I'll Bury My Dead Read online

“No, please don’t, Helen,” English said. “I’m all right. Mind if I talk business to Sam, but don’t go away.”

  Helen looked swiftly at Crail, who shook his head.

  “Heard from Ed yet?” English asked.

  “I’ve heard from him,” Crail returned, following English into the big, brightly lit lounge. He took off his coat and dropped it in a chair. “Take your coat off. You’re sopping wet.” As English took off his coat, Crail went on, “What happened to you? I went down to headquarters and waited. Captain Swinney hadn’t any information. He said there was a call out for you, but he had no report on you. I didn’t tell him you’d been found. Did you give them the slip?”

  English smiled grimly.

  “Eventually. Morilli staged a private arrest for his own benefit. What’s happened to Lois?”

  “I don’t know. Ed’s looking for her. He said he was calling me back in an hour. He should come through at any minute now.”

  Helen took English’s coat and hung it in the lobby.

  “Did he say what he found when he arrived at Corrine’s place?” English asked.

  Crail nodded.

  “Yes. Sherman had been there. He strangled Corrine. Lois had been there, too. Ed found her handkerchief, but we don’t know if Sherman has her or not.”

  English clenched his fists, his pale face hardening.

  “He’s got to be stopped, Sam! This can’t go on. I’ve got to find him.”

  “Now look, you’re in a bad spot yourself,” Crail said anxiously. “You should have given yourself up when Morilli came for you. Running away from him…”

  “I didn’t run away from him. I let him arrest me,” English said as Helen came back into the lounge. “He took me for a one-way ride. If Chuck hadn’t spotted us leaving and got himself a ride on the rear bumper I’d be in the morgue by now.”

  Crail stared at him.

  “You aren’t serious?”

  “You bet I’m serious. Morilli made no bones about it. He was scared I’d talk. He was about to shoot me when Chuck appeared like a hero in a second-feature movie. And that’s the kind of treatment I’d get if I gave myself up. I told you how it would be. They’ll frame me into the chair if I give them half a chance.”

  Crail wiped his face with his handkerchief.

  “I’ll go to the commissioner right now and tell him,” he said. “He’ll have to listen to me. Where did you say you’ve left Morilli?”

  “Hampton Wharf,” English told him. “Chuck is with him. Take a newspaper man with you, Sam. It’s a good idea. Maybe Morilli will give himself away.”

  “Leave it to me,” Crail said, putting on his coat again. “In the meantime, you stay here, Nick, and keep out of sight. I’ll fix that rat Morilli!”

  “You’re harboring a criminal,” English pointed out. “Maybe I’d better move on, Sam.”

  “You stay here! See that he does, Helen,” Crail said. “They won’t think to look here for you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  When he had gone out to the garage, Helen said, “You’re worrying about Lois, aren’t you, Nick?”

  He nodded.

  “If that devil’s killed her…”

  “You mustn’t think like that,” she said soothingly. “Sit down and rest. Ed will find her. He’s a good man, Nick.”

  “But the police are looking for him now and he doesn’t know it. Morilli put out a call for him. He might walk into trouble, and then what’ll happen to Lois?”

  “Trust him to keep out of trouble,” she returned. “If anyone can find her, he will.”

  English flopped down in an armchair.

  “If only I knew where Sherman was,” he said angrily. “I can’t go looking all over the town. I’d be picked up within minutes.”

  “Ed said he was going to talk to some girl—Windsor I think he said her name was. He thought she might know where Sherman was.”

  English’s face brightened.

  “I’d forgotten her. Ed thinks she’s working with Sherman. I wonder if he got anywhere with her.”

  “He’ll call in a little while,” Helen said.

  “He may be with her now,” English said, jumping to his feet. “I might get him on the phone.”

  He went over to the telephone and ruffled through the pages of the directory until he found Gloria Windsor’s number. He dialled and waited, listening with growing impatience to the ringing tone. He waited for a minute or so, then replaced the receiver.

  “No answer. Maybe she’s out, and he hasn’t talked to her yet.” He looked at his watch. “When I think of Lois…” He drove his fist into his palm. “Damn it! I must do something! I can’t just sit and wait!”

  “Take it easy, Nick,” Helen said. “You’ve got to rely on Ed. He’ll find her.”

  “It’s all very well…” He broke off and smiled crookedly at her. “You know I’ve been a mug about Lois, Helen. I didn’t realize what she means to me until I’d lost her.”

  “Aren’t we all mugs sometimes?” she returned gently. “I’m glad, Nick. She’s been good to you.”

  “I know. Well, if she’s alive, I’ll make up for it.”

  “Listen!” Helen said sharply, holding up her hand.

  They heard the sound of a fast-moving car, coming down the street. A moment later it pulled up outside the house with a squeal of tortured tires.

  As English moved to the window, Helen pushed him aside.

  “You must keep out of sight, Nick. It may be the police,” she said sharply. “Let me see.”

  She lifted the shade, then turned swiftly, her face alight with excitement.

  “It’s Ed!” she exclaimed, and ran across the room to the front door.

  Leon was about to ring the bell when Helen opened the door. He was soaked with rain, and there was an anxious, harassed look in his eyes.

  “Sam in?” he asked.

  “Come in,” Helen said. “Nick’s here.”

  “Nick! Well, I’ll be damned. I thought he was in jail.”

  He stepped into the lobby as English came out of the sitting room.

  “What a break!” Leon said. “I’d given you up as lost.”

  “Where’s Lois?” English demanded.

  “I’m not sure yet. I came here for some money. I’ve got to hire a boat. Sherman has a yacht six miles off Bay Creek. It’s my bet Lois is on board. They want a hundred bucks for a motor-launch to take me out there. Have you got a hundred bucks?”

  “Of course I have,” English said. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Better not. The cops are still looking for you.”

  “They’re looking for you, too,” English said. “Morilli’s put a call out for you. He’s trying to pin Corrine’s murder on you. Come on, let’s get going!”

  He struggled into his overcoat.

  “How far is Bay Creek?” he asked.

  “About three miles from here,” Leon said, opening the front door.

  “Tell Sam where I’ve gone,” English said to Helen. “And thanks for putting up with me.”

  “Good luck, Nick,” Helen said, her eyes anxious. “And be careful.”

  English went down the path after Leon and got into the waiting car.

  Leon sent the car shooting down the deserted street.

  “I got the Windsor girl to talk,” he told English, “but it’s going to cost you seven grand, and it may come to nothing. All the same I imagine Sherman will take Lois to the yacht if he takes her anywhere. What happened to you?”

  “Morilli took me for a ride. If Chuck hadn’t turned up I shouldn’t be here now,” English said.

  Leon glanced swiftly at him.

  “You mean he was going to knock you off?”

  “That was the idea. He was scared I’d talk. Besides, getting rid of me would have earned him a promotion. Where’s this Bay Creek, Ed?”

  “You know the golf club? A mile farther on is Bay Creek. There’s a boathouse there. I’ve seen the yacht. It’s anchored about six miles out in the estuary
. Someone’s on board. Lights are showing, but the guy who owns the motorboat wouldn’t play unless I paid him the hundred. I nearly went crazy trying to persuade him, but the louse wouldn’t budge. So I had to come back to Sam for the dough.”

  English glanced over his shoulder.

  “There’s a car after us, Ed!” he said, his voice sharpening.

  Leon promptly shoved his foot hard down on the gas pedal.

  “Cops?”

  “Could be. Maybe they spotted your number. I told you they were on the lookout for you.”

  “I can’t hope to shake a prowl car in this old heap,” Leon said uneasily. “What are we going to do?”

  “Can we lose them?”

  “Not in this district.” He looked in the driving mirror. “Hell! They’re coming up fast!”

  “You stall them, Ed. I’m going after Lois. Get around the next corner, slow down and let me drop off. I’ll take my chance of giving them the slip.”

  “They’re right behind us,” Leon said, and shoved the gas pedal to the boards. The car surged forward at over sixty miles an hour, and the car behind fell back a little. “Hang on tight. I’m going to take the next corner.”

  Twenty yards from the corner, Leon slammed on his brakes. The back of the car swung around in a violent skid. He heard the screaming of tires as the other car braked frantically. Beams from the other car’s headlamps lit up Leon’s car as he wrestled with the wheel, steering into the skid. He released the brake and trod on the gas pedal. The car shot into the side street. The pursuing car went on, braking violently as Leon slowed down.

  “Good luck!” he exclaimed as English opened the door.

  English jumped out, took two staggering steps forward before falling heavily. He rolled over, staggered to his feet, and ran blindly for an alley facing him.

  The police car had reversed and was swinging into the street as he reached the mouth of the alley. A voice yelled at him, but he didn’t look around. He kept on, his long legs flying over the ground.

  There was a flash and a crash of gunfire. Something zipped perilously close to his head; then he dashed into the darkness of the alley.

  For some seconds he ran blindly. The alley led to the river, and he came out on the waterfront. He heard the sound of pounding feet coming after him, and he looked to the right and left for cover. A few yards from him was a vast pile of empty wooden crates. He darted over to them and dodged behind them.

  A moment later a cop came out of the alley, gun in hand. He looked up and down the deserted waterfront, then stood listening for a moment.

  English watched him, his mouth in a tight, hard smile. Nick English hiding from a cop! If it wasn’t for Lois, it would be funny, he thought.

  He waited, sure the cop would come to investigate the pile of crates. He crouched in the shadows, holding his breath as the cop began a slow, cautious walk toward him.

  “Okay, I can see you!” the cop barked suddenly, and pushed forward his gun. “Come on out or I’ll blast you!”

  Sure the cop couldn’t see him, English remained where he was.

  The cop came on and began to circle the pile of crates. Moving without a sound, English followed him, keeping just out of sight, until the two of them had made a complete circle of the crates.

  With a grunt of disgust the cop went off along the waterfront, flashing a powerful flashlight, his gun thrust forward.

  English didn’t move until the cop was out of sight, then he went off in the opposite direction, walking fast, his head bent against the driving rain.

  He was about a mile from the golf club, and time was running out. He decided to risk a taxi. He couldn’t waste time walking to the club.

  He turned off the waterfront and made his way back to the town. As he walked along in the pelting rain, he wondered what had happened to Leon, and he wished he had a gun.

  After walking for some minutes he saw a taxi coming toward him, and he waved.

  The taxi pulled up.

  “Know the golf club?” he asked, keeping his head bent so the driver couldn’t see his face clearly.

  “Sure,” the driver returned. “You’re not thinking of having a game at this hour, are you, mister?”

  “A mile farther on there’s a boathouse. That’s where I want to go.”

  “I know it. Tom Kerr’s place.”

  English got into the cab.

  “Twenty bucks if you get me there in ten minutes.”

  “Can’t be done, but I’ll get you there in fifteen.”

  “Get going!”

  English sat back and fumbled for a cigarette. He suddenly felt deflated and tired. So much time had been wasted, he thought. It was now three hours since Lois had walked out of her apartment. The chances were she was dead, strangled by that maniac. Well, if she was, he would avenge her, he thought grimly. Sherman wasn’t going to get away with it this time.

  Once clear of the town, the taxi raced along the broad road through the sand dunes that led to the club. They flashed past the clubhouse after eight minutes’ reckless driving. There was a dance on, and English could hear the music and see the couples as they moved around the big ballroom.

  Four minutes later, the driver said, “That’s Kerr’s joint right ahead.”

  English leaned forward to peer through the rain-soaked windshield. He could see a big wooden shed by the river bank. Lights came through the windows.

  He fumbled in his wallet and took out a twenty-dollar bill.

  “Want to wait?” he said. “I’ll be coming back, but I may be some time. It rates another twenty.”

  “I’ll wait all night for that kind of dough,” the driver said eagerly.

  He swung down a steep slope that led directly to the shed and pulled up.

  “You’ll find Kerr in that cabin down by the jetty,” he told English as he took the twenty-dollar bill.

  English walked quickly down the path to the cabin at the shore end of the jetty and rapped on the door.

  The door opened and a fat man in a turtleneck sweater and thick rubber boots looked at him enquiringly.

  “You Tom Kerr?” English asked.

  “That’s right, mister. Come in.”

  English stepped into a warm, pleasant room. A girl sat before a bright fire nursing a baby. She looked at English and he saw her give a little start of recognition.

  “I want a motorboat in a hurry,” he said to Kerr. “How soon can you get one ready?”

  Kerr looked sharply at him.

  “What’s the trouble, Mr. English?” he asked.

  English smiled crookedly.

  “I wish my face wasn’t so familiar,” he said. “I want to get to a yacht moored in Bay Creek.”

  “Take him there, Tom,” the girl said sharply, “and don’t ask questions. Can’t you see Mr. English is in a hurry?”

  “I’ll take you there,” Kerr said. “Give me five minutes. You wait here. I’ll get the boat now.” He grabbed up his oilskins and went out of the hut.

  English wiped the rain off his face.

  “Do you two know the police are looking for me?” he said. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  The girl smiled.

  “We mind our own business. Besides, Tom and I have had a lot of pleasure from your shows, Mr. English. And we watched the big fight on the television. We’re glad to do something for you.”

  English nodded.

  “I’ve more friends than I thought,” he said, and came over to look at the baby. “Your first?”

  “Yes, but there’ll be more.”

  “When he’s old enough, send him to me, and I’ll give him a job,” English said.

  The girl giggled.

  “It isn’t a boy, it’s a girl.”

  “Send her to me just the same. I’ll fix her with something. Fine kid.”

  “If you want any help, Mr. English, you can rely on Tom,” the girl said.

  English smiled.

  “That’s fine. I may need him.”

 
The door opened and Kerr looked in.

  “All ready, Mr. English. Want to borrow an oilskin?”

  English shook his head.

  “Thanks, no. I can’t be wetter than I am now.” He looked over at Mrs. Kerr. “My thanks to you. Don’t forget, when she gets older I’ll do something for her.”

  He went out into the rain to a powerful speedboat that bobbed up and down on the heavy swell. Kerr helped him into the boat, cast off, pushed forward the throttle and sent the boat shooting toward the mouth of the estuary.

  “We didn’t talk terms,” English said, standing close to Kerr. “Would a hundred settle it?”

  Kerr nodded.

  “Anything you say, Mr. English.”

  “There may be some trouble on the yacht,” English went on. “A girl I know has been kidnapped, and I think she’s on board. I’ll tackle it. You stay with the boat. I’ll want you to take us back if she’s there.”

  “If there’s going to be any rough stuff, count me in,” Kerr said, his face lighting up. “I used to be the Mid-West heavyweight champion before I married, and I haven’t had any action in years.”

  “You have your wife and kid to think of,” English returned. “These thugs don’t fight with their fists.”

  Kerr reached for a belaying pin and flourished it.

  “Nor do I when I’ve got one of these. Count me in, Mr. English.”

  “I guess I can use you if there are more than one of them.”

  They reached the mouth of the estuary, and in the distance they could see the lights of the yacht.

  “Push her along,” English said impatiently.

  Kerr advanced the throttle. The speedboat raced over the heavy swell, throwing a foaming wash behind as it cleaved through the water.

  English peered through the blinding spray, his eyes on the yacht. If Lois wasn’t on board! he thought. If this was a wild-goose chase!

  Out of the shelter of the bay the wind whistled and the sea thundered. English thought it was unlikely anyone on board would hear the approaching speedboat.

  “Cut down speed,” he said to Kerr, “and drift up to her. I don’t want them to know we’re coming.”

  “Sure,” Kerr said, and throttled back.

  The boat, moving on its own impetus, ran on toward the yacht and, in a few minutes, Kerr brought it alongside.

  English caught hold of the glittering brass rail and steadied the boat while Kerr made it fast.