1945 - Blonde's Requiem (18 page)

“
That
’
s where we go in,
”
Reg whispered, pointing.
“
Inside is the receiving room.
”

“
Maybe I
’
d better go first and take a look around,
”
I said.
“
Then I
’
ll come back for you.
”

“
Leave me alone?
”
Reg said.
“
Not damn likely! My legs wouldn
’
t let me stay here a second after you
’
ve gone.
”

I considered this.
“
Okay,
”
I said, understanding how he was feeling,
“
but for the love of Mike don
’
t make a noise.
”

We went forward together until we reached the double door. There was a cement runway, instead of step, leading up to the door for the wheeled hospital tables to run up.

“
Take it easy,
”
I said, and turned the doorknob. The door was locked.

I took out my flashlight and examined the lock.
“
It
’
s easy,
”
I said.
“
Hold the light while I fix it.
”

I took out my penknife, inserted one of the hickies and levered. The lock snicked back and I pushed the door open.

“
I
’
ll get you to open my kid sister
’
s money-box,
”
Reg said.
“
You
’
re good.
”

I waved him to silence and stood in the half-open doorway, listening. There was no sound of activity, so I put on the flashlight and let the beam run around.

The room was chill and very clean. Hospital tables stood in a line against the wall and two white cupboards completed the furnishing.

We entered the room, closed the double door softly and went on to another door opposite us. Again we listened and heard nothing. The silence was oppressive, but the room was refreshingly cool after the stifling alley.

I opened the door and again looked into a darkened room, which smelt strongly of antiseptics. I put on my flashlight.

Reg said,
“
This is the post-mortem room,
”
and peered curiously over my shoulder.

The room was bare. An operating table under a battery of lights stood in the centre of the room and two cases filled with stainless steel instruments were near the table.

“
Where do we go now?
”
I asked, switching on the lights.

Reg blinked around.
“
There
’
s a passage somewhere that leads to the morgue,
”
he said.
“
It
’
s some time since I
’
ve been here.
”
He crossed the room to another door and peeped round it. Then he jerked his head.
“
Here we are,
”
he said.

I followed him into a passage lit by dim blue lights. It was much colder in the passage and my teeth began to chatter with nerves.

At the end of the passage was a flight of stairs leading down to the basement and leading up to the next floor.

Keeping his voice to a murmur, Reg said,
“
Johnson
’
s got an office up there,
”
and jerked his thumb to the stairs.

“
We go down?
”

He nodded.
“
Spooky, ain
’
t it?
”

We descended the stairs. The air became moist as we neared the bottom and there was a musty smell of decomposition.

“
Like the breath of a crocodile,
”
Reg whispered.

I pressed against a heavy steel door which swung open. A sharp, sweet antiseptic smell of formaldehyde stung the back of my throat and icy air turned my shirt into a clammy cold plaster. I pushed a row of electric-light buttons on the cement wall and the steel door shut with a muffled thud.

“
We
’
re in,
”
I said, staring round at the two long rows of black metal cabinets where the bodies were stored.

Reg stood looking around too. His face was the colour of a fish
’
s underbelly and his knees were visibly trembling.

“
The sooner we get out of this, the better I
’
ll like it,
”
he said, setting his camera down on a nearby bench.
“
Suppose you dig around for Stonewall Dixon?
”

I looked at the row of cabinets.
“
I can
’
t think of anything nicer than wading through a pile of stiffs on a night like this,
”
I said, with a grimace.

“
Call him,
”
Reg said sarcastically, sitting on the bench and pressing his trembling knees together.
“
Maybe he
’
ll push open his box and wave to you.
”

“
You
’
re getting hysterical,
”
I said, feeling in my hip pocket for my flask.

His eyes brightened.
“
I am hysterical,
”
he said, reaching out an eager hand as I took out a half-pint flask of whisky.

“
You wait a second,
”
I said, unscrewing the cap. I was surprised to see that my own hand was unsteady.
“
Maybe I need this more than you.
”
As I put the flask to my lips the gurgling scream came again. It sounded even more spooky in this room than it did in the alley. I spluttered, losing some of the whisky.

“
Don
’
t give it all to your shirt,
”
Reg said, his face now blue-white and his eyes popping.

I steadied myself, belted the whisky again and then gave it to him. The way he anchored his mouth to the flask was something to see.

While he was working on the whisky I examined the cabinets. Each had a small label attached to it bearing a name. After a while I located Dixon
’
s cabinet.

“
Here he is,
”
I said, turning back to Reg.

“
Well, well,
”
he said, waving the now empty flask.
“
How is the old stiff? Let
’
s give him a drink.
”

I snatched the flask from him.
“
If I could get tight as fast as you I
’
d save myself some money.
”

Reg rose unsteadily to his feet.
“
Don
’
t you worry about me,
”
he said with a giggle.

I pulled open the cabinet and looked down at Dixon. He still looked pretty horrible.
“
Take a look at him,
”
I said.
“
He
’
ll sober you up.
”

Reg looked and it did.
“
The poor old geezer,
”
he said, closing his eyes.
“
The poor, lonely old geezer.
”

“
Never mind the obituary notice. Get started.
”

Reg reached for his camera, pulled it from its case and screwed in a flash bulb. Then he suddenly caught his breath and his eyes popped. He was looking at something behind me and I turned, my flesh creeping.

The steel door was slowly opening.

We both jumped different ways. Reg towards Dixon and I towards the door.

I had started a shade too late. Jeff Gordan snaked into the room, a gun in his hand and a frightened, vicious look on his face. My jump was still taking me towards him and I couldn
’
t stop myself, so I kicked out blindly. It was a lucky kick. It caught his right wrist and the gun fell from his hand. I cannoned into him and we sprawled on ground.

“
Get that picture!
”
I yelled to Reg.
“
I
’
ll hold this swine.
”

In actual fact, Jeff was holding me. His great arms encircled my ribs and he was putting on a hell of a squeeze.

“
Get onto him!
”
Reg shouted excitedly.
“
Beat his brains out!
”

I was hanging on all right, but it wasn
’
t doing me any good. I had only one free arm. My right was pinned to my side by Jeff s bear-like hug. I slammed at his apish face with my left and then he rolled on top of me, nearly crushing me flat. I grabbed hold of his ear and began screwing it round while he tried to butt my chin with the top of his head.

I knew from a sudden blinding flash that Reg had taken the picture. A moment later he came rushing across to where we were wrestling and jammed the camera-case over Jeff s head.

As Jeff was roaring and striking blindly at me I managed to wriggle clear. But he caught my leg and pinned me as I was getting to my feet. I went over and landed near the gun.

“
Get the hell outa here,
”
I panted to Reg.
“
I can fix him, but get that camera away.
”

Reg bolted out of the door. He knew how important that picture was and he was smart enough not to worry about me.

I belted Jeff over the head with the gun. I remembered how he had handled Audrey Sheridan and how he had roughed me around, so I put a lot of steam into the wallop. He went limp.

I dragged the camera-case off his head, rolled him on his back and made sure that he was out, then I legged it down the passage. There was no sign of anyone and no sound of activity. It looked like Starkey had considered Jeff big enough to handle the morgue on his own.

I shot through the post-mortem room and the receiving-room and stumbled out into the dark alley. The hot air and the musty smell hit me like a slap in the face after the cold of the morgue. There was another smell that hadn
’
t been there before.

The faint smell of lilac.

I stopped short and sniffed again. It was lilac all right. I called to Reg.

He made an odd growling noise that came from almost at my feet and I turned on my flashlight. He was sitting against the wall, a dazed, blank look on his face.

“
She
’
s got the camera,
”
he said, struggling to sit up.

Then I did get mad.
“
What do you mean?
”
I snarled at him.
“
Who got what?
”

“
Some dame . . . as I came out, she grabbed me—
”

“
You let some dame take that camera?
”
I said, hardly believing my ears.

“
She stuck her hip into me and I hit the wall—
”
he began, but that was enough for me.

“
The little smarty!
”
I said violently.
“
That
’
s the redhead . . . Audrey Sheridan, Cranville
’
s pet dick! She
’
s pinched every damn clue I
’
ve found up to now and I
’
ve had enough of it. Come on, don
’
t sit there like a stuffed duck, let
’
s go.
”

He crawled to his feet.
“
It could be her,
”
he said miserably, as he tagged along behind me.
“
That jiu-jitsu stuff got me on the wrong foot.
”

“
It got me on the wrong foot too,
”
I said grimly,
“
but this is the last time she pulls a fast one on me. After I
’
m through with her she
’
ll be taking her meals off the mantelpiece.
”