by Keith Miles
‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘Do I look as if I needed help?’
He reached for the telephone, summoned assistance, then went to stand over the cowering figure. The excitement of our success made him laugh out loud. He put a hand inside the man’s coat and pulled out a wallet. Flicking it open, he studied the name on the driving licence, then handed it across to me.
When I read the name myself, I quailed inwardly.
Angel Quiroga.
He was not the man who’d stabbed Zuke Everett and Mardie Cutler. He had not tried to force me over a cliff near Stinson Beach. The real killer was still at liberty.
He had a double.
Angel Quiroga.
Helen Everett’s last word to her husband came back to me.
‘Angel.’
The young man was her brother.
Chapter Seven
Police procedure once again came between me and my sleep. It was hours before I finally got to bed. Orgaz knew his job. As well as having a talent for kicking in motel room doors, he was well versed in the art of pacifying an irate management. In view of the damage, disturbance and bloodstains on the carpet, they were entitled to feel aggrieved. After Orgaz had smoothed their ruffled feathers, however, they came to shower me with abject apologies and moved me to a better room.
Set against his virtues, Orgaz had two major defects.
He was a policeman. And he was still there.
I lay on the bed and tried to untangle it all in my mind. Angel Quiroga was engaged in some private battle of his own. He was in no way involved in the murders of Zuke and Mardie. Fuelled by some inner passion, he’d been set on to me by Dominga and seemed to believe that he was somehow defending his sister’s honour.
When I’d met him in the guest room at the Everett house, I’d seen him in the half-dark. The next time I encountered him—or so I thought—was when he drew up alongside me in a blue Pontiac Grand Am. My brief glimpse of him had shown me his right profile and I’d assumed there was a scar on his left temple.
My third sighting had been in the half-dark of a young man’s memory. In recalling Mr. Gomez, the clerk at the National Car Rental desk had given a good general description of Angel Quiroga. There’d been no mention of a facial scar but I put this down to the fact that Gomez had been wearing a hat.
Further corroboration had come from the receptionist at a downtown hotel. The man who had familiarised himself with the place on the afternoon before the Magic Show had also sounded temptingly like Quiroga. I’d been so eager to believe that one and the same man was responsible for all the violence that I’d never even stopped to consider there might be two of them.
A professional hit man and a crazed younger brother.
Helen’s strange behaviour was now explained. As she stood over Zuke’s dead body in the garden, she feared that her brother was the murderer and she guiltily shielded him during the interview with Salgado and Nelms. When she knew that his only crime was an assault on me and my clothing, she still felt obliged to protect her younger brother. I ended up feeling sorry for both of them.
Veronica Quiroga. Helen Ramirez. Helen Everett.
Raped. Exploited. Widowed.
She had not had much luck with any of her names.
Sleep continued to stalk me but refused to move in for the kill. I was physically exhausted and emotionally drained. I was also psychologically shattered. After all my efforts, I’d still not found the man I was after. There were two of them. I’d got the easy one.
Golf summed up my dilemma. I felt as if I’d driven superbly from the tee to drop my ball in the very heart of the green. When I got to it, however, I found that someone had moved the hole another two hundred yards away. I had to emulate Zuke Everett and hit an even better second shot that landed right in the cup.
I needed my own double eagle.
Sleep took mercy on me and smothered me into oblivion.
I rose early and dived into a restorative bath. While I was making a coffee, Orgaz arrived to see what my plans were. I told him that I would be staying at the motel for a while to make some telephone calls. He welcomed the news and saw the chance to breakfast at the nearby restaurant. I waved him off and locked the door.
It was time to search for Mardie Cutler’s address book.
The simplest way to find the name I wanted was to contact Helen but I suspected that she might not wish to speak to me after my dealings with her brother. I was right. As soon as she heard my voice, she hung up. Silence has its own eloquence.
Only one option remained. Since I didn’t have the address book, I had to recreate it painstakingly name by name. When Mardie dashed away from the Everett house on the first day of my visit, she’d been going on to a client called Mrs. Hahn. I grabbed the first massive volume of the telephone directory and thumbed through it.
There were dozens of Hahns. In my crude panic, I thought that they had poured in from all over America to colonise the city and to make my job an ordeal. I could be on the telephone all day. Then I recalled what Mardie had said about Mrs. Hahn. She was not a woman who could be cancelled. That suggested an imperious female, which in turn meant that she had money.
Going through the list, I pencilled out all the names with addresses in the poorer neighbourhoods. I concentrated my attack on areas like Beverly Hills, Hollywood, Burbank and Santa Monica itself. I struck oil at the fourteenth attempt. Mardie’s client lived in the exclusive luxury of Laurel Canyon.
Mrs. Hahn had been shocked to learn of the girl’s death and immediately converted the tragedy into a personal setback. How would she manage now that Mardie was unable to fulfil her twice-weekly commitments? Murder was such an inconvenience. I let her parade her selfishness for a while, then asked her if she knew any other clients of the dead girl. Mrs. Hahn gave me two names and numbers.
I was rolling.
It was slow, grinding work and I had to listen to all kinds of monologues, moans and expressions of sympathy, but each new call produced fresh clients. The address book was starting to fill up again. It was a Mrs. Joan Rysdale of Bel Air who supplied the vital name.
‘Oh, I’ve known Mardie for over a year, Mr. Saxon.’
‘How did you first meet her?’ I asked.
‘Through my best friend,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘Greta was always talking about this wonderful girl who took her for fitness classes.’
‘Greta?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. Greta Kallgren.’
I had established a link at last.
Greta Kallgren was the lean, handsome woman with a blue rinse whom I’d seen at the party before the tournament. Through his wife’s desire to stay young and supple, Mardie Cutler was connected with Rutherford Kallgren. Her death no longer seemed a random act of malice.
My speculations were interrupted by a knock on the door. I was wary. It was not Orgaz. He always called out my name. I crossed to the door and spoke through it.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Alan,’ replied a familiar voice. ‘Valmai.’
I let her in at once and we embraced. Looking pale and anxious, she clasped my hands and squeezed them tightly.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I asked.
‘I came as soon as I heard the news this morning.’
‘News?’
‘That girl’s murder. Leading on from Zuke’s death.’ Her concern for me was touching. ‘I saw the report of your automobile accident as well. I feel dreadful about it, Alan.’
‘I lived to fight another day.’
‘No thanks to me. You might have been killed.’
Valmai’s conscience was troubling her. She admitted that she’d kept several things back from me at Stinson Beach because they’d been too painful to disclose and because she hadn’t wanted to t
arnish Zuke’s memory. Now that she realised the danger I was in, she was ready to tell me everything if it would help to save me.
I was moved. Valmai had flown all the way down from San Francisco in order to be with me. What she had to say could not be imparted over a telephone. I guessed at its highly private nature.
Since I’d had no breakfast, I took her out to the restaurant for a mid-morning brunch. I said nothing to Orgaz about my departure from the motel but he sensed it at once. As we sat in the window of the restaurant, I saw him waiting in his car across the road.
Valmai’s tension slowly eased. I did not rush her.
‘How’s Louis?’
‘Fine. I left him with a neighbour.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t saddle him and ride to Los Angeles.’
She smiled. ‘Yeah, he is pretty energetic, isn’t he?’
‘I didn’t even know you liked dogs,’ I remarked.
‘Neither did I till I was on my own.’
She picked at her food. I could see her gathering strength to embark on what she’d come to say. I tried to make it easy for her.
‘It’s to do with the baby, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Zuke took it badly.’
‘Very badly.’
‘He’d waited all that time for a child,’ I said, quietly. ‘When it was stillborn, he just went to pieces. Am I right?’
Setting her knife and fork aside, she looked up at me.
‘He became impotent.’
I could find no words to break the silence that ensued.
‘It finished us,’ she continued.
As she explained what had happened, I saw why she’d been so reticent before. In talking about Zuke’s problem, she had to relive her own humiliation and disillusion. He’d blamed his wife entirely. In losing the baby, she’d robbed him of his manhood.
‘Didn’t he seek medical advice?’ I asked.
‘He tried everything, Alan. His shrink told him that it was just a psychological block. All he had to do was to be patient.’ Her bitterness deepened. ‘Not Zuke. He couldn’t wait. It was getting to his game, you see. I was the reason for that as well.’
‘How did he make that out?’
‘You know the kind of player he was,’ she recalled. ‘A power golfer. Real swashbuckler. When he couldn’t cut it any more, he turned on me. Said it was my fault he’d lost his balls out on the course.’
‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’
‘There was much worse.’
‘How long did it go on?’
‘Months,’ she replied. ‘Then he came home drunk one night and told me there was someone else. In fact, there’d been a few. Much younger women. He could do it with them. That proved it was all me.’
‘It proved nothing of the kind, Valmai,’ I assured her.
‘Zuke believed it did and that’s what counted.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I was all washed up.’
‘What about drugs?’ I probed, gently.
She nodded. ‘That was the other nice surprise I got.’
‘Cocaine?’
‘He tried everything, Alan. Pot, acid, amphetamines, barbiturates. Then he found coke and that was the one for him. He used to snort it with some of his lady friends. Boasted how much it improved his performance in the sack.’ Her face puckered in distress. ‘I loved that man for years but he made me sick to my stomach at the end.’
‘Did Howie realise what was going on?’
‘Oh, yes. He threatened to walk out if Zuke didn’t kick his habit and pull himself together. The stuff Zuke was on, it came very expensive. It was burning a big hole in our capital and Zuke wasn’t winning. Sometimes he’d fly two thousand miles to play a tournament and not even make enough to pay for the air fare. Some of his sponsors were getting edgy. They like success.’
‘What about Helen?’ I asked.
‘She was welcome to him,’ said Valmai, sharply. ‘Zuke was a mess when he left me. Quite frankly, that woman deserved a medal for taking him on.’
‘Helen must have known he was on drugs, surely?’
‘No, Alan. That’s what made her special, according to Zuke. He didn’t need anything when he was around her. She was a drug in herself. He told me…’ She chewed her lip and looked down at the tablecloth. ‘He told me that she’d given him his balls back.’
I tried to absorb all that she’d divulged and relate it to the man I’d known. It put everything into a new perspective. Simply talking to me about it had been an endurance test for Valmai and I didn’t wish to make her suffer any further.
‘Does any of that help?’ she said, hopefully.
‘It explains a lot,’ I thanked. ‘But it only takes me up to the point where you two broke up. I need to know about his second marriage. Why things went wrong there.’
‘Have you tried talking to her?’
‘She won’t let me anywhere near her, Valmai.’
‘Why not?’
When I told her about Angel Quiroga, she reacted with surprise. It became astonishment when I explained about Zuke and Mardie Cutler. She thought it over for a while, then got up from the table.
‘Let’s go see her right now,’ she insisted.
‘Helen?’
‘What’s to stop us?’
‘I wouldn’t even get into the house.’
‘Yes, you will,’ she promised. ‘You’re with me.’
I admired her courage more than ever. Helen Everett symbolised all the things that she’d lost and Valmai had every reason to stay well clear. A confrontation with Helen was bound to be painful to her in dozens of subtle ways. For my sake, she was ready to go through with it all. I gave her a soft kiss of gratitude on the cheek.
I paid the bill and we set off. Since the house was within walking distance, there was no need to take the car. Orgaz tailed us discreetly. When we reached our destination, Valmai stopped to appraise the house. There was a quiet satisfaction in her gaze. It did not compete with the Malibu home.
The gates were open and the battered Oldsmobile was on the drive. Evidently, the brother had parked it there before paying his courtesy call on me at the motel. As memories stirred, I was glad that Angel Quiroga was now in police custody.
Helen answered the door herself. Anger at seeing me was mixed with curiosity at seeing Valmai. Nothing was said. It slowly dawned on her who her female visitor must be.
The two wives assessed each other without malice.
‘You’d better come in,’ said Helen.
We went into the living room.
Helen was wearing a silk housecoat and fur slippers. Her hair was unkept, she had no make-up on and she was pulling on a cigarette for comfort. I adjudged that the news about her brother had given her a bad night. She was self-conscious about the fact that she did not look at her best and it made her tone defensive.
‘What can I do for you?’
Valmai went straight in with impressive purpose.
‘We need some help,’ she announced bluntly. ‘Two people have been murdered already, Helen. Unless you can do your share, Alan is going to be the next victim. I think we’ve had enough killing. So do you.’
Helen stubbed the cigarette out in an ashtray, then sat up.
‘What would you like to know?’
‘Some of this may be rather personal,’ I warned.
‘Ask your questions,’ she invited, calmly.
‘Why did the marriage go sour?’
It rocked her slightly but she soon recovered.
‘Lots of reasons,’ she confided, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her housecoat. ‘Before we got married, Zuke was everything I’d ever wanted. Afterwards…it was so different. None of his promises came true. He couldn’t afford them. A
lso…’
She drew back from what she was going to say and folded her arms. Then she seemed to go off into a private reverie. I exchanged a glance with Valmai, then tried to prompt Helen.
‘Also?’
She remained in her trance. Miles away. Valmai reached her.
‘Was it because of the baby?’ she challenged.
Helen was flattered. ‘How did you know about that?’
‘Was it?’ pressed Valmai.
‘Maybe.’
‘Did he keep on about it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Did he?’
The words came out of Helen in a torrent of recrimination.
‘Yes, he did,’ she protested. ‘Zuke talked about nothing else on our honeymoon. We must have a baby, must have a baby. I wanted children, yes, but not yet. I wasn’t even ready to think about it for five years at least. My career comes first. I have to keep my figure. But Zuke just wouldn’t understand. He kept on and on and on. We must have a baby soon, he said. It’s the only way to prove I’m a man. It’s the only way to show we have a real marriage.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Valmai wince.
‘In the end,’ continued Helen, ‘I couldn’t stand it any more. It was there between us whenever we got close.’ She took a deep breath. ‘So I stopped being his wife. In that sense.’
Veronica Quiroga had chosen the wrong name. She was not really Helen Ramirez in High Noon. She was playing the Grace Kelly part of the wife who turns her back on her husband in his hour of need.
Zuke Everett had been completely beleaguered.
Do not forsake me, O my darling.
‘I want to ask you about Mardie,’ I said.
‘Oh God!’ murmured Helen, putting a hand to her throat. ‘That poor girl. Why did they have to kill her?’
‘Where did you meet her?’
‘What?’ She was in a daze.
‘Mardie. Who introduced her to you?’
‘I saw it on TV last night. It was horrible.’ She tried to focus on me. ‘You ask me something?’
