“I’m coming with you.” Ed pointed to the envelope. “I’d bet the same two grand I can get the son-of-a-bitch to confess.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Joe muttered.
I wouldn’t either. There was the dark side to Ed that scared the hell out of me, and at that moment I almost felt sorry for Hank Greeley.
“I’d like your company,” I said.
“I’m going too,” Mary said.
I looked at her and saw determination in the set of her jaw. She didn’t appear angry any more. Not at me, not at the D.A., and not at herself.
It was a tempting offer, but I shook my head. “You can’t come along.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“It’s not a bad idea.” Joe leaned forward. “The coppers will be looking for you and they’ll expect you to be traveling alone. Mary can go as your wife. Traveling together you might be able to throw them off your trail.”
“She’s not going,” I said.
I was still holding Mary’s hand but she pulled it away from me. “I’m getting a little tired of you telling me what I can and can’t do.”
“I’m only trying to protect you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” I said. “But you’re an officer of the court. What will happen if it comes out you helped a client escape from the police?”
“I’ll probably be disbarred. Maybe go to jail.”
I let her think about it and lit a cigarette. It was bitter and I dropped it into the ashtray and leaned toward her. “I need your help, Mary. If I get caught and can’t get someone to look at the evidence, I’m going to fry. I need a lawyer up here working for me, and I trust you.”
I watched the fire fade from her eyes. “Joe is right and you know it,” she said. “You’ve got a better chance of getting away if you’re traveling with a woman.”
Alice cleared her throat and when she had our attention, she said, “I could go with Jim.”
A pained look flashed across Mary’s face, as if someone had slapped her with a wet rag. “Absolutely not.”
Ed chipped in, “It might work out even better. Boyle will be out there looking. He knows what you look like Mary. There’s no connection between Jim and Alice.”
“I’m against the idea,” Mary said.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about disbarment,” I pointed out.
“Or me,” Alice added. “Jim’s made it clear he’s not interested.”
Mary reached for my smoldering cigarette. “Throwing the two of you together for a week could change that equation,” she said.
“You’ve got to learn to trust him, Mary,” Alice said. “Besides, I’ve seen how Jim fawns over you. You’ve got him hooked and now it’s time to give him a little play. Otherwise, he’s gonna snap the line and take off.”
“I don’t fawn,” I said.
Alice pushed her chair away from the table. “Instead of worrying about my stealing your man, maybe you should think about what he’ll look like if a copper drills a couple of holes in him.” She looked at me and added, “I’ll be in my room if she comes to her senses.”
We sat in stunned silence as Alice walked away. I picked up my lighter and twisted it idly between my fingers. Joe stared down into the remnants of his scotch, and Ed took out a pocket knife and began cleaning under his nails. As if by telepathic consent all the men at the table had decided the next move belonged to Mary.
Mary slouched into her seat and I knew she’d made her decision.
“All right,” she said. “Alice goes with you, I stay home.”
This time when she picked up her empty glass Ed jumped up and ran over to the bar. I didn’t object.
When Ed set the scotch in front of Mary he said. “It makes the most sense.”
She nodded and Joe climbed to his feet. “I’ll let Alice know, then I’m out of here.” He rested a hand on my shoulder. “You need anything, you call me, understand?”
“Thanks,” I said.
Ed got up and headed for his office. “I’ll call a cab for Mary.”
Now that we were alone, Mary looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t handle that very well, did I?”
I stood and pulled her to her feet. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m afraid you’ve turned me into a one woman man.”
She threw her arms around my neck and looked me dead in the eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, Alice has a thing for you.”
“She’s just a kid,” I said.
“A kid with all the right parts in the right places.” Mary stood on her toes and planted a quick kiss on my lips. “You should know my trust is limited. I don’t want you sleeping in Alice’s room again—ever.”
Before I could reassure her Ed appeared at my side. “At least you don’t have to worry about anything tonight, Mary. Jim’s gonna have to sleep in the safe room in case the coppers decide to pay us a return visit.”
“Will they be back?” she asked.
Ed shrugged. “Better to be safe, don’t you think? Right now, I’ve got a cab waiting outside.”
Mary gave me another kiss and followed Ed to the front entrance of the club. I watched her disappear and wondered if I’d ever see her again. If I did, I swore it would be under better circumstances.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After walking Mary to the cab, Ed locked the front door of the club and joined me at the table. I lit a cigarette and held the pack out for Ed. He took one, I held out my lighter, and when he had it going, I asked, “So what’s on your mind?”
Ed pulled out the envelope I’d refused earlier and tossed it on the table between us. “I want you to have this,” he said.
“I thought everything was settled. I’m going to the Keys, not South America.”
Ed reached over and opened the envelope. He removed the steamship ticket and waved it in front of me. “I’ll use this myself,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to see Rio. But I want you to keep the money. You’re gonna need it.”
“It’s too much.”
He raised an eyebrow. “There’s no such thing as too much money. Like I said earlier, it’s a loan. Once you clear your name, you can pay me back.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Two grand won’t break me. Do you think you can go on the run with no cash?”
I thought about it and picked up the envelope. “A loan,” I said.
“A loan,” he agreed, and it was settled.
***
I had a hell of a time falling asleep. The temperature was in the upper seventies outside, and Ed’s safe room was not well ventilated. It must have been at least ninety degrees inside. My head hurt and my clothes were soon drenched with sweat. The chairs, while comfortable enough to sit on, were not made for sleeping. No matter how I arranged my six-foot frame, I couldn’t stretch out and relax.
Nightmares dominated the short spurts of sleep I managed to fit in. In those dark moments I held Mary while stroking her hair and comforting her, but not for long. An explosion of lightning and thunder snatched her from me and hurled her into a deep, black pit.
I tried to reach her but the pit was too deep and I couldn’t help her. That’s when I realized she wasn’t alone. Helen was down there, and Ethel Bloomberg, and the other girls who had been murdered. They were all naked and blood flowed from a thousand cuts. Mary screeched and cried out and the others joined in. They stared up at me with accusing eyes until my own eyes flew open and I lay awake and alone in the stagnant room.
Those waking moments were even more frustrating. I thought about Mary and the pain I’d put her through in the past and the present. When I managed to stop feeling guilty about Mary, I thought about traveling with Alice.
It bothered me that I didn’t know her last name, yet she had volunteered to help me escape from New York, risking arrest at the very least.
I was also worried Hank Greeley would kill someone else in Key West, or would be gone before I got there. I had been so wrapped up with my own proble
ms; I hadn’t even tried contacting the writer, Hemingway.
I realized it was possible Greeley was going to Key West for a vacation, but I doubted it. I was convinced he had already killed four women. I knew he had a grievance with Hemingway. It seemed to me the least I could do was try to call the man and warn him.
By the time I put aside my worries and fell into a dreamless sleep, it was around three-thirty in the morning. At eight an alarm went off and it took me several moments to realize where I was and that the ringing sound was really the phone.
Without thinking I reached out and picked up the receiver. “Hello,” I said.
“It’s Ed.”
“What’s up?”
“I talked to Alice a few minutes ago and told her I’d pick her up in an hour. I want you to write down what you’ll need. Sizes, colors, whatever. We’ll do some shopping after we pick up the train tickets.”
“I’d kill right now for a shave and a good helping of steak and eggs.”
“You know where the kitchen is, help yourself. I’m going to try to book us on a train leaving around five this afternoon. It’s Friday and along with the regular work crowd going home we’ll have the weekend travelers. It’ll make it harder for the coppers to spot us. See you in a bit.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.
I put on my glasses and climbed to my feet. Groaning, I dug my knuckles into my back and began kneading the knot that had formed there. It didn’t do much good. On top of everything, it felt as if someone had shoved a fistful of needles into the bottom of my right foot. I took a couple of minutes to stretch, and by the time I made my way through the swinging panel I could almost ignore the pain.
I sat at Ed’s desk, lit a cigarette, and scrounged around through the drawers until I found a pad of paper and a pen. By the time I finished listing the things I thought I’d need for the trip, the kink in my back had returned. I tore the sheet from the pad, and as an afterthought wrote The Sun Also Rises on the bottom of the page. Tucking the list into my shirt pocket, I went searching for Alice.
The heady scent of fresh brewed coffee hit me as soon as I stepped out of the office. Alice was sitting at the bar reading The New York Times and eating a donut. She wore a white silk dress that clung to her body and she looked damn good sitting there. When she heard my footsteps she looked over her shoulder and smiled.
“According to the Times, the police think you may have left town, maybe even the country.”
“If they think I’m already gone, it might make getting away from here a little easier. Are you afraid about going away with me?”
While she mulled over her answer, I walked over to the coffee pot, poured myself a cup, and joined her at the bar.
“I think your girlfriend’s more afraid of my going with you than I am.”
I didn’t want to go there, so I slid off the stool, took the sheet of paper from my pocket, and handed it to her. “Here’s the list Ed asked for. I’m going into the kitchen to fix myself some breakfast, can I get you anything?”
Alice shook her head. “I already ate. Besides, Ed should be here any minute.” Her eyes glinted and she gave me an impish smile. “You can tell Mary I won’t attack you. I do have some pride.”
I returned her smile. “I’m sure you do.”
As I headed for the kitchen she called out from behind me, “Of course, I don’t know how I’d react if you decided to make a move on me.”
I pretended not to hear her and continued walking. There was no way in hell I was going to have that conversation. I saw no sense in fanning the fire.
I cooked myself up a platter of ham and eggs and carried my plate out to the bar. Alice was gone, so I headed back to Ed’s office. I ate my breakfast, drank the remainder of the coffee, and reached for the phone.
My first call was to Mary. I got the feeling things were okay between us when she left the previous night, but I wanted to make sure. She didn’t answer her home phone and when I tried her office I was told she was in a meeting. The next call I placed was to Betty Anderson at the Post morgue. I figured the police would be hanging around in case I showed up, but I didn’t expect them to be up in the morgue. Still, I was cautious when she answered.
“I’ve got a favor to ask,” I said.
“Jim? Is that you?”
“Can you talk?” I asked.
“Where are you?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“The police swarmed this place looking for you yesterday. That put Otis on the warpath. He wants to know why you didn’t give him a heads up.”
“I was sort of busy. And by the way, I didn’t kill my sister or Detective Belcher.”
“The police seem to have a different take on things.”
“I’ve been set up, Betty, and I could use your help. They’re going to fry me if I don’t clear my name.”
“If it’s any consolation, Jim, I believe you. But I’ve got to be honest with you. I talked to some of the coppers who were here. They believe you’re guilty, and if they have their way you won’t live long enough to see the chair.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I said. “Will you help?”
She took a little longer than I thought she should have to think about it, and there was a clear hint of hesitation in her voice when she answered. “Otis will kill the both of us if he finds out you called and I didn’t transfer you to his phone.”
“He’ll have to stand in line,” I said. “It’s a small favor. No one else has to know.”
“What is it?”
“I need you to get me a phone number for Ernest Hemingway in Key West Florida.”
“The writer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I can’t go into it right now, Betty. But I promise if you do this for me, I’ll make sure Otis is the first one to get the story.”
“I’d do it for you anyway, Jim. But it might keep Otis off both our backs. And it wouldn’t hurt to get your side of the story out there.”
“I’ll write up everything that’s happened until now and give it to my lawyer,” I said. “Then, even if something happens to me Otis can run my story.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic,” she said. “I believe you’re innocent and so does Otis.”
“Did he actually say so?” I asked.
“He did. Now let me see if I can get that number for you. Call me in about an hour.”
“Thanks, Betty,” I said and hung up.
I didn’t know how Betty would get it, but I knew she was one of the most efficient researchers I’d ever worked with. I was pretty confident that when I called again, she’d have the number.
While I waited, I sat at Ed’s desk and wrote up everything that had happened to date. I listed the names of the women Greeley had murdered. I wrote about Belcher coming around to my point of view before he was killed. I wrote about Ila Quinn and the Boston detective, Joe Slater. I even listed the times I’d tried to pass information off to Boyle, only to be rebuffed.
I held nothing back, not even the fact I’d broken into Greeley’s office. Breaking and entering was the least of my concerns. Finally I wrote a brief note asking Mary to give a copy of the letter to Otis and keep one for her own notes. I found an envelope, addressed it to Mary, and left it sitting on the desk with a note to Ed asking him to make sure she got it.
When I called Betty again I told her I’d written the letter and she rattled off the number. I jotted it down, thanked her, and hung up. I rang up the operator and she said she’d ring back as soon as she got through to Key West. It was after 10:00 a.m. by the time I got through to the Hemingway home and to my disappointment, a woman answered.
“I’d like to speak with Ernest Hemingway,” I said.
“He’s working right now and can’t come to the phone. Who’s calling?’
I considered making up a name, but decided it was unlikely they’d heard of me down in the Florida Keys.
“My name is Jim Locke and I’m a reporter for the New York Daily P
ost. It’s very important that I speak to Mister Hemingway.”
“Is this about an interview?”
“Yes,” I lied. I found it a little troublesome that lying seemed to come so naturally to me lately.
“If you’d like to leave your number I’ll give him the message when he comes in for lunch. Otherwise you can try calling him this afternoon, but I can’t promise he’ll be here.”
I didn’t have much choice. I gave her Ed’s private office number and thanked her. I was getting tired of waiting, but waiting seemed to be the only game in town. I didn’t expect Ed and Alice to return for a couple of hours. That was also the earliest I could expect a call from Hemingway. It would be even longer before we could head down to the train station.
Bored out of my mind, I got up and wandered around the club. I made another pot of coffee and when it was done I poured a cup and added a splash of brandy. The scent of the brandy made my mouth water and I thought about my promise to Mary. I knew I had a choice, Mary or the booze. I stuck the tip of my finger into the cup, drew it out, and sucked the brandy off my finger. I wanted a drink as badly as I wanted Mary, and Mary wasn’t around.
I took one more sniff of the coffee before carrying it to the sink and tossing the contents of the cup down the drain. I rinsed away the taste of brandy, refilled the cup with straight coffee, and carried it over to the piano. I needed to distance myself from the wall of liquor.
I plopped down at the bench, opened the lid, and tapped out a sloppy version of “Chopsticks”, the only piece of music I could remember from my brief stint as a piano student when I was twelve years old. After plinking away at the keys for several minutes I got up and wandered back to Ed’s office.
The phone rang a few minutes past noon. I let it ring three times before picking it up.
“Hello,” I said.
“Is this Jim Locke?” a man’s voice asked.
An alarm went off in my head and my heart started racing. It hadn’t dawned on me when I’d left the number for Ernest Hemingway I wouldn’t know who was calling. I hesitated and the voice boomed out, “God damn it, are you there or not? You left me a message to call you.”
The Storm Killer Page 17
