homicide, I gather.”
“I’m not interested in Donovan or the police. Most of them are fools, and the others will do exactly as Rizzio tells them. Whatever Carlos offered you, I’ll double it.”
“You want me to find out who killed your husband? Is that it?”
“That—and something more. I have good reason to believe that whoever did it wants me dead too.”
“Now why should you think that?”
“Because Carlos left a will before he died. He left everything to me. Everything. I own all of this as of now, the whole operation. I’m asking you to help me because I need someone I can trust implicitly.”
I could see Rizzio wasn’t going to be too pleased when he heard this. I wondered if he’d known about the existence of this will beforehand. If so, it put him a little lower on my list of suspects. It also put Gloria Galecci right at the top.
Even though she’d only just been told of her husband’s departure from this world, her obvious lack of grief certainly didn’t seem like the result of shock. And somehow I doubted if she had the ability and know-how to run an organization like this. Galecci had had his finger in every racket in LA.
“There’s one thing worrying me,” I said. “Why me? I’m just a one-man team, apart from Dawn Grahame, my secretary. You could surely afford one of the biggest agencies in town. They could put several men on the case, get results a lot quicker.”
She shook her head vehemently, the long blonde hair dancing across her bare shoulders. “That’s not what I want. All of that means organization, someone doing this and someone else doing that. I want a one-man team, someone personal I can contact at any time of the day or night.”
There was a double meaning to her last words and I saw something in her eyes that told me it was deliberate.
“So you’re offering a two thousand dollar retainer plus expenses,” I said. “And Gloria Galecci thrown in for good measure.”
The faint smile came back onto her lips as she said. “That too, if you want it.”
“I may take you up on that sometime,” I replied. “But right now, I’d like to ask you one question. It’s personal. Where will Rizzio fit in now that Carlos had gone and you intend to take over?”
“If you’re asking me whether there’s ever been anything between Sam and me, the answer’s—no.”
She sounded neither indignant nor mad, at the question so I figured she might just be telling the truth.
“Okay, I’ll take the job,” I told her. I knew it was a stupid thing to do and I’d probably regret it later.
“Somehow, I thought you would. I know your office number. I’ll ring you sometime every other day to see if you’ve found out anything.”
“And if I should ever need to get in touch with you?”
“I’d rather you didn’t—not for a couple of weeks, until I’ve got everything sorted out. You know how these lawyers are.”
I could guess. Rizzio wasn’t going to take this lying down. He’d doubtless get some slick city lawyer to try to break the will. Things could turn really nasty.
From her tone, I guessed this meeting was at an end. She accompanied me to the front door. Rizzio was already there with a couple of his henchmen. He gave me a funny look but said nothing, although I could almost hear his thoughts whirring away inside his head.
The rain had stopped and it was just getting light when I left. Just as I started along the drive, the gates opened and a police car drove in. It stopped in front of the house a couple of yards away and Lieutenant Charles Donovan got out. His official title was Lieutenant of the Homicide Division, a big-sounding name and one he tried to live up to.
He saw me right away and the permanent scowl on his face deepened still further. “Just what the hell are you doing here, Merak?” he demanded.
“You’d better ask Sam Rizzio that,” I replied calmly. “He phoned me a couple of hours ago and asked me to get out here right away. Guess he knew that something had happened to his boss.”
Donovan snorted. “Rizzio ain’t your usual kind of client. You’re getting a little outa your league, ain’t you?”
I ignored the sarcasm. “Matter of fact, it was Carlos Galecci who hired me in the first place three days ago. Reckoned then that someone was out to get him.”
His lips curled back in what was meant to be a humorous smile, showing his teeth. “Seems you weren’t all that good at your job then, from what I’ve just been informed. If Galecci is dead, I reckon your part in this case is finished.”
“Now that would’ve made your day, Lieutenant,” I said. “But I’ve just been rehired.”
“Oh.”