1945 - Blonde's Requiem (13 page)

I was thinking hard.
“
To it? What do you mean?
”

He shrugged.
“
You
’
re talking in riddles. What
’
s Edna Wilson to you?
”

“
Listen, son,
”
I said, patting his shoulder,
“
the whole goddamn thing
’
s a riddle.
”

Out in the street, I signalled a cab and told the driver to take me to Laurel Street. It took twelve minutes to get there and I told him to put me down at the corner.

I found the building with the roof garden halfway up the street on my right. It was a nice-looking joint and I agreed with Phipps that it would be all Tight to live in.

I walked into the lobby and went to the desk.
“
Mr. Selby,
”
I said.

The girl frowned.
“
No Mr. Selby here, sir.
”

I said Mr. Selby was an old friend of mine and I had come two hundred miles to see him and this is where he lived. I said if she didn
’
t know the names of her clients she
’
d better call the manager.

She produced the register to prove I was wrong. Audrey Sheridan
’
s room was number 853. I said I must have made a mistake, that I was sorry and could I use the phone? She showed me where the phones were and I thanked her.

I put a call through to room 853 but there was no answer. The phone was out of sight of the girl at the desk and the elevator was right by me. I rode up to the eighth floor, walked down a long deserted corridor until I came to 853. I rapped, waited and then took out my pocketknife. I was inside in thirty seconds.

The red and cream sitting room was pleasant and livened by flowers in squat pottery vases. A faint smell of lilac gave the right feminine touch.

I put my hat on the walnut settee and searched the room from wall to wall. I opened every drawer, cupboard, box, trunk and subjected its contents to examination by eyes and fingers. I tested every piece of clothing for telltale bulges or for the sound of crinkling paper. I looked under rugs and furniture. I pulled down blinds to see that nothing had been rolled up in them for concealment. I examined dishes and pans and food and food-containers. I opened the flush-box in the bathroom and looked out of windows to see that nothing was hung below them on the outside. I took the apartment to pieces systematically, but I didn
’
t find the three photographs nor Mary Drake
’
s handkerchief.

I hadn
’
t made more mess than necessary, but I had made a mess. I stood looking around the room, a little tired and depressed. Although I hadn
’
t found what I had come for I had managed to create a picture of Audrey Sheridan by her possessions. Her clothes for one thing. A woman
’
s clothes can be an indication of her character —especially her underwear. Audrey Sheridan
’
s underwear was spartan in its severity—no lace, no colours, no fancy cut. Her clothes were-ultra smart. Tailored suits, three or four pairs of flannel trousers in various shades, high-neck jumpers, bright-coloured shirts. All smart and all carefully chosen.

Her cosmetics comprised cold cream, lipsticks and lilac scent. The apartment was full of books. Even books in the kitchen and bathroom. There was a radio on the table by the window and a big library of gramophone records in a cabinet by the door.

One look at the titles of the books and the records convinced me that Audrey Sheridan had a serious mind. I have always distrusted serious-minded women; but a serious-minded woman who took the trouble to learn jiu-jitsu and who didn
’
t hesitate to steal evidence from a fellow dick looked like poison to me.

I set fire to a cigarette, tossed the match into the fireplace and dragged down a lungful of smoke.

I decided it was time for Audrey Sheridan and me to have a little talk.

With one last glance around the disordered room, I went out, closing the door behind me.

* * *

At the far end of a light, airy passage was a door lettered in bright gilt on pebbled glass:
“
The Alert Agency.
”

I turned the doorknob and went in.

The room was small. Two windows covered by cream net curtains faced me.

Three armchairs stood against the apple-green painted walls and on a light oak table under the windows were scattered copies of Saturday Evening Post, Harpers and the New Yorker. Bowls of bright flowers made pools of colour around the room and a thick Turkey carpet, thick enough to tickle my ankles, covered the floor. As an outer office of a detective agency it was something to see.

I was just recovering from the shock when I ran into another. The door leading into the main office jerked open and Jeff Gordan slid out. He had a gun in his hand and he pointed it at me. The muzzle of the gun looked to me as big and as steady as a tunnel.

“
For God
’
s sake,
”
Jeff said, showing yellow teeth,
“
look who
’
s here.
”

“
Well, well,
”
I countered,
“
if it isn
’
t Jeff! You do get around, don
’
t you?
”

He threatened me with the gun.
“
Grab some cloud, you son of a bitch, and don
’
t start anything you can
’
t finish.
”

I raised my hands to my shoulders.
“
The Warner Brothers have a lot to answer for,
”
I said, with feeling.
“
Can
’
t you cut this Bogart stuff out?
”

Jeff called through the open door:
“
Hey, look what
’
s blown in.
”

A man
’
s voice said sharply:
“
Who is it? The voice was high-pitched and staccato; the same voice that had threatened Dixon over the telephone.

“
The New York dick,
”
Jeff said, grinning evilly at me.

“
Bring him in here,
”
the high-pitched voice said.

Jeff jerked his head at the door.
“
Get in, you.
”

“
Now wait a minute,
”
I said hurriedly.
“
I came to see Miss Sheridan. If she
’
s all tied up, I
’
ll come back.
”

Jeff sniggered.
“
She
’
s tied up all right,
”
he said,
“
but that ain
’
t going to trouble you.
”
His face changed to purple viciousness.
“
Get in, you louse!
”

I shrugged and, keeping my hands up, walked into the other room.

The room was as big as the outer office was small. Another fitted Turkey carpet covered the floor. A big mahogany desk stood by the open window, and two armchairs, filing cases, and other office equipment completed the furnishing.

The room had none of the ordered neatness of the outer office. It looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. Drawers were pulled out, papers were scattered all over the floor, filing cabinets spilled their contents on the carpet.

There were three people in the room. A girl and two men.

The girl was, of course, Audrey Sheridan. I was about to give her a cursory glance, but I changed my mind. I stared plenty. She was sitting in a chair set in the middle of the room. Her hands were tied behind the chair. For the moment I dismissed that as unimportant. I concentrated on her as a person. As a person, Audrey Sheridan was something to see. She had broad shoulders and narrow hips and a figure that Varga likes to draw. Her eyes were large, blue in colour, with long, silky eyelashes. Her mouth was large, full-lipped and scarlet. Her hair, red shot with gold, fell to her shoulders in long, thick waves. If you can
’
t imagine her from this, then think of Joan Crawford and you
’
ll be near enough.

She was wearing a smart white and blue checked coat, powder-blue trousers, brown buckskin shoes and a high-necked cashmere sweater in blue.

One of the men sat on the desk opposite her, one foot on the desk and his hands clasping his knee. The other man stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders and his eyes watching the man sitting on the desk.

I guessed the man on the desk was Rube Starkey. I looked at him with interest. He was small; small-boned but sinewy. His face was pockmarked, his eyes flat and black, his mouth lipless. He was dressed in a white flannel suit, and a white slouch hat was pulled well over one eye, giving him a racy, jaunty look. But there was nothing jaunty about his expression.

The man behind Audrey Sheridan was in the same class as Jeff Gordan—big, brainless, apish and tough.

“
Spewack,
”
Jeff said to Starkey, and jerking his head at me.

“
What do you want?
”
Starkey said, looking at me with hard, calculating eyes.

I eyed him back.
“
What goes on?
”
I said.
“
You
’
re not mayor yet, Starkey; you
’
d better cut this stuff out. Let her go!
”

Jeff pulled me round by grabbing my shoulder. I saw his fist coming up from his ankles and I swayed my body to the right. I felt the draught of wind as his fist whistled past my ear, then I hit him in the belly, and as he came forward I socked him in the jaw.

The gun fell from his hand and I made a dive at it. Starkey got there first. He must have moved with the speed of a lizard. His hand whipped it up as I reached him. He tried to turn, but I was on top of him. I socked him in the body, grabbed him by his belt and arm and tossed him at the other thug who was pounding across the room to get at me. They went down in a heap, upsetting Audrey Sheridan. They all sprawled on the floor together.

I had no time to jump them as Jeff came at me. His face was congested and his eyes bloodshot. I stepped inside a haymaker he sent over, socked him with a left and a right and stopped a bang in the ribs that shook me to the toes.

I backed away as the other thug scrambled to his feet. Both of them came at me. I pushed a chair in Jeff
’
s way, took a punch on the shoulder from the other thug and socked him between the eyes.

I saw Starkey had got to his feet, and as the other two started on me again he called them off. They drew back and we all eyed each other.

Starkey had a flat automatic in his hand.
“
Stay where you are,
”
he said, in a furious hissing voice.

“
You can
’
t use that heater here,
”
I said.
“
If you want me, you
’
ll damn well have to come and get me.
”
Whipping round, I snatched up a bowl of flowers and threw it at him. He only saved himself by falling flat on his face.

The other two nearly fell over themselves trying to get at me. I dodged round the desk, snatched up the telephone and hit Jeff across his face with it as he rushed me. He blundered back with a howl of pain and cannoned into the other thug. I picked up a chair and stood by the window.

“
Now listen, you swine,
”
I yelled at them.
“
Make one move and the chair
’
ll go through the window. That
’
ll bring a cop, and I
’
ll pin an assault charge on you that even Macey won
’
t be able to lift.
”

Growling like an animal, Jeff prepared to charge me, but Starkey shouted:
“
Hold it!
”

Once again we all eyed each other.

“
Tell those jerks to get the hell outa here,
”
I said to Starkey.
“
I want to talk to you and talk to you alone.
”

His white pockmarked face was expressionless. After staring at me for a long minute he suddenly said,
“
Beat it,
”
to the others.

When they had gone, I put down the chair:
“
Someone
’
s trying to frame you for murder,
”
I said.
“
Even Macey can
’
t help you if the frame
’
s good enough.
”

Starkey said nothing. He straightened his coat, put on his hat again and went over and sat in a chair. He nodded his head at the girl lying on her side, still tied to the chair.

I went over to her and fiddled at the knots.

“
Watch him and don
’
t bother about me,
”
she whispered.

That advice came about a split second too late. Starkey, reaching forward with the speed of a striking snake, kicked at my temple. His hard pointed shoe crashed against my head and I fell flat on Audrey Sheridan.

Dimly I heard Starkey
’
s voice, high-pitched with excitement, shout:
“
Nail him, you lugs!
”

Then hands seized me, dragged me to my feet, and before I could clear my head something exploded on my jaw and I crashed against the wall. I slithered to the floor, peered up at the savagely grinning face of Jeff Gordan and blocked his foot with my arm as he kicked at me.

I grabbed his leg before he could get out of the way and shoved it hard in his direction. He waved his arms, cursed and went over backwards. I was nearly on my feet when the other thug drove at me. He tackled me, his shoulder catching me in the belly, his arms around my hips. I crashed to the floor, slammed hard at his face, and saw Starkey, holding his automatic by the barrel, running at me. I tried to twist away, but the butt of the gun caught me on the top of my head. Lights flashed before my eyes and then I slipped off into darkness.

I couldn
’
t have been out for more than five minutes. I became aware of someone tying my hands behind my back and of the burning pain that crawled up my arms as the cord bit into my flesh.

A hand came out of the mist, fastened onto my shirtfront and dragged me to my feet. My legs bent, but the hand kept me from falling. I shook my head and Jeff Gordan came into my vision. lie shook me gently backwards and forwards, then his hand came up and he slapped my face three times. They were hard, heavy slaps and they made my eyes water.

I mumbled curses at him and he slapped me some more, dragged me to a chair and slammed me down into it. Then he went out of my vision.

I sat slumped in the chair, a curtain of red before my eyes. I wanted only to get at Gordan and hammer him until there was nothing left of him. I wanted to take Starkey and beat his head on the corner of the desk and see the white mess of his brain spew out on the carpet. Even though I was dazed and pain crawled through my body, I was conscious of hating these men as I had never hated anyone before.

A sudden sharp cry snapped me out of my rage. I looked up, screwed up my eyes in an effort to focus, saw figures in a mist which suddenly cleared away.

Gordan and the other tough had got Audrey Sheridan pinned across the desk.

Her coat was off and Starkey was bolding a lighted cigarette on her ann.

The two of them had all they could do to hold her. One pulled down on her legs while the other held her arms. Her back was arched over the desk and her body squirmed as the glowing end of the cigarette burnt her.

I drew a deep breath, kicked away the chair and reeled over to them. My shoulder caught Starkey and sent him staggering back. He turned viciously, sidestepped the kick I aimed at him and his sharp, bony knuckles thudded into my face.

I went over and hit the carpet. Almost before I lit, I caught his legs between mine and shoved on a lock. He came down close to me, hissing like an angry snake. He tried to reach my face with his fists but he was just out of range. I put more pressure on the lock and his face turned green. Then he began to beat on the carpet, squealing to Jeff for help.

Jeff let go of Audrey and came at me. I gave one more squeeze to the lock, heard Starkey catch his breath and tried to twist away from Gordan
’
s foot that whistled at my head. I only got a quarter of the steam in the kick but it was enough to stun me. I relaxed limply on the carpet.

The rest of what happened was like a dream. I was only half-conscious of it, but enough to know what happened without being able to do anything about it.