On the second floor landing, she pressed the elevator button and when the elevator arrived, she entered and pressed the eighth floor button ... one floor below Hardy's penthouse. As the elevator took her swiftly upwards, she opened her bag and took from it a flick knife. She touched the button and a long, glittering blade sprang from the handle. The elevator came to rest and the doors swished open. Holding the knife out of sight by her side, she stepped out of the elevator and paused to listen. Hearing nothing, she again started up the stairs. As she reached the head of the stairs, a short, thickset man with cop written all over him, started down the corridor towards her.
'You! Where do you think you're going?' he snapped, off his guard to see a Jamaican girl face him.
The knife flashed towards him and took him in the throat even as his hand began to move to the gun in his holster. He fell on hands and knees, gurgling. The Jamaican ran swiftly to him and lifting her heavy handbag, slammed it down on his head.
Moe ... for it was Moe ... stood staring down at the twitching body of the police officer.
Then he bent, recovered his knife, wiped the blade clean on the dead man's coat and returned the knife to the handbag. He then took out the gun and stepping past the dead man, he walked swiftly down the corridor to Hardy's front door. He rang the doorbell and stood, waiting, his beehive wig slightly askew, his lips drawn back off his teeth.
'You dope! Look what you have done to my drink?' Hardy was saying as the front door bell rang.
Gina stiffened and looked at Hardy. He sat up, then swung his legs off the bed and struggled into his dressing-gown.
'Who's that?' Gina asked, her eyes growing wide.
'That cop,' Hardy said in disgust. 'I bet he's trying to cadge a drink.' He started towards the bedroom door.
'Lee! Don't go! Let me go!'
'Oh, relax!' Hardy said irritably. 'What are you worrying about? We are surrounded by goddamn cops.'
He went out into the lobby as the bell rang again.
'Lee!' Gina screamed as Hardy unlocked the front door. 'Lee!'
The sound of three revolver shots crashed through the penthouse. There was a moment of silence, then the thud of a falling body.
Gina shut her eyes. With an agonised cry, she threw herself face down on the bed.
The two police officers on guard in the lobby were waiting for Moe as he came out of the elevator. It took five bullets to kill him and he died grinning, his beehive wig at the back of his head and his flowered dress rucked up around his black thighs.
***
A little before eight the following morning, Val surprised the hall porter at the Spanish Bay hotel by coming on to the terrace, wearing slacks and a halter and carrying a heavy beach bag. He hurried towards her and she gave him a tight, forced smile.
'I thought I'd have an early swim,' she said as he took the bag. 'It's nice to have the beach to one's self.'
The hall porter, used to the idiosyncrasies of the rich, agreed. He watched her drive away, then shrugging, he returned to his post at the entrance to the hotel.
Val drove along the deserted beach road until she was out of sight of the hotel. She parked the car off the road, then carrying the beach bag, she walked down to the sea, slithering down the high sand dunes until she reached a secluded spot where no one could possibly see her.
She dumped the bag and walked around collecting dry wood that littered that part of the beach. In a while she had made a big pile of wood. From the beach bag she took a large bottle of lighter fuel and a newspaper. She soaked the paper with the fuel, pushed it under the pile of wood. Then she took from the beach bag, Chris' blood-stained jacket. This she also soaked with the lighter fuel. She put the jacket on to the wood pile and striking a match, she tossed the match on to the jacket.
She jumped clear as the whole thing went up in a roaring mass of flames. She stood, watching. Within a few minutes the jacket was reduced to grey ashes which the mild wind coming from the sea began to scatter along the beach.
Satisfied that there was nothing left of the jacket, she took off her slacks and ran down, in halter and briefs, to the sea.
She swam for ten minutes, then she came out of the sea and again looked at the funeral pile of the jacket. Again satisfied that there was nothing left of it, she stripped off her bathing things, hurriedly dried herself with a towel, slipped into a light sweater and slacks and fifteen minutes later, she was back in the hotel.
She remained in her suite until eleven o'clock, then wearing a simple white frock and sandals, she drove to the sanatorium.
Dr. Gustave received her in his office.
'I have news for you,' he said. 'Dr. Zimmerman will be arriving this afternoon. You may not have heard of him, but he is the best brain specialist in the world. I have been in correspondence with him about your husband. He seems to think he can do a lot more for him than I have been able to do. In actual fact, your husband is much better. He is making steady progress, but Zimmerman thinks a small operation on the brain might very easily complete the cure. He is optimistic, but I would rather you weren't. One never knows when dealing with a case like this. Anyway, I am satisfied that Zimmerman can't do any harm: he can only do good.'
Val sat motionless, her hands tight in her lap.
'Am I to give a decision?'
Gustave smiled.
'No, I have talked to your husband. He wants the operation done. Naturally, I am consulting you, but as he wants It, I think you are relieved of any responsibility.'
'I'm not afraid of responsibility,' Val said. 'What happens if the operation isn't successful?'
'According to Zimmerman ... nothing. I am ready to accept his opinion. It is not a kill or cure thing. Your husband will either make a complete recovery or else he will continue more or less as he is now.'
'Then of course, he must have it,' Val said. 'There would be no danger to him?'
'None at all. Zimmerman has performed the operation successfully a number of times.'
'But you are not optimistic?'
'I didn't say that. I don't want you to be optimistic.'
'And when will it be?'
'Dr. Zimmerman arrives here tomorrow afternoon. The operation will take place the following morning.'
Val got to her feet.
'I'll talk to Chris now. Is he in the garden?'
'You'll find him there.'
She looked anxiously at him.
'Still guarded?'
Dr. Gustave smiled his professional smile.
'Guarded isn't the right word, Mrs. Burnett. Shall we say he is still being supervised?'
'If this operation is successful, he won't have to be supervised?'
'Of course not.'
'But how will you know it is successful?'
'There will be various signs.' Dr. Gustave's expression became vague. 'It may take a few months before we can be absolutely certain of the cure. We can expect to find a marked change once he is up and about again.'
They spent a few more minutes talking, then Val went out into the garden.
Chris Burnett was reading under the big tree. The nurse, sitting a few yards from him, was knitting. She nodded and smiled at Val as she saw her coming along the path. Chris looked up, closed his book, after slipping a paper marker into the place where he had been reading.
He put the book down and got to his feet. He didn't come towards her, but his smile was a little warmer than the last time they had met and he had taken the trouble, Val noted, to get to his feet.
'Did you hear the news?' he asked, pulling a chair nearer his. 'About Zimmerman?'
'Yes.' She sat down, longing to touch him. 'How do you feel about it, Chris?'
'I'm rather excited.' He slumped down into his chair. 'I'm getting pretty bored with myself here. If I could only get back to the office again! It's dull just sitting here with her watching me all the time.'
'It would be wonderful, wouldn't it?' Val said, trying to sound enthusiastic. 'They seem very hopeful. But we mustn't exp
ect a miracle all at once. They did say ...'
'Oh, I know. They told me.' He stared away down the path frowning. 'How's your father?'
'He's fine. Busy as usual. He is telephoning tonight.'
'Better not tell him about Zimmerman. You know what your father is. If it doesn't come off, he'll get disagreeable again.'
'No, he won't,' Val said quickly. 'But I needn't tell him if you don't want me to.'
'Better not.' He looked at her, his eyes probing. 'How are we off for money? I suppose we can afford this operation? This chap charges the earth.'
'We are quite all right for money.'
He hesitated, looking away from her, then he said, 'But this blackmailer?'
Val hesitated, then aware of the tension from her husband, she decided to tell him the truth.
'I'm not paying him.'
Chris stiffened. His hands suddenly turned into fists. The twitch around his mouth became more pronounced.
'Is that wise? You said you were going to pay him.'
'Yes, but I changed my mind. I talked to him again and I decided he was bluffing.'
He moved uneasily.
'This could be serious. If I have this operation and I am cured, I don't want to be arrested just when I'm starting a new life.'
'Why should you be arrested?'
He again hesitated, then said, 'This blackmailer could turn spiteful. I think we should pay him.'
'But it doesn't matter if he does turn spiteful. You haven't done anything, Chris, so why should we worry?'
He put his hand to his face to hide the twitching.
'I can't remember what happened on that night I could have done something.' He paused, frowning uneasily, then went on, 'I get a vague idea sometimes that I did do something.'
Val drew in a deep breath. It was some moments before she could control the shake in her voice to ask, 'You remember the woman and the elephants?'
'Yes. Why?'
'I've been thinking about her. I wondered if she wore a bracelet with miniature elephants on it and that was why you associated elephants with her.'
He looked startled, then he slapped his knee.
'That's clever of you. I remember now. Yes, she did wear a bracelet with elephants on it.'
'Did she remind you of a Pekinese dog?'
He stared at her, his eyes narrowing.
'Is she the one who is blackmailing us?'
'No. The other day I saw a girl in the hotel restaurant. She wore this bracelet. She was attractive. She had one of those squashed, attractive puggy faces.'
Chris rubbed his face with his hand. He thought for some moments, frowning.
Finally, he said, 'Yes, so did this girl. I can see her plainly now.'
'You were sorry for her. You told me that,' Val said. 'Why were you sorry for her?'
'I don't know. Did I say that?' His face suddenly relaxed into blackness. It was as if a shutter had come down between his eyes and his brain, cutting her completely off from him. 'I say lots of things I don't mean.'
She realised she would only be wasting time trying to get any further information from him and she abruptly began to talk about her morning's swim. He listened politely, but she could see he wasn't interested. After a few minutes of further futile conversation, she got up to go.
'I'll see you tomorrow, Chris. Perhaps I'll be able to talk to Zimmerman.'
'You still don't think it would be safer to pay this man?' he asked, peering up at her.
'What man, Chris?'
He made an impatient movement.
‘This blackmailer.'
'No. I don't.'
His long lean fingers moved uneasily over his knees.
'We might be sorry if we don't.'
'I still think it would be wrong and stupid to pay him. Why should we?’
The twitch at his mouth jumped like an aching nerve, 'Who is he?'
'A private detective.'
Chris flinched.
'That type is always dangerous. We'd better pay him.'
'Don't you want to know why he is trying to blackmail us?'
A shifty expression came into Chris' eyes as he shook his head.
'No, I don't want to know. I'm not well. You know that. I don't want to be worried by things.'
She realised he was now hiding himself behind a smoke screen of unreality.
'People say so many disgusting things about other people. I don't want to hear anything like that.'
On a sudden impulse, she opened her handbag and took out the gold cigarette lighter. She put it into his hand.
'I found this, Chris.'
He stared at the lighter, holding it for a brief second. Then he gave a shudder, and with a movement of revulsion, he threw the lighter from him the way a man who finds some loathsome insect on him, gets rid of it.
Then he looked up at her. The expression on his face terrified her. He wasn't Chris any more. He wasn't human any more. He began to move out of his chair as she began to back away from him. His breath came through his clenched teeth in a soft, hissing sound. His hands, his fingers hooked, moved upwards as he got to his feet.
'Chris!'
Her voice was sharp and terrified.
'I've had enough of you,' he said, his voice a soft, frightening whisper. 'I'm going to kill you the way I killed her!'
Then the nurse was behind him. Her hands gripping his wrists, and with speed and strength, locking them behind him in a Judo grip. She held him powerless while he glared at Val, his mouth working and the awful twitch moving under his skin like the flickering of a snake's tongue.
'Go!' the nurse said urgently. 'Tell Dr. Gustave! Hurry! I can manage him!'
Val turned and ran blindly back towards the house. At the end of the path she met one of the male attendants who turned as he heard her quick footfalls. She gasped out what was happening, then as he ran to the nurse's help, she dropped on her knees on the grass and hid her face in her hands.
chapter twelve
At the time Val was burning her husband's jacket, Terrell was finishing his favourite breakfast of eggs and grilled ham.
A few minutes before he had sat down, Jacobs had driven Mrs. Prescott, Angel and her Teddy Bear from Terrell's bungalow, back to the Park Motel.
Both Terrell and his wife were relieved to see them go. The child had been too much even for Terrell's patience.
As he ate, Terrell looked back on the previous day. Jacko and Moe were now accounted for. He thought with regret of the officer whom Moe had killed. Lee Hardy was dead. Terrell had no regrets about him. With Jacko and Moe out of the way, Henekey's murder could be considered closed. There still remained Sue Parnell's murder to be solved. So far there was not a single clue that might lead him to the killer. Then there was this odd business of Val Burnett paying Homer Hare twenty thousand dollars. Terrell was sure Hare was blackmailing Val Burnett, but there was nothing he could do about that, he told himself, unless she was willing to co-operate.
It was while he was finishing his second cup of coffee that he heard a car pull up outside the bungalow. Glancing through the open window, he saw Joe Beigler and Fred Hess get out of a police car and come striding up his garden path.
'More trouble,' he said to Carrie. 'Now what do they want this time?'
He left the morning room and opening the front door let Beigler and Hess in.
'What's up now?' he asked as he led the way into the lounge.
'I took Hardy's prints when they dumped him in the morgue,' Hess said. 'I've been checking all the prints I found in the cabin where the Parnell woman was knocked off. Hardy's prints are on the list. He was definitely in the cabin at some time. While I was at it, I checked Henekey's office. Hardy's prints are also on Henekey's desk.'
Terrell moved around the room, puffing at his pipe. Finally, he said, 'This could be the answer. That alibi the Lang girl gave Hardy never jelled with me. Could be Hardy did the job. Let's go talk to her.'
'I guessed you'd want to do that,' Beigler said. 'I have a se
arch warrant. If we tear the place apart, we might even turn up the motive.'
The three police officers arrived outside Lee Hardy's penthouse front door at a few minutes to nine. Beigler dug his thumb into the bell push and held it there for several seconds, then the three men waited. More seconds dragged past and Beigler again thumbed the bell push.
The front door was suddenly jerked open by Gina, her face like a stone mask and dark smudges under her eyes. She was wearing a flower patterned wrap and her feet were bare. She looked as if she had just got out of bed. By the way she screwed up her eyes as if trying to focus the police officers, Terrell could see she was drunk.
'I want to talk to you,' Terrell said and riding her back, he moved into the lobby.
She shrugged indifferently and then walked unsteadily into the lounge. She seemed glad to flop into one of the big comfortable Lounging chairs. She rubbed her eyes, yawned and then stared at Terrell without seeing him.
'Make some coffee,' Terrell said to Beigler. 'She's plastered.'
Beigler went out of the room in search of the kitchen. Hess took a chair behind Terrell and fiddled with a notebook while Terrell slowly filled his pipe.
Gina said abruptly, 'What is it? If you've just come to stare at me, then get the hell out of here?'
'You told me Hardy spent the evening here with you the evening Sue Parnell was murdered. I'm asking you again: was Hardy here or were you lying?'
'Lee didn't murder her,' Gina said.
'I didn't ask you that. I asked if you gave him a false alibi. This is serious. I have reason to believe he was in this woman's cabin at the motel on the night she died.'
'What's it matter where he was now? He's dead, isn't he?' Gina, said, lighting a cigarette.
1964 - The Soft Centre Page 16
