The Expendable Man

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  Her “No,” was imperative, but she explained, “The police would expect our lawyers to believe your story. Or whether or not they believed it, to defend you as if they did. I told my father what you need.” She had thought it out with care; she must have been thinking of little else all day. “A young man, not over forty, but top drawer in his profession; liberal, but not too liberal, no Civil Liberties lawyer, they’re suspect from the beginning because they show up in any case involving minorities. As my father says, they’re more interested in minorities than in the right or wrong of a case. I may be asking the impossible but I don’t want this lawyer to be of any of the minority groups. I want a hundred-percent white American Protestant male. With wife and children, so we’ll have them on our side too.”

  He found himself half laughing. “Is that all?”

  She shook her head but she smiled too. “I know just the man in Washington but we’re not in Washington.”

  “You don’t think you’ll find that kind of man here?”

  “We just might. My father is quite a miracle man.” She said, “I’ll call you in the morning after I hear from him. It will be early—time difference, you know.”

  He helped her out of the car and together they went up the walk. At the door she said, “I wouldn’t put off telling your family, Hugh. Maybe your luck will hold, yet—”

  He said what she wouldn’t. “I can’t expect it to hold forever.” The police couldn’t keep the newspapers off him indefinitely. Reluctantly he said, “Perhaps I’ll talk to Edward tomorrow.” And, saying it, realized he must go to Edward. He was the only person who could give Hugh a lead to the abortionists in the vicinity. Doctors knew. He did not tell Ellen his decision. She might go legalistic on him, think it was the lawyer’s business. But the lawyer’s future life wasn’t threatened. Hugh alone was in the realm of danger where the impossible could—must—be achieved. The two men he must find had had the time to cover themselves beyond finding.

  Edward’s car was gone from the port. For tonight he could continue to bear his own burden. Perhaps by morning there’d be no need for the fuss of a lawyer and the grief to his kinsman. Perhaps the marshal would ring up to acknowledge his mistake. Why not dream? Without dreaming there was no hope.

  Ellen was saying, “Don’t worry, Hugh. Go home and go to sleep. It will all look better in the morning. I’m sure the lawyer will clear things up for you without any difficulty.”

  He said, “Yes, ma’am,” and left her there, not even touching her hand in good-bye.

  4

  HE DROVE without incident to the motel; no news over the radio. There were lights beyond the drawn curtains, the voices of night-blooming young couples poolside lilted with the special heightening of sounds across water. He drove to the rear of his wing and parked. As he opened the door of his rooms, remembering to touch the light switch before entering, the small envelope was livid at his feet.

  He took for granted it was a hotel note until he bent to pick it up and saw that it was pale pink, of cheap stationery. It was sealed; there was no name on it, only the room number. With foreboding, he opened it. The message was block-printed in pencil on ruled paper torn from a tablet. It said simply: NIGGER GET OUT OF TOWN.

  If it had been meant to frighten or anger him, it failed. For he felt a wild surge of exultation as he read the words. His case was proven, if indeed he had needed this proof. He was the one threat which existed for the murderer or murderers, the only factor which stood between their anonymity and their apprehension.

  Someone had had to come here, to his very threshold, to slide the envelope under the door. Someone guilty. How long a watchful waiting there would need to be to accomplish it unseen. The comings and goings of a large motor hotel were constant. Or had the man dared make the move openly, fully aware that no one seeing him would ask questions or particularly notice his form and face. It must have been Iris’ lover who wrote and delivered this; the abortionist would not creep that far out of concealment. He need not. He was too accustomed to being outside the law to worry, if he were found out, over one accusation with unsupported evidence. It must have been the man, or someone hired by him to deliver the envelope. Even better if he had hired a messenger; that would create a distinct link, after Iris’ death, between him and Hugh.

  His eyes were framing the five words, and in a quick decision, Hugh switched off the light and returned to his car. It was only half past one o’clock. Inactivity had suddenly become unbearable. The need to take the offensive at once was compulsive. He knew where Edward practiced—St. Hilary’s, a large hospital across town near Thomas Road. He headed toward it. If Edward had finished with the birthing and returned home, there was no loss but a half hour’s sleep. He was too keyed up at present for sleep.

  Hospitals never slept. There was a middle-aged woman handling reception and switchboard. Behind her a nursing nun in white robe and headdress sat at a table, annotating the day’s records. Hugh said to the woman, “Is Dr. Willis still here?”

  She said, “I’ll see,” and checked a paper posted on the partition to her right. “He is,” she told him.

  “I’m Dr. Densmore from California.” That had the sound of professional interest, not a family matter which could wait. “Could you tell him I’m here?”

  “I’ll see if I can locate him.” She moved herself unhurriedly to the switchboard.

  The sister came forward. Her smile was as fresh as if it were sun-up, not the weary hours. “Are you the brother interning at UCLA Medical Center?”

  He was surprised she would know. “Yes, I am.”

  “Dr. Willis speaks often of you. That’s a magnificent hospital, isn’t it? I visited it last summer. I wish we had some of their equipment. Yes, Miss Deane?”

  The receptionist was waiting. “Dr. Willis says he is to come upstairs, Sister Rose.”

  “You know the way?” The sister gave directions. “I hope that young woman delivers easily for Doctor. I’m sure he’s tired after all the wedding excitement. It must have been beautiful.”

  “It was,” Hugh told her. He moved off to the elevator. People were nice if you found the right ones. The trouble was there were so many of the wrong ones.

  He pushed the button and the elevator rose slowly. Edward was waiting on the delivery floor as the automatic door opened. “I was just having a cup of coffee, Hugh. Join me?” He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t even seem surprised to have Hugh appear in the middle of the night. He could have heard rumors. Among doctors and nurses an abortion death would be the epicenter of conversation. “I’ve a room down this way for napping. It’ll be a long night. Both of my mothers are in.” He opened the door for Hugh, said, “I’ll get another cup,” and proceeded down the corridor.

  Hugh waited on his feet. Now that he was here, it again seemed wrong to inflict this thing on Edward. Yet now it was essential.

  Edward returned almost at once. He poured coffee for Hugh, refilled his own cup, and directed, “You take the easy chair. I’ll be selfish and take the bed.” He propped the pillows against the headboard and stretched out, his cup on the hospital table beside him. “Now what’s happened to bring you here at this hour?” His face was cheerful; perhaps after all there had been no rumors yet.

  Hugh stirred sugar into his coffee. “I’d rather take a beating than bother you with this. Especially tonight. I know you’re too tired to take it. But I’m afraid to wait any longer.”

  From the intonation of Hugh’s voice, Edward was already wary of what was to come. The fear of trouble was so close to the surface in even the most secure of them.

  “You read in the paper yesterday about the girl found in the canal?” Hugh forced out the husky words, “I drove her to Phoenix.”

  “My God,” Edward breathed. It might have been a prayer.

  Hugh tried to speak without feeling, as if it had happened to someone else. “Last night when Ellen and I left the dinner party, two detectives were waiting for me. They’d had an anonymous tip that I could
identify the girl. They took me to the County Mortuary and I identified her. Not under the name they had, under the name she’d given me.”

  He went back to the beginning, to the discovery of the girl on the road. He stripped the story to its bones; Edward might be called away any moment. But he told it all; it didn’t come easy in repetition, it became more sickening. He concluded, “They’ll do an autopsy on her tomorrow. I am certain they’ll find she was murdered. By abortion or after abortion. And they’ll come straight back to me.”

  Edward’s voice was heavy. “There’s no way to prove you didn’t leave the motel that night?”

  “No way. And I wouldn’t have had to leave to be the abortionist.”

  Edward sighed. “We’d better get you a lawyer first thing in the morning. Before the autopsy results. Roger Hand is our most capable. And prominent. He’s served in the legislature. You remember meeting him at the reception today?”

  Hugh hated to say it. “Ellen wants a white lawyer.”

  Edward didn’t believe the words.

  “She called the Judge, her father, tonight to arrange it. She didn’t tell me until after it was done.”

  Edward shook his head, not understanding. “What’s wrong with our own?”

  Hugh explained it. “Our own would believe me. She wants someone who would doubt.”

  Edward thought about it. “She could be right, she could be mistaken. Either way you’re bound to come out all right. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I wonder.” Hugh walked to the window and looked out at the black green of the lawn. “I did something foolish. And that was wrong. I let my sympathy rule my judgment when I picked her up.” He changed the subject abruptly, asking what he had to ask. “Have you ever been approached to do an abortion, Edward?”

  “Of course I have.” Anxiety had gone from Edward’s voice; he was on familiar ground.

  It hadn’t been something in Hugh then, something a girl like Iris could discern.

  “I suppose most doctors are asked at some time or other,” Edward went on. “Certainly ours are. I doubt if any of them can escape that.” His face was thoughtful. “One thing I’ll say, Hugh, and it’s God’s truth. I’ve never been approached by any of our people. Only by the ofays.”

  The ugly word was incongruous on Edward’s lips.

  “Somehow they seem to think that a Negro doctor lacks morality. They become so surprised, almost affronted, when they’re turned down. More coffee?”

  Hugh said, “I’ll get it,” returning for his cup.

  Edward poured for both of them, continuing, “You’d think they would realize that only a family of better than average economic status, Negro or white, can afford to educate a son medically. Which would rule out bribery.”

  Hugh lifted his shoulders. “You can’t expect the kind of person who comes to you for that reason to be overly intelligent.”

  “Strangely enough some of them are. Some I’ve met up with. In their own world, that is. It’s only when they come to the dark side that their ignorance shows up.”

  “They’ve been taught,” Hugh quoted without rancor.

  “Yes.” Edward smiled reassuringly at Hugh. “Don’t let it linger with you. I’m surprised you haven’t been asked it before now; interns and students are always considered fair game.” He put his head back on the pillows, remembering. “One of the fellows I knew at medical school, a white, although he could have been a Negro, no race has any lien on morality—anyhow, this fellow made enough for all his office equipment before he started practice. He’s an important Chicago doctor today.”

  “I don’t see how anyone educated in the meaning and purpose of medicine could.”

  “There are amoralists in any profession.” Edward put down his cup and lit a cigarette. “I wish you’d told me about this when it happened. I would have reported it to our medical association.”

  “I couldn’t. You see that, don’t you? I couldn’t spoil Clytie’s wedding. Even now—” Hugh said desperately, “Only because I must have your help.”

  Edward’s head lifted sharply.

  “I must have the names of the abortionists in and around the city. I’ve got to find the man or woman who did it. The police won’t. They have me.”

  For too long Edward didn’t speak. Then he said, “I don’t know that I’ve heard of any cases for some time now. I suppose Mahm Gitty is still at it. She’s never been caught yet. She’s an old crone who’s been a registered midwife for some fifty years. She has a made-to-order alibi whenever she’s brought in.”

  “How do I find her?”

  “She’s always lived in the Three Oaks district south of town. She hasn’t any regular base, she moves from one cousin’s shack to another. They’re all primos in that neighborhood. I’ve heard the police say that the only way to find her is to poke around the district asking questions. But be careful. They don’t like strangers asking questions in Three Oaks.”

  Hugh said, “There must be others.”

  “I’ll try to get some other names tomorrow. It isn’t an easy subject to approach, yet with this girl’s death, there will doubtless be plenty of talk going around. I’ll do what I can, Hugh.”

  Hugh moved to the door. All at once he was leaden-tired. Edward must be beyond exhaustion. “One more thing. Don’t let the family know anything about this. Please.”

  Edward spoke quietly. “You may not be able to keep it much longer, Hugh.”

  “There’s no need to worry them yet.” Wishing he could hope, he insisted, “It might be they will never have to know.”

  “I hope so, Hugh. But if they do”—he smiled gently—“they can take it.”

  There was no opportunity for further words. A nurse rapped and flung open the door; in muted excitement she said, “Can you come now, Dr. Willis? Number One seems to be ready.”

  Hugh took himself down in the elevator. The nun was no longer at the desk. The receptionist didn’t speak to him.

  When he was nearing the motel, he passed a police cruiser headed in the opposite direction. For a moment he thought it was Ringle at the wheel. But the car continued east; in his rear-view mirror he watched it disappear.

  No further messages had been insinuated under his door. He was asleep when his head touched the pillow.

  Ellen’s voice on the telephone was as bright as the slant of the sun dividing the drapes on the lanai windows. “I let you sleep as long as I could.” His watch hands read quarter to ten. She was speaking with an eager carelessness, girl to boy, in case anyone was listening. “Do you want to come out and get me? I’m moving to The Palms.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I check out.” He tried to shunt his voice out of sleep. “Do we have an appointment in town?”

  “Noon. So don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.” He groaned out of bed, showered and dressed before packing his suitcases. After the shower, he was awake. When he was ready to leave, he called the desk. “This is Dr. Densmore in 126. Will you have my bill ready? I’m checking out.”

  He loaded the car and drove over to the office. He hoped there would be no difficulty about a check, he didn’t have fifty cents in his pocket.

  The clerk on duty was an attractive woman with prematurely gray hair. “I caused you an unnecessary trip, Dr. Densmore. When I looked up your bill, I realized that you were Dr. Willis’ guest. I’m sorry.”

  He’d settle with Edward later—Edward, who thought of everything, even the possible financial status of an intern. Edward, who must by some miracle come up with the right name. He thanked the woman and went out to the car. He didn’t leave a forwarding address. Temporarily, the unknown man would be balked in his harassment.

  As he waited for traffic to subside in order to wheel into Van Buren, he wondered if the woman had spoken the truth or had purposely created a delay to give her time to report his departure to the police. Well, they already knew. He decided he believed her words. It wasn’t a good habit to be suspicious of all motives.
/>   Time was passing too quickly. He could move in on the grand-parents later, right now he’d better get Ellen. He anticipated conversation with his mother and Stacy but Ellen was alone, her two small cases in the hallway. She was wearing the same dark silk she’d changed to last night.

  “Where is everybody?”

  “They went to town to see the Bents off.” She pulled on a frost-white glove. “I left the big suitcase for you. It’s in Clytie’s bedroom.”

  He fetched it and locked all the luggage in the trunk. With her beside him, he started back to The Palms. “What excuse did you give for staying on in Phoenix?”

  She shrugged slightly. “Only that I’d decided to rest up for a few days.” She was a direct girl. “They think it’s because you’re staying over.”

  “It is,” he said bluntly. But not what they thought. His anger, at her being held here by his trouble, was near the surface.

  She sensed it and diverted the subject. “I had a battle to move to the motel. But I’m firm.”

  He managed a smile. “You’re an army with banners flying.” He didn’t want to talk about the trouble, but after all that was the only reason they were together this morning. “I take it we have an appointment with a lawyer at noon.”

  “Yes, he’s giving up his lunch hour to see us. My father had spoken to him before he called me. He seems to think it’s a good sign that Mr. Houston would make that concession. Everyone Father questioned gave the same name as first choice, so it would seem he’s the lawyer we’re looking for. Skye Houston. Incidentally he pronounces it the proper old way, ‘Howston.’ His office is in that ancient bank building across from the courthouse.”

  Hugh acknowledged the information with an inclination of his head.

  “Now if we can only convince him he should take your case.”

  “It’s not settled?” In his alarm, Hugh almost missed the turn into The Palms.

  Ellen explained, “A lawyer doesn’t take a case until he has first heard the facts, Hugh.”