Hegger flinched.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he said feverishly. “She practically raped me!”
“You tell Olsen that . . . he’ll love it.” Beigler took two ten dollar bills from his wallet. “Now talk.”
Hegger took the money and stowed it away in his pocket.
“These two are pros. They murder for money. Keegan was a pimp. Silk is the real dangerous one. They have an apartment on Belleview Avenue . . . No. 196, top floor. They’re working for someone who pays big money. There’s a whisper that the guy’s name is Jonathan Lindsey. I wouldn’t swear to it, but the whisper came from the right direction.”
“Know anything about Jonathan Lindsey?” Beigler asked.
Hegger shook his head.
“Not a thing . . . I just heard the name mentioned.”
“Keep going. What else?”
“Nothing else. When I hear guys are poison, I keep my nose out of their business. I like to remain strong and healthy. That’s the lot, sergeant. Nothing else.”
From past experience when dealing with Hegger, Beigler knew there was nothing more he could get out of him, but at least, he had a name: something to move the investigation forward.
“Not much for my money,” he said as he drove Hegger back to his apartment.
“Wait and see,” Hegger said with a sly grin. “I’ve never cheated you yet, have I?”
As he got out of the car, Beigler said, “Mind that cat doesn’t scratch you.”
“I like being scratched,” Hegger returned and crossed the sidewalk to his front door as fast as his short legs could carry him.
Nona Jacey stood at the entrance to the L-shaped cave that was lit by four powerful electric lamps high in the roof. Dr. Kuntz and Lindsey stood by her side.
“Go ahead, Miss Jacey,” Lindsey said. “Don’t be nervous. We are right here. Just do what you have been told, and don’t forget we are listening to what is being said.”
Nona braced herself, then urged on by a slight push by Dr. Kuntz’s hot, fat hand, she walked into the cave.
The size of the cave surprised her. It was the last of the series and seemed to her to be immense. At the far end of the cave, as she turned the corner, she could see a bed, a table, four upright chairs and a lounging chair. As she walked slowly forward, her shadow became long and thin, advancing before her.
Paul Forrester was sitting in the lounging chair. She was frightened of this man who was sitting so still. She had heard the behind-the-hand gossip about him. There had been rumours that he had caught Jack Leadbeater, his Chief Assistant, in bed with that awful wife of his and had killed him savagely with a knife. The rumours also said that five men had been needed to subdue him as they came on him, battering down the bathroom door where his wife was cowering and screaming.
Dr. Kuntz had explained Forrester’s condition to her. She knew she was approaching a man who could suddenly turn violent. Although she knew Dr. Kuntz and Lindsey were just out of sight, she wondered a little fearfully if they could reach her in time should Forrester attack her.
Forrester sat in the full light. His long legs were crossed, his hands rested in his lap. His black hair now had a few streaks of white at the temples and his face was thinner, otherwise he still looked as she had last seen him when he left for Washington some twenty-nine months ago. He was a distinguished looking man in his late thirties with blunt features, heavy black eyebrows and a cleft chin: a man she had always admired for his patience, his kindness and his tremendous enthusiasm for work.
She paused within ten feet of him and looked steadily at him, aware her heart was pounding.
He peered at her. His face was expressionless; his eyes blank.
“Dr. Forrester . . . it’s Nona,” she said.
Again he peered at her. Then suddenly his eyes became alive.
“Nona . . . is it really you?”
“Yes.”
He smiled, then got to his feet.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I’m glad to see you . . . at last, a friendly face. I seem to be living in a nightmare.” He looked around. This cave . . . how did I get here? Do you know where we are?”
Nona realized from what she had been told by Dr. Kuntz that the sight of her had put Forrester back on balance. She couldn’t quite believe it, but his sudden animation reduced her feeling of fear.
“You have been seriously ill, Dr. Forrester,” she said unsteadily. She was saying that Kuntz had told her to say. “Air. Warren has moved us here. It is for security reasons.”
“It’s a cave, isn’t it? How extraordinary,” Forrester said. “But sit down. Tell me about it, Nona. Warren has put us here?”
Nona sat on the edge of one of the upright chairs. Forrester resumed his seat, looking curiously at her.
“Yes,” Nona said. “Don’t you remember? You were taken ill. You ― you had a blackout. Mr. Warren wants you to continue to work on the formula. That’s why we are here.”
Forrester frowned. He rubbed his forehead.
“Formula . . . what formula?” he asked finally.
“Formula ZCX,” Nona said, watching him.
“Oh, that.” He regarded her, his eyebrows lifting. “Did you tell Warren about that?” There was a hint of reproach in his voice.
“I had to . . . you have been seriously ill. You perhaps don’t understand. You’ve been ill for some time. They kept asking me questions . . . I had to tell them.”
She knew this was not what Dr. Kuntz had told her to say, but he had given her a free hand. Both he and Lindsey had told her she must play the cards as they came to her.
“So Warren knows about the formula.” Forrester’s face became suddenly remote. “He has it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then why should they worry me about it? If he has it, then let someone else handle it.”
“But they can’t break the code, Dr. Forrester,” Nona said in a small voice.
Forrester smiled.
“No . . . I don’t suppose they can. You know, Nona, I’m not interested any more in formulas . . . ideas . . . codes . . . they bore me. I’m quite happy to remain as I am. Have you seen Thea recently? Has she inquired after me?”
Listening to all this, Lindsey looked inquiringly at Dr. Kuntz who nodded. Leaning close to Lindsey, he whispered, “I believe it has worked. He is talking rationally . . . something he hasn’t done before. We will have to rebrief the girl. Shall I go in?”
Lindsey hesitated, then nodded.
“All right. I leave it to you.”
Dr. Kuntz moved forward, turned the corner of the cave as Nona was saying, “I don’t know, Dr. Forrester. I haven’t seen her.”
Forrester said, “Do you know where she is? I would . . .” He paused as he saw Dr. Kuntz coming towards him. His face immediately became a blank mask. It was as if a shutter had fallen behind his eyes.
Dr. Kuntz forced a genial smile on his fat face.
“You may remember me, Dr. Forrester. I am Dr. Kuntz. I have been looking after you. I am glad to see you are making such a splendid recovery.”
The blank, cold eyes showed no sign of hearing what Kuntz was saying. Forrester was back in his zombie state.
Kuntz signalled to Nona to leave. She got to her feet, looked at the still figure that had lost all animation, her heart pounding, then she walked unsteadily out of the cave.
Lindsey had been watching all this. He smiled at her as she approached him.
“A very good try, Miss Jacey,” he said. “You got through to him. Let’s go back to your room ― if I may call it that ― and we’ll discuss the next move.”
He walked with her along the dimly lit tunnel back to the small cave. He sat down and waved her to sit on the bed. He took a folded newspaper from his pocket, shook it open and handed it to her.
“Did you see he did this?” he asked quietly. “He killed his nurse. I want you to tell him tomorrow what he has done and to show him this newspaper. It is important now for him to realize he has reached the point of no return. He must either work with us, Miss Jacey or he will go back to the sanatorium for good. We can get him out of the country in a little while. There could be a big future for him in Moscow. They treat men like Dr. Forrester very well.”
Nona was scarcely listening. She was reading with horror of Fred Lewis’s murder. Then abruptly, he looked at Lindsey, her eyes flashing.
“I don’t believe it! I’m sure Dr. Forrester . . .”
Lindsey raised his hand, shaking his head at her.
“It’s not what you believe, Miss Jacey, but what the police and public opinion believe that counts,” he said. “Now, listen carefully to what I have to say.”
Captain Terrell breezed into his office just after eight a.m, He was a man who needed very little sleep. He had had six hours of dreamless rest, a big breakfast and he was raring to go. Not so Joe Beigler. As soon as he heard Terrell enter his office, he got wearily to his feet and left the Detectives’ room.
Lepski who was still coping with the routine work, called after him: “Ask him if his bed was nice and comfy, Joe.” His voice was loaded with sarcasm. Beigler ignored him. He tapped on Terrell’s door, then entered the small office.
Terrell regarded him sympathetically.
“Had a rough night, Joe?” he asked, waving to a chair.
“Rough enough, Chief. You want some coffee?”
“Not right now. Sit down. What’s cooking?”
Beigler lowered his bulk on to the hard upright chair. He told Terrell what he had learned from Carl Hegger.
“That didn’t get me far, but a tip is a tip,” he went on. “I checked on this guy Hegger mentioned: Jonathan Lindsey. I couldn’t find him in the telephone book so I called the big hotels. I found him at the Belevedere. He was occupying the most expensive suite in the hotel until yesterday morning. The suite is on a yearly rental to a guy called Herman Radnitz. He’s away and Lindsey is expected back any time.”
“Who is Radnitz?” Terrell asked, picking up a pencil and beginning to make notes.
“Yeah . . . that’s a question,” Beigler said. “I went around to the hotel. I was lucky to catch Rube Henkel, the hotel dick.” Beigler paused to light a cigarette, then he shook his head. We’ll have to watch our step here, Chief. The hotel and Henkel look on Radnitz and Lindsey as sacred. I mean just that. I didn’t press it. When I asked Henkel what he thought about Lindsey, he nearly flipped his lid.” Beigler took out his notebook and opened it. “When I asked him who Radnitz was, he . . . well, here’s what he said, Chief,” and reading from the notebook, he went on, “We have known Mr. Radnitz and Mr. Lindsey for years. They are very V.I.P. We consider them to be our best clients. Have you gone screwy or something? Look, sergeant, we don’t talk about people like them. They are top ranking. Just what is all this about?” Beigler shut his notebook. “I got the idea if I didn’t pour out the oil, Henkel would go running to Radnitz and Lindsey and start flapping with his mouth. I didn’t think you would want that, so I cooked a quickie about a hit and run case and we thought it might be Lindsey. I said the car involved was a 1961 Chevvy. Henkel said I must be out of my mind and that Lindsey drove a Caddy. He gave me a description of Lindsey. It’s down in my report. I apologized, ate dirt and we parted friends.
“And Radnitz?” Terrell asked.
“I got Hamilton out of bed.” There was a grin of satisfaction on Beigler’s face. “I thought he might do some work. He said he would check with Washington and he would be around here as soon as he had got some dope.”
“And these other two: Keegan and Silk?”
“I’ve given them to Williams. I got him out of bed too. His men are better at this than we are. He has two men watching Silk’s place. Williams and I decided not to push it, but the apartment is sewn up tight.”
Terrell nodded approvingly.
“You’ve done a good job, Joe. Now get off. I’ll take over. It’s time you caught up with some sleep.”
“I’ll stick,” Beigler said. This is getting interesting. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“You won’t. You get off and take Lepski with you. You’re no use to me without some sleep. Go on, Joe. If something breaks, I’ll call you.”
Twenty minutes after Beigler and Lepski had left headquarters, Hamilton of the C.I.A. and Williams of the F.B.I, arrived. They sat down around Terrell’s desk.
The picture is coming into focus,” Hamilton said. “I’m leaving for Washington in a couple of hours. You’ve done a swell job, Chief. We now know Keegan and Silk are hooked up with Lindsey. Lindsey is hooked up with Radnitz. But Radnitz is big. I have his dossier here which I’ll leave with you. I’m willing to bet he has Forrester’s coded formula. I’ll tell you for why. Warren was in Berlin three weeks ago. He had with him his P.S.: Alan Craig. Radnitz was also in Berlin. I’ve been on to Berlin and have checked all this out. Warren and Craig returned to Washington. Craig is supposed to have committed suicide. A sex photo of him and a queer left in his apartment pointed to the reason for his suicide. The photo was taken in his Paris apartment. I got our man in Paris to check. The queer was found shot to death. From all this, it is a good guess that Craig, who had access to Forrester’s formula, was blackmailed into giving a copy to Radnitz, then he was murdered. Radnitz always stays at the George V Hotel. The concierge of the hotel remembers that Craig visited Radnitz. Put the bits together and we get the picture, but there is no real proof. This is our pigeon now, Chief. Washington will have to make up its mind how I’m to play it. Radnitz is much too big to push around, but if we can pick up Lindsey or Silk or Keegan, we might be able to push them around.”
Williams said, “I have two men staked outside Silk and Keegan’s place. Suppose we move in, bring them down here and work them over?”
Terrell shook his head.
“Not from what I’ve heard about them. They’re too tough. We would be showing our hands. Let’s tail them: stick with them. They could lead us to Forrester.”
Williams hesitated, then nodded.
“I’ll have to get more men on the job. We don’t even know if they are using the apartment now.”
When he had gone, Hamilton shifted back in his chair and began to load a well used pipe.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said. “I’m pretty certain we can’t touch Radnitz. He has too many friends in the right places. But Lindsey . . . we might get at him.”