1953 - I'll Bury My Dead (28 page)

They remained staring at each other until the sound of the motor engine died away, then Penn came into the cabin and closed the door. He turned the key, took it from the lock and put it in his pocket.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I

E
d Leon drove slowly past Lois’s walk-up, his eyes alert for the first sign of trouble, but there was no police car outside the building nor did a light show in Lois’ windows. He pulled up at the corner of the street, got out of the car and walked back to look up at the windows.

Had English been arrested? he wondered, or had he given Morilli the slip? Sam Crail should know, he decided, and he returned to the car.

If English had been arrested, then it was up to him to find Lois, Leon told himself as he slid under the steering wheel. But where to look for her? Sherman wouldn’t take her to his apartment. He probably had some other place where he could duck out of sight - but where?

In the next street, Leon spotted an all-night drug store. He swung the car to the curb and went in, crossing to a pay booth. He shut himself in and dialed Crail’s number.

As he waited for the connection he glanced at his strap watch. It was twenty minutes to ten. With an impatient grimace he dropped the receiver back onto the cradle when he heard the busy signal, and fumbled for a cigarette. He waited, his cigarette burning fast, his mind searching for an inspiration.

Then he remembered Gloria Windsor. Maybe she knew if Sherman had a hideout. He decided it might pay dividends to call on her. He dialled Crail’s number again.

Helen Crail answered.

‘This is Ed Leon,’ Leon said. ‘Sam around?’

‘He’s just gone out,’ Helen told him. ‘If it’s important I can catch him. He’s getting the car out of the garage. He’s going down to headquarters. You’ve heard Nick’s been arrested?’

‘Yeah. Get him, will you, Mrs. Crail? It is important.’

‘Hold on.’

Leon leaned against the wall of the booth, frowning. It looked as if he was going to have a busy night, he thought. He knew English would want him to find Lois first, then he had to get after Sherman. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and wiped the sweat beads from his forehead. If he didn’t play his cards right, Nick could be a dead duck, he thought gloomily.

‘Hello?’ Crail’s voice snapped in his ear. ‘That you, Leon?’

‘Yeah - so they got Nick?’

‘He phoned a couple of minutes ago. The police were at the door while he was speaking to me. I’m on my way to headquarters now. Damn it! He should have given himself up like I said. I’m going to have a hell of a fight on my hands to pull him out of this?’

‘Don’t take your clothes off,’ Leon said shortly. ‘Lois is missing. Looks like Sherman’s got her. Corrine English has been murdered.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Crail demanded, his voice shooting up.

‘Lois went over to Corrine’s place. Nick reckoned Corrine and Sherman were working together. Lois was going to bring her back so Nick could talk to her. I found Corrine strangled, and Lois missing. She had been there. I found her handkerchief. I’ve got to find her, Crail. Tell Nick I’m going to put pressure on this Windsor girl. She may know something. She’s our only chance. Tell him not to worry. I’ll find Lois if it kills me.’

‘Who’s the Windsor girl?’ Crail asked blankly.

‘Never mind. Tell him. He knows who she is. I’ve got to get moving.’

‘Keep in touch with me,’ Crail said urgently.

‘Sure. I’ll call you back after I’ve talked to this girl. How long will you be before you get back?’

‘I don’t know. An hour maybe. Call me in an hour.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Leon said, and hung up.

He left the pay booth and went back to his car. Ten minutes’ fast driving brought him to 7th Street, and he pulled up outside the building that housed the Alert Agency.

He walked into the lobby and down the stairs to Tom Calhoun’s quarters. He found Calhoun watching a fight on the television. Calhoun got reluctantly to his feet. The two fighters were belting each other all over the ring, and he didn’t want to miss the knock-out.

‘I’m busy,’ he said, scowling. ‘What do you want at this hour?’

‘I want to talk to Miss Windsor. Is she upstairs still or has she gone home?’ Leon had to raise his voice to get above the uproar that was coming from the television set. ‘For the love of Mike, do you have to blast that thing like that?’

Calhoun lowered the sound. His eyes kept flickering to the lighted screen. ‘She’s up there. She lives up there.’

‘Thanks,’ Leon said. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you.’

Calhoun’s curiosity got the better of his interest in the fight.

‘What do you want to talk to her about?’ he asked.

‘I want to find out if she’s as lonely as I am.’

Leon backed out of the room and crossed over to the elevator. Calhoun followed him.

‘You can find your way up, can’t you?’ he said, unlocking the elevator grill. ‘Maybe she won’t want to see you.’

Leon got into the elevator and slammed the grill.

‘Like to bet on it?’ he said, and dug his thumb into the top button. The elevator creaked upward. It finally came to rest on the top floor, and Leon stepped out into the passage. The clatter of the teleprinters from the news agency covered the sound of the grill opening. There was a light showing through the transom above Gloria Windsor’s door. He walked along the passage, lifted the brass knocker and rapped twice. He leaned against the doorpost, his foot ready to wedge back the door if necessary, his hands thrust into his mackintosh pockets.

After a delay a bolt shot back. The door opened.

A tall, redheaded girl in a green high neck sweater and a pair of fawn-coloured slacks looked at him enquiringly. She was around twenty-eight or nine. Her face had an alert beauty, marred by a hard mouth and an overaggressive chin. Leon thought she had the most provocative shape he had ever seen on a woman, and he had difficulty in dragging his eyes from her figure that was accentuated rather than concealed by the skintight sweater she wore.

‘Miss Windsor?’ he asked, tipping his hat.

Grey eyes looked into his. Scarlet lips twisted into half a smile.

‘Sure. What do you want?’

‘I’m Ed Leon,’ Leon told her. ‘I’m a detective. I want to talk to you.’

She continued to smile, but her eyes grew suddenly wary.

‘Don’t kid me,’ she said scornfully. ‘If you’re a flatfoot, then I’m Sophie Tucker.’

Leon took out his wallet and showed her his buzzer and licence.

‘Does that convince you?’

‘Oh, a shamus,’ she said with a withering contempt. ‘Run along, boy scout, I can’t be bothered with amateurs.’

She began to close the door, but Leon’s foot was in the way. He moved forward, riding her back.

‘I said I wanted to talk to you,’ he told her. ‘Let’s park our fannies, and take our hair out of curlers.’

She gave ground, her grey eyes angry.

‘You’re going to walk into a load of grief, shamus,’ she said, ‘if you try to make a move on me.’

‘It’s a risk I’ll gladly run,’ Leon said, inside the lobby by now. He closed the door and leaned against it. ‘It’s not often I have the opportunity of making a move on a redhead as well stacked as you. Tell me, just to satisfy my curiosity, were you put together by an architect or did you grow that way naturally?’

A hint of a smile came into the grey eyes.

‘A smooth guy!’ she said in mock despair. ‘I meet them twenty-four hours a day, ten a dime. Well, now you’re in, say your piece and dust. I want to watch the fights on the television.’

‘We’re not in yet,’ Leon said, and stepped past her. He pushed open a door and walked into a large airy sitting room. ‘Well, you know how to make yourself comfortable,’ he went on, looking round the room. ‘My, my! You must be doing pretty well with your silhouette.’

‘Put that in the plural or I’ll take a poke at your left eye,’ she said languidly and walked over to a deep armchair and sank into it.

‘Or maybe it’s the blackmail racket that’s paying off,’ Leon went on, watching her.

She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, and her mouth tightened.

‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded frostily.

‘You’re in trouble, baby,’ Leon said, moving over to the fireplace and standing before the bright fire. ‘This is the end of the road for you. How do you like the idea of spending the next ten years in a nice, cozy jail?’

She looked up at him, her eyes jeering.

‘What makes you think I’m going to jail, shamus?’

‘Facts and figures - not your figure, mathematical ones,’ Leon said, taking out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Smoke?’

She shook her head.

‘What facts and figures?’

Leon lit up and flicked the match into the fire.

‘Sherman’s racket has blown up in his face. You and he have been working together. We’ve got all we want on him, and we’re waiting to pick him up. While we’re waiting for him to show, we’re picking up the small fry, like you.’

She raised her eyebrows.

‘Who’s Sherman? What are you talking about?’

Leon smiled.

‘Don’t give me that stuff. You know what I’m talking about. You fingered Roy English. You’re Sherman’s sounding board. Everything that went on in English’s office was heard by you and passed on to Sherman. That makes you Sherman’s stooge.’

‘Aw, you’re crazy!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘Get out of here before I call the cops.’

‘Go ahead and call them. It’ll save me the trouble of dragging you down to headquarters.’

She got out of the chair and walked over to the telephone.

‘The cops in this city know how to deal with a louse like you,’ she said. ‘Take my tip and dust while the dusting’s good.’

‘Go ahead and call them,’ he said, leaning his shoulders against the mantel. ‘I’ve got enough on you to put you away for ten years. Blackmail rates high these days.’

‘You can’t prove a thing,’ she said, her hand on the telephone.

‘I can tie you in with Sherman. Within the last few days he’s knocked off five people - Roy English, Mary Savitt, Joe Hennessey, May Mitchell, and an hour ago, Corrine English,’ Leon said, watching her. ‘You’re tied in to Roy’s killing. I can prove that. If you’re not careful, they’ll put that nice outline of yours in the chair.’

She half turned as she lifted the receiver, then she slammed it down, jerked open a drawer and whipped out a .25 automatic. She spun around and pointed the gun at Leon.

‘Don’t move, shamus,’ she said, her face hard and her eyes glittering. ‘I’m tempted to put a slug in you, and tell the cops you broke in here.’

‘What - with that toy? It wouldn’t even make me bleed,’ Leon said, not feeling as confident as he sounded.

‘You make a move out of turn, and we’ll see if it’ll make you bleed!’

‘Where’s this going to get you?’ he asked. ‘Why don’t you use your head and do the sensible thing?’

‘And what’s that?’ she demanded, resting her hips against the table, the gun centred on his chest.

‘I want Sherman,’ Leon said. ‘I could afford to let you go. He’s ducked out of sight. Where would he go?’

She studied him.

‘Suppose I know, and suppose I tell you - what then, shamus?’

‘I’d give you twelve hours to pull out of town. After twelve hours I’d have to tell the cops you were working with Sherman, but a girl with transport can get a long way in twelve hours.’

‘I don’t know anything about Sherman,’ she said and laughed. ‘Why, you’re crazy! I’ve never heard of the guy until you walked in here. Now get out!

Leon studied her.

‘If I walk out of here, the cops will walk in. They’ll persuade you to talk, make no mistake about that!

‘Get out!’

Leon shrugged.

‘Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it, don’t blame me if you land up in the chair.’

‘Get out!’

‘A one-track mind,’ Leon remarked, and moved over to the door. ‘I forgot to mention there’d be a getaway stake thrown in with my offer of a twelve-hour start. I wouldn’t expect a girl like you to take a powder without a little folding money to keep her warm.’

He saw her stiffen to attention, and knew he had struck the right note.

‘Keep going,’ she said, but she didn’t sound quite so convincing this time.

As he reached the door, she said, ‘How much?’

‘A couple of grand. That’s not a bad proposition, sister - two grand and twelve hours’ start.’

‘Not interested,’ she said curtly. ‘That’s chicken feed. Get out of here!’

‘Suppose you make a suggestion?’

She hesitated.

‘Ten.’

Leon laughed.

‘That’s funny. Ten grand for something the cops could beat out of you. But I’ll go to five because redheads soothe my ulcer.’

‘Seven,’ she said promptly.

Leon realized he was wasting time.

‘Do you know where he is?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘Well, okay, what have I got to lose? It isn’t my dough. I’ll close at seven. Where is he?’

‘Do I look all that damp behind the ears?’ she said scornfully. ‘I want the dough first.’

‘Where is he?’ Leon barked, suddenly losing his nonchalant air. ‘You’ll get the money, but you’ll talk first!’

‘I want the money first,’ she returned obstinately.

He grabbed her by her arm.

‘Listen. Sherman has kidnapped English’s secretary! He’s taken her somewhere. If I don’t find her fast, he’ll knock her off, and if he does, I’ll damn well see you’re tied in with him. Where is he?’

She hesitated.

‘How do I know you’re not lying?’ she said. ‘Who is English’s secretary?’

‘Her name’s Lois Marshall,’ Leon said impatiently. ‘She went to Corrine English’s place and vanished. I went there to see what had happened to her and found Corrine strangled. Sherman’s got her, and every minute I spend talking to you puts her in a worse spot. Do you want to be made an accessory to murder?’

‘You’ll give me the money and twelve hours start if I tell you?’

‘Yes! Where is he?’

‘Where’s the money coming from?’

‘Sam Crail the attorney, will give it to you.’

She hesitated, then said, ‘He’s got a yacht anchored off Bay Creek. That’s where he spends his weekends. If he’s anywhere, that’s where he’ll be. You can’t miss it, it’s the only yacht anchored there.’