by Gil Brewer
I could hardly move, the way I felt.
“What’s the matter, Nichols? What’s cooking in that peaceful little mind of yours?”
“If you knew who this guy was, why’d you bring me down here? What’s the point of that?”
“Nichols, I wish to God you weren’t what they call a citizen! I’d run you in and I’d work you over.”
“Why don’t you? I’d like to know what you’re getting at. You act like I’ve done something.”
He went absolutely still. His mouth hung open and his eyes got wide and he shoved his hat back on his head. Then his eyes went normal again. “Done something,” he said. “You’re lying, Nichols. You know something. You’re scared. There’s something inside you that’s eating at your guts till you can hardly stand it. It’s going to bust out, too. Wait and see.”
“You think I did this to that guy?”
“I don’t know.”
He turned and walked away again. I went up by him and he turned and stopped me with his hand out. “Why don’t you come clean, Nichols? This is getting you no place. What is it you’re trying to hide?”
“You’ve got it wrong. A woman was murdered at my motel. Now you think I’m mixed up in it.”
“We’re running lab tests, Nichols. What are you going to do then? Because I know we’re going to find something. All right, suppose this one killed the Latimer girl. Then who killed him? And why? Why at your place? Why do you act so scared? Why do you lie about things that don’t matter, that couldn’t matter to you? I’ll tell you—it’s because they somehow do matter. Do you know who that dead man is? Noel Teece. Do you know who he was? We know, Nichols. We know all about him, and why he was going to end up this way, for sure. You think it’s going to take long to find out all the rest of it?”
“Who was he?”
He just made another face and I was plenty sick about the whole thing.
“You’re damned good at this,” I said. “You’ve got it all straight in your mind, haven’t you? You’ve got the guilt all leveled at me. You can do that fine. What do you do about protecting the public from things like this?”
He cursed in a soft whisper, watching me. “Yes,” he said. “You’d say something like that, too. But I’ll tell you—even you, and you know what I’d like nothing better than to do to you, Nichols—even you… I have two men stationed by your place all night—just waiting. Know what they’re there for? For your health, Nichols—so you won’t get hurt, because we might be wrong, and you might be right, and that’s the job the way I see it. I have to do that. And it was done because you were a suspect in the killing of that girl, too.”
Now I saw why Radan hadn’t been around. Radan would be half nuts with wanting to get at me. I hadn’t seen any guards by the house, but Radan would know. It explained a lot of things. And now what was going to happen when I got home? Radan wouldn’t move too quickly; haste could mean a big bill of waste in this instance. He had orders to get that money. He knew I wasn’t going any place with the law barking down my collar. So he would wait until everything was clear. Then he would move in on me, because he knew now that I’d lied to him about the briefcase.
“Nichols?” Gant said. “You aren’t listening.”
“What?”
“I said, ‘What happened to your finger?’ ”
“It’s broken.”
“That’s damned enlightening. I mean, how broken?”
“I caught it in a car door.”
“When?”
“What’s that to you?”
“See, Nichols? See what I mean?”
We stared at each other.
“Nichols, there’s hardly a thing I can ask you about that you don’t get scared and want to run. What is it? God, I’ll bet you can’t bring yourself to tell me about that finger, even. Not the truth. You can’t force yourself to tell me how it got caught in what door, or when, or where? Right?”
I didn’t say anything. He had me really going. I wanted to pile into him, and I couldn’t. And that was bad, because I knew I was the one who was wrong.
He was doing his job. He had every right to be this way, and I could see that much of it clear now. And I was withholding the very grains of knowledge he had to have.
“Nichols, all I have to do is ask your wife.”
My neck got hot. If he asked her, she’d tell him about my going to Chicago. I felt trapped.
“Well?” he said. “Where did you bust your finger?”
There was a kind of gleeful tone to his voice, as though he was really enjoying this, or maybe a little crazy or something. And I knew he wasn’t enjoying it.
“A car door.”
“ ‘A car door.’ ”
He turned sharply and stared up toward the road, muttering to himself. I watched him go with this tight new feeling of being trapped inside me. If he went to Bess, what then? I hadn’t done anything! I wanted to yell it at him. If he really had anything on me, he’d have run me in fast. I knew that. So I was all right. I was still ahead of them—way ahead.
Only how long would they keep it up?
All I had to do was tell them. Only I couldn’t tell them a thing, and they didn’t know that. And by keeping my mouth shut and lying, it looked as if I was really mixed up in this. Maybe even committed murder.
I started on up across the park toward Gant.
So Vivian was dead. And now Teece, too. And it struck me what Radan might be doing, and I was damned well scared. I wanted to get home…
“I’m going to haunt you, Nichols.”
“Listen, if I could help you, I would. There’s nothing I can do to help you. You think I know a lot of things that I don’t. You’re reading a lot into this that isn’t there. I mean it. Why should I want to stand in your way?”
He turned to a cop standing about ten feet off on the curb. “Pete, will you run Mr. Nichols home?”
“Listen,” I said, rapping his arm. “You didn’t answer me.”
He looked at me and grinned. “I’m going to haunt you,” he said. Then he turned and walked off across the park toward where the spotlights were focused.
“Coming, Mr. Nichols?” the cop said.
“Yeah.”
Way off there toward the Gulf, you could see the pale, gray-pink line of dawn, blurring the horizon.
I headed for our place in a hurry. I hoped that Gant still had his guards posted. But it could be that Radan would wait to make certain about everything.
Bess lay there in bed with her eyes closed. But she was awake. Already the gray morning was probing through the Venetian blinds. Still fuzzy with sleep, she sat there on the bed, staring at me, her pale golden hair mussed, and looking as warm and cozy as crackers.
“Wh-what did Gant want in the middle of the night?”
While I undressed, I told her about Teece, and she put her hand to her mouth, her eyes round. “Roy,” she said, and her voice broke a little, “I’ve had all this on my mind and I can’t stand it…”
I could feel the sudden tensing behind my solar plexus.
“Will you tell me? Will you?”
“What, Bess?”
“You’re mixed up in something, I know you are. How long do you think I can go along with you like this? You knew that girl, Roy—I know you did.”
“I don’t get you at all.”
“Listen, Roy. I’ve been playing dumb, for your sake. But it can’t go on. I live with you. I love you. I can’t help feeling things—knowing something’s wrong. All I know is this— you’re in trouble and you won’t tell me what kind of trouble.”
“Listen, Bess,” I said finally, “if there was anything I had to tell you, I would. I didn’t know that girl, and I’m not mixed up in anything. Now, just relax, and let’s try to get a little sleep before we have to get up. Huh?”
She turned over and didn’t answer. I could tell she was mad, and she knew darned well she was right about a lot of things and all of it was eating at her. Just like things were troubling me…
/> Well, just for now, to hell with them. I was real beat, and I had to get some rest in, because God knew what was coming in a few hours. Before anything else, I had to check the garage. Just an hour or two of sleep…
Chapter 17
Maybe when you get in more real trouble than you can handle and get dead beat-out, the law of subconscious gravity or something slides the whole load off somewhere. Anyhow, I didn’t know a thing until dark, and Bess brought me some stuff in on a tray, like I was an invalid. It made me feel worse than ever, and now all the things were catching up with me, and I got dressed and carried the tray out to the kitchen. But I couldn’t eat. I had some black coffee and all the worries were crowding me again.
I was telling Bess that she should have gotten me up, when someone knocked on the office door up front. I went over and swung it open.
Gant stood there. He nodded at Bess, who had come up behind me. He gnawed his lower lip and thrust his hands into his pockets. “Mind if I step inside your place for a few words? The two of you together?” He looked carefully at me when he said that.
“Sure.” I stepped aside and he came in.
“Shall I go make some fresh coffee?”
We both looked at Bess, and Gant smiled pleasantly. He took his hat off. “That would be nice. But would you mind waiting a moment?”
She nodded and her gaze sought mine.
There was something in the air that I didn’t like. Something smug about Gant and the way he spoke. He walked across the room and stood by the studio couch.
“Sit down,” he said. “There are a couple of things I’d like to clear up.”
“But,” Bess said. “I don’t understand. About what?”
He smiled. “Please, sit down and take it easy.” And he sat down on the couch and there was this clang!
He stood up immediately. The clang had come from behind the couch. I knew what it was right off; that Georgia license plate, and my world quietly exploded.
“What could that have been?” Bess said. She went over by the couch. It had been much too loud to be ignored.
Gant frowned and stepped away from the couch. He was watching me. His interest wasn’t behind the couch.
“Let it go,” I told Bess. “Probably just a spring busted.”
“No, it wasn’t that. Here, help me move the couch.”
Gant frowned and frowned. I went over there like a sleepwalker and helped her move the couch. She skinned behind there, up against the wall, and bent over and came up with the plate. “Why, it’s a license plate. It slipped through the back, where the lining’s torn.”
Gant was already halfway over the back of the couch. He snatched it from her and looked at it and started nodding his head. I went across the room and sat down. Bess put one hand against her face and stared at me. She came out from behind the couch and shoved it back with her knee, as easy as anything, and stood there.
Gant looked at me and sighed. “This shouldn’t take long to check, should it, Nichols?”
I sat there and stared at him. I felt this grin form on my face and I couldn’t erase it. He tapped the plate against his other hand and stepped over to the telephone.
He called police headquarters and asked them to run an immediate check on that plate and he read the numbers.
“How ever did that get there, Roy?”
I didn’t bother answering that. Gant hung up and moved to the couch again and sat down. He laid the license plate across his knees. “Bright and new, too. Hardly used at all. Odd.” He patted his pockets and came up with a package of cigarettes. He didn’t offer me one. He took one and lit up.
Bess watched me closely and I hated seeing the look in her eyes. She didn’t know what was up, but she knew that whatever it was, it was no good.
“Mrs. Nichols, why don’t you go make that coffee you mentioned? I reckon I could go for some. I reckon we all could.”
“Sure thing.”
“We may have a little wait here.” He paused and glanced my way, not quite meeting my eyes. “All of us.”
She left the room, her heels smacking the floor.
“Well, Nichols. You want to say anything?” He had lowered his voice and I liked him for that.
“No.”
“All right. We’ll just wait. You see, Nichols, it’s a funny thing. License plates was exactly what I came to see you about. We checked that New York plate through.” He shook his head and smiled to himself. “Thought we had it all in the hat. Boy, how wrong can you get? Where’d you think it would get you? Never mind, you’d lie like hell, anyway—we’ll find out.” He shook his head again. “That New York plate was owned by people living right here in town, Nichols. They were staying here at your motel a while back and they bought their Florida plate and exchanged them in your garage. Maybe you even helped them, hey?”
“No.”
“Boy, you’ve got a real stubborn streak, haven’t you?” He stood up. “Second thought, I’m afraid I’ll have to take you downtown. Might have a long wait and I didn’t think this is the best place.”
He waited. I stood up. “Whatever you say, Lieutenant. You’re the boss.”
“How right,” he said. Then he turned and called to Bess. She came into he hallway. She was very pale.
“Your husband and I are going to run downtown for a while. I’m sorry about the coffee. All right?”
“But—Roy?”
“It’s all right. I’ll be back.”
“Sure,” Gant said. “Sure.” He looked at me.
“Roy.”
I didn’t look at her. I moved across the office and out the door and he came with me. Bess ran over to the door and called my name again.
“It’s all right, honey. I’ll be right back.”
“Good-night, Mrs. Nichols.”
We walked out across the lawn. He kept banging that license plate against his leg. We climbed into the car and he started the engine and drove off.
“You want to hold this, Nichols?” He handed me that Georgia plate. “You’re not going to try anything, are you, Nichols? You’re not that crazy, I hope.”
I just sat there, trying to think.
“Gee. It’s sure something, isn’t it, Nichols?”
It was a small room, not much larger than a good-sized closet. There were no windows and only one doorway, with no door. At one end of this room, there was a platform perhaps ten inches high. On the platform was a straight-backed chair, nailed to the floor.
I was on the chair.
Over my head, swinging about a hand’s breadth, was a 150-watt bulb, with a green tin shade. Nobody had touched the bulb, hanging from the high ceiling by a black length of wire, but it never stopped swinging and their shadows leaned and lengthened and shortened against the wall, breaking up against the ceiling. And my shadow was on the floor. It was crazy, any way you looked at it.
Gant had brought me in here, and for quite a while I sat alone, brooding. Then one by one they came and looked at me. They would stand in the door, with their uniforms all creased and their harnesses creaking, and just look at me.
They talked in the other room. Now and again one of them who had looked in once before would come and stick his head in and then step away again.
Gant finally came into the room and stood against the far wall, watching me. It was a little hard to see him because of the light. The light was hot, too. Then another man in plain clothes joined him. This was a big one, smoking a stub of cigar and he looked like the nasty kind. He was in his shirt sleeves.
“This is Armbruster,” Gant said. “Armbruster, meet Nichols.”
“Hello, Nichols.”
I nodded.
Armbruster smoked his cigar, standing there. He had a red face, round and beefy, and when he breathed it made quite a noise. He had a barrel chest and it was like he had a pain in his stomach. He would kind of groan a little to himself every now and then.
“You want to say anything, Nichols?”
“What in hell is there to say?”
“Still chipper,” Armbruster commented.
“Oh, he’s chipper.”
They stood there. Armbruster smoked and Gant just leaned against the wall, looking at me. It’s pretty bad when people just stand and stare at you, like that. It begins to annoy you. You itch. You try to look away. You can’t do anything. You begin to sink into the chair. You sweat. You think of a million things to do, all of them wrong.
“They’ve traced the plate,” Gant said.
“Oh?”
“Yes. It didn’t take long, did it? The Ford car was in your name. Roy Nichols.”
“Isn’t that something?” Armbruster said.
I swallowed. I wanted a drink of water, but I knew better than to ask for one.
“That’s all there is to it. Just that quick. We made it with two phone calls. Now, what do you say, Nichols?”
“Hell, man,” Armbruster said. “Don’t be a damned fool. Tell us about it.”
A uniformed cop rushed past Armbruster and looked at me. “Why’d you do it, Nichols?” he said. “Why’d you kill Vivian Rise?”
He went away. I stared at the space where he had been. They knew her name.
“Yes,” Gant said. “Vivian Rise. Did you know a girl by that name, Nichols? Or did you just know her as Jane Latimer? Or are you really Ed Latimer? Or what?”
“Or what?” Armbruster said.
“Come on, Nichols,” the cop said, sticking his head in the doorway. “Why did you do it?” He looked at me for a minute, his face without expression. Then he stepped inside the room. He took a package of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Have a smoke, Nichols?”
“Thanks.”
“That’s all right.” He lighted my cigarette, put the lighter away, stood there a moment, then left.
“Well, Nichols?” Armbruster said. “Are you Ed Latimer, late of the Ambassador Hotel?”
Gant looked down at the floor. “Come on. Let’s not be here all night long.”
Armbruster looked at Gant. They both left me sitting there.
