“She talked?”
“Some. Remember I said yesterday we found Brand in bed with a couple of busted ribs?”
Gray nodded.
“You said an angry husband beat him up. Who was the hero?”
Zucker gave Gray a bland stare.
“If this particular husband turns out to be connected with Fenn’s death—or Albano’s—then I’ll answer that question. Right now, I’d just as soon not. Brand asked for what he got, that’s for sure. Why should I bring assault charges against the assailant when Brand won’t, and when all I’ve got is hearsay evidence? I’d rather pin a medal on him. Leave it at that, Mike. Brand’s story is that he fell downstairs, but actually somebody beat hell out of him, and the nurse was there. So when Fenn dropped in an hour later to see Brand, she was worried enough to stay close to the keyhole. She heard enough. Brand had been paying blackmail to Fenn, all right. I don’t know why. But yesterday Brand was so mad he stopped the payoff and told Fenn to go to hell.”
“So Fenn started looking around for a new victim?”
Zucker shrugged.
“It figures. And Champion was ready-made. Or so Fenn thought. I ask you, Mike—does it look like Champion? Where do you fit Quigley into that killing?”
“Let me think a minute,” Gray said. “And by the way, I hope somebody’s looking into the reason why Brand was paying blackmail.”
“Somebody is,” Zucker promised him.
“I’m glad to hear it. Maybe this time they can pin something on him. Well, then—so it was blackmail with Fenn, was it? Hold on—who says Champion had to be the new victim? Your theory about the driver of the car is still just theory, isn’t it?”
“Why Quigley?” Zucker demanded.
“Why not? Let’s see—Fenn was working for Champion, shadowing Karen and Albano, at the time of the Albano killing. It’s possible he turned up something suspicious, isn’t it? Something he tried to hold over Quigley? Maybe he didn’t even realize he’d just tapped the killer on the shoulder. Maybe—” Gray gave Zucker a sudden, inquiring glance. “Did it turn out Fenn really had a bad cold?”
“Not a trace,” Zucker admitted. “Proving nothing.”
“Okay, then,” Gray said, with growing enthusiasm. “Now—I’m Quigley. I’m the killer. Fenn’s come around trying to blackmail me and I’ve got to get rid of him. How? Well, keep him quiet until I can dope out a foolproof plan. Give him a small payoff and promise more later. Get him to meet me in the empty parking lot at night, and take care of him there.”
“Fenn wasn’t that much of a fool,” Zucker grunted.
“So Quigley didn’t say, ‘Come and be murdered.’ He didn’t even give his right name. He telephoned Fenn saying he was Champion and wanted to re-hire Fenn. How’s that? He told Fenn to meet him in the CQD parking lot to get the details. Fenn would go. He wouldn’t suspect anything. The lot would be the natural place, convenient for Champion and Quigley too. Okay so far?”
Zucker made a gesture of disgust. “Hell, no.”
“Well, Fenn did go to the parking lot. Let me think, now. I’m still Quigley. I still want to frame Champion if I can. I have to kill Fenn, but if I can put the blame on Champion I’ll still come out on top. So what do I do? I take care of Fenn. Then I hurry to a telephone, call Champion, hold my nose so I talk nasally, say I have a heavy cold but I’m Fenn and I have important information. I know Fenn’s really lying dead in the rain, so I want Champion on the spot as fast as I can get him there, in time to be framed. I give Champion time to get almost there, and then I call the police. I’m an anonymous citizen now, reporting a dead body. And everything works out to a split second, the police are fooled, Champion’s framed. I’ve won all down the line. Except—”
Gray smacked the desk lightly. “Except for one thing. Karen finally remembered whose head she saw in outline against the window.” He gave Zucker a hopeful smile. “Sound okay, Harry? Even possible? What do you say?”
Zucker shook his head slowly. “It won’t hold water, Mike. You know it. Suppose she did recognize the head that night in her bedroom. Suppose she could prove it and a jury believed her—which it wouldn’t, by the time the defense was through with her record. Does that prove the same guy killed Albano? Let alone Fenn?”
Gray said doubtfully, “But she saw Albano’s killer going out the door. The same—”
Zucker laughed. “One glimpse. If that. Who could identify from that kind of glimpse? Hell, Mike, you’re tired. You aren’t thinking straight. Get a night’s sleep and look at it tomorrow. You’ll change your mind. By now that Champion dame wouldn’t know the truth if it came up and bit her. You’ll never make out a case based on anything she says.”
Gray nodded slowly.
“You’re right about one thing. We’ll have to prove the truth.” He thought briefly. “Harry, if I set up some kind of test to see if Quigley feels guilty, would you help?”
Zucker said in a voice of flat finality, “No, Mike, I would not. I tell you, this time you’ve flipped. We’ve got the guilty man and we can prove it in court. Suppose you stick to your business and let me handle mine.”
Gray got up. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe I’m wrong. But I know one thing.” He laid one hand flat on the desk and leaned forward to look Zucker in the face. “I’m God damned well going to find out if I’m wrong or not. I’m not taking your word or anybody’s. I’ll handle this my own way—and you can’t say you weren’t warned.”
Gray stood outside the door for a rather hard-breathing moment, letting his temper cool down a little. Anger had made his head ache worse than ever. What he needed was a day off and about ten hours’ sleep. What he was going to get was—he fumbled in his coat pocket—two more aspirins and a stretch of hard work. Maybe dangerous work. But if Karen’s memory and his own intuition were right, he was nearing the end of it. Nearing success and the truth.
He had talked things over with Karen exhaustively, discussing what moves they would have to make if the police refused to listen. You couldn’t blame Zucker, actually. Gray’s story sounded thin in spots even to himself. Champion looked so much more guilty than anybody else. Gray knew what his next step was, but unless he moved fast he might not be able to make it.
He wasn’t thinking just now of the other things Karen had poured out to him under the deep sleep of hypnosis. Before he woke her he had made sure she wouldn’t remember any of it until she progressed far enough to endure the memories consciously. The intricate tangle of fears and lies and forgetfulness would have to be unraveled painfully and slowly, a step at a time. Perhaps Karen had actually pushed the child named Judy over the edge of the snowy roof. Perhaps she hadn’t. As much of the story as could be verified would have to be. What further Gray would do about it—if he did anything—he didn’t have to think about yet.
What he wanted now was to talk to Champion first of all. And he had better do it at once, before it occurred to Zucker to prevent him.
Gray stopped at the water cooler, swallowed two aspirins at a gulp, and set off down the hall, walking fast.
The Dennis Champion who came into the little bare room where Gray sat waiting looked like a different man. Last night, shock and rage and confusion had made him alternate between apathy and stammering fury. Today, a new kind of shock had rolled over him, and he came into the room walking firmly and tall, his face radiant, his head in the clouds.
When he recognized Gray his eyes lighted up with his wide smile and he came across the room with long steps, carrying happiness with him like something tangible. He seized Gray’s hand in a crushing grip with both of his.
“I can’t believe it’s happened,” he said. “It’s too good to be true! Karen was in to see me less than an hour ago. I—I guess I haven’t come back to earth yet. I’ve never been happier in my life.”
Gray smiled at him. “With any luck, things are going to be even better,” he said. “I want to talk to you, and I may not have much time.”
Champion laughed shakily. “I guess
I sound like a damned fool—a man in jail like this—but I’m walking on air. For God’s sake, Gray, what kind of magic did you work with Karen? If psychotherapy can change a woman like that overnight—why, she’s a different person! She says she loves me after all! She’s going to come back to me! She—”
Gray laughed too. “If psychotherapy could do that every time, nobody’d have a trouble in the world. We’re not out of the woods yet, Champion. I’m not supposed to be here at all and we’d better talk fast. How much did Karen tell you?”
Champion lowered his voice. “She recognized Roger Quigley in her room that night—and the night Albano was killed. She says. I don’t know—” For the first time today some of his old uncertainty came back. “It sounds too fantastic, doesn’t it? Roger wouldn’t—”
“We’ve got to find out what he would or wouldn’t do,” Gray told him. “The only way I can think of is to give him a chance to act. See how far he’d go if he thought nobody was looking. That means we have to set a trap.” He watched Champion attentively. “The trap will have to have bait. And the bait will have to be—”
Champion saw the last word coming. “No!” he shouted. “Not Karen! God damn it, not Karen!”
Gray began to talk quickly in a low voice.
Seen through the wire netting of the visitor’s room, Quigley looked very young and vigorous. Champion gazed at him with emotions so mixed he hardly knew what he felt. He had run the complete gamut since last night, from deep frustration and despair to happiness greater than he could remember feeling since Karen first promised to marry him.
He felt wonderful now, strong enough to carry the world on his shoulders, marvelously confident again after such a long time of despair. But he was emotionally exhausted from all he had been through since he saw the smashed and dreadful body of Fenn lying on the wet asphalt last night.
And now came this new problem. He looked through the wire at Quigley, not sure if he felt hate for the man, or simple disbelief in what Karen and Gray had told him. Of all men in the world, surely the hearty, open-mannered Roger Quigley would be the last to play a devious, murderous game like this. But if he had really done it—Champion’s big hands clenched under the table edge.
He said, stiffly, “I have something important to tell you, Roger. Glad you could come. Have any trouble getting in?”
“Not much,” Quigley said, sounding uncomfortable. “They treating you okay?” He leaned forward. “Dennis, we’re going to get you out of here, you know that. We’re—”
“Damn right I’m getting out,” Champion said truculently. Roger needn’t think he was doing him any favors. “You’d better count on it. That’s what I wanted to see you about. Don’t get the idea you’re running CQD all by yourself. I expect to be turned loose within twenty-four hours, and I want to talk to you about those Faber and Castillo orders that are hanging fire. Now I wish you’d ask my secretary for the folders on—”
Quigley said, “Wait a minute. I don’t get this. What do you mean, out in twenty-four hours?” He looked startled.
Champion gave him a hard look. “You could sound happier,” he said.
“Well—of course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be? We’ve had our differences, but I never wanted anything like this to happen. It’s just—I hadn’t heard about you being released. What’s up?”
Champion looked down at the table before him, bit his lip, hesitated. Now was the moment. Now he had to make the difficult choice. He could speak—and put Karen in a spot so dangerous that not all the police could do might be enough to save her. Or he could keep silent—and let the noose tighten around his own neck.
If it were a simple choice between his own safety or hers, he thought he wouldn’t have hesitated at all. It seemed unthinkable to him to put Karen in danger for any reason whatever. But the question wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t even a matter for his decision, in the long run. Gray had made that clear.
“I’m going to go through with this,” Gray had said, “whether you help or not. You can’t stop us. But you can help. You’re our best chance. Karen and I talked it over, and it seemed to us Quigley would take the news from you with the least suspicion. We could arrange for him to overhear a phone call or a conversation, or find a note, but you’re our most convincing messenger—if you’ll go along with us.”
“But what if you’re wrong?” Champion had protested. Maybe—”
“If we’re wrong, then Karen’s in no danger. But if we’re right, then a killer’s loose who thinks he can get away with murder whenever he feels like it. And Karen could be next. She’ll inherit your shares in CQD, won’t she? If you get the gas chamber for murders you didn’t commit, Karen will be in the same spot you’re in now. She’ll control CQD, and Quigley may decide it’s a lot cheaper to get rid of Karen than to buy her out. God knows what he may think. A killer’s thinking is all twisted and confused. And there’s another angle, too.”
Gray had paused and looked long and thoughtfully at Champion.
“Karen feels a lot of guilt about you. She feels she’s mostly responsible for the trouble you’re in now. She wants to—oh, call it atone, if she can. She loves you very much, Champion. She has a lot of courage. I can’t tell you about it now, but I know that when she was a little girl she did a hell of a brave thing to save a pet she had. The child who could take the chance she took then grew up into a woman with the same courage. She wants to risk herself to give you your chance. I think it would do her good to let her. But she won’t be in any real danger. She’s my responsibility. I’ll see to that.”
Champion clenched his hands together under the table edge. He drew a deep breath. He was going through with it. He had to.
“Karen’s going to do something that can prove who really killed Fenn,” he told Quigley. “She knows, you see. But I’m not supposed to talk about it. Look, Roger, we haven’t much time. About that Faber order, now—”
“We’ve got time enough,” Quigley insisted. “Come on, what’s up?”
Slowly Champion let himself be persuaded.
“Karen’s been seeing this psychoanalyst, Gray,” he confided with every show of reluctance, finally. “It seems she recognized who it was in her bedroom that night. The same guy who killed Albano. She’s sure she saw him both times. Recognized him. But she can’t quite remember. They had a session under hypnosis this morning and they’re going to try again tonight after she’s rested up a little. Gray’s sure they’ll get the name on this try. So you see, it’s just a matter of time until I’m free.”
Quigley laughed uneasily. “Oh, hell, Dennis—I thought you were serious.”
“I am serious. Gray’s sure it will work, and he’s done police work before on murder cases. He knows his stuff. He’s even fifty per cent sure who the guy will turn out to be.”
“Who?”
“I don’t think you know him. A fake psychologist named Brand. It seems Fenn was a sort of free-lance blackmailer and Brand had been paying him off for a long time. Brand had a fight with Fenn yesterday. The police already know Brand had a fight with Albano just before Albano was killed, too. So it figures. Anyhow, Gray’s hell-bent on pinning the thing on Brand. He hates Brand’s guts. Professional rivalry or something, I guess.”
Quigley laughed again, more confidently this time.
“Well, I hope it works. But I wouldn’t expect too much, Dennis. What kind of evidence is something that comes out under hypnosis?”
“Gray thinks it’ll be enough. At the very least, the police will start digging around for more details once Karen names the man. If he’s the killer, he’s bound to have slipped up somewhere. They always do. But for God’s sake, Roger, keep quiet about this.”
Quigley said thoughtfully, “Okay, I will. But I don’t know, this hypnosis angle sounds phony to me.”
“Gray says it’s getting to be standard treatment in some cases. You’d just better hope it does work, that’s all.” Champion glanced at the clock on the wall. “I wish to God they could do it r
ight now and get it over with. Karen’s resting up until evening.” He looked again at the clock. “Our time’s almost gone, Roger. Now about the Faber and Castillo orders—”
Quigley stepped out into the corridor briskly and then paused, glanced at his watch, and stood for a moment indecisive, his lips moving just a little as he considered deeply what to do next. After a moment he squared his shoulders and turned away, striding briskly off down the corridor.
Gray, who had been watching from the shelter of a half-open door, nodded and set off at a half-run in the opposite direction.
Zucker looked up from his desk in surprise.
“Mike?” he said. “You back? Now what?”
“I’ve done something rash, Harry,” Gray said. “I’ve set up a trap and it means you and I are both on the spot. Karen Champion’s going to need police protection if Quigley’s the killer. He’ll have to silence her this evening or risk his own neck.”
Zucker leaned back, his face darkening with rage. “What the hell—” he began.
“Are you going to help me?” Gray cut in. “Or will you take the chance I’m wrong? You’d better make up your mind fast—we haven’t got much time.”
He had to talk fast to finish the sentence. Then he braced himself to weather the storm of Zucker’s rage.
The storm broke over him.
28
In Karen’s living room the waiting silence hung very heavy. Far off church bells rang seven o’clock, the notes echoing a long time in the stillness of the room. The people sitting here had heard the same bells ring five and five-thirty, six and half past six.
Michael Gray Novels Page 69
