To trap the murder-mind who turned his frat into a slaughterhouse... brain-boy Arlin and his campus queen — played sitting duck.
It was half past twelve on one of those early September days in Manhattan when the streets are Dutch ovens and a girl who can look crisp is a treasure indeed. I was completing the last draft of the current three-part blast, with Dolly sitting at my elbow noting the changes I wanted.
Miss Riven came in simultaneously with her crisp rap at the door, and said, “Mr. Engelborg wishes to see you immediately, Mr. Arlin.”
She did a Prussian drill-sergeant’s about-face and went back through the door, shutting it with a crisp clack that only Miss Riven can seem to get out of a door.
“Her!” Dolly said. “Her!” She made it sound like a dirty name.
“She thinks I work here,” I said. During the six weeks that I had been provided with office space and Dolly, she and I had become good friends. “Look, lovely. I can’t see anything more we need. Type it up with three carbons and get one over to the legal eagles for checking.”
I hesitated, decided against my coat, and went down through the offices full of common people to the shrine where Engelborg, the almighty, flings his weight around.
Miss Riven gave me a cool look, glanced at her watch and said, “You may go right in, Mr. Arlin.”
I pushed the door open. Engelborg, who looks like a giant blond panda, said, “This is Arlin. Joe, meet Mr. Flynn.”
Flynn merely nodded but he stared at me intently. He was a big, sagging man in his late fifties with an executive air about him. There was a bloodhound sadness about his eyes.
“Arlin,” said Engelborg, “is just finishing up a hot series on real estate swindles.”
“It’s all done,” I said. “Ought to be out of the typewriter tomorrow. That is, if the lawyers have no kick.”
“Good,” Engelborg grunted. “I want you to understand, Mr. Flynn, that Arlin isn’t a part of this organization. He works on a free-lance basis and this particular job was so hot we wanted him right here so we could coordinate more closely. What are your plans, Joe?”
I didn’t like the sound of that. I said, “I am going to wait until I get page proofs on the first installment and then I am going to go to Maine.”
“I understand,” Flynn said, “that you’re out of college two years. The University of Wisconsin. You were a Gamma U there?”
“That’s right.” I couldn’t smell which way this was going. Flynn looked at me as though he resented me in a tired way.
“He looks young enough, doesn’t he?” Engelborg said.
Flynn nodded.
That has been a sore point with me. When I was twenty I looked fifteen. Now, at twenty-eight, I look twenty. Professionally that has its limitations. Emotionally it’s all right. I play on their maternal instincts.
“So I look young,” I said. “Gee, thanks.”
“Take it easy, Joe,” Engelborg said. “Real easy. Don’t get upset. How’d you like to go to college?”
“Thanks, I’ve been.”
Flynn spoke heavily. “Let me talk, Arlin. My son is dead. He died last June at the age of nineteen. Everyone says he hung himself. I went down there. He was at West Coast University in Florida. I cannot believe he hung himself. He was a Gamma U. Other boys in that house died last year. In different ways. Automobiles. One drowned. Too many died. I cannot get help from the police. A private investigation firm would be too heavy-handed.
“Mr. Engelborg has been my good friend for many years. Last night I talked to him about this. He mentioned you. We discussed it. I want to pay you to go down and register for this fall term which starts very soon. I have certain influence and so does Engelborg. It can be arranged. We have a friend at the University of Wisconsin. The first three years of your credits will be transferred so you can enter as a senior. I know the secretary of the national chapter of Gamma U. There will be no trouble from that end.”
I sat down. I kept my voice as calm and logical as I could. “Mr. Flynn, I appreciate your problem. There are many inexplicable suicides among young people.”
“Teddy did not kill himself. I know that. I must have it proven. I have two other boys, younger boys. I don’t want this thing hanging over them.”
“Which would be better? Suicide or murder? If it isn’t one it’s the other.”
“Suicide is a sign of basic weakness. Teddy was not weak. I want you to go down there and live in that house and find out what happened.” He was as positive and undeniable as an avalanche.
I appealed to Mr. Engelborg. “Look, that isn’t my line. I find things out to write them up.”
Engelborg said, “You’ve done some very slick investigatory work, Joe. Those dock gangs, the Bermuda dope setup.”
“I’m my own man,” I said. “I do what I please.”
“That’s right, Joe,” Engelborg said.
“I don’t want to go to college. I want to go to Maine. Brother, it’s hot down there now. I’m tired. I want to go fishing.”
