Ransom Game (10 page)

“I know where it is, Benny. So?”

“So, the car is registered to Muriel Falkirk, deceased of this city, and the last-known driver of it was Johnny Rosa. I thought it would be interesting to see whether the stuff I found happened to be blood to begin with and also if it happened to match Johnny Rosa's blood …”

“Which I've been trying to check with the authorities up in Kingston.”

“But all I've got wouldn't convince a court-room janitor.”

“So, who's doing all this killing, Benny?”

“Could be lots of people. Not even necessarily the same people. You know as well as I do who has been after the Warren ransom money. This case has got more angles than a crapgame has side-bets.” Savas let his eyes roll up to the ceiling. “Did the coroner give you any dope on how long Muriel had been dead? Was it drowning, or did it just look that way?”

“You never give anything away, do you? Benny, you're off the case. Your client is going to have a post mortem in the morning, not breakfast.” He didn't bother to throw a hand over a rather theatrical yawn and stretch. “You might as well go home and get some sleep. I'm knocking off myself. You want a lift back to your car?”

“Sure. It's not out of your way?”

“Naw, come on.”

About ten minutes later, we were both sitting in Savas's car across from my car parked in front of Muriel's apartment. Neither of us said anything. We both got out and walked up the cement path to the front door. Savas opened it and the other door and we quietly went up the stairs to the apartment. He had a key to that door too. The fingerprint boys had powdered a few of the obvious places. The drink on the table was missing, although the cards were still there. Somebody without more interesting things to do had added a red five to the black six showing. Deft, I thought, and then, What a crazy business. We went into the bedroom. Chris held out the Persian lamb coat from the closet, looking in my direction, as if to ask, “Who paid for that?” We both noted three new suits of men's clothes hanging in the closet on the same rod as the coat.

“Johnny's?”

“I guess.” Savas gave me one of his humorless smiles, which was just a muscular reflex.

The bathroom had been returned to normal. Somebody had even replaced the towels. Without Muriel, the room looked big and empty. She wasn't gone completely, just out of sight.

The contents of the suitcase had been turned out on the bed. The new leather purse was there as well, together with a buff plastic bag containing three large bottles of headache preparation with codeine and a phial of Gravol. There was also a new calf-skin wallet with a passport compartment. I clicked open the brass snaps and there lay the passport. It was made out to Ada Williams, but the picture was Muriel Falkirk.

“Oh, you found that?” Chris said, in an off-handed way. “There was some American money with it, which went downtown.” It figured. I went back into the bathroom.

“Tell me about the bathtub plug,” I asked Savas, as he was turning from the scene. “Was it in place firmly, was it half in, half out?” Chris shook his head, smiling.

“You trying to make this into an accident, Benny? No way. This is homicide, trust poppa. You think she maybe hit her head on a cupboard door in the kitchen, came in here to soak her head and fainted into the bath? Come on. Who turned off the water?” I shrugged and followed Chris out of the room. Back in the living-room, I thought I'd ask a smart question.

“I see you've taken the drink downtown.”

“Yeah, thought we'd see what prints were on it. Why?”

“I thought it might be nice to see what she was drinking, since there is no bottle around as far as I can see.” Savas doesn't blush. Policemen as a rule don't. But he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling to take the pressure off his cheeks.

“Damn it, I've been over this place six times and I knew there was something. We got a cheapskate murderer on our hands: he comes with a bottle then takes it away when he's finished. A real sweetheart.”

“Or worse: he could have removed the bottle that Muriel had when he got here. Either way, I wonder why,”

“Maybe it's rare stuff.”

“Or it could have been drugged. Maybe drugged her from it, then hit her with it.”

“I don't care diddly for theories right now, I'm bushed. Call me tomorrow.” He turned out the lights in Muriel's apartment and softly closed the door behind us. We didn't say anything as we walked down the stairs and out into the night. He crossed to his car, I to mine. I sat still in it after turning the engine over to let the heat circulate. Savas had been gone a couple of minutes before I put the car in gear and headed back to my hotel.

A gentle drone came from the beverage room of the City House. The last call had come and gone, and waiters were scooping up the remaining empty glasses from the beer-ringed tables. Through a blue haze, Dick the bartender caught my eye as I was about to hit the stairs to my room. He came over to me, wiping his hands on his dirty apron and jingling the change in his cash belt as he walked.

“Two guys been in looking for you earlier, Benny.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Didn't look like it. I was happy you were out. I try to mind my own business, so I didn't ask any questions. You got another husband mad at you?”

“What time?”

“'bout half hour ago. I seen them heading for the stairs, but I sent Gus over and he worried them out the side door.” He looked at me hard, like he was trying to see whether I was more interesting than he'd ever suspected. I shrugged, thanked him and as I walked up the squeaking stairs began wondering what kind of protection the lock on my door provided when a visitor wanted to get familiar before being invited.

There was no one in my room, not even under the bed or in the closet. The bed had the look of the usual chambermaid; everything in order, but nothing done too well.

I set the beat-up alarm clock and pulled off my clothes. It had been a long day, and I already had the feeling that the night was going to be longer. I counted out enough pills into the palm of my hand to rub out the picture of Muriel Falkirk's legs hanging over the edge of the tub, and drank them down with a glass of cloudy tapwater. For a minute I thought I'd see if the local news would have anything on the murder, but I knew it was too late. A murder has to happen before noon to make the late local news.

I turned on my set anyway, and found myself in the middle of a late night talk show, with the earlier guests I'd missed strung out on both sides of the host and the lady writer he was interviewing. He was pretending that he'd read her book and didn't sound very convincing. But he had to try. A couple of nights earlier he'd used the frank approach and confessed that he hadn't had time to “finish” the book he was talking about. His researchers must go crazy. The lady writer was telling him that she had recently discovered what it was like to be a human being. He said that was nice, and soon they were talking about the recent theft of her jewelry, which seemed to suit her as well as talking about being a human being. I started to nod, so I reached over and turned it off. I fell into a deep sleep wondering what she might have been before she was human.

THIRTEEN

I don't know what time it was when the phone woke me. All I remember is that the insistent ringing pulled me off stage where I was pretending, in blackface, that I was the real Larry Parks pretending that he was the real Al Jolson.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cooperman?” The voice was little and far away. It sounded as though it had been crying.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Jennifer Bryant.”

“Who? I don't …”

“Jennifer. Rolf's friend? You came to the farm earlier.”

“Oh, yeah. That Jennifer. What can I do for you that can't wait for daylight?”

“Mr. Cooperman, Rolf's gone. They came for him about an hour ago. What am I going to do?”

“Just a minute, Jennifer. Take it slowly from the start. What time is it to begin with?” I eased my body out of bed and tried to focus on the face of the alarm clock. It said 2:30 in the morning. I fished a smoke from my pocket and twisted around on the bed feeling for my matches like a blind man in a movie, bumping into things that weren't even close. I finally found them and surprised my eyes lighting up in the dark.

“It was after one when they came, Mr. Cooperman. There were two of them, big men, and they made Rolf go with them. Will I ever see Rolf again? Will … I … oh, Mr. Cooperman, I can't …”

“Listen, Jennifer. Jennifer? Listen to me.” I was beginning to see that it was difficult to control things from my end of the phone. She had drifted off her end, and I wasn't sure she could hear me any more. “Jennifer, can you hear me?”

“Mr. Cooperman? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I'm here. Listen, Jennifer, I'm getting in my car and coming over to your place. Do you understand? I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Will you be all right until then? Can you hold on?”

“I think so. I'll try. But please, hurry.” I promised and hung up. I pulled my pants and an old sweater on over my pajamas and looked my last at the bed. The footsteps echoing down the linoleum corridor and then down the stairs were my own. They met the deadly hush of the silent beverage room. The empty chairs were all looking at me as I went out the front door.

It didn't take as long to get over to the Louth Road at that time of night. It wasn't fifteen minutes after I heard the frightened voice on the phone that I slowed down for the second time in twelve hours looking for the lane with a mail box marked “Sanderson.”

It was bloody cold when I got out of the car. The slamming door echoed off the wall of the barn and set a dog barking over in the next concession. The path froze my feet through the holes of my shoes as I made for the porch, where a flashlight was showing me the way. As I reached the door, Jennifer's white arm opened it and let me in.

Funny, I hadn't really noticed Jennifer on my earlier trip. Now with red eyes and nose, dressed in a faded flannel nightgown, she ran to me, and I held her. I rested my chin on her heaving shoulder, reminding myself that I was here as a family friend. I heard myself making comforting noises like “there, there,” patted her back and smoothed her long brown hair, then led her to the couch. Neither of us said anything until her sobs stopped.

“Now, tell me,” I started in a voice that frightened me, it was so loud. I tried again a little softer. “Jennifer, try to tell me every detail about the men who came for Rolf. Try not to leave anything out.”

“Okay,” she said, trying out a smile on her small, tearstained face. “I didn't get a good look at the car. There'd been a moon, but it went down early. It was very dark out there; I could hardly see anything but their headlights from the house. There were two of them. Both big and slow. One of them asked if Rolf was in. They stepped into the hall and I went to get him.” I nodded to show that all of this was helping, and she began speaking less hesitantly and without doing more damage to her nose with a battered Kleenex. “Rolf had had more beer after you left, and I had been smoking, sitting next to him, here.”

“Smoking?” I asked raising my eyebrows slightly.

“Smoking. You know.” She tried to grin, but it didn't work. “Rolf got up and came out to them.”

“Did he appear to know them?”

“I'm not sure. He didn't get time to say anything, really. One of them called his name, and they both walked over to him. If they said anything else I didn't hear it. They turned around and he followed them. He threw me a short glance, but didn't say anything. The men looked at me, but they didn't talk either. Rolf got his coat and they helped him into it, both of them. We all watched him put on his boots, and when he'd done that, they left. I ran out and tried to get the number of the car, but I couldn't get it in the glare of the lights, and beside, I didn't have my contacts in.”

“Contacts?”

“Contact lenses. I'm blind as a bat without them.” She looked almost confident now. A brilliant recovery, I thought. But I couldn't think of a thing I could do to help her. So I kept on asking questions. She told me that the men were dressed alike in heavy twill trousers and khaki parkas with similar fur hats and boots. They hadn't shouted at her, just went about their business as though she wasn't there. One had smiled at her briefly.

Jennifer had quietened down now and was trying to help. She even asked if I wanted some coffee. I needed it all right. The pill I'd taken earlier were trying to shut off my lights. I could feel the little beggars inside me crossing the wires and shorting the main connections. When she returned with the coffee, she had thrown on a blue terrycloth bathrobe. That would help me concentrate on the coffee and the matter at hand. The coffee was strong and went right to work.

“Rolf told me your father's a lawyer.”

“That's right.”

“Can we count on his help, if we need it?” She frowned into her coffee.

“I haven't seen Daddy in over a year. You see, Mr. Cooperman, Daddy didn't approve of my living with Rolf. He tried everything he could to break us up.”

“Would he have gone this far?” My eyes caught hers for a second, but she broke the connection.

“Oh no, he'd never sink that low. I don't think. No. He might agonize over my being here, you know, but he wouldn't do anything so overt. That's not his psychology at all. He wouldn't even try to bring me back by force. He wants me to see the error of my ways and come home like a prodigal daughter. He wouldn't try anything that might possibly cause a scandal. Not Daddy.” She ended up smiling at some picture in her mind, but she didn't share it with me.

“Where did you meet Rolf? I gather not in prison.” She smiled again, and tugged at the blue belt of her robe.

“When Rolf got out on parole, the board helped find him a job at the yacht club. Rolf is wonderful around boats. I met him the summer before last. He seemed to be so much more grown-up than the boys in my gang. He made their smartest schemes sound dumb. I don't mean that he was always putting them down. Just the opposite. He rarely opened his mouth. It's just that he was busier, quieter, more mature, I guess.”