The Stand-In (23 page)

Boy remained polite but
just
. After all this was no laughing matter. His interest was in his friend Ronnie, and surely Mr. Ossian would be
somewhat
interested in having the police out of Stoke Newington and getting on with the job?

Yes, Mr. Ossian definitely wished to get on with the job.

Then Boy had said that he knew of someone who had access to the Stoke Newington house, or at least had
had
access to it. This person immensely disliked Ronnie and indeed had, in his presence, threatened Ronnie's life and—this was the crux of the matter—this same person had tried to commit suicide on the very day Ronnie was found murdered.

What had he expected? That Ossian would pop out of his comfortable armchair and rush to the police, who would immediately arrest Desmond? Whatever he had expected, all he got was a stare which plainly stated that Ossian didn't believe Boy was motivated by loyalty to Ronnie. Ossian obviously wanted to know what Boy had against the person he was accusing. (How much did Ossian know about his–
predilections?
The theater was rife with gossip, of course. Did Ossian know enough—there had been a look on that common little spiv face—to know he would prefer to have as few dealings as possible with the police?)

No, yesterday Ossian had not been interested, but when Boy described his meeting with Kitten in Cyril's shop, that vast Olympian indifference would vanish.

That is, if Boy were permitted to see Ossian again. This time he had phoned up and was asked to Ossian's hotel. Ghastly, this new St. Georges. Poor, poor old London! He sent up his name and was met by Ossian's secretary, Julian, in the sitting room Ossian used as an office. (Boy would have thought the young man delicious if all his interest weren't concentrated in another direction.)

“Mr. Flyte-Martin? Mr. Ossian asked me to make his apologies. While he was waiting to see you, he had a phone call and had to leave at once. It was a
must
, Mr. Flyte-Martin. Mr. Ossian is most apologetic, sir, but these things do happen.”

It could be true. He had assured Ossian this was important to Ossian. “In Mr. Ossian's absence I would like to talk to Mr. Collier.”

“He isn't here, either.” Julian threw up his hands. “He's out of town, Mr. Flyte-Martin.” Since Nube had intended to see this guy, Julian added, “I'm not putting you on. Mr. Collier
is
out of town. The cops have padlocked the house where—so he's not needed. But Mrs. Collier is in London. Would you like me to find out if she's in the hotel?”

Boy nodded. Any port in a storm.

When Julian called Coral, he didn't
say
that Nube would want her to see Mr. Flyte-Martin, but she thought Nube did, you could tell that. Julian gave the guy Coral's room number and held the door while he limped to it, leaning on his gold-headed cane.

28

When the door closed behind Cyril and Kitten, Desmond shoved back his chair and rather shakily made his way to the window, where he lifted the pitcher of red roses and held it toward Millie.

She had been watching Cyril hand Kitten into his old car.

“For a good try!” Desmond gave her the roses. “Give the little lady a great big hand for a good try.”

“Oh, don't, don't!”

“I won't. Come on, even you must see that rushing her to Brighton won't help. Boy's a bastard who'd give his right arm to pin a murder on me. All he needs is a way to tie me and Ronnie to the house in Stoke Newington. And now he suspects Kitten was the link and is going to Ossian.

“Ossian will tell him about the kidnapping, and that will be that. Of all the people in the world, Boy will know I could have passed as a nurse in uniform. I tell you, I'm finished.”

All Millie could do was hold on to the roses and ask Desmond to eat something. “You should eat.”

He didn't bother asking her what for.

“You should eat,” she repeated. For a minute she seemed to be praying for guidance. There was a look on her face that Desmond hadn't seen since he sang in Holy Martyr Church in sunny California. Then her head came up and her eyes shone. She had been given guidance. They weren't sunk yet!

“No, you're not finished. You still have a chance. You're forgetting your alibi! You were with
me!
And we can say we
told
Kitten about Ronnie. Naturally, you knowing him, you'd talked about it when you saw it in the papers!”

“Me? But I wasn't talking, was I? I was on cloud nine, and they can prove that.”

“Then
I
talked about it! You had told me about Ronnie, and I told Kitten he was bad. Kitten could even have seen that picture of him dead in the paper, why not?” Triumphantly she set the roses back on the table. “Nothing's happened because Somebody stuck His hand over Kitten's mouth before she said something that
couldn't
be explained away.”

She was touching one of the roses now, but her head was still up, and he saw by the shine in her eyes and by the way she smiled that she was turned on again, for her this had become another miracle. Desmond lay on the sofa rolling over with his face toward the wall, and pretty soon she began to munch on her sandwich and poured herself a cup of the tea and he could hear cheerful sips.

She was doing the dishes when the phone rang again so Desmond got it. He recognized the voice immediately just from her Hello.

“This is Coral Reid. Can I speak to Millie?”

Wasn't wasting a sentence on him. Millie was standing there wiping her hands when holding out the phone, he told her.

She whispered, “How'd she get this number?”

He shrugged and handed her the phone.

Millie said, “How'd you get this number, Coral?
Who
?”

Desmond could see the starting sweat form on her forehead.

“What kind of name is that,
Boy?
Okay, so it's not the point. Go on.” She felt behind her for a chair, because she was trembling so hard. “I see. Yeah. And you swore you wouldn't tell about that! On Mother's grave! I don't care what Kitten said to what's-his-name! I don't care what he says. You're my sister, you should know me better. Sister—you're a
mother!
Would a mother protect her child's kidnapper?” Then she listened, and then Desmond, watching, saw the sweat dry and the shine come back. She crossed her legs and swung the top one casually, looking at the toe of her shoe waiting for her sister to finish.

“If you thought for a minute, Coral, you'd remember that I told you Desmond was with me Tuesday night, which is when this friend of yours says he was out kidnapping Kitten and killing Ronnie. If you put your mind to it, you'll remember. I told you the same time I said I was going to Desmond's apartment, which is, you will notice, where I am!”

Then Desmond watched Millie nodding as she listened. Coral Reid must be repeating the alibi to Boy.

Millie wagged her foot again to show unconcern. “He says
what?
Can I prove it? Oh, sure! When I shack up with a guy, I hire a hall and sell tickets! Can I
prove
it! What the hell do you take me for, Coral?” There was another pause and Millie, listening, smiled at Desmond, okay, it was okay. Then she said, “What? Who're you? What? ‘Prepared in the event that it becomes necessary to testify under oath?' Don't you worry, mister, I'll testify!” She slammed the receiver down.

Desmond said, “That was that bastard, Boy, wasn't it? Testify, huh? You better tell me then where it was we spent this night in the hay.”

“In my room. At the St. Georges. I was on my own for the first time. Kitten was supposed to be at Lady St. Justin's you know.”

“What is it?” She had turned tomato red. “That must have been quite a night we had! You were in your room at the St. Georges, but not alone, that's it, isn't it? Somebody's going to shoot big fat holes in my alibi, right?”

“No. He won't.”

“Hold up! That photographer in the tent—of course—that old guy—”

“It was because he was old and—oh—I was sorry for him, and because he kept praising Kitten.” She jumped up. “If I ask him, he won't tell! I know if I ask him he won't tell! He owes me something, and nobody saw us. We were so careful nobody saw us. He didn't tell Mr. Ossian we'd been together when he—I'll tell you about that later. The thing is, Alec didn't tell anybody and nobody saw us. I'm going to ask him.”

“Sit down. Don't bother.”

“I won't tell Alec why.”

“If I need an alibi, he'll find out why.”

“That's right, that's right. If I have to, I'll tell Alec the whole thing. He's a human being. He's a good guy. I'm going to ask him.”

“To perjure himself? Come off it. You think anyone is going to perjure himself in court just like that? You're wasting your time. Face it, you can't give me an alibi.”

“No, no. You'll see.” She would phone Mr. Ossian's room and ask Julian Schwartz how to get hold of Alec. They must know where he was staying, not a hotel, in an apartment.

While the operator was getting Mr. Ossian's suite, Millie prayed.
“Oh, God, Alec could spoil everything. Please, God, please, don't let Alec spoil everything! You did so much. This one more thing, please. Please. Please.”

Desmond saw that she was praying again and rolled away so as not to see her. He didn't know whether to laugh or slap that holy look off her face.

“Julian? This is Millie Williams. Coral's sister.”

“Hi, Millie.”

“Julian, could I have Alec Agathon's telephone number? It's about some pictures he took of Kitten I want prints of.”

Julian said, “He's left London, Millie, and don't ask me where he's gone. When I asked so Mr. Ossian could reach him if necessary, Alec said it wouldn't be necessary. He acted as if someone had told him to get lost and that was just what he intended to do. Mr. Ossian can't imagine why Alec suddenly took off like that.”

Millie knew why, but she didn't tell Julian. She saw Alec standing there on the edge of the sidewalk tearing up the contract, and she began to cry because where would he go, what could he do? Alec was one of those short men who always hold themselves straight to be taller, but not that night. It was while she was crying, and thank God she
had
cried—she would hate herself if she hadn't cried first—that she realized that now Alec wouldn't be around to testify that she had spent the night with him.

She had prayed:
Please God, please don't let Alec spoil everything
, but she didn't want the poor thing really lost, a lost soul. Millie wiped her damp face and went to the sofa and knelt beside it.

Desmond heard the thump and turned around.

“He's gone. Alec Agathon. Nobody knows where.” Millie grabbed Desmond's hand and held it between her palms. “That night he took me to a swell French restaurant. He ordered champagne with the
year
, you know. He ordered the whole dinner in
French!
He fixed the salad dressing himself! A big man!” She shivered, because then he was this bent old man on the empty street in front of the Turkish bath telling her, “I'm off the payroll, finished! My cousin threw me out like a used paper napkin.”

Millie pressed Desmond's hand against her breasts. “This has got to show you! The one person who could get up on a witness stand and call me a liar vanishes. Believe me, they'd have to drag him back, he's so humiliated! Now you've
got
to see!”

He felt her breasts under his hand. He didn't want to. He didn't want to tell her what he saw. Desmond drew his hand away and kept his mouth shut.

Millie got up off her knees. Her face and voice were solemn. “God helps those who help themselves. I'm going to make sure Mr. Ossian tells Coral to keep her trap shut about the kidnapping from now on and that he does, too.”

“Ten for a dime,” Mr. Ossian had called Kitten. He told Alec Kitten was ten for a dime. She wasn't about to forget that. She would tell Mr. Ossian he could be right about Kitten's career. It was his business to know who was ten for a dime in the movies, but if he didn't shut Coral up about the kidnapping, she would tell everyone that Nubar Ossian would only put up money for a child if he considered her a good investment. And she'd also tell how he'd taken poor Alec off the payroll just like that—an old man, sixty-two, without a cent. She went straight to the telephone.

Julian Schwartz asked if he could take a message, because Mr. Ossian wasn't in the office. “As a matter of fact, he ran out of here to see your sister. Something's wrong, Millie, I wouldn't disturb the boss now.”

But she was going to disturb him plenty.

29

Leaving the film star's room, Boy Flyte-Martin had gone up to the St. Georges lounge for a sherry. He wanted to sit quietly and see just where he was now, just what his next step should be. The interview with Coral Reid had not quite worked out. He wondered whether he would have done better with Collier. And where was Collier? He had begun by asking that,
la politesse
actually, and she had certainly overreacted. One would think she was under oath when she told him she didn't know. Why? And why
wouldn't
she know for that matter?

What was interesting was the way Ossian had burst into the room. La Reid began to tell him why Boy was there, but Ossian cut her off. If Mr. Flyte-Martin would excuse him, he had to speak to Miss Reid privately.

He had refused to be dismissed and brought up what Kitten had said in Cyril's shop, but Ossian simply and genuinely wasn't interested. Had to speak privately to Miss Reid at once. There had been nothing for Boy to do but leave. But what to do now? What now?

When Fortman, cap in hand, came up to his chair, he was startled, having been so deep in thought. Fortman had driven him, of course, and had been sitting in the Rolls outside, waiting. Having rung up La Reid's rooms and found him gone, Fortman had assumed he would be up here in the lounge.