by Q. Patrick
His mind had been so settled earlier in the evening, before all the happened. When you’re through, you’re through, he’d said. Things were different now. Maybe he and Celia weren’t through. He gave himself up to seductive fancies.
“Celia, you still love me. I still love you. Baby, don’t let’s throw everything away out of pride. Other people get divorces and marry again.”
Faintly he seemed to hear her answer. “Do they, darling?
Nobody told me.”
“Here you are, Bud.” He hadn’t noticed. He paid the cab driver. The taxi drove away.
There was no police car outside Tony’s apartment house. No sign of excitement or confusion disturbed its sedate façade. Steve’s pulse quickened. Maybe he wasn’t too late.
For the third time that night, he took the self-service elevator up. He was grateful for Tony’s shady private life which had made him select so unobtrusive a dwelling place.
He paused outside the closed door of Tony’s apartment, listening. There was no sound. He brought out his key and opened the door softly onto darkness.
He paused on the threshold, feeling the darkness, alert for a trap. Satisfied, he turned on the lights.
He surveyed the room. Tony was still lying sprawled across the carpet. The room looked exactly the same. Or, did it? Heavy cream curtains were drawn across the window alcove behind the body. Had they been drawn before? For once, Steve’s jungletrained memory betrayed him. He wasn’t quite sure.
He stared at them for a while. Then, with a shrug, he moved to the body. He knelt down at its side. He felt in the breast pocket and drew out the wallet. Its contents were stuffed in untidily, money bills in crumpled balls, a bent draft card. That was odd. Tony had always been a neat man. Steve searched silently. It didn’t take long.
There wasn’t a letter from Celia in the wallet. There wasn’t any letter from anyone.
For moment he stared at the messy wallet. He took out his handkerchief, wiped it and put it back in the dead man’s pocket. What if someone had rifled the wallet after he, Steve, had left?
He thought of the cream curtains drawn over the alcove behind them and he knew then, with a sudden flash of memory, that they hadn’t been drawn when he was there before.
He crouched, quite still, the blood tingling in his veins. Quickly, with no warning movement, he spun around and tugged the curtains back.
A girl was crouching on the window seat—a pale, very young girl with upswept hair and a trailing black evening gown.
“Dennie,” he said.
The girl looked up at him from wide, frightened eyes. Then she rose and threw herself into his arms.
“Steve, I was scared. I heard someone outside the door. I just had time to turn out the lights and get behind the curtains. I thought maybe it was the police.”
Her slender body was trembling against his. He hated her being there. Dennie was too young to be here in a room with a murdered man. He stroked her hair.
“Baby, you were crazy to come.”
“I had to, Steve.” She drew away, looking up at him. “There was a letter—a letter Celia wrote Tony when they broke up. I knew he always kept it on him, and suddenly, after you left me, I remembered it. I thought if the police found it, Celia might get into trouble.”
“I heard about the letter from Virginia. That’s why I came, too. Baby, you shouldn’t have come here yourself. You should have told me.”
“Why?” Dennie’s eyes were blazing. “Why should you take all the danger? I love Celia, too.”
He grinned. “Independent, aren’t you?” His face went grave. “You made a hash of that wallet, searching it. Did you get the letter?”
She nodded.
He said. “Give it to me.”
“No, Steve. I don’t want you to read it.”
“I won’t read it. Just give it to me.”
She took a folded letter from her purse. Steve put it in the pocket of his blouse, unread.
“What did you do with Roy?”
“I left him at home in the apartment. I said I’d be right back.”
“Did anyone see you come in here?”
She shook her head.
“How did you get in anyway?”
She flushed. “Celia had a key. It’s a hangover from—well, I knew it was in a drawer. I got it and came around.” Her eyes moved to Tony’s body. She shivered. “Steve, did you find out anything from Virginia?”
“Enough to prove Celia didn’t do it.”
“Oh, I don’t mean that. I mean did you find out anything to make it safer for you?”
Steve shrugged. “Who cares about that?”
“I do.”
“You? Why?”
“Because I love you.” She said it that simply, like a grave little girl. “I’ve loved you ever since I can remember. I’d do anything, I’d kill myself—if it would make you happy.”
That was the second time that evening Steve had been close to breaking. It wasn’t the surprise of what she said; it was her sincerity. He knew she meant it, and the perversity of life got under his skin. Celia loved Tony; Steve loved Celia; Dennie loved Steve. He felt a sudden, savage hunger for the old world of mud and death in the Pacific. At least you knew where you were in a foxhole. Nobody loved anybody there.
“Dennie.”
He bent to kiss her forehead. She pulled herself away. “Don’t, Steve. You don’t have to be sorry for me.”
He stood close to her, staring down at her. He felt weary, spent.
“Maybe not. But at least I’ve got to get you safely out of here.”
The apartment buzzer from downstairs suddenly started to shrill.
IX
Dennie stiffened in nervous apprehension. Steve remained quite still, listening. Then the buzzer shrilled again.
“The police,” whispered Dennie.
Steve shook his head. “The police don’t come by magic. Someone has to discover the body first.”
The buzzer whirred again. There was a moment of keyed-up silence. Then, fainter, the buzzer for one of the other apartments sounded. There was an answering burr.
“They’ve got it,” Steve muttered. “They rang another bell. Baby, if they’ve got a key to this apartment, we’re in a spot. And Tony was generous with his keys.”
He glanced down at the body on the carpet. Quickly, he crossed to it, lifted it up like a sack, and dumped it into the window alcove. He drew the cream brocade curtains. There was a dull red stain on the carpet. He grabbed a chair and pulled it over the patch.
A key sounded in the lock of the front door. They heard footsteps in the hall. Steve gripped Dennie’s hand. “Steady, baby. Don’t do any talking.”
“Tony?” a voice called.
Then a woman walked into the room—a blonde with cool amber eyes, set a little too close together. She was wearing a mannish gray tailored suit, but there was nothing mannish about the movement of her hips and her appraising stare.
Steve recognized Eternally Janice without having to check with the silver-framed photograph.
“Hello.” She studied Steve with a frankness that made him uncomfortable. “I suppose you’re the guy who answered the phone.”
Steve didn’t reply. The girl’s gaze moved to Dennie.
“Who’s the infant?” Her eyes arrowed. “Aren’t you the fabulous Celia Glenn Tony’s always talking about? No, you can’t be. You’re too young.”
“I’m her sister,” Dennie said awkwardly.
Steve cursed inwardly. Things were bad enough without Dennie taking them worse. Now, when the news of the murder broke, Janice would be able to tell the police she had found Celia’s sister in the apartment hours after the murder. The situation could hardly deteriorate further—unless, of course, Janice were to discover the body right now. The girl shrugged and dropped into a chair. “I could kill Tony. I suppose he’s not back yet?”
“No,” Steve said. “I told you. He won’t r
eturn until tomorrow.”
“What a bore.” Janice lighted a cigarette. “By the way, am I the hostess or are you the host? In any case, I need a drink.” Dennie glanced at Steve.
He nodded. “Get me one, too, Dennie,” he said.
Dennie hurried out into the kitchen. Janice stared after her and then smirked at Steve.
“Isn’t she a little young, soldier?”
“To the snide,” said Steve, “all things are snide.”
“You’re not polite.”
“I don’t have to be.”
Steve was watching her closely. Had she murdered Tony, remembered about dropping the compact, and come back for it? She appeared tough enough to carry off harder assignments than that.
Before he got rid of her, there was one thing he could do.
He pulled the compact out of his pocket and held it out to her. “I guess you came back for this?”
Janice looked at the compact. Then she looked at him. “What’s that supposed to be?”
“Your compact?”
“My dear, you flatter me. I don’t add up to that many dollars and cents in Tony’s life.” She seemed bored with the compact. She stared around the room and suddenly rose. “Why on earth have you got one set of curtains drawn and the others open? It gets on my nerves.”
She started straight for the window alcove. At that moment Dennie came in with the drinks. She saw where Janice was going and gasped.
Steve said, “Watch out for those drinks, Dennie.”
He grabbed Janice’s arm and pulled her toward Dennie. “Here. Your drink.”
“Thanks,” Janice said wryly.
Steve said, “Draw the other curtains, Dennie. The lady’s sensitive.”
Obediently Dennie pulled the drapes across the other windows.
Janice sipped idly at her drink. She seemed in no hurry to leave.
Steve said, “There’s no point in waiting for Tony, you know.”
Janice smiled sweetly. “My dear, don’t say you’re trying to get rid of me.”
“Could be.”
“I’m sorry, darling, but I’m spending the night. I’m not dragging my weary bones back to Pelham.”
She thought she was spending the night. Steve watched Dennie out of the corner of his eyes. She looked all in. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to be violent. Things always seemed to break wrong for him.
Very quietly he said to Janice, “I’m sorry, too, but you are dragging your weary bones back to Pelham.”
She stared. “Of all the nerve. Do you know who I am? I’m Tony’s best friend.”
“I don’t care whether you’re Tony’s mother. He loaned me the apartment for the night and I’m taking it for the night—alone.”
Janice put down her drink. The twist of her mouth was ugly. “Listen, soldier. I don’t know what dreary battle fields you’ve been losing your manners on, but this is New York. And if you think you can turn Tony’s apartment into a dump with a girl not old enough to know better, you’re wrong.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time this apartment’s been a dump. But, since you’re interested, Dennie’s leaving with you. And that’s right now.” He moved toward her. “Do you want to get up out of that chair under your own steam or shall I drag you out of it?”
Janice laughed suddenly. “Drag me out of it. I dare you.”
Steve leaned over her, picked her up by the collar of her gray jacket and jerked her to her feet. She started struggling. He held her off at arms’ length as if she were a bad-tempered, ineffectual kitten.
“I’ll call the superintendent,” she panted.
“And I’ll explain your relationship with Tony to him,” Steve said blandly.
He started pushing her toward door. Dennie, white-faced, moved after him. Steve opened the door and dumped Janice in the foyer. He pressed the button for the self-service elevator.
“You!” Janice was muttering furiously. “Wait till I tell Tony— just you wait!”
The elevator came. Steve opened the doors and swung Janice inside. He patted Dennie’s arm.
“Call the lady a taxi, baby.” As she passed him into the elevator, he whispered, “Wait on the corner. I’ll be right out.”
The elevator doors slammed. Steve went back into the apartment. He washed the glasses and put them back in the kitchen. Then he took the body out of the window seat and put it back more or less as had been on the floor. It was better for it to be in its original position. It would cause less questions.
Questions. Steve’s lips moved in a faintly self-mocking smile.
He was certainly leaving a raft of questions in his wake.
And most of the questions were going to have him for an answer.
With a twisted smile, he left the apartment for the third time. Dennie was waiting on the corner.
Steve said, “You got rid of her?”
Dennie nodded. “She took a taxi, but she was muttering about coming back. Steve, I think she will.”
“Yeah.” Steve’s voice was grim. “I wouldn’t put it past her— unless she killed Tony herself. She was the type who would have the gall to come back with a policeman and claim her rights.”
He saw a passing taxi, hailed it, and gave Celia’s address. At least he could take Dennie home.
X
In the back seat, she slid her hand into his. Neither of them spoke. Steve was very conscious of her nearness. A haunting image of her face when she told him she loved him rose in his mind. In contrast with the tangle of his own feelings, her simplicity was infinitely moving. How good a home-coming like that would have been, with Dennie loving him as she did, and without his bitter longing for Celia.
Suddenly Dennie said, “If she does come back, Steve, she’ll find it.”
“Sure.”
“And she’ll think you did it. You answered the phone earlier when she called. She’ll know you were there at the time it happened. She’ll know you threw her out because it was behind the curtains. She’ll tell the police.”
She broke off, her fingers clutching his more tightly.
“Steve, don’t you see the danger you’ve made for yourself?
There’s got to be something you can do.”
What could he do? Roy Chappell would be waiting at Celia’s. He could ask Roy whether it had actually been Tony who ordered the copy of the compact. If it had been, that probably cleared Virginia. But what then? He couldn’t pursue Tony’s infinite brood of girlfriends around New York until he finally found the one who had been given the compact.
Wearily, he saw that he was in too deep now to struggle out. That’s what happened when you handled a civilian problem like a soldier’s problem. At least he’d done what he could to shield Celia. That was all that really mattered anyway. From now on, he’d just have to sit back and wait for the police to catch up with him. Either they’d believe his story—or they wouldn’t.
Roy Chappell was sitting in Celia’s lovely living room, studying a portfolio of drawings. He got up when he saw them, pushing his slight, humped body up with some difficulty.
“You’re the most remarkably active couple I’ve ever known. What have you been doing? Playing hide and go seek in Radio City?”
Dennie moved out of the room. Steve sat down and smoked a cigarette. He watched Roy who had settled back in the chair again and had picked up the drawings.
“I’ve been visiting Virginia,” he said.
“Virginia Dort?” Roy glanced up. “Really, that was a rather peculiar thing to do, wasn’t it?”
“She has a copy of the compact you made for Celia.”
Roy held up one of the drawings, studying it. “Yes. I made it for her.”
“Wasn’t that rather peculiar of you? Making a copy of Celia’s compact for Tony’s wife?”
“Extremely peculiar.” Roy was still looking at the drawing. “But since Celia was sordid enough to give the compact to Tony, I thought the only polite thing for me
to do was to be sordid, too.”
“Tony ordered the copy for Virginia then.”
“He did.”
“And who got the original?”
“Really, Steve, why this elaborate quiz?” Roy did glance at him then. “I should have thought the compact was rather a dead issue for you now.”
“Dead issue is right,” said Steve.
“There’s my advantage over you. I never had Celia, so I never lost anything.” Roy put the drawing back into the portfolio on his knee. “Now’s the time for my speech about Celia. I’ve got it all ready. Want to hear it?”
“No,” said Steve.
After a moment Dennie came in with the drinks. Steve thought, Virginia was telling the truth then. Not that it mattered. Roy had been right without realizing it when he’d said the compact was a dead issue. The police wouldn’t ever know about the compact. All they’d know was that he had been in the apartment at the time of the murder and had returned there later and hid the corpse.
The scent from the freesias reached him. If it ever came to a question of himself or Celia, he’d take the blame, of course. Funny how he’d changed. Earlier in the evening, he hadn’t been concerned about what happened to him. It will be different now. And it was Dennie’s fault, and Virginia’s. If only they hadn’t give him that goading hope that maybe there was a change for him and Celia to start over again.
It would be so much easier to be without that hope.
Dennie was watching him desperately. He knew how the kid must be suffering for him, but he could bring himself to feel about it. The freesias were back at their old trick, conjuring up unbearably sweet memories.
And, as if his memories had sprung into flesh and blood, Celia was suddenly there. He heard her laugh in the hall. Then she came in with Goody Taylor.
She’d been calling something over her shoulder to Goody, but when she saw Steve she stopped dead on the threshold. She’d had too much champagne. He could tell that from the hectic sparkle in her eyes and the rather vague smile that played over her lips. Her beauty was almost like a physical pain for him. He got up. They stared at each other. Her smile went. Something, strong as an electric current, seemed to be passing between them. Steve had forgotten there was anyone else in the room.
