Three dead and no solid leads to any of them. Three dead, his wife, his friend and Leonard Delavan. Neilson knew Tom had stayed in that apartment at Kenmore. Neilson had seen Jean there. If Neilson took that to the law and the law learned, as they would, that the building belonged to Leonard …? The law would have a prime suspect for the death of Leonard Delavan, a convicted killer on the loose, a man named Spears.
But Neilson wouldn’t be running to the law. He was one of Nannie’s boys. As Joe had been. As Jud was, and Jud had betrayed him to Nannie; there’d been no personal loyalty to Tom Spears.
Neilson had given no indication of recognizing Jean. Nor had Tom ever seen the gray coupe parked around here. If Nannie knew he was here, wouldn’t he have tried to contact him here? A lead?
Delavan had been dumped here. A lead? Not at the apartment on Kenmore, not at Connie Garrity’s, not in Delavan’s office. All three places Nannie knew about. These three places Neilson had been, but never here.
Nannie would know about this place, now. The police would question him about it. But there was reason to assume that Nannie hadn’t know about it before. Ames Gilchrist had known about this place; the doorknob trying was more than mere nosiness.
In the living room, the phone rang. Tom sipped his coffee and stared out at the clearing fog. In his mind there was the beginning of a pattern as nebulous as the drifting rags of the fog. The phone continued to ring.
Then there were light footsteps in the hall and Tom turned to see Jean coming from the study in her stockinged feet. She smiled at him weakly and turned out of view into the living room.
“Hello. Yes, this is Miss Revolt. Who is this, please?”
A silence of ten to fifteen seconds and then, “I have no idea where he is, Mr. Koronas. And if, through some chance, I should see him, I certainly wouldn’t recommend his coming to see you.”
A shorter silence, and then, “I have nothing further to say, Mr. Koronas.”
The phone began to ring again a few seconds after she entered the kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee, and took it over to the table. Tom came over to sit near her.
“The fog’s clearing,” he said. “You shouldn’t have got up, Jean.”
“I wasn’t sleeping well. Your Mr. Koronas informs me he’s a sick man. And he wants to see you. He has information for you. If he has, why doesn’t he give it to the police?”
“Nannie doesn’t work with the police. I don’t think Delavan’s death was his doing. And maybe the others weren’t, either. I’ve never known Nannie to play it heavy.”
“Think of all the things you’ve learned the last few days that you never knew before. We’re not ready to go to Nannie, Tom. When we are, the police will be along.”
Tom’s voice was gentle. “Will we ever be ready for that, Jean? Aren’t you the one who said problems must be faced, not run from? Nannie’s our major problem at the moment.”
“And we’re not ready to face him.”
Tom stared at the tablecloth. “I was going to leave, take your car and leave while you were asleep. But I couldn’t desert you. Those records you have gave us less than I learned from the people I’ve talked to since I was here before. Any important records aren’t on paper; they’re in the memories of the people I met.
“And one other — Nannie Koronas.”
“That’s right. And he wants to talk to me. He’s wanted to ever since I broke from prison.”
“But not before. Why not before, Tom? Why didn’t he come to see you?”
“I don’t know. I could ask him.”
“Maybe that’s what Leonard asked him.”
Tom said patiently, “You don’t like Nannie Koronas and you’d like to pin everything on him because of that. Maybe it’s because you think it was Nannie who corrupted Joe Hubbard. I think Joe double-crossed Nannie. And I think Ames Gilchrist is responsible for Leonard’s death.”
Jean traced an aimless design on the tablecloth with a finger. Her voice was weary. “You want to talk to Nannie, don’t you?”
“Not right away. I want to take your car and go out and see some people. If I get caught, I’ll claim to have stolen the car. This isn’t a town where I want to rely on public transportation.”
Jean said nothing, nor did she look up.
“I want to be sure you’re safe, first,” Tom said. “I want you to get some friends here or move in with friends.”
She looked up and shook her head. “I’ll go with you. You haven’t even a driver’s license.”
“You’re not going along, Jean. I waited, because I want to be sure you’ll be safe. If you don’t think I should use your car, I’ll go without it. But I’m working alone on this.”
She studied him for seconds. Then she said, “I’ll pack an overnight bag. You can drop me off at some friends in Santa Monica.”
He shaved while she phoned the friends and packed a bag. He put the .38 back into the waistband of his trousers and stood in the kitchen looking out at the now clear day. There would still be an hour or two of sun but he didn’t fear casual detection. And the night would be no cover from anyone who was looking for him.
Jean came out from the bedroom with a grip and smiled at him. “You’re different. You’re — ” She shrugged.
“I’m Dick Tracy. I’m a sheep with a wolf’s fangs. Perhaps you’d better phone the police from where you’re going and tell them you won’t be home.”
“I will. You’re — resolute; that’s the word I wanted.”
He kissed her. “I’m your boy.”
On Montana, in Santa Monica, he dropped her off in front of a large and old Spanish house. She held his face in her hands and kissed him savagely. She said, “Please be very, very careful. And God bless you, darling.”
She turned quickly away and went up to the house without looking back.
He headed the Plymouth south, toward Culver City. It was almost dinnertime and traffic was heavy, the traffic officers out in force. He maintained a speed only a few miles above the legal limit and gave all his attention to the traffic.
Jud’s sun-faded Merc convertible was parked in front of the dark gray stucco triplex. There were no suspicious cars parked anywhere near. Tom drove a block past, and walked back.
Jud came to the door with a spatula in his hands, a dish towel protecting the front of his trousers. He looked at Tom hesitantly and then said, “Better come inside. I’ve some taters frying.”
Tom went in and followed him to the kitchen. “I suppose you heard about Leonard Delavan?”
Jud nodded. “From Neilson. The law should be here any minute. This is no place for you.”
“You told Nannie where I was, didn’t you?”
Jud turned the sliced potatoes over in the pan and reached for a couple of eggs. “I did. For your own good. Come to get me for it, Tom?” He looked up, smiling.
Tom said nothing. Jud broke the eggs over the frying potatoes. “Home cooking, that’s what I like. What’s on your mind, Tom?”
“I wondered if Neilson killed Delavan.”
“He didn’t say. Want me to ask him?”
“I’ll ask him. I’ve got a gun, and I’ll ask him.”
Jud didn’t look at him. He reached over and turned off the flame under the perking coffee. “I heard about the gun, too. I heard you’re getting to be a real tough guy.”
“But I don’t scare you, do I?”
Jud shook his head. “I know you, Tom. You belong with a gun like I belong with the Christian Endeavor. What good’s a gun against Nannie? He’s too sick to worry about guns, I heard today. He knows what it is, now.”
“What is it?”
“The sawbones called it carcinoma. I guess you can translate that, can’t you? What the hell do you think can scare Nannie, now?” Jud’s face was grim. “All he worries about is his boys, trying to keep the organization solvent and safe for the rest of us. If you’ve got a gun, Tom, don’t pull it on me. I’ll make you eat the God-damned thing.”
Jud’s face wa
s rigid in anger. “I saved your neck the first time. That was before you started hanging around with the competition and then with that bastard Hubbard’s girl friend. Don’t worry, Tom; I’ve been getting the story on you.”
“Relax, Jud. What the hell are you all wound up about? This is Tom Spears, remember? Your buddy.”
“If you’re a buddy of mine,” Jud said, “you’ll go up and see Nannie with me.”
“All right, I’ll go. He sure gets a lot of loyalty from you for a crummy eighty bucks a week.”
“That’s right. I’m cheap. But loyal.” Jud turned off the flame under the frying pan. “Let’s go.”
“What’s the hurry? Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I can always eat. You’ve been overdue at Nannie’s for three days.”
Outside, Tom said, “We’d better take my car. The local law knows yours, don’t they?”
Jud nodded. “And they’ll probably be looking for me. That County man is still suspicious.”
As they walked the block to the Plymouth, Jud was quiet, his whole attitude unnatural and strained. Tom had never before seen Jud as emotionally disturbed as he’d been in the kitchen. Perhaps Nannie was all Jud had to believe in.
In the car, Jud lighted a cigarette and said nothing.
Tom headed for Sepulveda and on that busiest of the streets, turned toward Wilshire Boulevard. Jud smoked quietly.
As they stopped for the light on Olympic, Tom said, “Nannie must be confiding in you more than usual, lately.”
“I was his only contact with you.” Jud opened the window and threw the cigarette out. “And you’re his fair-haired boy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he meant for you to inherit the organization. He hasn’t got any kids, you know.”
“I’m out of the organization,” Tom said.
“You’re telling me. Out of this one.”
“And all like this one. I’ve booked my last bet, Jud.”
Nothing from Jud. On Wilshire, Tom turned right, toward Westwood. He said, “My wife is dead. A man I thought was my friend is dead. Now Delavan’s dead. I’m supposed to come back to town and run trustingly to Nannie, the man who sent Hubbard to double-cross me, the man who was making time with my wife. He had his big muscle man trail me around town. He had him approach Delavan. Have you ever thought maybe you’re wrong about Nannie, Jud?”
“Wait until you see him.” Jud continued to look straight ahead. “You’ve been mixing in some strange company. Wait until you talk to an honest man for a change.”
On the street before Westwood Boulevard, Jud said, “Turn left here.”
They turned off into the quiet backwater of Westwood Village, right to the Boulevard and then out toward one of the winding streets that climbed to the view lots northeast of the UCLA campus.
Nannie’s place was modern, an expansive, one story show-place of flat roofs and glass brick. Tom turned in at the green macadam drive, keeping an eye open for Department cars.
There were none in sight as he drove around to the parking area in the rear. It held no cars; through the open garage doors, Tom could see Nannie’s Mercedes and his Cad.
Jud said, “Maybe I’d better go to the door alone, first. There might be some flatfeet hiding in the woodwork.”
Tom said jestingly, “I didn’t know you cared, Jud.”
“I don’t, but Nannie does.” Jud climbed out and slammed the car door behind him.
In a minute, he was back, and he nodded and waved for Tom to come. He waited for Tom at the door.
Tom followed him through an entry hall and down a longer hall that led to an enormous laboratory-like kitchen. Nannie sat in a magnesium and plastic chair in front of a black plastic dining table.
Tom couldn’t disguise the sharp intake of his breath the sight of Nannie brought. The man’s face was skull-thin; his clothes were voluminous on his emaciated frame. His pale lips bent in a smile at sight of Tom, and he half rose to hold out his hand.
Tom hesitated for only a second before taking it. He noticed that one of Nannie’s hands was on the table in front of him, supporting him. His voice was firm and clear, though.
He said, “It’s about time, Tom. It’s about time you looked up your best friend. Is that a gun in your belt, Tom?”
Tom nodded. “It’s what will keep me from going back. I’m never going back, Nannie.”
Nannie nodded, saying nothing.
Tom said, “I didn’t look you up, because you didn’t look me up, when I was in that place, Nannie. I never had a word from you.”
“I know. I know, Tom. We’ll talk about that later.” He looked at Jud. “When we’re alone. But first, we must give Jud some dinner. I suppose you haven’t eaten?”
“It can wait,” Jud said. “Your talk’s more important than my dinner. I’ll wait in the car.”
Nannie shook his head. “Go into my study, Jud. I’ll have some dinner sent in to you. Steak do it, boy?”
Jud’s smile had some collie quality. “It sure will, boss. It’s a long step up from the grub cooling in my frying pan this second.”
Jud went out, and Nannie said, “Great boy. He won’t regret his loyalty when he sees the will. Great underpaid boy.”
A man who looked like an ex-fighter came in. He wore a white jacket. Nannie talked to him in sign language, and the man said, “Got it, boss. I’ll fix him good.”
“Deaf,” Nannie explained to Tom. “Got him a couple of months ago. Great cook. And he used to be a male nurse. I’ve always been lucky with help, haven’t I, Tom?”
Tom had seated himself in a twin of Nannie’s chair on the far side of the table. He nodded. “I guess you have. You’ve been on top a long time.”
“Something to eat?” Nannie asked.
Tom shook his head and looked at the glass of milk in front of Nannie.
Nannie looked at it, too, and then shoved it away. “Tom, first about not coming to see you, not writing you, not sending anyone. I couldn’t. You see, I was in love with your wife, and we’d — ”
“I know about that,” Tom interrupted. “You weren’t the first.”
“No, but I didn’t know that at the time. We were going to be married, Tom, if you’d give her a divorce. That’s how I felt about Lois.”
The truth? Nannie’s voice was steady as his gaze and Nannie had never been a liar. Tom looked away.
“I suppose,” Nannie went on quietly, “I should have come to you as soon as we were — sure. Tom, I didn’t have that kind of guts, knowing how you loved her. I — ”
On top of the table, Nannie’s bony hand clenched and his wasted face screwed up in pain, his eyes closed. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. “So, I talked to Joe Hubbard about it, thinking he might approach you. He was such a good friend of yours, I thought.”
“So did I,” Tom said bitterly.
“Yes, yes.” Nannie held up a hand. “We’ll get to that. Anyway, before Joe talked to you, Lois was killed. I thought you’d done it, having learned about — us, about Lois and me. I sent Joe to St. Louis to defend you and told him to hire the best help in the business. He butchered the case, I learned later. And when I accused him of it, he got panicky and claimed he’d thought that was what I wanted him to do. At first, I believed him. And then I learned he’d — been a friend of Lois’ too.” Nannie paused, looked at the man in front of the stove for a moment, and then back at Tom. “So I shot Joe, I killed him. The first time I’d ever shot a gun, Tom, and it’s nothing I’ll ever forget.”
Silence in the kitchen except for the sizzle of the steak.
Tom said softly, “But who killed Lois?”
Nannie shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought you had. You didn’t, Tom?”
Tom shook his head slowly, staring at Nannie.
Nannie said, “It isn’t too important, now, is it? I mean it isn’t important to you personally?”
“It’s my life. Emotionally, I guess it isn’t any more.”
Silence, while Nannie stared past Tom. “I killed i
n rage, Tom. I’ve never even hit a man, before. Do you think that could be why I — ” He broke off, his eyes coming back to search Tom’s.
Tom said wearily, “I’m not a priest nor a doctor, Nannie. When did all this start?”
“I thought it was ulcers. I’ve had stomach trouble for two years. You remember that.”
Nannie Koronas, sick and dying. Nannie, the man who loved to live so high on the hog, dying in this big house with nothing but hired help to mourn him.
Nannie’s voice was low. “I’ve been trying to figure it, Tom, a way to take the rap for Lois’ death.”
Tom started to protest, but Nannie raised a hand. “Or I thought there’d be a way to hang it on Joe Hubbard. But that Garrity girl wouldn’t hold still for that. She was with Joe the time Lois died; she still thinks that son-of-a-bitch was something. But, Tom, you can see now, can’t you, why I didn’t get in touch with you? I was ashamed.” His voice was almost a whisper. “And since I’ve learned what she was, you wouldn’t get in touch with me.”
Tom rubbed his tender knee. The man in the white jacket carried a tray of food out of the kitchen.
Nannie said, “I’ve no kids to shame, no wife. I’m dying anyway, for Christ’s sake. If I could only set it up, I’d take the rap for both of them. But I was in Frisco the time Lois was in St. Louis. And too damned many people know I was in Frisco. But it might be worth a try, Tom.”
Tom thought of the walls and the bleak corridors and the putty faces. He thought of Jean, waiting. He shook his head.
Nannie’s fingers were interlaced, his hands limp on the table in front of him.
Tom asked, “Who got Delavan? Do you know?”
Nannie’s hands opened, palms spread upward. “I could make a guess. Gilchrist, or that gun of his. Who else? And did you notice where Delavan was dumped? Were you there, Tom?”
Tom nodded.
Nannie blew out his breath wearily. “You pick ‘em, don’t you? Commie, isn’t she?”
“No. Just because she hates gambling syndicates?”
“No, no, no. Hubbard gave me the impression she was kind of punchy.”
The white-jacketed man was back and he laid a pair of pills on the table and a glass of water. Nannie picked them up eagerly and swallowed them with the water. He leaned back in his chair.
Run, Killer, Run Page 14
