A Time for Murder. John Glasby

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      Rizzio signaled to one of the guys standing in the vault doorway, beckoning him in. Tersely, he asked him the same questions. The man nodded each time.

      “Keller stays on guard outside the vault all the time the boss is in there. Nobody has gone in or come out since Galecci went in alone some seven hours ago.”

      I could see that Rizzio was just as puzzled as I was. Unless you believed in the invisible man who could walk through six-inch-thick steel walls, Galecci should have been as alive we were!

      I made a move towards the door. “It looks as though Galecci won’t be needing me any more,” I said. “And unless you want to hire me to—”

      He cut me off quickly. “There won’t be any further need for your services, Merak,” he said tonelessly. “This is obviously a matter for the police now. And if any more has to be done in the light of their findings, I can take care of that myself.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “You know your way out.”

      I shrugged. If that was the way he wanted it, it was fine by me. Frankly, I had the feeling that a certain Lieutenant Charles Donovan wouldn’t be too pleased with this case either.

      I pushed my way through the guys blocking the vault entrance and made my way back to the front door. All in all, it seemed I had just wasted my time coming here. The only reason that stood out in my mind at that moment, was that Rizzio had wanted me there as an independent witness once they discovered Galecci’s body. It seemed odd he hadn’t asked me in detail about anything I’d uncovered over the past three days. Maybe, now that Carlos Galecci was dead, that didn’t matter any more.

      I’d almost reached the front door when someone called my name. My hand went automatically for the .38 and then stopped as I remembered it was no longer there. Besides, I suddenly realized it was a woman’s voice, and when she stepped out of the shadows of the side corridor, I knew I wouldn’t be needing my gun.

      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.”

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