Bring Back Her Body (14 page)

She was twisted, thrown across the seat. His breath was hot and harsh and violent. “Then,” he gasped at her, “we’ll see you don’t get no chance to talk.”

He wrenched at her. She felt her hand being pulled from the bag and she grabbed desperately, hooking a finger into the trigger guard of the gun. It came free and she worked the butt into her hand.

She brought the gun down, slashing at his face. He swore as the muzzle ripped at his cheek. His fist caught her shoulder. His hand caught her wrist, forcing her arm backward. Pain shot through her, blinding her, making her cry out. He was taking the gun away, she thought wildly. He would get it and then …

She kicked with her legs, slashing at him with her free hand. The pressure of his grip slipped briefly. She could think of only one thing to do. She did it. Her finger squeezed on the trigger.

The shot was only a pop, a little sound. Honor was rigid, hearing it as an explosion in the confines of the car. And then the noise faded and she realized she couldn’t hear his rasping breath any more, couldn’t feel the weight of him on her. He had slid toward the floor, angled awkwardly against the back of the front seat. He still had a grip on her and she pried his fingers away. She was thinking that she would have to bathe and bathe and bathe.

She snapped on the inside light and saw the small, round hole where one of his eyes should have been. It was only then that she realized she had killed a man.

In sudden reaction, she tore open the car door and pushed at his body. Sobbing now, shaking, she pushed and kicked at him until he slid from the car and fell against the base of a tree.

Slamming the door, she crawled over the seat with her bag, found her keys, and stabbed them into the ignition. When the motor caught, she eased the car around and drove slowly, fighting to keep her trembling from showing in her driving.

Once she was on the road, she jammed the accelerator to the floor, throwing all the power she could into the big wheels, whipping the car forward into the fading night. At Cain’s, she shut off the motor, climbed out, and walked toward his boat. It was in her mind now that there was nothing the police could do for Cain. It was too late. But she thought she might take his boat onto the Sound and find him. No matter what happened, she could only think that somehow she had to see Cain.

Half running now, she tripped on the edge of the dock and fell face forward and lay there, sobbing, shaking, retching. “A hell of a birthday,” she thought.

She didn’t even hear the car when it pulled up alongside hers. She didn’t hear Munger when he got out of the car and walked toward her.

CAIN
had the feeling that Munger was pleased about something when he went into the office. Munger took his pipe from his mouth long enough to say, “Have a chair, Cain.”

Cain drew up his trousers and crossed his legs. He lit a cigarette and looked coolly at Munger. He didn’t feel that way; even knowing Munger was only a figurehead, even knowing he had been Toby Parton’s boyfriend didn’t change the fact that he was dangerous.

“Who are you pinning the Patton killing on, Munger?”

Munger’s eyebrows went up. He smiled, showing his teeth. “How about you, Cain? I’m glad you came. I was about to send for you to tell you that. You’ll do very well.”

“I have an alibi.”

Munger’s eyes were amused. “You and the other chief suspect giving alibis for each other?” He shook his head. “Hardly, Cain. You and Lisa were playing games with Paula at Toby’s house last night.”

“So you’ve had Paula watched?”

“Yes.” Munger seemed more amused. “And you and Lisa.”

“But he wasn’t killed last night.”

“That makes no difference. You were there the other time, too.”

“What I can’t figure out,” Cain said thoughtfully, “is what you get out of killing him.”

“Who said I killed him?”

“Who else is better?”

Munger threw back his head and laughed. “You, Lisa, Paula, her old man, maybe even the kid.”

“That’s no answer.”

“Paula did it, Cain. He was squeezing her.”

Cain looked thoughtful. “A minute ago you said something that showed you know when Toby was killed. How about that, Munger?”

Munger smiled, showing a lot of teeth. “Maybe I was out there, Cain. Maybe I saw him killed.”

“It’s possible,” Cain admitted. He stretched his long legs. “As a matter of curiosity, I’d like to know just what you did see.”

“I didn’t say I
was
there,” Munger came back. Then he shrugged. “But why be childish about it? You should have stayed, Cain. It was very interesting.”

Cain didn’t like the way Munger was going at this. He was too easy, too agreeable. As if, Cain thought, Munger didn’t really care what he knew. As if it no longer mattered what Cain knew.

Munger said, “After you and Lisa bulled in and broke up the party, Paula ‘revived’ everyone with a drink.”

“The lady in the mask, then?”

“Yes,” Munger said. He seemed to enjoy remembering it. “Everyone except Toby, of course. He was neatly tucked in the coffin. The joker was that Paula’s flask contained a mickey, so the whole crew of them passed out cold.”

Cain snorted. “Sure. She went there knowing I would break up the party and she just happened to be prepared with a flask of mickeys.”

“It’s that simple,” Munger said. “She went there with a flask of mickeys hoping to find a chance to spike the drinks. The opportunity you created came along and she took advantage of it.”

“Why?” Cain asked logically.

Munger said, “Look at it this way, Cain. She’s Toby’s wife, but that doesn’t make her any safer — not with Toby. What’s the best weapon in the world against him?”

“The blackmail stuff,” Cain said.

Munger nodded and puffed a moment on his cold pipe. “It was the best opportunity for her to get a chance to find it. That is if she could knock them all out.”

“Maybe he kept it in town.”

Munger snorted. “My boys have covered that apartment right into the walls. He kept it out there.”

“You know a lot about it.”

“Sure,” Munger said. “I watched Paula dope everyone and then go find the stuff. He had it hidden in his ‘art’ stuff. His waxworks equipment. He was smart enough to figure that one out. An unlikely place. So unlikely no one but Paula would have located it.”

“Their minds may be alike.”

Munger nodded agreement. “Then I saw Toby catch her at it. He kicked his way out of the coffin and caught her.”

Cain dropped his cigarette in the ashtray and reached for another. “So she killed him, hauled the coffin out of the woods, and set him back in it — figuring me for the fall guy.”

“Why not? A good angle.”

“Then,” Cain said, “she was set up as boss of Toby’s enterprises, including this place, and she was also still in a position to crack down on her old man.”

“That’s right,” Munger said.

Cain said, “Why did she marry Toby?”

“I told her to,” Munger said. “I suggested it to Toby, too.”

“Marriage broker,” Cain said. Only he didn’t want to laugh. You didn’t laugh at Munger at a time like this. “You fixed it — why?”

“Maybe I like retribution on earth, Cain.”

“You haven’t finished the story,” Cain said. “So she got the stuff and killed Toby. What did you do, help?”

Munger smiled pleasantly. “I let her. And then when some of the others started waking up and coming back, she put Toby in his bed, lay down behind him and made like he was breathing.”

“No-nerves Ryerson,” Cain murmured. He waited.

Munger said, “While she was occupied, I grabbed the stuff. She had stuck it in one of those steamer trunks along with some wax junk that just might be incriminating. Then I took off. I suppose she put Toby back in the box when all was clear.”

“Sure,” Cain said, “all five-feet-two of her juggled Toby around and a coffin to boot. I can’t buy it, Munger.”

“You have to, Cain,” Munger said. “And it really doesn’t make any difference. I’ve got it set up now so that Wilson will tag her or you and Lisa with it. It doesn’t make any difference.”

“You can’t touch me, Munger. Not unless you want to spend the rest of your life in the federal pen. Remember I have documents dealing with you.”

“Why,” Munger said, “Toby was always the front man. He and Paula. I only worked for them. How was I to know that such things were going on? I only manage this business, you know.”

Cain’s stomach left him as he realized why Munger was so obliging. Because what Munger said was true. With Toby gone, Munger could make the shift stick. Cain felt the breath of fear on his neck.

He said, “How do you work this, Munger?”

Munger took the time to fill and light his pipe. “Simple. You and Paula and Lisa will be found at Paula’s place in a perfect lovenest killing. You’ll be on the boat Lisa took to get over to Whidby. Neat, eh?”

“What makes you think they’re there?”

“They aren’t. According to my — informant, shall we say — they went looking for the blackmail stuff. They went to the farm, I suppose, since you sent Lisa to tell Paula to get the stuff fast. And Lisa knows where the steamer trunks are.”

Cain felt a new sickness in his stomach. He hardly noticed when Munger pressed a button, summoning Rhumba and Smoky. Munger said, “Rhumba, you and Smoky load Cain into the cabin job and get him over to Whidby.” He outlined his plan neatly: a triple killing that would look either like a love quarrel or an argument over the spoils.

Cain said, “So you’re through with Lisa?”

“Yes.” Cain waited but Munger wouldn’t say any more. This was one angle Cain couldn’t figure. He let it ride for the moment. Munger was talking to Rhumba. “No marks on him. This has to look perfect. Pad your ropes.”

He turned to Smoky. “Give him a hand and then keep an eye on the Ryerson girl.”

Cain didn’t even see the signal. They had a clamp on his arms before he was aware of them. He relaxed, saving his strength. At Munger’s nod he got up and walked out between them.

There was no trouble. Cain was escorted out a side door and down to the dock. On the other side someone started a speedboat motor. The fact that they ignored it made him think it might be Munger. But right now Cain was in no position to be curious about Munger’s comings and goings. The guns the two men wore were not, he knew, for pretense. If necessary they would use them on him. But it would be sloppy work and Munger hated sloppy work. It was that one factor Cain could count on. They would not shoot until they had to.

They were very efficient in tying him. He was barely on the sleek cabin cruiser when the ropes were put about his wrists and then his ankles. He found himself on the floor. They padded the ropes about his wrists with squares of rag, did the same to those around his ankles and then rendered him helpless simply by running another rope through those tying him, pulling his wrists, which were behind his back, toward his legs and his ankles toward his neck. He lay in a painful bow on his side. Smoky left them and Rhumba started the motor.

When they were moving smoothly and almost silently under running lights onto the sound, Cain said, “Got a drink?”

Rhumba told him what he could drink and Cain was quiet. While Rhumba applied himself to the cruiser, Cain tested the ropes. He had little fear of being seen. Rhumba was some distance forward of him, at the wheel, while he lay in darkness on the floor alongside the divan-like benches. He had no luck with the ropes but he did manage to roll into a position to see the dashboard. It was eleven o’clock.

It took them some time before Rhumba reached the dock and eased in and gave a grunt of disappointment. The house was dark. Cain lay there wondering what they would do if Lisa did not return with Paula. Munger, no doubt, knew of the alarm system around the house and knew, perhaps, of Paula’s vagary about never letting anyone stay with her. Possibly he had people watching to bring Lisa should she and Paula separate. Cain was sure Munger would be as tidy at that end as at this.

He said, “We may be here some time. How about a game of blackjack?”

Rhumba told him what he would like to use a blackjack for, and sat still, staring out at the runabout Lisa had used. The time ticked by. The next thing Cain knew it was midnight and he had dozed off. He wriggled his hands and was surprised to find a little give. What was it escape artists did? Not expand the muscles? He must have relaxed in his sleep and done it automatically. He tried it. He wasn’t successful, finding himself tensing up with eagerness. He rested again and dozed some more. It was past one
a.m
. when he next looked at the clock. He fought off impatience, forced himself to stay relaxed. He eased his wrists a little more. In a moment he had something in his bent back fingers. The edge of the rag. If he could draw that free, he might have slack enough to do something.

Rhumba sat without motion except now and then to light a cigarette. He was not at all restless. Cain was convinced that the man could easily go into a state of mental emptiness and be like a hibernating animal any time he wished.

Suddenly he stirred, surprising Cain into losing his grip on the edge of cloth. He worked frantically and got it again. Rhumba turned and spat on the floor beside Cain’s face.

“To hell with it. Maybe I oughta dump you overboard and tell the boss I hadda when you got rough, huh?”

So that was what over an hour of cerebration had brought forth? “Sure,” Cain said, “and mark me up good first. That’s your idea of fun, isn’t it?”

“Damn right I’ll mark you. You got it coming.”

“Munger won’t like it,” Cain said.

“Hell with Munger.”

“You won’t talk that way after he gets through with you.” Cain flexed his fingers a final time, pulled, felt the pad coming slowly. He hoped it was dark enough to hide the concentration on his face, the inevitable slight movement of his body. Then the pad was out and he lay still until he could relax and then his wrist came out too. Almost frantically he slipped the other one free. He did not like the look on Rhumba’s face.

Rhumba said again, “To hell with Munger.”

“Your vocabulary matches your manners,” Cain told him. “Can’t you wait for the ladies?”

Rhumba told him what he was going to do with the ladies when they came. He told Cain in detail, with relish, and Cain had to lie still because the sickness of anger beat up through him and made his hands shake too much to get at his ankle ropes.

Suddenly, inflamed by his own talking, Rhumba rose and stepped up to Cain and kicked him savagely in the face. Cain tried to roll and Rhumba’s restraint left him. He kicked again, making savage sounds in his excitement.

Cain hoped his stiffened arms would work as the second kick came at him. They did. He felt the solidity of Rhumba’s ankle in his fingers, the force as it was jerked back. His fingers clamped down, held, and Cain jerked this time. Rhumba went backward, curving over the wheel, grunting in pain and surprise.

He straightened up, clawing for his gun. Cain could barely move his feet. He knew the helplessness of a man unable to walk. He did the only thing he could do. He scrambled the loose ropes and pads in his hands and threw them at Rhumba. The shot missed and ripped glass out of a port.

Even as he threw, he heaved himself forward, his legs doubled up grotesquely. He saw the gun coming down but he had an ankle again. He put all he had into the jerk and twisted as he pulled. He thought every vertebra he owned had gone off in a different direction. But the explosion of the gun again brought the shattering sound of glass breaking and then Rhumba was falling forward.

A knee got Cain in the ribs before he could roll clear. Then his hands were on the gun wrist. His hands were big and used to hauling in heavy line. He put all he had behind the slow bending of Rhumba’s bone. He received two wild swings in his sore face before the wrist snapped.

Rhumba screamed and lurched to get up. Cain deliberately twisted the broken bone, using his own size, half again that of Rhumba for leverage. The screams became a sob and then a slobber. Rhumba fainted.

Cain got the gun first, felt Rhumba’s pockets, got his knife out and cut the ropes on his ankles. He stood up and stamped around a bit and then, tucking the weapons in his pockets, turned on the dome light and surveyed his prize. Rhumba was out cold and looked like he might stay that way a while.

Cain got a bucket of cold water and sluiced him down. He came around in a few moments, sputtering, and reaching for his gun. His wrist dangled grotesquely and the pain hit him and he stopped. He got slowly to his feet and looked at Cain. He was dead white and his eyes were dark coals in the pallor of his face.

Cain said, “Here’s the knife,” and showed it to him.

Rhumba looked at it until comprehension struck him. Then he began to cry and plead. Cain took all he could stomach, laid the knife and gun on a ledge where he could reach them, took off his coat, and walked forward.