A Coffin From Hong Kong (21 page)

"Not yet. Do you want me to go on trying?"

"Why not?" I could see he was thinking about his son. "If there is anything you want, any money you want, Miss West will attend to it. We may as well make a tidy end to this sordid business. Find who killed her."

"I'll want the key to the vault," I said, and got to my feet. "There is one other thing, Mr. Jefferson. Now your son is dead, who will be your heir?"

That startled him. He gazed at me blankly.

"What business is it of yours who gets my money?"
"Is it that much of a secret? If it is, I apologise."

He frowned, moving his heavily-veined hands uneasily along the arms of his chair. "No, it's no secret, but why do you ask?"

"If Herman's wife had lived, would she have had a mention in your Will?"

"Of course. My son's wife would have been entitled to have received what I was leaving to him."

"Was it a large amount?"

"Half my money."

"That would be a large amount. Who gets the other half?"

"Miss West."

"So now she'll get the lot?"

He stared thoughtfully at me.

"That is right. Why are you so curious about my personal affairs, Mr. Ryan?" "It's my business to be curious," I said and I left him.

I found Janet West at her desk. She looked up as I stood in the doorway. "Come in, Mr. Ryan," she said, her voice cold and flat. I came in.

"I want the key to the vault," I said. "The police will want to open the coffin. I promised Lieutenant Retnick to get the key for him. Mr. Jefferson doesn't object." She searched in a drawer of her desk and then gave me a key.

"I told him the story," I said, dropping the key into my pocket. "He took it pretty well."

She lifted her shoulders in a resigned shrug. "And now?"

"He wants me to find Jo-An's killer. That's my next job."

"How will you do that?"

"Most murders start from a motive," I said. "I'm pretty sure there is a motive for this one. I even have an idea what the motive is. Well, I mustn't take up your time. I'll return the key when I've finished with it."

I left her, staring thoughtfully down at her desk. The butler let me out He said nothing. I had nothing to say to him. As I walked over to my car I saw a movement behind the curtains of Janet West's window. She was watching me leave.

"If there's one place I hate visiting," Retnick said around the cigar he was holding in his teeth, "it's a burial field."

"We'll all arrive here sooner or later," I said. "It's your future, permanent home."

"I know. You don't have to tell me," Retnick growled. "I just don't like permanent homes." We walked through the open gateway and up a broad roadway flanked on either side by expensive-looking tombs.

"It's over there," Pulski said, pointing to an alley to our right. "Fourth one in the row."

We walked down the alley until we came to a massive marble tomb, surrounded with marble chippings and a marble kerb. "This is it," Pulski said and took the key I handed to him.

"How did old man Jefferson react?" Retnick asked as he watched Pulski approach the door to the tomb. "I bet he had things to say to you, shamus."

"Hey!" There was a startled note in Pulski's voice as he turned to face us. "Someone's been here before us!"

Retnick moved forward. I kept pace with him. We saw Pulski push the vault door open. The lock had been broken. We could see where some kind of lever had been inserted between the door and the lock. The marble was cracked and a piece had been broken off. There had been a lot of hurried pressure exerted to break the lock.

"Don't touch anything," Retnick warned Pulski. "Let's take a look."

He threw the beam of a flashlight into the vault. There were four coffins on shelves facing us. The one on the lowest shelf was without a lid. The lid stood against the wall of the tomb. We moved forward and looked into the coffin. There was a long bar of lead lying on the floor of the coffin, but nothing else.

Retnick said, "Well, for Pete's sake! Looks like someone's snatched the body!" "Could be there was never a body in it," I said. He turned on me, his face snarled up with impatient anger.

"What do you mean? Just how much do you know you haven't told me?"

"I've told you all I know," I said curtly. "But that still doesn't stop me using my brains, does it?" He turned savagely to Pulski.

"Get this box to headquarters and give it the treatment. Could be there are fingerprints on it. Me and this smart shamus are going for a walk." He grabbed hold of my arm and shoved me out of the tomb while Pulski walked down the alley to the police car where he started to talk to headquarters over the car's telephone.

When he was out of hearing, Retnick sat on one of the tombs and fed a cigar into his face. "Come on, shamus, give. What's on your goddam mind?"

"Right now there's nothing on my mind," I said. "Would it worry you to know you're sitting on someone's dead wife, husband or mother?"

"I don't give a damn who I'm sitting on," Retnick snarled. "The Mayor telephoned me this morning . . . my influential brother-in-law ... he wants to know when I'm going to solve this case." He chewed his cigar savagely. "How do you like that? Even my own brother-in-law puts pressure on me." "Tough," I said. "What makes you think there wasn't a body in the coffin?"

"Just an idea. Belling's body was burned to a cinder. Why snatch it? It couldn't be identified anyway. So why take the risk and the trouble to bust open the vault and lug his remains away? Just because Herman's body wasn't in the coffin, I thought Belling's body had to be. Now I don't think anyone's body was in it. The coffin was sent back here loaded with lead. There was no body in it." Retnick brooded over this. "Why then should some joker take a look?" he asked.

"That's right." I suddenly saw why. I thumped my fist into the palm of my hand. "I must be more of a dope than I think I am! Of course! It jells! It's one of those goddam simple things I should have seen right from the start!" 

Retnick regarded me sourly."What are you raving about?" he snarled.

"The heroin was in the coffin!" I said. "Two thousand ounces of it! It was the perfect hiding-place ... the perfect means of smuggling it out of Hong Kong to here!" Retnick stared at me, then he jumped to his feet.

"Yeah . . . that makes sense! Looks like we've got ourselves an idea!"

"After Jefferson hijacked the stuff," I said, "he found he was stuck with it. He couldn't leave Hong Kong and the organisation were hunting for him. That amount of heroin must be worth a pile of money. Jefferson had to convince the organisation he was dead. So he killed two birds with one stone. He got Jo-An to write to his father for money to bring his body home. Remember, he had no money. The only way to get the heroin out was in the coffin with old man Jefferson paying to get it out. Selling's body was put in the coffin and cleared through the American Consul for shipment home. At some stage, the body was removed and probably dumped in the sea. The drugs and the lead weight were put in the coffin. Although Jefferson was trapped in Hong Kong, he did make sure his wife and the heroin were safe." "Who's knocked the stuff off?" Retnick asked hopefully.

"How should I know? MacCarthy told me when they found Jefferson's body he had been given a working over. Maybe the organisation got the truth out of him and sent a man over here to break open the vault and grab the stuff. I wouldn't know." Retnick's face brightened.

"Makes sense. Well then, this isn't my goddam pigeon. The Narcotic Squad will have to take care of this headache." He beamed at me. "Don't let anyone persuade you to use your head for a door-stop. You've got brains even if you don't show them."

"Still doesn't explain why the Chinese girl came to my office and got shot," I said.

His smile slipped and he scowled. "Yeah."

"I'm working on the idea the killing had nothing to do with the heroin," I said. "Jo-An was to have come into half old man Jefferson's money. He told me so this afternoon. I also found out now she's dead, his secretary, Janet West, gets the lot." Retnick squinted at me. "You think she killed her?"

"No, I don't, but she's got a ten million dollar motive. I told you before: she could have an ambitious boy friend. But that still doesn't explain how the girl came to be shot in my office." Retnick scratched his head.

"Maybe I'd better check to see if she has a boy friend," he said reluctantly.

Pulski called to him.

"Keep in touch, shamus," Retnick said. "I've got things to do," and he hurried down the alley towards Pulski who was holding the telephone receiver and beckoning to him. I drove back to my office block. The time was half past five. I had no idea why I was going back to my office. I certainly had nothing to do, but there seemed no point in my going back to my apartment. I unlocked the door, entered the outer room, unlocked my office door and crossed to the window and opened it. Then I sat down, lit a cigarette and stared at the bust and buttock calendar on the wall facing me.

I thought of Janet West. I thought of the mysterious John Hardwick. Was this man who called himself Hardwick Janet's boy friend? Had he killed Herman Jefferson's wife? If he had then why the hell had he picked on my office to do the job and why had he tried to implicate me in the murder?

Somehow I couldn't imagine Janet West implicated in a murder. She just wasn't the type. And yet there was the ten million dollar motive. Maybe the boy friend had done it and hadn't told her about it. . . maybe . . .

I heard Jay Wayde's voice. It broke into my concentration. He said, "I'll get off now. See you in the morning." His voice came clearly from his open window through mine. I heard him leave and half expected him to look in on me, but he didn't. He walked heavy-footed to the elevator. A moment later I heard the elevator descend. I went back to my thoughts: they didn't get me anywhere.

I sat there, brooding, trying to get an idea on which to work for over an hour, then suddenly I heard the distant sound of an aircraft engine. It became loud and then faded and I found myself sitting bolt upright in my chair. The noise of a jet-propelled aircraft taking-off followed. I remembered hearing these sounds coming over the telephone when John Hardwick had telephoned me, asking me to go out and watch the deserted bungalow on Connaught Boulevard. I got swiftly to my feet and listened. The sound of a busy airport came through my open window. I had no doubt where it was coming from. I went into the passage, aware my heart was thumping, and moving silently to Jay Wayde's office door, I turned the handle and eased open the door.

Wayde's secretary, the one with the glasses and the mousey look was bending over the tape recorder I had already noticed on Wayde's desk. The band was running through the playback head and from the loudspeaker came the busy sounds of an aircraft landing and taking-off. "For a moment I thought you had turned into an airport," I said.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Hastily turning off the recorder, she spun around, her pale washed-out blue eyes wide with shock. I smiled disarmingly at her.

"I didn't mean to startle you," I said. "I heard the noise and I was curious."

"Oh. . . ." She relaxed a little. "I—I shouldn't be doing this. I—I wondered what was on the tape. Mr. Wayde has gone home."

"Play it again ... it sounded a good recording."

She hesitated.

"No . . . I—I don't think I'd better. Mr. Wayde might not like it."

"He won't mind." I wandered over to the desk. She gave ground, moving away from me. "Nice machine." I pressed the rewind button. When the tape was ready to play again I pressed down the playback button. The sounds of a busy airport came clearly through the loudspeaker. I stood listening for maybe a couple of minutes, then I switched off the machine and smiled at her.

I was pretty excited for I was sure now I had at last found the mysterious John Hardwick. I had found him by a fantastic stroke of luck and by this scared-looking girl's curiosity. "Mr. Wayde won't be back until tomorrow?" I asked.

"No."

"Well, okay, I'll see him tomorrow then. Good night," and I went out and into my office where I sat at my desk and lit a cigarette with hands that shook a little from my excitement. I sat there for half an hour. Then a few minutes after six I heard the girl leave the office, lock up and walk away down the passage. I waited for the whine of the descending elevator as it took her down to the ground floor. I waited until I heard the sounds of the other workers leaving the offices along my corridor. I waited until there was no sound to tell me anyone remained up there. Then I got to my feet and went to my door, opened it and looked out into the passage. No lights showed behind any of the glass-panelled doors. I had the floor now to myself.

I went back to my desk and opening a drawer, took out a bunch-of skeleton keys. It took me less than a minute to unlock Jay Wayde's office door. I entered and locked the door after me. I stood looking around. There was a big green steel and fireproof cupboard against one of the walls. I examined the lock. None of my keys would open it. I went back to my office and collected a few tools, returned and once more locked myself in Wayde's office.

I spent fifteen minutes trying to open the cupboard, but the lock beat me. I hesitated, wondering if I should bust open the cupboard, but decided against it. I looked in the other room. It contained a desk, a typewriter, a chair and a filing cabinet. I looked into the filing cabinet but there was nothing in there but papers.

If what I was looking for was in the office at all, it would be locked in the steel cupboard.

I took the airport recording off the tape recorder and put another tape I found in the desk drawers onto the machine. I turned off the lights and leaving the door wide open I went into my office.