Michael Gray Novels

by Henry Kuttner

  “You didn’t give her any money?” Witczak’s voice was accusing.

  “I didn’t have much. I gave her that. It wasn’t enough. She’d have done anything to get money. Probably that’s why she was killed. Somebody beat her nearly to death and threw her in the Bay to drown. If she hadn’t been nearly crazy to get hold of some dope, she’d probably have been more careful. The way it was, she didn’t have a chance.”

  Witczak said, “The stuff ain’t that hard to get hold of.”

  “Without money?”

  “Hell, she’d been with the habit for years. It builds, mister, it builds. I know that. She must have had dough—she’d been on the stuff for years. That costs.”

  “Where was she getting the money all that time?”

  Witczak shrugged. “I don’t know. I just figure she couldn’t have built a habit that long without knowing where to get at big money.”

  He was silent. Then he said, “You think she could have kicked the habit in a hospital?”

  Gray flipped his cigarette out the car window.

  “No,” he said. “My guess is she couldn’t. She’d been with it too long. If she’d been younger, if she’d had a good reason for living—somebody who wanted her to live—”

  “Nobody did,” Witczak said. “She was a bitch.”

  Gray said, “Somebody was giving her money. Enough to keep her supplied. Maybe the trouble began when the money stopped coming. Do you know where it might have come from?”

  Witczak said, “No,” in a troubled voice. He was obviously thinking. “Was she beat up bad?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Gray said. “It was bad.”

  Another silence.

  Witczak said suddenly, “Why don’t you drive around a while?”

  Gray started the motor, switched on the lights. He thought there was a sudden motion in the bushes. Witczak lit a cigarette, holding the match flame up for a moment before he shook it out. It could have been a signal. Gray let the car slide quietly forward.

  Witczak leaned forward and turned on the radio. He tried stations impatiently till he found rock-and-roll music. The jagged beat thumped strongly, vibrating under Gray’s skin. Suddenly Witczak switched the radio off. The night was heavily silent.

  Witczak coughed. Then he said, “I’ll tell you something. The night Mrs. Avery got herself killed…Stella and I—we were there. Outside the building.”

  Gray didn’t speak.

  Witczak went on. “I know it don’t look good. What happened was…I thought I could get in the joint and see what was worth taking. I saw Eddie at school that day and he said he was going to see her. I thought she’d meet him somewhere outside. I figured it would be a pretty good time to get in and look around. I got a few passkeys. I could have made it. You know?”

  Gray nodded silently, his eyes on the dark road slowly unrolling before them.

  Witczak said, “I brought Stella along for a lookout. We waited outside. I knew which apartment it was. I could see the light was on. I figured when the light went out and Mrs. Avery came out I’d go in. But we waited a couple of hours. No luck. If we’d waited longer…But it was cold. Stella’s coat is pretty thin. She started shivering, so I said the hell with it, let’s forget it. That’s all that happened. But you see how it would look to the cops?”

  Gray said, “Yes, I can see that, all right. Eddie didn’t go into the building while you were there?”

  “Nope.”

  “Anybody you knew?”

  “Nope. Nobody.”

  “Would you know Avery by sight?”

  “Sure, I seen him down at the theater. Eddie let me in a few times when he was taking tickets. Nobody I knew went in or out while Stella and me were there. If we’d stayed around longer it might have been different. Eddie used to go there a lot. He had this key—”

  “He did?” Gray said sharply. “You saw it?”

  “Sure I saw it. That’s what gave me the idea. At first I figured maybe I could get the key off him, and then I remembered my passkeys and thought it’d be safer. The key and that ring she gave him were what first made me think—”

  “What kind of ring?” Gray kept his voice steady with an effort.

  “Blue. A sapphire, I think Eddie said. I figured if she could give stuff like that away, she must have plenty of it.”

  “When did you see the ring?”

  “I don’t know. Couple of days before the kill, I guess.”

  Gray drew a long breath.

  Now he had it—a witness to prove Eddie Udall had the ring and the key days before the murder. And yet—from the legal standpoint a very poor witness. A jury probably wouldn’t believe Matt Witczak under oath. Not with the kind of publicity the Udall case was getting in the newspapers.

  Gray said, “He told you she gave him the ring. Did you think he might have stolen it?”

  “At first I did. But then I sort of believed him. I don’t know why.”

  Gray nodded. He had had the same feeling himself.

  “When you thought Eddie was seeing Mrs. Avery that night, you expected her to meet him outside somewhere. Why?”

  Witczak said, “Jeez, the Avery dame was married. Suppose her husband walked in on them?”

  Gray said, “You mean Eddie was sleeping with Ann Avery?”

  Witczak said, “What else? So she was kind of old. She sure didn’t look it. I saw her a few times with Eddie. I wouldn’t have minded some of that myself.”

  Gray said, “Did Eddie ever tell you he was sleeping with her?”

  Witczak shook his head. “No. He never did. I started to kid him about it once and he got real mad. So I laid off. But hell, what else?”

  Gray said carefully, “Then you wouldn’t say Eddie was—afraid—of older women?”

  Witczak laughed and shook his head.

  “What about Eddie’s switchblade?” Gray asked. “Do you remember when you saw it last?”

  “Let’s see. Oh, quite a while, I guess. He stopped carrying it. Maybe those people he was with, the Reiners—maybe they went through his clothes. I don’t know.”

  “I don’t either,” Gray said. “Nobody’s been able to find the knife that killed Ann Avery, and nobody can find Eddie’s switchblade either. You see how that looks.”

  “Yeah,” Witczak said. “Say, did they use a knife on Blanche?”

  “No. A club.”

  “You’re really trying to get Eddie off?”

  Gray nodded.

  Witczak said suddenly, “Turn off left here. No, don’t stop. Just keep going.”

  Gray glanced sidewise at him. “All right,” he said. They drove in silence past two more turnings. Presently Witczak said, “Here. Pull over and park.”

  When the motor was silent Witczak whistled softly twice, paused, and whistled again. For a moment nothing happened. Then a footstep grated on cement, and a slender, dark form loomed up outside the car on Witczak’s side. The boy opened the door and slid over toward Gray. “Okay,” he said. “Climb in.”

  In the dim light from the dashboard Gray saw a small, pale face with ridiculously arched eyebrows looking up at him.

  “Stella,” he said.

  Witczak gripped the girl’s shoulder.

  “Take it easy,” he said. He took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with the lighter from the dashboard, and put it between Stella’s lips. “Feel all right?”

  “Sure,” she said, still watching Gray.

  “This guy won’t hurt you. I guess it’s all right to tell him what you heard.”

  “What I heard, Matt?”

  Witczak turned his head toward Gray.

  “I better level. That night Stella and I went to the Avery place—we didn’t just watch from the outside.”

  “The night Ann Avery was killed?”

  “That’s it. I wanted to find out if she was home or not. I told Stella to walk through the hall outside Avery’s door and see if she could hear anything.” He glanced at the girl beside him with some pride. “Stell looks swell when she’
s dressed up. I mean, they’d have thought she lived there or something. I waited outside. Pretty soon Stella came back and said she heard voices in the Avery place. So we waited around outside. And after a while we did see somebody we knew come out.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Blanche Udall,” the boy said.

  “She’d been to see Mrs. Avery?”

  “Better than that,” Witczak said. “Stella listened outside the door, and she heard the two of them yelling their heads off. Didn’t you, Stell?”

  The girl nodded quickly.

  “How did you know it was Ann Avery and Blanche you heard?” Gray asked.

  Witczak said, “Hell, it was the Avery apartment. The name was right on the door. And we saw Blanche come out of the building.”

  Stella interrupted.

  “It was Blanche, all right. I know how she sounds when she’s mad.”

  “Did you hear what they said?” Gray asked.

  When Stella didn’t answer, Witczak nudged her.

  “Go on, Stell. Spill it. I said it was okay, didn’t I?”

  “Well…I didn’t hear very much. Just a little of it. Blanche was saying something about how nobody could throw her over after all these years. She sounded like she was trying to get Mrs. Avery to do something.”

  “What?” Gray asked.

  “I don’t know. Mrs. Avery was saying it was all Blanche’s fault. And then all of a sudden Mrs. Avery started to laugh. She sounded crazy.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I couldn’t hear for a while. But Mrs. Avery started in again yelling that it was all finished, after all these years. And she told Blanche to get out. So I went downstairs to find Matt.”

  Gray thought for a moment.

  “Did you hear anything else?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Witczak said, “One thing you forgot, Stell. Just at the end of—”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Stella said quickly. “Right at the end, I heard Mrs. Avery say, ‘I want the truth to come out.’ Like that, you know?”

  Gray echoed that thoughtfully. “‘I want the truth to come out.’ What do you think she meant, Stella? What truth?”

  Stella said unhelpfully, “I don’t know.”

  “Had either of you ever realized before that Blanche and Ann Avery knew each other?”

  Neither of them had.

  Gray tried to think of more questions he could ask while Stella was here within reach. He tried a few, getting no useful responses. He felt that he had taken in too many new things in the last twelve hours to absorb them all. He needed time to think.

  Witczak stirred restlessly after a while. “Okay, Stell,” he said. “Beat it now. Wait for me.”

  He opened the door and pushed her gently. She breathed a polite good-by to Gray and was gone in seconds, her feet grating softly on the cement.

  Witczak looked at him in the dimness.

  “Well, what about it?” he said. “Any help?”

  “I think so,” Gray told him. “A lot of help. How long did you wait around after Blanche left?”

  “About half an hour.”

  “Ann Avery must have been writing a letter,” Gray said. “We know she mailed one to Eddie that same evening. Something had happened that upset her very much. It must have been the quarrel with Blanche. If we only knew…” He broke off impatiently.

  “You think maybe you can clear up the rap on Eddie?”

  “I hope so. This helps. Have you got anything more I ought to know?”

  “Nothing I can think of now,” Witczak said soberly.

  Gray looked at the boy, started to speak, hesitated, then said, “I’ve got one thing to say I think you should know.”

  “What’s that?” Witczak was instantly wary.

  “Stella seemed pretty normal tonight. How long since she had a fix?”

  Witczak said, “Leave her out of this!”

  “I can’t. She’s getting in deeper with every day that goes by, every fix she takes. She’s got a chance to kick the habit now. The longer she waits, the less chance. I don’t know how you’re getting the money to keep her going, but—” He hesitated again. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, took several bills out of the back of it and dropped them in Witczak’s lap. “If you’re hiding out, there’s only one way you can get money. The hard way. I don’t want that to go on.”

  “Keep your God-damn money,” Witczak snapped.

  “I’m thinking about Stella, not you. She’s the one who needs help. You’re not helping. You’re just trying to be a big man. If Stella winds up in the Bay like Blanche—”

  “Shut up!”

  “Listen,” Gray said coldly. “You’re tough enough and smart enough to look after yourself. Stella isn’t. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been thinking. Ever since you saw what happened to Blanche, you’ve worried about Stella ending up the same way later on. But you’ve got to be a big man, even if Stella goes the same way Blanche did. Well, I’m going to do my damnedest to give Stella her chance. You can’t stop me.”

  Witczak’s voice took on its old, dangerous drawl.

  “Suppose you keep your nose out—”

  Gray said, “Shut up.” He reached over to pick up the money lying on Witczak’s knee. The boy tried to strike the money to the floor. Gray’s hand clamped hard on the boy’s shoulder. He stuffed the bills into Witczak’s jacket pocket.

  “That’s for Stella, not for you. I don’t want her getting in trouble if you’re picked up before I can get the ball rolling.”

  Witczak reached for his pocket.

  Gray said, “If you touch that money, I’ll knock you clear into the back seat, and the hell with your knife or whatever you’re reaching for.”

  Witczak stopped moving.

  He sat motionless for a tense few moments. Then the stiffness seemed to go out of him and he relaxed a little all over.

  Gray said quietly after a while, “Where shall I drop you, Matt?”

  Witczak let his breath out in a long sigh.

  “Nowhere,” he said. “I’ll get out here.” He reached for the door. Then he paused and turned to look at Gray searchingly. He started to speak. Then, with a half smile and a little shake of his head, he got out of the car.

  “Can you keep in touch with me?” Gray asked. “Phone me, say?”

  “Okay,” Witczak said. “I will.”

  “And one more thing,” Gray added. “You remember I asked you once about a kid named Whitey? I still need to find out who he is.”

  Witczak nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” He started to turn away. Then he turned back and leaned in through the car window.

  “How old do you have to be to get the gas chamber?” he asked.

  “Eighteen,” Gray told him.

  Witczak didn’t answer. He backed away quietly and without any further sound his dark figure melted into the darkness of the park.

  Gray started the car.

  18

  In the moist, salty gray of a foggy morning, Gray went briskly down the hall toward Zucker’s office. He had two free hours before his first appointment, and he wanted to ask Zucker a question that had been haunting him ever since last night in the darkness of the car and the silence of Golden Gate Park.

  He pushed open the door to Zucker’s outer office and then paused, surprised. Tod Avery looked up from his seat on a bench and nodded rather sourly. The benches seemed unusually full for this early in the morning. Avery looked away again, holding his head rather stiffly. In a moment Gray saw why. Several feet away from him, crowded between two strangers, Jim Quentin sat. The two men were trying not to look at each other. It wasn’t easy, in this crowded office.

  Gray felt a stirring of excitement. What had happened? What new development had made Zucker summon these two for further questioning? Quentin gave Gray an uncomfortable smile and a shrug in answer to Gray’s questioning look. He didn’t seem to know, either.

  Gray spoke to the guard at Zu
cker’s door. The man told him to wait and stepped inside, closing the door carefully after him. Voices spoke in cautiously lowered tones from the inner office.

  Waiting, Gray turned over in his mind the interesting idea that Tod Avery might know more than anyone had reason to suspect about the good-looking, gray-haired teacher now sitting only a few feet away from him. Why else would he keep his gaze stiffly averted from Quentin’s face? Avery wasn’t supposed to know about his wife and Quentin. So far as anyone involved in the secret could tell, Avery had never guessed. Then why…?

  The door beside Gray opened. Zucker called out, “Come in, Mike,” in a tone that to Gray rang with slightly false heartiness. There was no one here now but Zucker himself. Gray looked curiously around the room.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “I’m not sure.” Gray searched the room again with his eyes. He had the indefinable feeling that the person who had spoken with subdued tones in here, the person who must have left a moment ago, was somebody he knew.

  “Notice anybody outside you recognized?” Zucker asked with heavy humor.

  “Something new come up?” Gray asked. “I thought you’d already asked those two everything there was to ask.”

  “Checking and rechecking,” Zucker told him, “is ninety-nine per cent of all police work.”

  “Sure,” Gray said. He wanted to ask more questions, but it was clear to him Zucker wouldn’t answer. Not yet, anyhow.

  “I saw Matt Witczak last night,” Gray said. “And Stella Ingram, too. Now before you start yelling, let me explain. I know the police want them. They know it, too. That’s out of my hands. But I did have a long talk with Witczak and I think you ought to know about it.”

  “All right,” Zucker said, his lips compressed. “Sit down and sound off. Let’s have it.”

  Concisely Gray told him the story.

  Zucker drummed his fingers on the desk and listened without comment. When Gray had finished, he said, “Well?” in a noncommittal voice.

  “What do you mean, well?” Gray demanded. “At least, now we’ve got a witness to show Eddie had the ring and the key before the day of the killing. And corroboration that Eddie wasn’t carrying his switchblade around any longer. I admit Witczak isn’t exactly the best witness in the world, but—”