A Coffin From Hong Kong (22 page)

I locked the tape away, then I turned up Wayde's home address in the telephone book. His apartment was on Laurence Avenue, a ten-minute drive from his office. I called the number, but there was no answer.

I wondered if I should call Retnick, but I wanted to sew up this case on my own. I could still be wrong, but I didn't think so. I decided there was time to call Retnick after I had talked to Wayde.

I kept calling Wayde's number. Finally, a little after nine o'clock, he answered. "This is Nelson Ryan," I said.

"Why, hello!" He sounded surprised. "Anything I can do for you? Did you have a good trip?"

"Fine . . . I'm in my office. I looked in to pick up something I'd forgotten. I found your office door wide open and the lights off. Your girl's gone. Looks like she's forgotten to lock up. Do you want me to get the janitor to lock up for you?" I heard him catch his breath sharply.

"That's damned odd," he said after a long pause. "Maybe I'd better come down." "Doesn't look as if you have had a burglar."

"There's nothing to steal in there except my recorder and the typewriter. I guess I'd better come down all the same." "Suit yourself. I can get the janitor to lock up if you like."

"No, it's all right. I'd rather come down. I can't understand her forgetting to lock up. She's never done that before."

"Maybe she's in love," I laughed. "Well, I'm leaving now. Sure you don't want me to do anything?"

"No, thanks, and thanks for calling."

"Think nothing of it ... so long."

I hung up and turned off the lights. I locked up my office and then went into Wayde's office. I went into his secretary's room and sat on the desk. I took out my gun and clicked back the safety-catch. I put the gun on the desk beside me.

I had about ten minutes to wait before I heard the whine of the ascending elevator. I got off the desk and stood behind the door, gun in hand. I heard quick footfalls then movements in Wayde's office. The light turned on, the door closed. I peered through the door crack. Wayde stood looking around. He walked to the room in which I was, pushed the door back against me and looked in, then he stepped back into his office. I heard a jangle of keys, then a lock snap back. I guessed he had opened the steel cupboard.

I stepped out from behind the door. He was kneeling in front of the cupboard. The double doors of the cupboard stood wide open. The cupboard was packed with bottles, boxes, glass files and other chemist's samples. "Is the heroin still there?" I asked quietly.

He gave a shudder, then looked slowly over his shoulder to stare at me. I lifted the gun slightly so he could see it. His face went chalk-white and slowly he rose to his feet. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice husky.

"I tried to open the cupboard but the lock beat me," I said, watching him. "So I thought it was an idea if you came down and opened it for me. Move away and don't start anything." "Why should I?" he said and walked unsteadily to his desk and slumped down into his chair. He buried his face in his hands. I glanced into the bottom of the cupboard. There were about fifty small, neatly packed parcels lying on the floor of the cupboard.

"Those the drugs Jefferson hijacked?" I asked, coming over to the desk and sitting on the edge of it.

He leaned back, rubbing his white, sweating face. 'Yes. How did you know I had them?"

"You forgot to take the tape recording of the airport off the machine. Your girl played it back. I heard it. The whole set-up fell into place," I told him.

"I've always been forgetful. If there's a mistake to be made, I make it. I knew when you said you were going to Hong Kong I was sunk." He looked wearily at me. "I knew somewhere along the line you'd come across a loose thread that would lead you to me. When you told me you were going, I was insane enough to hire a junkie to kill you. That's how desperate I was! When that didn't work, I knew it was only a matter of time, but I was so hopelessly involved there was nothing else I could do but hang on and hope."

"If it's any satisfaction to you, you nearly got away with it," I said, "I thought Jefferson's secretary was the one. She had the motive and I'm a sucker for motives."

"I hoped you would pick on her," he said. "That's why I told you about her affair with Herman, but I knew if you ran into him in Hong Kong and you talked to him you were certain to get onto me."

"How did you know Jo-An was coming back here with the heroin?"

"It was all arranged. That stuff I told you about Herman was true, but I lied when I told you I didn't like him. We had always been friends. We always kept in touch. For the past two years now I've been struggling to keep this business of mine going. I just haven't the knack for business. I haven't the knack for anything come to that. I guess that's why Herman and I were friends. He hadn't the knack for anything either. Things got so bad here, I was desperate for money. Then Herman wrote me. He said he had got his hands on a large consignment of heroin and would I buy it off him? As an industrial chemist I have a number of safe outlets for handling heroin, but of course, I hadn't the money. He was stupid enough to tell me he was trapped in Hong Kong and unless Jo-An could raise the money to get him a false passport and his fare home, he would be dead in a few weeks. He said the organisation he had double-crossed were hunting for him, and if they found him, they would kill him. I saw my chance of at last laying my hands on a big sum of money. If I could get the heroin, I could sell it at a very high profit. So I wrote to him and told him I'd buy the stuff. It was arranged that Jo-An should come straight to me from the airport and hand over the stuff and get the money, but Herman didn't tell me on what plane she was coming. I didn't dare ask in case the query was traced back to me. I knew I would have to kill her." He stared down at his big, shaking hands. "At the time, it didn't seem so bad planning to kill a Chinese girl, but I couldn't think how I was to get rid of her body. It was then I finally decided to plant her body in your office. You were next door to me so it would be easy. You were a private investigator. She might be taken for a client of yours. I thought when the police investigated the murder, with you involved, the trail would get so confused, they wouldn't think of me. I had to be sure you would be out of your office when she arrived. I had this airport recording I'd taken when I first bought the recorder. I was scared to go to the airport in case I was spotted so I used the recorder to convince you I was calling from the airport, giving me a reasonable excuse why I didn't come to see you. When you had gone, I waited and waited. I thought she would never come. Finally, she arrived. She trusted me. She told me the heroin was in the coffin. I very nearly didn't kill her." He closed his eyes for a moment. "She was such a pretty little thing. I had got into your office and taken your gun. While she talked, I took the gun from the desk drawer, keeping it out of sight. Then she asked me for the money. That decided me. I lifted the gun and shot her." He shuddered and again wiped his sweating face. "I carried her into your office . . . I left her there. Well, it's a relief it's over. I haven't been able to sleep. I couldn't even sell the stuff. It's all there. I've been waiting and waiting and waiting for you to come back. When I knew you were back, I just hadn't the nerve to face you." He looked imploringly at me. "What are you going to do?"

I had no pity for him. He had tried to involve me in murder. He had hired a thug to kill me. He had brutally shot Herman's wife, but to me what was unforgivable, he had been responsible without knowing it for Leila's death. He had plotted and planned with cold, ferocious greed and he had betrayed a friend even though the friend had been as worthless as himself.

"What do you think?" I said. "You'll have to tell your sordid tale to the police."

I picked up the telephone receiver. As I began to dial, he slid out of his chair and started to walk unsteadily towards the door. I suppose I could have stopped him by shooting him in the leg, but I couldn't be bothered. He wouldn't get far. My job was to stay here and make sure the heroin remained where it was until Retnick arrived.

As I was telling the desk sergeant at police headquarters to alert Retnick and get a squad car down to me fast, I heard Wayde take the elevator to the ground floor. The squad car only just missed him, but they picked him up half an hour later. They found him in his car at the far end of Beach Drive. He had taken a cyanide capsule: one of the advantages of being an industrial chemist. He had taken the quick, easy way out. Retnick listened to my story, a sour expression on his face.

"I was well off the beam," I concluded. "I would have bet a dollar Jefferson's secretary was the one. It was by the purest chance I got onto Wayde. If he hadn't made the mistake of keeping the airport recording on his machine and if his girl hadn't been curious, I don't think I would have got onto him." Retnick offered me a cigar.

"Look, Ryan," he said. "I've got to have the credit for cracking this case. I've got a reputation to look after: you haven't. If you want my co-operation in the future, you'll keep in the shade. I'll handle all the publicity."

"You remember me . . I'll remember you," I said. "We must think up some music to go with that one, but watch your step, Lieutenant. Old man Jefferson will want this kept quiet. He won't let it be known his son was a drug pedlar if he can help it. If you want him to remember you in a nice way, you'll go awfully slow on any publicity. You're lucky Wayde is dead."

I left him staring moodily down at the floor. The only person of the whole sorry lot I felt sorry about was the little Chinese, Leila.

I was still thinking about her as I walked across to Sparrow's quick snack bar for another lonely supper.

THE END