1953 - I'll Bury My Dead Page 21

  She hung grotesquely against the door, her knees drawn up in agony, her baby face puffed and swollen, her tongue pushing 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. There’d be no controlling him, especially if he thought Lois was in Sherman’s hands.

  Uneasily, Leon wiped his face with his handkerchief. It did look as if Lois was in Sherman’s 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 Lois’ number and then dialled. He waited impatiently, listening to the burr-burr-burr on the line.

  There was a sudden click and a man’s voice said, ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Is this Westside 57794?’ Leon asked cautiously.

  ‘That’s right. Who’s calling?’

  It wasn’t English, Leon thought.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Miss Marshall,’ he said.

  ‘She’s not here,’ the voice told him. ‘Who’s that speaking?’

  ‘Come to that,’ Leon said sharply, ‘who are you, and what are you doing in Miss Marshall’s apartment if she isn’t there?’

  ‘This is Lieutenant Morilli of the Homicide Bureau,’ the voice snapped. ‘Quit stalling! Who are you?’

  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 didn’t find Lois there, it didn’t 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 Lois’ 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, snatched 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 he’d 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. He’d be damned if he’d 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 Crail’s home number. His call was answered almost immediately by Crail himself.

  ‘Sam? This is Nick,’ English said, speaking quietly and rapidly. ‘You win. They’re ringing the bell now.’

  ‘Say nothing,’ Crail snapped. ‘I’ll be at headquarters before you get there. Leave it to me, Nick. Just say nothing. Where’s Leon?’

  ‘He’s not here. Keep in touch with him, Sam. I’ve got to rely on you two.’

  ‘You can rely on us,’ Crail said. ‘Just keep your mouth shut and leave everything to me.’

  ‘Very comforting advice,’ English said dryly. He heard the front doorbell ring again. ‘They’re getting impatient. See you at headquarters,’ and he hung up.

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

  ‘Hello, Lieutenant,’ English said calmly. ‘This is unexpected. What do you want?’

  ‘Can I come in, Mr. English?’ Morilli said.

  ‘You alone?’

  ‘I have company, but he is downstairs.’

  English nodded and stood aside.

  ‘Come on in.’

  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.

  ‘There’s no one here but me,’ English said. ‘Miss Marshall is out.’

  Morilli nodded, ran his thumbnail along his black moustache.

  ‘I don’t have to tell you why I’m here, Mr. English?’

  English smiled.

  ‘I gave up making guesses years ago,’ he said. ‘Suppose you tell me.’

  ‘You’re to be charged with the murder of Julie Clair and Harold Vince,’ Morilli said and his small hard eyes shifted away from English.

  ‘I’m surprised you’ve taken the job on, Lieutenant,’ English said. ‘I had an idea you gave service.’

  ‘I’m still giving service,’ Morilli returned. ‘That’s why I’m here. I thought it would be safer for you if I made the arrest.’

  English raised his eyebrows.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first guy who’s been shot in the back while resisting arrest,’ Morilli said. ‘There are a lot of high-ups who would be happy to be rid of you, Mr. English.’

  ‘Including the commissioner?’

  Morilli lifted his shoulders.

  ‘I don’t know, but I thought I’d 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.’

  English didn’t say anything.

  ‘You went to Vince’s apartment, didn’t you?’ Morilli asked, his eyes probing.

  ‘Crail told me not to talk,’ English said lightly. ‘I’ve paid him a lot of money in the past so I’d better take his advice now, Lieutenant.’

  ‘I guess that’s right,’ Morilli said, and again stroked his moustache. ‘This rap will want a lot of beating.’

  E
nglish said, ‘Well, I mustn’t keep you. Shall we go?’

  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.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Morilli said sharply. He listened, then said, ‘That’s right. Who’s calling?’ He listened again, said, ‘She’s not here. Who’s that speaking?’

  English felt a cold chill run down his spine. It must be Ed who was asking for Lois. That meant he hadn’t found her at Corrine’s place.

  ‘This is Lieutenant Morilli of the Homicide Bureau,’ Morilli snapped. ‘Quit stalling! Who are you?’

  He cursed softly as the connection was broken, then he rattled the telephone plunger.

  ‘Operator! This is Lieutenant Morilli, police headquarters. Where was that call made from?’ He waited, then said, ‘Thanks. Put me through to headquarters, will you?’ Again he waited, then said, ‘Barker? 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 you’ve had a report. I’m at Westside 57794.’

  English said, ‘That’s my sister-in-law’s place. What makes you think she’s in trouble?’

  Morilli gave him a cold, searching stare.

  ‘Why didn’t she answer the phone?’ he demanded. ‘What was Leon doing there?’

  ‘Leon?’ English frowned. ‘Was he there?’

  ‘I recognized his voice. I’m not all that dumb. Your sister-in-law is an important witness against you. The commissioner wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.’

  ‘Why should anything happen to her? Do we go or do we wait?’

  ‘We wait,’ Morilli returned curtly, and began to move about the room, his eyes shifting 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 Corrine’s place. He tipped a little whisky into the glass.

  ‘Drink, Lieutenant?’

  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.

  ‘Yeah, Morilli speaking,’ he said. ‘What’s 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, I’ll get over as soon as I can. Let Jamieson handle it. Okay, be seeing you,’ and he slammed down the receiver.

  English braced himself. He could tell by Morilli’s expression that something bad had happened.

  ‘Your sister-in-law was found hanged,’ Morilli said, his face white with fury. ‘How do you like that? You wouldn’t have sent Leon down to shut her mouth, would you?’

  ‘Dead?’ English said, getting to his feet.

  ‘Murdered! Hanged like Mary Savitt was hanged, only this time I’m not covering up for you,’ Morilli snarled.

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

  ‘Would ten thousand buy me anything, Lieutenant?’ he said quietly, his eyes on Morilli’s face.

  ‘Quit kidding yourself,’ Morilli said viciously. ‘Your spending days are over. By tomorrow morning the banks won’t touch your checks. The commissioner didn’t forget money is your power. All that’s been taken care of. You re washed up. Don’t try to wave your dough in my face. You haven’t any. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  ‘I have money in the office,’ English said. ‘Don’t be a fool. No one knows I’m here. Give me an out and make yourself six thousand.’

  Morilli showed his teeth in a grin.

  ‘There’s an officer sitting by your safe right at this moment. The commissioner has thought of all the angles. You haven’t any money. Come on!’

  English lifted his shoulders. He was determined now he wasn’t going to be locked in a cell while Lois was in danger. Casually he moved toward Morilli, but something about his attitude warned Morilli, who jerked out his gun.

  ‘Take it easy,’ he said evenly. ‘Don’t pull a fast one, English, or you’ll get shot. Go ahead, and if you want a slug in the back, try to get away.’

  English smiled.

  ‘Don’t be dramatic, Lieutenant. Even if I did get away, where would I go? I prefer to fight this in court.’

  ‘Get going and watch your step,’ 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.

  ‘Let’s get going,’ Morilli said impatiently. ‘We’ve got a murder on our hands after we’ve turned this guy in.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ the red-faced detective exclaimed in disgust. ‘And I’ve got a ticket for the fights tonight!’

  ‘You’re unlucky,’ Morilli said. ‘Come on. Snap it up!’

  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.

  ‘Start something, and I’ll spread your guts on the sidewalk!’ he said viciously.

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

  ‘Get in!’ Morilli snapped. ‘And watch it!’

  English climbed into the car, and Morilli followed him.

  ‘Okay, Nankin,’ Morilli said to the red-faced detective. ‘Let’s have some speed.’

  The car shot away from the curb and headed downtown, keeping to the backstreets.

  English sat motionless, feeling Morilli’s 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, ‘This isn’t the way to headquarters. What’s the idea?’

  Morilli smiled.

  ‘I have a call to make first. Relax. You’re in no hurry to get anywhere.’

  ‘But he’ll get there just the same,’ Nankin said, and laughed.

  English relaxed back into the corner of the seat. He should have guessed Morilli wouldn’t dare risk bringing him in alive. He knew too much for Morilli’s 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 Morilli’s bank manager might have a story to tell.

  Besides, Morilli wouldn’t 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 embarrassing case.

  English’s eyes went to Morilli’s gun. It was pointing at him, and Morilli’s 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 windshield clear. The waterfront was deserted. A good place in which to kill anyone, English thought. A shot, and then the river.

  Morilli said sharply, ‘Okay, Nankin.’ His voice sounded tight and metallic.

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

  ‘Get out,’ Morilli said to English.

  English looked at him.

  ‘What’s this - an unofficial execution?’

  Morilli rammed the gun into his side.

  ‘Get out! I don’t want you to bleed in this car.’

  As English opened the off-side door, Nankin got out hurriedly and ran around the front of the car, pulling a gun as he did so. He covered English until Morilli got out.

  ‘Unwise to have a witness, Lieutenant,’ English said calmly. ‘He’ll blackmail you if you kill
me.’

  Nankin laughed.

  ‘Me and the lieutenant work together pally,’ he said. ‘Don’t bother your brains about us.’

  Morilli swung up his gun and pointed it at English.

  ‘This is yours, English,’ he said. ‘I’m not taking a chance on you talking. Back up against that wall.’

  English braced himself. He was too far from the river to jump for it, too far from Morilli to close with him. He knew he was within a heartbeat of death. He was surprised that he felt no fear, only an angry frustration that he now wouldn’t be able to even things up with Sherman.

  He stepped back.

  ‘Shed those rods!’ a voice barked from behind the car. ‘Quick or I’ll blast both of you to blazes!’

  Nankin hurriedly dropped his gun. Morilli half turned, his lips coming off his teeth in a furious snarl.

  A gun crashed, and he staggered, dropping his automatic and gripping his wrist cursing.

  Chuck Eagan came out from behind the car.

  ‘Thought I’d better come along for the ride,’ boss, he said cheerfully. ‘I never did trust this flatfoot.’

  English stepped forward and picked up Morilli’s gun. He kicked Nankin’s gun across the waterfront into the river.

  ‘Phew! You timed it a little close, Chuck,’ he said with a wry smile.

  ‘Better late than never,’ Chuck returned, grinning. ‘What do we do with these lice?’

  ‘I want them out of the way for a few hours Chuck,’ English said. ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Easy,’ Chuck said and stepping up to Nankin he slammed him over the head with his gun butt.

  Morilli backed away as Nankin fell face down.

  English said, ‘Don’t move. I’m tempted to make a hole in your hide!’

  Morilli snarled at him.

  ‘You’ll be sorry for this.’

  Chuck hit him on the back of his skull, driving him to his knees. Then he hit him again, and Morilli spread out on the rain-soaked concrete.