1953 - I'll Bury My Dead (14 page)

‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ English said, and came over and sat on the arm of her chair. He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Not now, it’s past history,’ Julie said. ‘It was when I was in Boston, years ago. I was only seventeen, and I was hard up. I got an audition. It came out of the blue just when I thought I would have to give up and go home. I had nothing decent to wear. I knew if I went as I was, I wouldn’t get the job. The woman who ran the boarding house always kept money in the house. I stole it. I thought I would be able to put it back before she found it, but she caught me in the act. She sent for the police, and I was given a week in jail.’

English patted her shoulder.

‘You needn’t have told me that, Julie. So what? Most of us have done something at one time or other that could have landed us in jail if we were caught. You were unlucky. Do you mean to tell me Roy was blackmailing you for that?’

‘He threatened to tell the press. I would have lost my job, and then they would have got at you through me, Nick.’

English’s eyes hardened.

‘I guess that’s right. Does anyone else know about this?’

She shook her head.

‘Then we’ll forget it. How much did you pay Roy?’

‘I don’t want to discuss that part of it,’ Julie said quickly.

‘Nonsense. I intend to return the money to you. How much was it?’

‘Please, Nick, I don’t want you to do that.’

‘What was it - five thousand?’

‘Yes, about that, but I won’t take it. I mean that. It’s nothing to do with you. I’ve paid, and I’ve forgotten about it.’

‘We’ll see,’ English said and stood up. ‘Julie, when you went up there, was Roy alive?’

She nodded.

‘Yes, he was alive.’

‘You realize, don’t you, that a few minutes after you had gone, he died?’

Again she nodded, and her hands turned into fists.

‘Would you say he looked like a man who was about to commit suicide?’

‘Oh, no. He was smiling and joking. He even tried to make a pass at me. It was the first time I had been with him alone in the office. Usually the girl was there, too.’

English’s mouth tightened.

‘What happened?’

‘He tried to kiss me, but I got out of his way. I gave him the money and left.’

‘You gave him the money? Two hundred dollars?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure about that, Julie? It’s important.’

‘Yes, I gave it to him.’

‘It wasn’t found. He had only four dollars on him. Lois went through the office very carefully. She didn’t find any money anywhere.’

‘Well, I gave it to him. He put it on his desk and put a paperweight on top of it.’

English stroked his jaw, his eyes brooding.

‘I think that about clinches it,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Roy was murdered.’

Julie closed her eyes.

‘Did you see anyone or hear anything when you were up there?’ English went on, watching her.

‘No, nothing. Only the machines in the office along the passage. They were making a lot of noise.’

‘Well, someone shot him and took the money,’ English said. ‘It didn’t walk out of the office on its own. Someone took it.’

‘What will happen, Nick?’ she asked, her eyes scared.

‘I have a man working on it,’ English said, tossing his cigarette into the fire. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about, Julie. No one knows you went up there and no one is going to know. You can forget about it.’

‘But if someone murdered him, shouldn’t the police be told?’

‘If it gets out that Roy ran an organized blackmail racket, I’m sunk,’ English said quietly. ‘I’m not telling the police a thing. It’s up to them to find out for themselves. My man may find the killer, and if he does, we’ll have to decide what to do with him. There’s nothing for you to worry about in any way.’ He went over to her and took her hand in his. ‘Now I must run along, Julie. Have a rest and forget about this. I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe we can take in that movie.’

‘Yes, Nick.’

She got up and went with him into the lobby. While she was putting on his coat, she stood near him, watching him, her eyes uneasy.

‘Nick, wouldn’t it be better if you forget all about this yourself? Must you hunt for this man? If you did find him you couldn’t hand him over to the police. He might talk and give Roy away.’

English smiled at her.

‘Don’t worry your head about that. I have to find him first. Roy may have been a louse and a rat, but no one’s going to murder one of my family and get away with it. I’ll think of a way of fixing this guy when I’ve found him. Bye now.’ He kissed her and patted her hip. ‘Don’t worry.’

He went down to where Chuck was waiting patiently.

‘Take me home,’ English said, and got into the car.

As Chuck drove rapidly through the dark streets, English sat still, his face thoughtful, his mind busy. He went straight up to his apartment, let himself in and tossed his coat to a maid.

‘Anyone waiting to see me?’ he asked.

‘No, sir.’

‘No phone calls?’

‘No, sir.’

English nodded and went into his luxuriously appointed study. He sat down at the desk and reached for a cigar. When he had lit it, he sat thinking for a few minutes, then he picked up the telephone.

‘Get me Police Captain O Brien, Police Headquarters, Boston,’ he told the girl at the switchboard. ‘As quick as you like.’

‘Yes, Mr. English.’

He hung up and got to his feet, and began to pace slowly up and down. After a little delay, the telephone bell rang and he picked up the receiver.

‘Hello, Mr. English. Well, well, you are a stranger,’ O’Brien’s voice boomed over the line.

‘Hello, Tom. How are you?’

‘I’m fine. How’s yourself?’

‘Oh, I’m alive. I was expecting you at the fight. Why didn’t you come?’

‘You know how it is. I got a couple of murders on my hands right now. Glad your boy won. Seems like a good scrap.’

‘It was all right. Look, Tom, I want a quick favour.’

‘Anything you say, Mr. English.’

‘Some eight years ago a girl named Julie Clair was arrested for stealing money from her landlady. She drew a week in jail. Can you check that?’

‘I guess so,’ O’Brien returned. ‘Give me three minutes.’

English sat on the edge of the desk, swinging his leg, his eyes brooding, cigar smoke drifting past his face.

In less than three minutes, O’Brien came on the line again.

‘No one of that name was arrested, Mr. English. We have no record of her.’

Nick’s face hardened.

‘Any record of any girl arrested for stealing money from her landlady about that time?’

‘I’ll see,’ O’Brien said, and there was a long pause. Then he said, ‘A girl named Doris Caspary - she got a week in jail because she had been caught shoplifting the previous month.’

English remembered Julie had once mentioned sharing rooms with a girl called Doris Caspary. Once he had heard a name he never forgot it.

‘Julie Clair was a witness for the defence,’ O’Brien went on. ‘But she wasn’t charged.’

‘Thanks, O’Brien, I must have got my facts muddled,’ English returned. ‘Don’t forget to let me know when you are coming to town. So long for now.’

He hung up and frowned down at the carpet. He had had an idea Julie had been lying the moment she had started telling him the story of the theft.

‘Now I wonder what you’ve been up to, Julie?’ he said half aloud. He slid off the desk and resumed his slow, restless pacing.

CHAPTER FOUR

I

E
d Leon ran out onto the sidewalk and waved at a cruising taxi. ‘23A Eastern Street,’ he said, jerking open the door, ‘and snap it up.’

‘Okay, chum,’ the driver said, slammed the door and let in his clutch so violently that Leon landed in a heap on the floor of the cab.

‘I didn’t tell you to break my goddamn neck!’ Leon yelled as he scrambled onto the seat.

‘When a guy says snap it up, I snap it up,’ the driver said, and sent his hack racing through the dark streets.

For the space of ten minutes or so, Leon sat with his heart in his mouth, sorry he had given the impression he was in a hurry. But when the driver reached 22nd Ward with its narrow streets, its fruit stalls and its aimless crowds overflowing into the gutters, he was forced to reduce speed almost to a crawl.

‘If you’re in all that hurry,’ he said suddenly, ‘there’s an alley just ahead that takes you into Eastern Street. It’ll be quicker for you to get out here and walk.’

‘Why do you think I hired this heap if I wanted to walk?’ Leon said, remembering English had told him this was the alley where Hennessey was killed. ‘Keep going, and don’t run anyone down.’

‘I’d like to run down some of these jerks, the driver growled, and started honking on his horn.

Leon lit a cigarette. It was all very well for English to tell him to get hold of the Mitchell girl and bring her to English’s apartment, but it was easier said than done. Probably the girl would think he was going to kidnap her, and would yell for the police.

Leon grimaced and squirmed forward on the edge of the seat.

‘How much farther have we got to go?’

‘Just ahead of you.’

‘Okay, stop at the corner.’

The driver drew up and Leon paid him, tipping him liberally.

‘Want me to stick around? You’re not likely to get another cab back. This ward doesn’t use many cabs.’

‘Well, okay,’ Leon said. ‘I may be a little while. If I don’t show up in half an hour, you’d better blow.’

‘I’ll get myself a bite to eat,’ the driver said, and climbed out of his cab. ‘I’ll be right here.’

Eastern Street was no better than a slum. It was flanked on either side by tall tenement buildings, their soot-grimed fronts crawling with rusty iron fire escapes and balconies. Garbage cans stood along the curbs. The streetlights were dirty, and threw dim pools of light on the greasy sidewalks. Every few yards men lounged in doorways or against the iron railings, giving the street a somewhat sinister atmosphere. Toward the end of the street, Leon could see a few shops, their grimy windows still lighted, and he moved briskly toward them.

He passed No. 27, and paused to look up at the shop. The facia bore the legend: Joe Hennessey. General Store. The shop was in darkness, and Leon shook his head as he moved on.

He came upon a walk-up apartment house, and saw it was numbered 23. He paused again. As he did so, a black car slid out of the darkness and slowed down within a few feet of him.

‘Hey, you!’ a voice called.

Leon turned.

A man was beckoning to him from the car.

‘Know where 23A is?’ the man asked.

Leon walked toward the car. The man behind the steering wheel was in the shadow, but he leaned forward to look up at Leon and the street light fell directly on his face.

Leon knew at once who he was. The thin white scar running from his right ear to his mouth, the cast in his left eye and the blunt, brutal features were unmistakable. This was the man who had called on Joe Hennessey and had put the screws on him.

Leon was startled, but he seldom allowed himself to be flustered, and he showed no sign that he had recognized the man.

‘23A?’ he repeated. ‘Well, I guess it must be at the other end of the street. This is two hundred and twenty-three.’

The man with the scar grunted, engaged gear and drove rapidly down the road. As the car moved away, Leon caught sight of another man, hunched up in the back seat, a slouch hat pulled well down over his eyes.

There could be only one reason why these two men were looking for 23A Eastern Street. English had guessed right. They had silenced Hennessey; now they were going to silence May Mitchell.

Leon wished he had a gun with him. He spun around and ran back to the building and up the steps to the door. By the door was a card rack. Each rack was lettered A. B. C. D. E. and against each letter was the name of the tenant. A quick glance told him May Mitchell’s apartment was on the top floor. He glanced back down the street. The car had stopped about two hundred yards away, and the man with the scar was standing on the sidewalk, looking toward him.

Leon pushed open the front door of the building and stepped into a dimly lit lobby that smelt like a hen coop. Facing him was an ancient automatic elevator, scarcely large enough to hold three people.

He jerked back the grill door, stepped inside the cage, slammed the grill to and thumbed the button marked A. For a second or so nothing happened, then the elevator shuddered as if coming to life, and began a slow, painful crawl upward.

Leon found he was sweating a little. He knew he hadn’t much more than a three-minute start before the man with the scar and his boyfriend would find the building. It would take them perhaps five minutes to walk up to the top floor, and in that time, he had to get the girl into the elevator and downstairs. He hoped that as the two men climbed the stairs they wouldn’t notice the descending elevator. It was going to be a close thing, and if the girl didn’t cooperate, it was going to be just too bad. The elevator took four minutes to reach the top floor. It came to a creaking standstill as if it were thankful the journey was over.

Leon slid back the grill, and leaving it open, stepped onto a small landing.

Facing him was a front door, equipped with a knocker and bell. A light came through the transom above the door.

He dug his thumb into the bell push and kept it there. Somewhere behind the door, he could hear the bell ringing. He waited, breathing quickly, his thumb increasing pressure, his ears cocked for any sound of feet on the stairs. Nothing happened; no one answered the door.

He changed from the bell to the knocker and banged four times as hard as he could, sending a violent wave of sound down the shaft of the staircase. He began to wonder if the girl had gone out, and had left the light burning.

Leaving the door, he stepped to the banister rail and looked down into the dimly lit well. Far below him, he could see the lobby. It was deserted. Then as he hung over the rail, he heard the sound of quick footsteps on the stairs below - they sounded unpleasantly close.