Women Crime Writers

by Sarah Weinman

  “Well, I’ll tell you,” he drawled, nevertheless, “and it’s a funny thing. You take one accident, why, that’s too bad. Everybody’s sorry. Poor Nell.” She was curled up as tense as a coiled spring. He tried to fix her gaze, but it was all blueness. He kept on drawling, “But you take two accidents, that’s different. That’s not the same. It’s really funny how, after a second accident, right away, the first accident doesn’t look so much like an accident, any more.”

  Her face went blank, either because he’d hit her with an idea, or she didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Good thing to keep in mind,” he said lazily.

  She said, “They didn’t do anything to me.” Her face was sullen. But Jed felt a sick wave of absolute knowledge.

  He watched her. He said, as quietly and steadily as he could, “What I’m saying . . . the first time is different. But things like that have a way of piling up. It gets harder. Because it counts. It adds. One and one make more than two. They make questions. So, maybe you better not get walking in your sleep,” he finished gently.

  She didn’t move. He thought, I got it over.

  And the bottle was empty. He gathered himself to get up, now, and go quietly.

  Miss Eva Ballew believed in many things. One of them was duty. She walked toward the telephone. One of them was justice. She walked back to the chair.

  But however strong her beliefs and her conscience, Miss Ballew was a physical coward and knew it and all her life had fought her weakness. Now, she realized full well that she had been prodded too many times . . . three times . . . and she was taking too long . . . much, much too long . . . to make up her mind what she ought to do.

  Sometimes, if you take time to decide, the need to do anything passes of itself . . . Miss Ballew reproached herself with bitter shame and she walked toward the phone.

  But . . .

  She walked to the chair. She banged her fist on the chair back and the pain helped her. Justice. Very well. If justice won, it was because this was going to take more physical courage, and she was a coward, and she wished to deny her cowardice.

  She went to the dresser and got her purse, not to be naked without it, once away from her room. She left the room and, flogging herself, marched around the hollow square of the eighth floor.

  Nell hadn’t moved. Jed, all the way up, standing, said, “So long.” He felt a little pulse of compassion for her, who was lost, and had no inner compass to find the way again. “Be seeing you.”

  Once more, and briskly, somebody’s knuckles knocked on 807’s door.

  Nell was up, lynx eyed.

  “Oh no,” said Jed softly. “Oh no, my lady, not again! Not this time!”

  He faded. Towers faded, the way he had to go, through the door to the kid’s room, to 809 . . . and closed it behind him.

  Chapter 13

  MISS BALLEW rapped again. Because she was afraid, she did her best to be angry. She knew someone was in there. Did they think they could lie low?

  The door opened so swiftly it surprised her. A girl in a dark dress, not a very big girl, not very old, looked at her with blue, blue eyes and said, with an effect of stormy anger, although her voice was low, “What do you want?”

  “My name is Eva Ballew. My room is across the court on this floor.” Miss Ballew’s words were as neat and orderly as herself. She tended to begin at the beginning.

  “Yes.” The girl seemed to listen, but not to hear, almost as if she were listening for something else. And it seemed to Miss Ballew that her anger was aimed elsewhere, also.

  “Before I call the manager of this hotel,” said Miss Ballew more boldly, to command attention, “I think it only fair to ask whether you can explain.”

  “Explain what?”

  “What is going on in these rooms,” said Miss Ballew, loudly and firmly.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” The girl was looking at the caller, but not seeing her, almost, thought Miss Ballew, as if she were also looking for something else out here in this bare corridor.

  “There is a child,” said Miss Ballew coldly. “Is she your child?”

  “I’m taking care of her.”

  “I see,” Miss Ballew’s mouth was grim. “Yes, so I imagined. Is there or was there a man in here?”

  “A man?”

  Miss Ballew longed to cry, Pay attention, please! “I saw the man,” she announced, sharply, “so that is an unnecessary question and you need not answer it.” She could see into room 807 and no one else was visible, at least. She did not feel physically afraid of rather a small girl. And if the man had gone—Miss Ballew was encouraged. She said, yielding to curiosity, “Who was the man?”

  “Listen, you can’t—”

  “The child,” cut in Miss Ballew coolly, “has been crying in a most distressing manner, twice. And I have witnessed certain rather strange scenes over here. I must ask for an explanation.”

  “Who are you?” began Nell.

  “I am someone who will call downstairs if I do not get the explanation,” said Miss Ballew dictatorily. “In the first place,” she went on, beginning at the beginning in her orderly fashion, “a while ago, you were at the window with the child?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Nell impatiently, “what are you trying to—”

  “I have already told you. I am trying to find out whether or not it is my duty to call the manager.”

  “But why should you?” Nell stepped closer, with the door behind her now. Her glance slipped down the corridor to the right, briefly.

  “Because,” snapped Miss Ballew, wishing this girl would pay attention and not carry on this duel with some invisible thing, “it seemed to me, for one thing, that the little girl very nearly fell out the window.”

  “Well, she didn’t,” said Nell carelessly. “While you were at your snooping you must have noticed that.”

  Miss Ballew bridled but stood her ground. “Snooping or not, I wish to see the child.”

  “See her?” For the first time, Miss Ballew felt that her words were heeded.

  “Yes, see her for myself.”

  “You’ve got a crust!”

  “Nevertheless, if I do not see her, I intend to call the authorities.” So much for rudeness, Miss Ballew’s eyebrows remarked.

  “I don’t know what’s the matter!” Nell said in whining exasperation. “What do you want to see her for? She’s sleeping. What are you talking about?”

  “Why did she scream so dreadfully?” Miss Ballew narrowed her eyes.

  “When?”

  “The second time. Come now, stop evading, young woman.”

  “What?”

  “I think you’d better let me in.”

  “You listen,” Nell said. “I’m here to take care of her. You’re a stranger. How can I let a stranger in? How do I know . . .”

  “You don’t,” agreed Miss Ballew, “but unless I see her for myself, the manager or the detective here must.”

  “What business is it of yours? I don’t underst—”

  “Are you afraid to let me see her?”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Nell shrilly. “But I can’t do it. I’m not supposed to. You talk about duty—”

  “Now, see here. I am a schoolteacher. I’m sure I look like one. You ought to be able to tell that I am a responsible person.”

  “You’re trying to cause trouble.”

  “On the contrary. I wish you would realize that I could have called downstairs directly. I felt, however, that it was not fair to cause trouble, as you say, if there is no reason. Therefore, I have taken the trouble to step around here. There may be some simple explanation and if the child is perfectly all right and asleep, then there is no occasion for any trouble at all. Now, is that clear?”

  “What would her mother say if I let any old person?”

  “What would her mother say about you entertaining a man?” In the same tone, Miss Ballew would have said “about your smoking opium.”

  “He’s gone.” The girl’s eyes fl
ickered toward the right again. “And she is perfectly all right. She is sleeping.”

  “I beg your pardon if I seem to insist in the face of your direct statements, but after what I saw—”

  “Saw?”

  “Perhaps you don’t know that the Venetian blind was so adjusted that I could see.”

  “See where?” Nell’s head went back on the neck.

  “Into the child’s room.”

  “It’s dark in there,” Nell said stupidly. Perhaps a little drowsily.

  “Not quite. There was a very little light, perhaps through the connecting door.”

  “Light?”

  “And the child did stop her screaming rather abruptly,” said Miss Ballew.

  Nell’s eyes slipped sidewise. “What did you see?” asked she.

  Ruth was only half listening to the women’s voices. She would have preferred to be in the group of men where the talk, she was sure, must have more meat in it. It could hardly have less. These women, from far-flung spots, had no basis for gossip and, since they weren’t even sure who each other’s husbands were (except Ruth’s, of course) they didn’t even have the fun of ranking each other.

  Except Ruth. She could have been preening herself, for no woman had missed her rose-colored presence at the Speaker’s elbow. But her heart wasn’t in it.

  There was a faint superstitious element, too, a fear that if she got to thinking herself too darned smart, something bad could happen. She felt, absurdly or not, as if she rode the narrow edge of danger, as if, by standing here among these party-painted women, she was taking a risk. She said, “Yes, indeed,” again, and again the sense of danger fluttered her heart.

  Peter strode out of his group and snatched her out of hers. Their steps fell together to the music as if they were at home at the Saturday night Neighborly. “Smatter, hon?”

  Ruth looked up with clouded eyes. “Now, I thought I had you fooled.”

  “Nuh-uh. Worried? About Bun?”

  “I’m sure I’m silly.”

  “No, you’re not sure,” he said. “Something on that phone call bother you?”

  “I don’t know.” She slid her hand higher on his sleeve. “Probably it’s just because I’m a hick and this great big town scares me. Listen, Peter, even if I don’t always act it, I am a grown woman. Let me do something. Let me take a cab over to the hotel and see. I’ll be perfectly all right, and I’ll come straight back and dance till dawn. And I won’t spoil it.”

  “We could leave now,” he said, guiding her in a turn.

  “But . . . the fun!”

  He grinned, admitting the fun. “Man from Chicago, I’d like to have a few words—”

  “Then do. Please. If you go, I’ll feel terrible. You can’t go.”

  “My night to howl,” he grinned. “Got cab fare?” He would let her go. Peter wouldn’t make her spoil it.

  “Not a penny,” she confessed.

  He danced her into the mirrored exit, squeezed her, let her go, and gave her a five-dollar bill. “Don’t trust any handsome strangers with all this moolah on you, baby.”

  “I won’t.” Ruth thought, I don’t trust that stranger, that girl. It’s what’s wrong with me.

  She wouldn’t let him come any farther than the cloakroom with her. He looked at her little watch from her bag and said rather seriously, “It shouldn’t take you long to get across town at this hour.”

  Somebody said, “Oh, Jones,” or was it, “O’Jones”?

  Ruth smiled at him. She left the scene. She felt, at once, much better to have escaped, to be free, to be going.

  A doorman found her the cab. The city thought nothing of a young woman in evening clothes taking a cab alone in the night. No look. No comment. The city minded its business.

  In the outer night, in the streets, were many many people, all minding their business. Millions and millions of people, thought Ruth, not only here, but millions of other places, too, who never heard and never will hear of me. She thought, For each of us, me, and every one of them, how few are anything but strangers.

  Chapter 14

  JED STOOD in the dark. He heard Miss Ballew introduce herself and knew at once this was the old biddy from across the way. Through the slats of Bunny’s blind he could see her room, still lit.

  He wondered if he were going to be able to get around the two of them, out there, without an uproar. Maybe Nell would let her into 807. But if not . . . He wondered about going around the hollow square in the other direction. He had an impression that one could not. It was only a U after all. Suites across the front, perhaps. Dead ends for the corridors.

  He wondered if he could take refuge by knocking at a stranger’s door. God forbid, he thought piously. No more strange hotel rooms for Towers. Only God knew what’s in them.

  He rehearsed his exit in his mind.

  And he meant exit. Total exit. There were worse things in the world than sitting the night out at the airport.

  The stairs went down, he knew, just beyond the elevators. Well, he could move fast, Towers could, on his long legs. In his mind, he placed all the stuff in his room. Where to snatch up this and that. He traveled light. There was little to snatch. He could be in and out of that room, he thought, in a matter of sixty seconds, and exit, bag and baggage.

  Then let her screech her lies.

  He had little doubt she’d cook up some lies, all right. If necessary. Or even just if it seemed like fun at the moment. Or, if she was mad at him. And, he thought, she is!

  Dancing, yet!

  Unless he had knocked, with a few words in a few minutes, a totally unfamiliar idea of caution into her head. Of course, he’d been thinking of the kid. He’d been trying to get into Nell’s head the danger, the undesirability, of harming the kid.

  So that Towers could fade, of course.

  Damn it, Towers had to get out of this! A fine mess! Assault, maybe, on account of Eddie in there, and the benefit of the doubt on Nell’s side. For long enough to make it a mess, all right. And Eddie, tempted, if not almost obliged, to say something hit him but he doesn’t know what. Everything just went black, and so forth. That would be the easiest thing for Eddie to say, wouldn’t it? Eddie could even kid himself that it was true.

  So there’s Towers, in a jam. Jail, bail, telegrams. Would his high-powered new job, his big fat step in the up direction, wait quietly for some judge to let him loose? And would a judge?

  Nuts! He ground his teeth. Trouble would breed trouble. He had to get out of here. Never was any business of his, the kid and the sitter. Not his kid, for Lord’s sake. Strangers. All strangers. If the parents didn’t know any better— Probably didn’t give a damn what happened to the kid, he thought angrily. Off on a shindig, all dressed up. Probably drunk as skunks by now, and painting the town. Why should Towers care?

  Why should he be so angry about it?

  And also if Eddie, the elevator boy, stuck his neck out and got bashed in the head for it, what was that to Towers? He didn’t feel for Eddie. Eddie had it coming.

  He still stood, just inside room 809, still listening. He didn’t know what he was waiting for. No question, really, but what Towers better move fast. That old biddy had her teeth in it now. Listen to her. “I wish to see the child.” Icicles hanging off every word. Sounded like a pretty stubborn old dame. “And she’s white,” he thought, not quite letting himself know why the word came to him.

  Nell was stalling, but he thought that the old biddy would walk right over her. He took a soft step. He better get going.

  Have to steam himself up to some fast footwork, now. Once out, out of this hotel, he thought, let them whistle for the wind! He’d fade. He was never here. He’d be clear away, on the town, one in millions. Gone, like smoke.

  And Towers right back on the track again, on his way up, as he had it figured.

  No one would ever know a thing about this. How would they? Why should they?

  Kid was asleep and anyhow the old dame out there was going to raise a row. She was hell
-bent to do it. No need for him to figure in it. Let her do it. She was the type to do it. Let it work out that way. Why should he duplicate what she was already going to do?

  He might drop a word at the desk, on his way out, though. He could have heard a commotion over here, from his own room. The old biddy had, from hers. Just as well tip the hotel. Then Nell couldn’t stall her.

  His eyes had adjusted to the dark in here. He could see the far bed was undisturbed. On the other, the little kid must be asleep.

  Funny thing she didn’t wake up during his late wrestling match with the wildcat. It hadn’t been a silent one.

  That bed was awfully flat.

  His hair moved with his scalp.

  He crept a few steps in room 809. Of course, she was an awfully little girl, probably wouldn’t make much of a hump on a bed. He didn’t know. He’d—damn it—he’d hardly ever seen a sleeping child. He didn’t know if they made a hump or not.

  There wasn’t any little girl on the bed.

  He looked at the windows and Towers was sick and sickness was going through him like cream swirling down through a cup of coffee and something thumped on the floor.

  He knelt in the dark crevice between the beds. He felt, blindly. Something threshed. He wanted light but he didn’t dare. His fingers found a thin chilly little . . . what? Shoulder? Yes, for he touched a soft braid. He felt for the face, the warm lips, and the breath, but touched, instead, fabric.

  God damn her to hell, the God-damned bitch, she’d bound and gagged the little thing. Oh, damn and blast her rotten soul! Aw, the poor little . . .

  “Bunny?” he whispered. “Bunny Jones? Aw, Bunny, poor kid. Listen, sweetheart, I wouldn’t hurt you for a million dollars.” His fingers verified. Yes, her ankles were tied together. Wrists, too. And that cruel—stocking, he guessed it was, in and over the mouth!

  “You fall off the bed, honey? Aw, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about this. Mustn’t make a noise, though.”

  Oh, Lord, how would the child not! if he ungagged her. It was not possible for her not to cry! He knew this. It would not be in her control. She must cry out, must make sound as soon as she was able.