The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  ‘None,’ lied Mary sweetly.

  ‘It’s up to Kit and the others now,’ said Agatha. ‘It seems Mr Hammett and his friends have created quite a show.’

  Mary climbed into the back of the automobile and watched the steady stream of people out of the nightclub. The demographic skew was towards older men, clearly wealthy. They were balanced out by the number of women, most of them young, with darker skin tones than the pink bubbling flesh of the men.

  ‘Nice place,’ said Mary. There was no mistaking the sadness in her voice. The role of these women was clear, and it appalled her. To be reduced to such circumstances chilled her. Then she felt a gathering rage inside. A desire to see the men who exploited these women punished. They had made virtual slaves of the young women, many of them younger than Mary. How could this be allowed to happen? Who were these degenerate men, clearly at the top of society who could countenance the degradation of youth?

  ‘They should be in jail,’ she said, giving voice to the thoughts of the other lady in the car. She wasn’t just referring to Lehane and his men. Her eyes hardened as she thought of what Lehane had planned. Then she remembered the phone call. What was the name of the policeman? Frank Nelson? It would start with him.

  -

  Foley saw the door open. He tensed. His hand went to his gun. Then he saw Kit emerge, followed by a giant of man. He was carrying a young woman. She looked as if she was dead.

  ‘Dain,’ shouted Algy running towards his fiancée. Foley swore. He hadn’t wanted to make their presence so obvious in case there were any of Lehane’s men nearby. Algy was already by Kit and the other man. Another oath and Foley went out to join them. There would be no time for reunions. They had to exit quickly.

  ‘This way,’ ordered Foley. Kit looked at Foley and nodded. Seconds later they were out of sight at the edge of the woods heading for the car. It was dark now. They were clear.

  They stopped for a moment. ‘I’m going back,’ said Kit. ‘This is Harry, by the way. He’s working for Pinkerton’s from now on.’

  Foley looked up at the giant and did something he did rarely. He smiled. He looked back at Kit and said, ‘He can be my partner.’

  Kit turned and, with no further explanation, moved quickly back towards the club. His leg was sore as hell. But he had one more task to accomplish. It was something the giant had said to him as they‘d walked out. He had to see for himself.

  Back through the fire exit of the nightclub he followed the short corridor to the side of the stage. The club was now empty. He walked across the stage, rage dimming the pain in his leg. He felt metal in his pocket. A set of keys for the other doors.

  On the other side of the stage he headed along the corridor, through the door and down the stairs, back into the hall from which he had recently emerged. He went to the first door and tried one of the keys, then the next. He felt the click and the door opened.

  Like the room of Dain Collins, this was dimly lit. It was larger and full of beds. Lying on the beds were over a dozen young women, with several more lounging across mattresses on the floor. All had a vacant drugged look. Kit’s felt tears sting his eyes. And hatred. He knelt down and spoke to the first young woman.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ he asked. She looked confused. He repeated the same in basic Spanish.

  She nodded faintly.

  ‘Are you well enough to get up?’ he said, once more in Spanish.

  Another faint nod. He helped her up. She seemed about Mary’s age. Mexican. Kit pointed to the others. She spoke rapidly in Spanish. The others began to stir. Slowly they began to rise unsteadily to their feet.

  Kit wasn’t sure how far he could push his limited Spanish, so he motioned with his hand for them to follow him instead. They did. Hesitantly at first, then into the light.

  -

  ‘Do you really think my men are going to let you just walk out of the club like this?’ asked Lehane in a reasonable voice. They passed the door of his office. He looked at the office with a sense of longing. If only he’d stayed. In fact, for the rest of his life, until his death in a nursing home in Albuquerque in 1953, he would replay that moment when a beautiful English woman had asked him that question. Every day.

  Hammett was also wondering the same thing, but things seemed to be going swingingly well so far. What could possibly go wrong, apart from everything. The club was mostly empty, but they still had to get through the front door. At this point they were in the hands of an elderly Englishman who seemed, as he had said himself, a little squiffy. Hammett needed no Masters in original English to understand what this meant and the risk it posed to their venture. He felt like a duck entering a shooting gallery.

  Alastair was certainly feeling more optimistic, bolstered as he was by the two cocktails consumed watching first Mary and then the shooting show. It had been years since he had enjoyed an evening so thoroughly. However, he was rapidly sobering up as he saw what lay ahead. Two of Lehane’s men stood menacingly at the door. He moved closer to Lehane and jabbed a metallic reminder into the base of the nightclub owner’s spine that this was not the time or place for anything foolhardy.

  However, Eddie Lehane had not opened a nightclub, bought off a portion of the San Francisco police and a few politicians without having some, as his Mexican staff might say, cojones.Several of Lehane’s men milled around the entrance, still stunned by what was happening. If he timed his warning right, he could be out of the way with Bernie in the line of fire. His men would soon take care of the rest.

  He was just on the point of shouting to his men when he heard the first of the police sirens. More followed. The situation had worsened. He was going to have to play the game of his life. It was a tribute to the extent of his influence that he fancied his chances. The group walked through into the night air unimpeded. A crowd remained outside, standing in small groups, unsure of where to go. Lehane nodded to the senator who was clearly angry. Yes, there was still a chance to rescue the situation.

  ‘What now, Mulroney? Look around you. Who d’you think is going down here?’

  Hammett and Mulroney did, indeed, look around. A lot of important people were waiting for their drivers. The young women had melted away into the night.

  The police cars pulled up to the front. Lehane turned and looked at Hammett standing with Mulroney. He put his hand in his pocket and calmly took out a cigarette box.

  ‘Hope you don’t mind if I don’t offer you one. They’re imported from Turkey. So, what are you going to say? It seems to me you’ve shot up my nightclub and ruined the night of a good many people who can see you directing traffic for the rest of your lousy career, Mulroney.’

  A police sergeant walked towards the group. He was in his fifties and probably months rather than years away from retirement. The last thing he wanted was this kind of hassle. He asked, ‘What’s going on here Mr Lehane?’

  Mister? Both Hammett and Mulroney thought the same thing at this moment. Their second thought was also identical. This ain’t good.

  Lehane smiled at the policemen, ‘Sergeant Jefferson, good to see you again.’ He indicated Hammett and Mulroney. ‘These two men have just shot up my nightclub. The old guy behind them is holding a gun to my back.’

  The policeman walked to the side and did, indeed, see the elderly gentleman in question and the pistol. Alastair smiled at Sergeant Jefferson and said, ‘Nice evening, isn’t it?’

  ‘Put the gun down sir. On the ground.’

  Alastair complied, ‘If you wish.’

  Lehane turned around to face the Englishman and said, ‘You are in so much trouble, I actually I feel sorry for you.’

  It was from this angle he got a view of something that put a ribbon on his evening. A black ribbon. Behind Alastair’s shoulder, led by Kit, was a line of young women, dressed in thin slips, trooping like sleepwalkers out of the club. They were coming in the direction of Lehane and the police.

  Hammett looked from Kit to the young women and back again. He was shocked by their appearance. T
he tell-tale vacancy in their eyes. It seemed like the Día de Muertos.Lehane turned to face Hammett and Mulroney. Defeat was carved into his face. This would require more than a few friends down at the Hall. Hammett pointed towards something behind Lehane. Lehane turned around he saw the senator climbing into a car. When he turned back, he was caught by a punch thrown by Hammett flush on the jaw. He collapsed like deflated balloon.

  Kit looked on with approval. A similar thought had crossed his mind. He was only vaguely aware of someone virtually jumping on him from the side. Seconds later he was holding his fiancée. She was crying with joy and sadness, fear and relief.

  ‘What about Dain Collins?’ asked Hammett,

  Kit nodded to Hammett while he hugged Mary.

  ‘Harry?’ asked Mary.

  Kit looked over at Hammett and explained the role that Harry had played in the rescue. He finished by saying, ‘I trust he’ll find a job with you.’

  Hammett nodded. The image of Cowan lying dead in the street rose up before his eyes.

  ‘I’ll see to it. We have a vacancy.’

  He glanced back at Kit. By now the Englishman was being rewarded for his bravery by his fiancée. Or perhaps he was rewarding Mary. She had pluck, and a lot else besides, much of it on show too. Lucky guy thought Hammett, but without resentment.

  -

  Just after midnight Alastair dropped Kit, Mary and Agatha outside Bellavista then drove to the hospital where Dain Collins had been taken by Algy. They walked up the path towards the house and knocked on the door.

  Ella-Mae answered. She saw the three English guests and a look of anxiety came into her eyes.

  Mary smiled and put a hand on her arm, ‘Don’t worry, everyone is safe. Even Uncle Alastair. A hero, in fact. They’re with Miss Collins at the hospital.’

  Ella-Mae smiled her thanks, and obvious relief. The group walked into the house. It felt wonderful to be back, thought Kit. Suddenly he felt his arm being tugged by Mary. He frowned a question.

  ‘Something I meant to speak to you about.’ She pulled his arm gently towards the library. Meanwhile Ella-Mae took Agatha’s coat and asked her if she wanted anything.

  ‘A pot of tea, I think. We’ve earned it.’ Ella-Mae turned towards the kitchen, leaving Agatha alone in the entrance hall. She looked around her and called out, ‘Christopher? Mary? Where are you? Ella-Mae’s gone to make some tea.’

  Twenty seconds later Kit emerged from the library if not dishevelled, then not quite ‘shevelled either. Mary followed, an enigmatic smile on her face. She looked at Agatha and said, ‘Did you say tea?’

  Agatha said ‘Yes,’ then looked at the large coat Mary was wearing. ‘Where on earth did you get that coat? I don’t remember you wearing it earlier.’

  Kit, meanwhile, was frantically pointing at something. Mary glanced downwards. Her dress from the nightclub was hanging outside her pocket. She smiled at Agatha and quickly pushed it deep into her pocket. With her other free hand, she pulled the coat around her more tightly.

  ‘I couldn’t find my coat in the rush,’ explained Mary brightly, then motioned with her head upstairs. ‘I should really go and get changed.’

  With a grin to Kit she turned and ran to the stairs. Agatha looked at Mary padding barefoot up the stairs, still clinging to her coat.

  ‘Is it really that cold in here?’

  Kit answered by clapping his hands together and then wrapping his arms around himself.

  ‘Beastly draught from somewhere.’

  ‘Really, I hadn’t noticed,’ said Agatha looking around, bemused.

  35

  Agatha and Alastair sat at the end of the garden in the twilight. Ella-Mae had just deposited two gin and tonics as they contemplated the sun turning the sky mauve and orange. After a busy day shuttling between the hospital, City Hall and Bellavista, they’d earned it.

  Alastair’s mood was more sombre than one might have suspected. The full picture emerging from the Lehane affair was beginning to become clear. His feelings were somewhere between anger at how Lehane had been able to run a business such as this and the ongoing guilt he felt about his treatment of his son and fiancée.

  Agatha also seemed out of sorts. Or perhaps it was fatigue. Alastair looked at her. She wouldn’t see seventy again and she was up to her neck in adventure and crime. He looked at the view and his spirits managed the improbable feat of rising and falling in equal measure.

  ‘I remember how you used to sit here with Christina,’ said Agatha. Alastair smiled but his eyes were clouding. He was silent for a moment.

  ‘It’s the loneliness. I never expected that. Maybe it will change with Algernon when he marries, but...’ He couldn’t finish the sentence. Then he looked at Agatha. Her eyes were moist. This was rare.

  ‘Do you miss him?’

  ‘Useless?’

  ‘Yes, Eustace.’ chuckled Alastair.

  ‘Every day.’

  He took her hand and together they gazed across the bay.

  -

  The visitors arrived just after six. Hammett and Mulroney were led through the house and into the garden by Ella-Mae. Kit was sitting with Mary and Algy on the porch. They too seemed sombre of mood. Mary looked at Kit with concern. He had been unusually silent all day. Initially she’d assumed that it was a reaction to the desolate human beings he had rescued. As the day progressed, she wondered if something else was on his mind. He would tell her when the time came.

  Algy was also quiet. His good humour and ebullient nature had deserted him. Mary wondered if doubt had set in about his impending marriage. So much had happened to Dain, so much suggested of her past. Of course, her sympathies were entirely with the young woman. She’d been exploited, drugged and made an addict. What she needed was someone to take care of her now. She hoped Algy would be that person. At that moment, Mary was unsure.

  Algy stood up to greet the visitors and then went to fix them some drinks. Hammett watched him go.

  ‘I would’ve thought he’d be happier,’ said Hammett, looking closely at Kit.

  ‘Give him time. Algy’s a good egg,’ answered Kit, trying to keep things light.

  ‘A bit soft, isn’t he?’ replied Hammett.

  ‘You’re more hard-boiled, then?’ said Mary with a smile.

  ‘I guess I am.’

  A silence descended on the group. Mary glanced at Kit. He and Hammett seemed to be studying one another. Something was wrong but Mary couldn’t understand what. She was desperately curious. Then Algy returned with the drinks.

  ‘Thanks,’ said the two men in unison as they were handed their whiskies.

  ‘Social call?’ asked Algy, sitting down. There was a tightness in his voice. The sight of the two men was a reminder that they had all but accused Dain of murder.

  ‘Not quite,’ said Mulroney. ‘We’ve had some news about your fiancée.’

  Algy gripped the seat, ‘I saw her earlier. They said she’d be alright.’

  ‘From New York,’ replied Mulroney.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Mulroney looked uncomfortable. He glanced at Hammett then back to Algy.

  ‘Dain Collins killed a man.’

  There were gasps around the table. Even Kit looked shocked by the news. Algy was on his feet. His eyes were blazing. ‘That’s a damn lie,’ he shouted.

  Hammett eyed him closely. ‘It’s true. But a witness to the killing confirmed it was self-defence.’

  Mulroney continued, ‘She killed her step-father. Her name is Danielle Masters. We’ve reason to believe she’d been abused by this man. The maid in the house saw everything. She ran from the house and escaped using the car. She’s been missing for six months now. She changed the colour of her hair, and with the help of Lehane, her name. In return she agreed to act as a hostess at his club. That was his hold over her. That and dope. He gave her dope to help her depression. She became hooked.’

  Algy, now slumped in his chair, was listening to it all.

  ‘How did Goodman become involved?
’ asked Kit.

  Hammett answered, ‘He wanted to embarrass the Aston family by having their son take up with a woman who was conceivably a murderer or, at the very least, a prostitute.’

  Algy suddenly rose from his seat and looked like he wanted to kill Hammett. It felt like unfinished business, him and Hammett.

  ‘Easy soldier,’ said Hammett casually. ‘There’s no evidence to suggest that she was anything other than a hostess. But she was a plant. Her job was to make you fall in love with her. Strange thing is, I think she got into the part too well. In the end she was caught between three men, all wanting something from her. Lehane using her as a touch of class for his joint, Goodman using her for revenge against your father and you, Mr Aston.’

  ‘I wasn’t using her,’ he snarled.

  ‘Are you still going to marry her, Galahad?’ asked Hammett, evenly. The look on his face suggested he didn’t think so. Algy was silent but his face reddened from anger or shame. Hammett looked at Mulroney and continued the story.

  ‘We think our man Cowan found out who she was. He worked in New York and still had some contacts. He put two and two together. He may have tried to blackmail Miss Masters. He was a swell sort of guy.’

  ‘Does that mean it was Lehane or Goodman who had Mr Cowan murdered?’ asked Mary.

  There was silence for a few moments then Kit spoke. ‘I don’t think that’s what Mr Hammett is driving at. Is it?’

  They were joined at the table by Alastair and Agatha. Their arrival broke the spell for a few moments as Alastair uttered a few words of welcome to the visitors. He took a telegram out of his pocket and handed it to Kit.

  ‘I almost forgot Kit, this arrived for you yesterday. In all of the excitement it had quite slipped my mind.’

  Mary looked at Kit with her eyebrow raised.

  Kit read the telegram and laughed sardonically. He looked up to the people gathered around him and said, ‘From a contact at Scotland Yard. Apparently, our friend Jean-Valois does not work for either the French police or any other police force.’