Lost Among the Angels (A Mercy Allcutt Book) (31 page)

      “Mercy! Where are you?” Ned cried, still partially distracted by Rosie, God bless her.

      Needless to say, I didn’t answer that question. I remained where I was, Ned getting closer by the second, my heart hammering away in my bosom like a pile driver.

      The time had come. Hoping to spare Rosie, I bent over—my knees were too sore for me to go down on them a second time that day—and I scooted out into the hallway from the stairwell. Have I mentioned that the stairwell was about three feet away from the elevator? Well, it was. Ned couldn’t stop himself in time to keep from plowing into me. I scooped Rosie up a split second before she would have been trampled by him as he staggered forward toward the elevator.

      Holding Rosie close, I realized with absolute horror that I’d forgotten to shut the elevator doors after I’d pressed the “down” button. And then, with what could only be called calculated menace, another idea occurred to me. Ned had just managed to stop himself from falling into the elevator shaft, when I ran up behind him, and shoved. Hard.

      The ghastly noise he made as he fell three floors was really quite awful. I regret to say, it was also quite welcome. That terrible man had tried to kill Rosie!

      Not to mention me.

      When that thought settled into my mind, I started shaking. Rosie licked my chin.

      And then, all of a sudden and as if by magic, Ernie was there. I guess I’d heard somebody pounding up the stairs, but I was so busy with Ned and Rosie, I hadn’t taken the time to think about it.

      “Mercy! What the hell …?”

      “It—it wasn’t M-Mr. G-Godfrey,” I stammered, squeezing Rosie tight and with tears streaming down my face. She was sweet enough to snuggle. Maybe she needed it, too, after her own ordeal  “It was Ned.”

      “I know it was Ned, damn it! Why the hell did you leave the station?”

      I stared at him. “You … you
knew?
About
Ned?
”

      Standing there, his fists on his hips, glaring at me, he hollered, “Why the hell did you think I didn’t want you to be alone?”

      I tried to take it in. Ernie had known something about Ned that had led him to believe Ned might be a menace to me. Had Ernie told me? He had not. “But … but, I thought …”

      “Thought? You
thought?
You don’t think at all, dammit!”

      In the face of Ernie’s treachery, my panic and terror were fast transforming into fury. “Now you see here, Ernest Templeton. Don’t you
dare
talk to me like that! If you’d believed Ned to be dangerous, why the devil didn’t you
tell
me?” I’m ashamed to say I was hollering, too.

      “Damn it!” Ernie bellowed. “I thought that maniac had killed you! When I walked into the building and Lulu told me he was upstairs with you, I damned near—”

      “Stop
swearing
at me!” I shrieked.

      “
Damn
it!”

      And, by golly, Ernie reached out and took me, Rosie and all, into his arms and squeezed until Rosie yipped. Personally, I didn’t mind the embrace. It showed proper managerial anxiety over the welfare of a person in his employ. I have to admit that being in his arms did more to alleviate my terror than anything else up to that moment, even though I was still mad at him.

      Furious is perhaps a more accurate word. Irate. Enraged, even.

      “What on earth is going on here?” Mrs. Von Schilling didn’t sound nearly as sultry as she generally did, although her question effectively inspired Ernie to release Rosie and me from his embrace. I stumbled backward a couple of paces, not, I assure you, because I had in any way reacted to the embrace with anything other than leftover fright regarding the entire incident.

      Oh, why not be honest? I’d never been hugged that way by a man, and it felt good.

      However, that’s nothing to the point. Ernie reached out and took my sleeve to keep me from following Ned down the elevator shaft, and I, demonstrating great presence of mind all things considered, pulled the lever to shut the elevator doors. I didn’t want to look down and see what had happened to Ned.

      * * * * *

      Ned didn’t die that day. Or any other day, for that matter, at least that I know about. He was badly injured, but according to the police surgeon accompanying Phil Bigelow and several other members of the Los Angeles Police Department who showed up shortly after Ernie called them, with the proper medical care, he would survive. That was, of course, after they’d brought the car up and scraped Ned off. I shuddered, just thinking about it, and couldn’t quite make myself watch the operation. As Phil and the rest of his police friends swarmed in the corridor and hovered around the elevator, Ernie, Mrs. Von Schilling, Rosie, and I went to Ernie’s office. I felt very shaky. And I was still madder than a wet hen, as one of my former schoolteachers used to say.

      Although the weather that day was hovering around the ninety-degree mark, I was shivering violently by the time I sat on my trusty office chair, which Ernie had righted and set for me behind my desk. Ernie said it was shock, and put his coat over my shoulders. It helped some.

      Mrs. Von Schilling, who actually had a sympathetic character trait to call her own, called a nearby restaurant and had tea and sweet cakes sent up to Ernie’s office. “Put milk and sugar into the tea, dear,” she told me. “It will help you calm down.” I didn’t ask how she’d come by the knowledge, but I thanked her mainly because she allowed me to hold onto Rosie until sustenance arrived.

      I was still mightily peeved with Ernie. After my teeth had stopped chattering, I scowled at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you suspected Ned of killing that poor woman?”

      “Dammit, Mercy, I’m the detective here, not you.”

      “But you saw that he had formed a …” I wasn’t sure what to call it. “Well, he’d started bringing me flowers and that sort of thing.”

      Ernie wiped his handkerchief across his forehead and took a nip of apple cider from his flask. Apple cider, for heaven’s sake. “It was a police matter, Mercy. I can’t go around accusing people of murder. Unlike you,” he added with considerable bitterness, which I resented. “Anyhow, I didn’t know anything. I’d asked Phil to look into his background.”

      Indignant, I cried, “But he was here every single day, Ernie Templeton. He bothered me all the time. You ought to have told me to be careful of him, at least!”

      Lulu had showed up by this time, too. She looked accusingly at Ernie. “Yeah. And me, too. How were we supposed to know the man was a lunatic who killed women for fun? If you knew, you oughta of told us.”

      I nodded emphatically, even if I didn’t agree with her grammatical construction. “Yes. It wasn’t fair of you. Not at all.”

      Mrs. Von Schilling smiled enigmatically. She would.

      “Damn it, I didn’t
know
. For all I knew, you were right about Godfrey being the one. They both had records of violence against women.”

      I stared at Lulu, who stared back. “And you didn’t tell
either
of us?” I said. Perhaps a little too loudly, because Rosie yipped.

      Ernie took a quick turn around the office. There wasn’t much room for him to do so, but he managed. “Damn it, I …” He suddenly seemed to run out of steam. “I’m sorry. I probably ought to have warned you both that we considered Ned a viable suspect in June Williams’s murder. Evidently, both he and Mr. Godfrey are the type that go gaga over broads for no particular reason and then react badly when the broads don’t like it. When you and I interviewed her, she didn’t seem scared of Godfrey, but she was definitely afraid of somebody. I guess it was Ned.”

      A rush of internal coldness flashed through me, and I hugged Rosie and Ernie’s coat closer to my body. “I wish you’d told me.”

      He hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

      It was quite a victory, actually, getting him to apologize like that.

      Phil and the police surgeon pushed the office door open at that point, so I didn’t get to gloat. Phil looked glum. “I guess he’ll make it, but I’m not sure.”

      I shuddered again. “Will he have decent medical care?”

      Phil and Ernie both eyed me as if they couldn’t believe I’d asked such a question. Ernie said, “Why the devil do you care? He was going to strangle you, just like he did June Williams.”

      “Actually, he had a knife,” I said. “He tried to stab Rosie with it.” I was embarrassed when a few tears leaked out of my eyes.

      “A knife! Then I
really
don’t understand why you care,” bellowed Ernie.

      “It’s okay, Ernie,” said Phil, patting him on a convenient shoulder.

      “Stop yelling at me.”

      “Damn it, Mercy Allcutt,” said Ernie in a softer voice. “The man was going to kill you. You do understand that, don’t you?”

      “Of course, I understand that. But the poor man must be mad. Madmen can’t be accounted wholly responsible for their irrational deeds, you know. He probably ought to be put into an insane asylum. Psychologists have discovered—”

      Ernie said, “Sheesh.”

      Phil threw his hands in the air. “I don’t believe this!”

      I frowned at him. “Well, he deserves medical attention, anyhow.”

      “He’ll get it,” Phil assured me.

      “Good.” I thought of something else. “What about Mrs. Houser and Barbara-Ann?”

      “What about them?” Phil sounded wary.

      “Are you going to put Mrs. Houser in jail?”

      He flopped onto my desk, looking quite weary. “Naw. She gave us Matty Bumpas and enough information to put the bast—ah, I mean, she helped us with evidence against him. He and Carpetti and D’Angelo will go away for a long time.”

      “Are those the two men from Mr. Li’s shop?” I asked.

      “Yeah.” Phil took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

      “What about Mr. Li?” I asked

      “Don’t tell me you’re worried about his health, too,” said Ernie sarcastically.

      I glowered at him. “No, I am not worried about his health. I only wondered what was going to happen to him.”

      “He’ll probably be put away for a while. He was helping a gang of drug dealers, you know,” said Phil. “So I wouldn’t feel too sorry for him, if I were you.”

      “I don’t feel sorry for him!” I cried, stung. “I’m not a softheaded moron, you know!” The glance they exchanged irked me. Because I couldn’t see a way to win a war of words with them—I’m sure they’d misconstrue anything I said—I asked instead about the Housers. “Will Barbara-Ann and her mother have a place to stay now? I mean, one that’s free from kidnapping gangsters?”

      He nodded. “Babs and her daughter are moving back to their apartment. Babs said she’s sure they’ll be safe now, and she’s got her job at the Kit Kat Klub back, for all the good that’ll do her. But they both told me to thank you for helping Barbara-Ann.”

      “Good. I’m glad they’ll be able to return home.” Even such a home as theirs. I didn’t add that part.

      “And don’t drop by and give them any more money, or they’ll both be on your doorstep for the rest of your life,” Ernie said in what I can only describe as an extremely sour tone of voice.

      I gave him a look. You know the kind. “You needn’t worry about that.”

      He said, “Huh.”

      Stupid man. 

Seventeen

Chloe had several fits when Ernie took me home that evening, but she calmed down when he told her that I’d been a big help in getting two vicious gangsters (Messrs. Carpetti and D’Angelo), a murderer (Ned, whose last name, I learned, was Bennett), and a general all-around lunatic (Mr. Godfrey) locked up so that they’d be unable to hurt anyone else for a long time.

      “
You
did that?” she asked, staring at me as if she’d never seen me before.

      “Yes,” I said firmly. “And I don’t appreciate the doubt I hear in your voice.”

      “Is that why you look like such a mess?”

      I sighed, exasperated. “Ernie pushed me down—”

      “Hey!” said Ernie.

      “I mean, I fell during a shootout in Chinatown, for heaven’s sake! It’s not as if I could help it!”

      “A
shootout?
” Chloe’s pallor owed nothing to makeup that time.

      “It was a short one,” I assured her.

      “Well, but …”

      “I tried to keep her out of it,” said Ernie, I guess in an effort to placate Chloe, but he only made me sound like an idiot, and it annoyed me. “She wouldn’t obey me.”

      We were sitting in Chloe’s and Harvey’s beautifully appointed living room, taking tea, when this conversation took place. The flowery porcelain teacup looked out of place in Ernie’s big hands, although his manners were impeccable. Yet another indication, thought I, that he’d been brought up right, even though he’d evidently decided to eschew manners in his everyday life.

      “Obey you?” I repeated, frowning at him. “I will obey you when you give me instructions as my employer. You have no right to—”

      He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I didn’t mean
obey!
All right? I meant that you didn’t take my suggestions. My constructive suggestions,” he clarified, as if it made a difference. I knew what he meant. “Shoot, are you touchy.”

      “You said the wrong thing,” said Chloe dryly. “Mercy doesn’t take constructive suggestions well.”

      Darn it, they were both against me! “That’s not true! But I saw an opportunity to help, and I helped! I helped the police break a case. I did! You said so yourself.”

      Ernie stood up. “Yes. You helped. Thank you. Now take care of those knees.” He shook his head in feigned sorrow. “Boy, the flapper organization will kick you out, with knees like that.”

      “I’m not a flapper,” I growled.

      He only grinned at me.

      Mrs. Biddle let him out the front door, mainly because Chloe didn’t see anybody to doors because she was mistress of the house. I didn’t see him out because my knees hurt and I was annoyed with Mr. Ernest Templeton, P.I. I
had
helped a lot, curse it. From rescuing Rosie Von Schilling to tripping up that gangster on the plaza to sending Ned down the elevator shaft in the Figueroa Building, I’d helped. A
lot
.