The Devil's Cook (17 page)

Bartholdi's glance darted up the wall to the window above. The blind moved, erasing a thin crack of light that had been there an instant before. Someone in the apartment of Otis and Ardis Bowers was curious, Bartholdi thought. Watching and waiting. For what?

A car turned into the alley. It was an old car, but it ran quietly. Turning onto the apron beside Bartholdi, it parked and Farley Moran got out. He peered at Bartholdi over the top of Bartholdi's car, which stood between them.

“Is that you, Captain?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Making a call on Jay Miles. He's got some information for me.”

“What kind of information?”

“You may as well come along with me and find out.”

“Don't tell me he's heard from the kidnapper!”

“He has, as a matter of fact. You sound incredulous.”

“I never really believed in the kidnap theory, to tell the truth. There could have been so many other reasons for killing Terry.”

“And so many others capable of doing it?”

“I didn't say that. After all, it takes a rather special kind of kook to kill, it seems to me.”

“Fortunately. Come on.”

Jay, opening his door in response to Bartholdi's knock, evinced no surprise at seeing Farley, too. He seemed, indeed, to be beyond surprise, or any emotion. He sat down again and removed his glasses and began to polish them with an air of industry. Bartholdi, retaining his topcoat and holding his hat, sat down facing him. Farley remained standing just inside the door, feeling like an interloper.

“How do you feel?” Bartholdi asked Jay.

“All right.” Jay replaced his glasses and folded the handkerchief into a neat square as if it were a task of great importance. “Don't worry. I won't fall apart on you.”

“Can you remember exactly what was said to you on the telephone?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Begin at the beginning.”

“Well, the phone rang, and I answered it, and there was this voice. It was a man's voice, I think, but I can't be positive. It was muffled, a kind of whisper that was very penetrating. It seemed to come from a great distance. Maybe it was my imagination, I don't know. Anyhow, it told me not to talk, only to listen, and that's what I did.”

Jay paused, staring at the square of handkerchief he had smoothed on one knee, which still lay there. He seemed to be listening again to the strange, faraway whisper on the telephone. Bartholdi waited patiently.

“The voice told me that Terry was alive and unharmed and would be released after payment of fifty thousand dollars. The money was to be in unmarked bills of small denominations. I broke in to say that I didn't have that kind of money. But the kidnapper, whoever he is, knows about Terry's inheritance, as you suspected. He said the money could be got from the estate; it would require only a phone call on my part and a quick transfer of funds. I kept trying to stall, to see if I could recognize the voice, and I said the executor of the estate wouldn't just take my word about the kidnapping. But that did no good, either. The kidnapper knows I reported Terry's disappearance to the police. He said corroboration by the police would convince the executor. He seems to know everything. He's been watching me all the time.”

His account was broken by a long pause.

Bartholdi kept asking himself questions that he could not answer.

Everything? Not quite. He doesn't know, it seems, that we have found the body of Terry Miles. Why? Why
should he be ignorant of the very thing he should know above all?

Jay's voice, drained of life, picked up the thread of his account.

“I'm to have the money ready tomorrow. Tomorrow night, at midnight, it's to be delivered by a third person. He made a point of saying that I mustn't bring it. This third person is to start walking exactly at midnight along a certain road west of town. Somewhere along the road he will be contacted. There are to be no police in the area; the police are not to be notified. He warned me Terry will be killed if they are.” Surprisingly, he laughed. “What kind of monster could tell me a thing like that, knowing he'd killed her three days ago?”

“What road?” Bartholdi asked.

“West End Road, he said. I've been trying to think where it is, but I can't.”

“I know it. It's a narrow road, little more than a lane, about five miles long. It begins at an isolated intersection and runs eventually into another. It's poorly maintained—hardly ever used. It's lined on both sides with hedges and underbrush.”

“Anyhow, that's where the money is to be delivered.” Jay sank back as if the account had depleted him of his last reserve of strength. His face, turned up to the light, was gaunt and livid. “The question is, what do we do now?”

Bartholdi said, “We do as we've been told. It won't be necessary, of course, to arrange a transfer of funds. I'll have a dummy package prepared for the contact to carry. I'll have men stationed after dark near both ends of West End Road and at intervals between. We can't have them swarming all over the place, of course—we mustn't risk scaring our man off. But we'll take all possible precautions. The contact man will be from headquarters.”

“No.” Jay sat up suddenly. “That won't do.”

“Why?”

“Because I was told whom to send. Someone the kidnapper seems to know by sight.”

“Who was specified?”

“Apparently he didn't know the name. His exact words were, ‘The fellow who went with you to headquarters.'”

Bartholdi turned to Farley, at the door. Farley was looking as if he had bitten into a sour orange.

“Oh, I don't know,” Farley said. “I'm no bloody hero to go walking down a country road at midnight to meet a murderer. There may be a few cops scattered around, but how the hell do I know they'll be where I may need them? A man could get hurt on an assignment like that.”

“That's right.” Bartholdi nodded. “He could.”

He continued to look at Farley, who was trying not to look at Jay, who kept looking at his hands. After a moment Farley struck a fist into a palm bitterly.

“All right, damn it, I suppose I'll have to do it. It's what I deserve for not minding my own business. It's Fanny's fault, that's who! She kept after me and after me—wouldn't leave me alone—”

“That's settled, then.” Bartholdi rose, slapping his hat against his thigh. “Speaking of Fanny, do you happen to know if your sister's home?”

“I haven't any idea.”

“She's around somewhere.” Jay lifted his eyes from his hands, escaping the contemplation of his shame. “She and Ben were in here a while ago. I think they must be across the hall.”

“Do they know about the telephone call?”

“Yes. I saw no harm in telling them. Anyhow, I couldn't pull my wits together.”

Bartholdi's voice sharpened. “Do they also know your wife's dead?”

“I haven't told them that. I haven't told anyone.”

“You, Mr. Moran?”

“Not me,” said Farley glumly.

“Good. I have some unfinished business concerning Mr. Green. I believe I'll step across the hall and have a word with him.”

21

Fanny, as a matter of record, had already settled the business; in the process, she had a great many more words with Ben Green than one. She had, in fact, lost no time in initiating the settlement, and she was no sooner back from upstairs with her bottle of gin than she went to the heart of the matter.

“Ben,” she said, “it was all right to be close-mouthed and two-faced so long as everything was uncertain. But now things have changed, and you'd better come clean if you know what's good for you.”

Ben, who had promptly relieved her of the gin and was splashing generous portions into a pair of glasses, looked at her with a ferocious scowl that was equal parts sullenness and anxiety.

“I don't see why,” he muttered.

“If you don't see why, it's high time someone told you, and I'm just the baby who can do it. Terry has been kidnapped, which is a serious crime, and you're obviously under suspicion through your own foolishness, if not for other reasons.”

“What the devil do you mean by that? Why should I want to kidnap Terry? Damn it, I didn't even know she had any money,”

“That's what
you
say. I happen to know, however, that you come from Glendale, which is near Los Angeles. It's entirely possible that you knew
all
about it.”

“How do you know I come from Glendale? Isn't anyone's private life safe from your nosiness?”

“Never mind how I know. The point is—if I know, chances are ten to one Captain Bartholdi does, too. It stands to reason that he's going to demand an accounting of where you were and what you were doing last weekend. As a matter of fact,” Fan finished ominously, “I am demanding it myself.”

“How do you know it won't make matters worse for me?”

“That's possible. Nevertheless, if you're capable of kidnapping, I would like to know it now rather than later. I have no serious objections to most of your faults, but I'm naturally reluctant to marry a man who may show up on the list of the FBI's ten most wanted men.”

“There you go with that marriage blather again. What makes you so sure I want to marry
you?
My guts would be constantly in the saucepan. Damn it, Fan, I'm just a simple guy who wants to become a teacher of history in some quiet little college somewhere, and here you've got me in trouble with the FBI!”

“I haven't got you in trouble with anyone. You have. Come clean, Ben. If you were just off philandering somewhere, I promise to give you another chance.”

“Another chance to philander?”

“Not much! Anyhow, you'll have no reason. It would be a poor substitute at best for what may be available if you'll only start facing the inevitable.”

“Oh, hell! Let's have a drink and forget it.”

“I'll have a drink, thanks, but
you
won't. So you might just as well leave it sitting right there on the cabinet.”

“So that's the way it is! Listen, toots, if I don't get a drink, you don't get any ragout, and that's that.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Come on, Fan, be reasonable. I
need
this drink.”

“You know how to get it.”

“If you aren't the most corrupt female! Do you make it a practice to bribe people with kisses and gin? What would it take to get the big offer?”

“That wouldn't be a bribe. It would be a reward.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It's an evaluation.”

“All right, I give up. Hand me that drink.”

“Are you agreeing to confess?”

“I'm agreeing to tell you something that's none of your business. I'll have to have the drink first, though, to fortify me.”

“How do I know you won't take the drink and then renege?”

“I'm only a philanderer and kidnapper and such minor things. I'm no liar.”

“All right. You may have the drink first.”

Ben threw his head back and then looked with regret at the empty glass where the drink had been.

“I went to Corinth,” he said.

“Corinth? Corinth is a town in Greece!”

“It's also a small town upstate.”

“Why did you go there?”

“I went to see a girl.”

“Just what I suspected! Damn it, Ben, I won't have you running all over the state to see other girls!”

“You've got it wrong. I do wish you'd quit jumping to conclusions. This girl is my kid sister.”

“I didn't know you had a sister. What's she doing in Corinth? Is she married or something?”

“No, she isn't married or something. She's only fifteen.”

“Why didn't you ever tell me about her?”

“I never tell anyone about her. At least, I didn't until you bribed me with one lousy drink of gin. She's in an institution. A place for mentally retarded children.”

“Is
that
all? Why didn't you say so? That's nothing to be ashamed of.”

Ben had been staring into his glass with an air of depression. But now he looked up at her, and she was delighted to see that depression had changed to fierce pride.

“Ashamed? Who the hell's ashamed of it? I've said over and over again that it's a question of
privacy
. It's bad enough for a little girl to be retarded without being made a goddamn conversation piece by people who have nothing better to do but chew it over.”

Fanny's melting point had never been very high. She was always brought perilously close to tears by a hungry dog or a sad movie, and she had learned that the best defense was to take some sort of positive action, such as feeding the dog or leaving the movie. Now she went over to Ben and kissed him on the cheek and put an arm around him.

“Ben,” she said, “you dear little devil, I do believe there's more to you than I suspected. Don't you feel better for having told me?”

“No, I don't. I don't feel better at all.”

“Later you will. Wait and see. Did you bring your sister all the way here from California with you?”

“Certainly. I had to have her near enough to visit once in a while, didn't I?”

“Is it expensive, keeping her in the hospital?”

“Not very. The hospital is supported by the state; I only have to pay a little extra. If it were expensive, I couldn't afford it. My parents are dead, which is some more private information I've never told you, and they left barely enough to keep me here and her there for a few years if I'm careful.”

“Maybe I could help.”

“I don't want any help.”

“Well, it's commendable to be proud and independent and all that, but you mustn't carry it too far. After we're married, we'll have to share things equally.”