I'll Bury My Dead Part 13

aI must be out of my mind!a English said. aI let that girl go.a aSo what? What are you worrying about?a aSuppose Shermanas there? Suppose she walks into him?a aSuppose he isnat?a Leon said. aSuppose she doesnat walk into him? Donat take your clothes off, Nick. The chances are . . .a aTo h.e.l.l with chances!a English returned. aI shouldnat have let her go. That fella is a homicidal maniac! Iam going to see whatas happened to her.a aNow wait a minute,a Leon said, his voice sharpening. aYouare staying right here. Donat you know the cops are looking for you? How far do you think youall get? Iall go. The chances are sheall be here by the time I get back.a aIam going with you!a aThen if she came back with Corrine shead find no one here. Use your head, Nick!a English hesitated, then shrugged.

aI guess thatas right. Well, get going, Ed! For Peteas sake, get there fasta aLeave it to me,a Leon said, s.n.a.t.c.hing up his hat and coat and plunging out of the room. He ran down the stairs into the street, struggling into his mackintosh as he went. It was still raining hard, and he splashed through puddles to reach his car, parked some yards from Loisa walk-up. He drove rapidly. He had to cross town to reach Lawrence Boulevard. On the way he noticed an unusual number of prowl cars on the streets, and he guessed they were looking for English.

He rubbed his sweating face with the back of his hand, scowling. A fantastic situation, he thought. Nick English on the run! It was unbelievable. Nick English of all people, with his power, his money and his empire, to be hunted like an Eastside hoodlum!

He slightly increased his speed, but he was careful not to drive so fast that he would attract the attention of the prowl cars.

He reached Mason Street, turned into Addison Street, and slowed down as he looked for Lawrence Boulevard.

A prowl car coming in the opposite direction pa.s.sed him. One of the cops was talking into the radio. Leon wondered uneasily if they had come from Corrineas bungalow.

He drove into Lawrence Boulevard, his eyes alert for any sign of trouble, but the long street was rain swept and deserted. He pulled up some yards from Corrineas bungalow, and got out of the car.

He stood for a moment in the driving rain to look up and down the street, then he walked toward the bungalow, noting there was a light on in the sitting room.

He went up the path and dug his thumb into the bell push. The chimes startled him, and he frowned, shaking his head. He waited several minutes, then rang again. No one answered the door, nor did he hear any sound of movement in the bungalow.

Cautiously he turned the door handle and pushed, but the door was locked. He rang again, then, after waiting a long minute, he stepped out of the shelter of the porch, onto the flowerbed to see if he could look into the lighted sitting room, but the curtains were too closely drawn, and he could see nothing.

He walked across the saturated lawn to the path leading to the back of the bungalow. Around the back he saw an overflowing garbage can and a big wooden box full of empty brandy bottles by the service entrance. When he turned the handle of the door he found the door unlocked.

He pushed it open and stepped into a small kitchen. His feet kicked against something that clanked noisily, and he cursed under his breath. He took from his pocket a small flashlight and turned it on.

The kitchen looked as if it hadnat been touched in days. A pile of dirty dishes stood on the table; flour, dust and bread crumbs littered the floor. More brandy bottles occupied a distant corner, and there was a sour smell of curdled milk that made him wrinkle his nose. He opened the kitchen door, glanced into the dark lobby, listened, then moved forward, making no sound.

He reached the sitting room door, turned the handle and looked in. The room was empty. An overturned brandy bottle had emptied its contents on the rug before the dying fire. A broken gla.s.s lay in the hearth. He moved into the room, frowning, not liking the spilled brandy, feeling that here might be a hint of violence. He moved around the room, his eyes missing nothing, not knowing what he was looking for, but hoping to find something that would explain why the light was on and the room empty.

On the settee, pushed half out of sight, he saw something white, and he fished it out from under the cus.h.i.+on. It was a womanas handkerchief; embroidered in the corner were the initials L.M. He shook his head. Lois must have persuaded Corrine to leave with her, he thought, and they had forgotten to turn off the light.

He looked around for the telephone to call English, to ask him if Lois had returned, when his eyes encountered the overturned bottle again. He frowned. Had Corrine been tight? he wondered. Had Loisa ring startled her so she had upset the bottle? It seemed unlikely, and he went out into the lobby.

Facing him was a door, and he turned the handle and pushed it open. The room was in darkness, and he groped for the light switch and turned it on. The bedroom was as untidy as the kitchen. In the middle of the floor was a rose-colored silk wrap. Stockings, underclothes and a fur coat lay on the bed. The dressing table was a smother of face powder, and the mirror above it hadnat been dusted for days. A bottle of hand lotion had been knocked over, and its white, creamy contents had made a messy puddle on the floor.

Leon grimaced, shrugging, and as he was about to turn off the light, he paused, his eyes narrowing.

A door opposite him attracted his attention. It was open a few inches, and fastened to one of the dress hooks screwed to the door was a red silk cord that ran over the top of the door and disappeared down the other side.

The cord looked taut - too taut, as if it were supporting a heavy weight Leon quickly crossed the room, pushed against the door, which opened sluggishly. Something heavy b.u.mped against the other side as he pushed. He stepped into a blue and white bathroom, his heart skipping a beat. He was half-prepared for what he saw, but even at that his stomach gave a little heave as he looked at Corrine Englishas dead face.

She hung grotesquely against the door, her knees drawn up in agony, her baby face puffed and swollen, her tongue pus.h.i.+ng out between her small white teeth. The red silk cord had bitten deeply into her neck, and her hands were rigid claws as if she had been frantically trying to push someone away in the last moments of her life.

Leon touched one of her hands. It was still warm, and he stepped away, his face hard and white. For a long moment he stood thinking, his eyes averted from the hanging body, then he moved around the door into the bedroom, walked quickly into the lobby and into the sitting room.

He was thinking now of Lois. Had she come to the bungalow and found Corrine or had she arrived before Corrine had been murdered? Leon felt sweat beading his face. If he told English what had happened to Corrine, English would come out of cover. Theread be no controlling him, especially if he thought Lois was in Shermanas hands.

Uneasily, Leon wiped his face with his handkerchief. It did look as if Lois was in Shermanas hands. He stood, hesitating, trying to make up his mind what to do. He decided he had to find out if Lois had returned to her apartment. This might be a false alarm. She might be there, and safe.

He went over to the telephone, thumbed through the telephone directory until he found Loisa number and then dialled. He waited impatiently, listening to the burr-burr-burr on the line.

There was a sudden click and a manas voice said, aWho is that?a aIs this Westside 57794?a Leon asked cautiously.

aThatas right. Whoas calling?a It wasnat English, Leon thought.

aIad like to speak to Miss Marshall,a he said.

aSheas not here,a the voice told him. aWhoas that speaking?a aCome to that,a Leon said sharply, awho are you, and what are you doing in Miss Marshallas apartment if she isnat there?a aThis is Lieutenant Morilli of the Homicide Bureau,a the voice snapped. aQuit stalling! Who are you?a Leon felt a chill run down his spine. Morilli! Had English got away?

He hurriedly dropped the receiver back onto its cradle.

IV.

Nick English paced slowly up and down, his hands in his trousers pockets, his face set and anxious. He kept looking at the clock on the mantel. It was now a little more than an hour since Lois had left the apartment - a little less than a quarter of an hour since Leon had gone to look for her.

English calculated it would take Leon twenty minutes to get to Lawrence Boulevard. Even if he didnat find Lois there, it didnat necessarily mean she was in danger. She might have left the bungalow before Leon arrived.

What a thoughtless fool he had been to have let her go! he thought angrily. He should have realized that Corrine was dangerous to Sherman.

He paused to look around the room. It was just the kind of room he imagined Lois would have! well-furnished, comfortable, bright and homely. If anything happened to her!

He realized with a sense of shock that she meant something to him. Only now that Julie was dead he was able to judge Loisa worth. Julie had been a physical attraction - a doll to dress, to amuse and to sleep with - whereas Lois had worked by his side for five years, and he knew it had been largely due to her help and confidence in him that he had succeeded.

If anything happened to her!

Impatiently he went to the window, pulled aside the shade and looked down into the wet street below.

Rain made patterns on the window.

He stood watching the empty street for several minutes, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lois, but the street remained empty and forlorn. Then, as he was about to drop the shade, he saw the headlights of a fast-moving car coming down the street, and he stiffened to attention, wondering if it were Lois returning.

The car swung to the curb and pulled up outside the walk-up. English spotted the red flasher on the hood and recognized the black and white check pattern of the body. He quickly dropped the shade.

The police!

Did they know he was here or were they checking on the off-chance of finding him? He moved quickly across the room, s.n.a.t.c.hed up his hat and coat, and went into the lobby.

Then he stopped, frowning.

He had no idea if there was a rear exit to this building. Even if he found it, the chances were head walk into one of them. He hesitated for a moment, then tossed his hat and coat onto a chair and returned to the sitting room.

If he was cornered, then he was cornered. Head be d.a.m.ned if head run like some frightened pickpocket. He stood before the fireplace, his hands behind his back, his face hard and set, and waited.

Minutes ticked by, and just when he was beginning to think it was a false alarm, the front doorbell rang sharply.

He stepped quickly to the telephone, took up the receiver and dialled Sam Crailas home number. His call was answered almost immediately by Crail himself.

aSam? This is Nick,a English said, speaking quietly and rapidly. aYou win. Theyare ringing the bell now.a aSay nothing,a Crail snapped. aIall be at headquarters before you get there. Leave it to me, Nick. Just say nothing. Whereas Leon?a aHeas not here. Keep in touch with him, Sam. Iave got to rely on you two.a aYou can rely on us,a Crail said. aJust keep your mouth shut and leave everything to me.a aVery comforting advice,a English said dryly. He heard the front doorbell ring again. aTheyare getting impatient. See you at headquarters,a and he hung up.

He walked across the room, into the lobby and opened the front door. Morilli stood in the pa.s.sage, one hand in his coat pocket. His lean, hatchet face looked pallid in the soft light, and his eyes were wary.

ah.e.l.lo, Lieutenant,a English said calmly. aThis is unexpected. What do you want?a aCan I come in, Mr. English?a Morilli said.

aYou alone?a aI have company, but he is downstairs.a English nodded and stood aside.

aCome on in.a Morilli walked into the lobby, shut the front door and waved English toward the sitting room. English went ahead, crossed over to the fireplace, and turned to face Morilli.

Morilli looked suspiciously around the sitting room as he came in.

aThereas no one here but me,a English said. aMiss Marshall is out.a Morilli nodded, ran his thumbnail along his black moustache.

aI donat have to tell you why Iam here, Mr. English?a English smiled.

aI gave up making guesses years ago,a he said. aSuppose you tell me.a aYouare to be charged with the murder of Julie Clair and Harold Vince,a Morilli said and his small hard eyes s.h.i.+fted away from English.

aIam surprised youave taken the job on, Lieutenant,a English said. aI had an idea you gave service.a aIam still giving service,a Morilli returned. aThatas why Iam here. I thought it would be safer for you if I made the arrest.a English raised his eyebrows.

aWhat does that mean?a aYou wouldnat be the first guy whoas been shot in the back while resisting arrest,a Morilli said. aThere are a lot of high-ups who would be happy to be rid of you, Mr. English.a aIncluding the commissioner?a Morilli lifted his shoulders.

aI donat know, but I thought Iad be doing you a favour to handle this myself. This is a bad business, Mr. English. The D.A. reckons he has a watertight case.a English didnat say anything.

aYou went to Vinceas apartment, didnat you?a Morilli asked, his eyes probing.

aCrail told me not to talk,a English said lightly. aIave paid him a lot of money in the past so Iad better take his advice now, Lieutenant.a aI guess thatas right,a Morilli said, and again stroked his moustache. aThis rap will want a lot of beating.a English said, aWell, I mustnat keep you. Shall we go?a As he moved toward the door, the telephone bell began to ring. He made a movement to answer it, but Morilli got there first.

English watched him, his eyes narrowed, his face set.

aWhoas that?a Morilli said sharply. He listened, then said, aThatas right. Whoas calling?a He listened again, said, aSheas not here. Whoas that speaking?a English felt a cold chill run down his spine. It must be Ed who was asking for Lois. That meant he hadnat found her at Corrineas place.

aThis is Lieutenant Morilli of the Homicide Bureau,a Morilli snapped. aQuit stalling! Who are you?a He cursed softly as the connection was broken, then he rattled the telephone plunger.

aOperator! This is Lieutenant Morilli, police headquarters. Where was that call made from?a He waited, then said, aThanks. Put me through to headquarters, will you?a Again he waited, then said, aBarker? Morilli. Get a car over to 25 Lawrence Boulevard as fast as you can. There may be trouble there. Call me back as soon as youave had a report. Iam at Westside 57794.a English said, aThatas my sister-in-lawas place. What makes you think sheas in trouble?a Morilli gave him a cold, searching stare.

aWhy didnat she answer the phone?a he demanded. aWhat was Leon doing there?a aLeon?a English frowned. aWas he there?a aI recognized his voice. Iam not all that dumb. Your sister-in-law is an important witness against you. The commissioner wouldnat want anything to happen to her.a aWhy should anything happen to her? Do we go or do we wait?a aWe wait,a Morilli returned curtly, and began to move about the room, his eyes s.h.i.+fting to English continuously.

English sat down. His mouth was dry, and his heart beat unevenly. At least now he would know if there was something wrong at Corrineas place. He tipped a little whisky into the gla.s.s.

aDrink, Lieutenant?a Morilli shook his head.

They waited while the hands of the clock crawled forward.

Then the telephone bell rang, and Morilli scooped up the receiver.

aYeah, Morilli speaking,a he said. aWhatas that? Well, for crying out loud! Did they pick up Leon? Then send a call out for him. He was there not more than ten minutes ago. I want that guy. Yeah, Iall get over as soon as I can. Let Jamieson handle it. Okay, be seeing you,a and he slammed down the receiver.

English braced himself. He could tell by Morillias expression that something bad had happened.

aYour sister-in-law was found hanged,a Morilli said, his face white with fury. aHow do you like that? You wouldnat have sent Leon down to shut her mouth, would you?a aDead?a English said, getting to his feet.

aMurdered! Hanged like Mary Savitt was hanged, only this time Iam not covering up for you,a Morilli snarled.

Where was Lois? English thought, cold fear gripping at his heart. At all costs he must find her.

aWould ten thousand buy me anything, Lieutenant?a he said quietly, his eyes on Morillias face.

aQuit kidding yourself,a Morilli said viciously. aYour spending days are over. By tomorrow morning the banks wonat touch your checks. The commissioner didnat forget money is your power. All thatas been taken care of. You re washed up. Donat try to wave your dough in my face. You havenat any. Come on, letas get out of here.a aI have money in the office,a English said. aDonat be a fool. No one knows Iam here. Give me an out and make yourself six thousand.a Morilli showed his teeth in a grin.

aThereas an officer sitting by your safe right at this moment. The commissioner has thought of all the angles. You havenat any money. Come on!a English lifted his shoulders. He was determined now he wasnat going to be locked in a cell while Lois was in danger. Casually he moved toward Morilli, but something about his att.i.tude warned Morilli, who jerked out his gun.

aTake it easy,a he said evenly. aDonat pull a fast one, English, or youall get shot. Go ahead, and if you want a slug in the back, try to get away.a English smiled.

aDonat be dramatic, Lieutenant. Even if I did get away, where would I go? I prefer to fight this in court.a aGet going and watch your step,a Morilli said.

They went out of the apartment and down the four flights of stairs to the lobby. At the bottom of the stairs a thickset, red-faced detective leaned against the wall, chewing on a toothpick. He eyed English over, then glanced at Morilli.

aLetas get going,a Morilli said impatiently. aWeave got a murder on our hands after weave turned this guy in.a aFor G.o.das sake!a the red-faced detective exclaimed in disgust. aAnd Iave got a ticket for the fights tonight!a aYouare unlucky,a Morilli said. aCome on. Snap it up!a The red-faced detective went down the steps to the waiting car and got in under the steering wheel.

English followed him, with Morilli at his heels. As English paused by the car and set himself, Morilli rammed his gun into his side.

aStart something, and Iall spread your guts on the sidewalk!a he said viciously.

aFor a pensioner, you show very little respect for your benefactor,a English said and smiled.

aGet in!a Morilli snapped. aAnd watch it!a English climbed into the car, and Morilli followed him.

aOkay, Nankin,a Morilli said to the red-faced detective. aLetas have some speed.a The car shot away from the curb and headed downtown, keeping to the backstreets.

English sat motionless, feeling Morillias gun against his side, and inwardly seething. He realized his chances of escaping were slight, and his hopes would now have to rest on Ed.

As they swept over the Blackstone Bridge, English said sharply, aThis isnat the way to headquarters. Whatas the idea?a Morilli smiled.

aI have a call to make first. Relax. Youare in no hurry to get anywhere.a aBut heall get there just the same,a Nankin said, and laughed.

English relaxed back into the corner of the seat. He should have guessed Morilli wouldnat dare risk bringing him in alive. He knew too much for Morillias safety. There was the five thousand dollars he had given Morilli. Maybe there was no proof that Morilli had received the money, but an accusation like that would lead to an investigation, and Morillias bank manager might have a story to tell.

Besides, Morilli wouldnat only be covering himself, he would also be doing a service to a number of high-ups by getting rid of English. It would be a nice tidy way of closing an embarra.s.sing case.

Englishas eyes went to Morillias gun. It was pointing at him, and Morillias finger was on the trigger. He decided it would be useless to start anything in the car. He would have to make his break when they got out of the car.

They were driving along the river bank now. Rain drummed on the roof of the car, and the wipers laboured to keep the winds.h.i.+eld clear. The waterfront was deserted. A good place in which to kill anyone, English thought. A shot, and then the river.

Morilli said sharply, aOkay, Nankin.a His voice sounded tight and metallic.

Nankin slowed down, steered the car into the shadows of a warehouse and pulled up.

aGet out,a Morilli said to English.

English looked at him.

aWhatas this - an unofficial execution?a Morilli rammed the gun into his side.