Junior was struggling to his feet when I reached him. I helped him with a fist in his collar. This little twerp had a lot of explaining to do. He was a sorry-looking sight. Pieces of gravel were imbedded in the flesh of his face and blood matted the hair of his scalp. One lens of his specs was smashed. I watched him while he detached his lower lip from his teeth, swearing incoherently. The belting he took had left him half-dazed, and he didn't try to resist at all when I walked him toward the house.
When I sat him in a chair he shook his head, touching the cut on his temple. He kept repeating a four-letter word over and over until realization of what had happened hit him. His head came up and I thought he was going to spit at me. "You got it!" he said accusingly on the verge of tears now. "Got what?" I leaned forward to get every word. His eyes narrowed. Junior said sullenly, "Nothing." Very deliberately I took his tie in my hand and pulled it. He tried to draw back, but I held him close. "Little chum," I said, "you are in a bad spot, very bad. You've been caught breaking and entering. You stole something from York's private hideaway and Miss Malcom has been shot. If you know what's good for you, you'll talk." "Shot...killed?" There was no sense letting him know the truth. "She's not dead yet. If she dies you're liable to face a murder charge." "No. No. I didn't do it. I admit I was in the laboratory, but I didn't shoot her. I...I didn't get a chance to. Those men jumped on me. I fought for my life." "Did you? Were you really unconscious? Maybe. I went after them until I heard Miss Malcom scream. Did she scream because you shot her, then faked being knocked out all the while?" He turned white. A little vein in his forehead throbbed, his hands tightened until his nails drew blood from the palms. "You can't pin it on me," he said. "I didn't do it, I swear." "No? What did you take from the room back there?" A pause, then, "Nothing." I reached for his pockets, daring him to move. Each one I turned inside out, dumping their contents around the bottom of the chair. A wallet, theater stubs, two old letters, some keys and fifty-five cents in change. That was all. "So somebody else wanted what you found, didn't they?" He didn't answer. "They got it, too." "I didn't have anything," he repeated. He was lying through his teeth. "Then why did they wait for you and beat your brains out? Answer that one." He was quiet. I took the will out and waved it at him. "It went with this. It was more important than this, though. But what would be more important to you than a will? You're stupid, Junior. You aren't in this at all, are you? If you had sense enough to burn it you might have come into big dough when the estate was split up, especially with the kid under age. But no, you didn't care whether the will was found and probated or not, because the other thing was more important. It meant more money. How, Junior, how?" For my little speech I had a sneer thrown at me. "All right," I told him, "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. Right now you look like hell, but you're beautiful compared to what you'll look like in ten minutes. I'm going to slap the crap out of you until you talk. Yell all you want to, it won't do any good " I pulled back my hand. Junior didn't wait, he started speaking. "Don't. It was nothing. I...I stole some money from my uncle once. He caught me and made me sign a statement. I didn't want it to be found or I'd never get a cent. That was it." "Yes? What made it so important that someone else would want it?" "I don't know. There was something else attached to the statement that I didn't look at. Maybe they wanted that." It could have been a lie, but I wasn't sure. What he said made sense. "Did you shoot Miss Malcom?" "That's silly." I tightened up on the tie again. "Please, you're choking me. I didn't shoot anyone. I never saw her. You can tell, the police have a test haven't they?" "Yes, a paraffin test. Would you submit to it?" Relief flooded his face and he nodded. I let him go. If he had pulled the trigger he wouldn't be so damn anxious. Besides, I knew for sure that he hadn't been wearing gloves. A car pulled up outside and Harvey admitted a short, stout man carrying the bag of his profession. They disappeared upstairs. I turned to Junior. "Get out of here, but stay where you can be reached. If you take a powder I'll squeeze your skinny neck until you turn blue. Remember one thing, if Miss Malcom dies you're it, see, so you better start praying." He shot out of the chair and half ran for the door. I heard his feet pounding down the drive. I went upstairs. "How is she?" The doctor applied the last of the tape over the compress and turned. "Nothing serious. Fainted from shock." He put his instruments back in his bag and took out a notebook. Roxy stirred and woke up. "Of course you know I'll have to report this. The police must have a record of all gunshot wounds. Her name, please." Roxy watched me from the bed. I passed it to her. She murmured, "Helen Malcom." "Address?" "Here." She gave her age and the doctor noted a general description then asked me if I had found the bullet. "Yeah, it was in the wall. A .32 lead-nose job. I'll give it to the police." He snapped the book shut and stuck it in his bag. "I'd like you to see the boy, too, Doctor," I mentioned. "He was in a bad way." Briefly, I went over what had happened the past few days. The doctor picked his bag up and followed me inside. "I know the boy," he said. "Too much excitement is bad for any youngster, particularly one as finely trained as he is." "You've seen him before? I thought his father was his doctor." "Not the boy. However I had occasion to speak to his father several times in town and he spoke rather proudly of his son." "I should imagine. Here he is." The doctor took his pulse and I winked over his shoulder. Ruston grinned back. While the doctor examined him I sat at the desk and looked at nine-by-twelve photos of popular cowboy actors Ruston had in a folder. He was a genius, but the boy kept coming out around the seams. A few of the books in the lower shelves were current Western novels and some books on American geography in the 1800s. Beside the desk was a used ten-gallon hat and lariat with the crown of the skimmer autographed by Hollywood's foremost heroic cattle hand. I don't know why York didn't let his kid alone to enjoy himself the way boys should. Ruston would rather be a cowboy than a child prodigy any day, I'd bet. He saw me going over his stuff and smiled. "Were you ever out West, Mike?" he asked. "I took some training in the desert when I was with Uncle Whiskers." "Did you ever see a real cowboy?" "Nope, but I bunked with one for six months. He used to wear high-heeled boots until the sergeant cracked down on him. Some card. Wanted to wear his hat in the shower. First thing he'd do when he'd get up in the morning was to put on his hat. He couldn't get used to one without a six-inch brim and was forever wanting to tip his hat to the Lieutenant instead of saluting." Ruston chuckled. "Did he carry a six-shooter?" "Naw, but he was a dead shot. He could pick the eyes out of a beetle at thirty yards." The doctor broke up our chitchat by handing the kid some pills. He filled a box with them, printed the time to take them on the side and dashed off a prescription. He handed it to me. "Have this filled. One teaspoonful every two hours for twenty-four hours. There's nothing wrong with him except a slight nervous condition. I'll come back tomorrow to see Miss Malcom again. If her wound starts bleeding call me at once. I gave them both a sedative so they should sleep well until morning." "Okay, Doctor, thanks." I gave him over to Harvey who ushered him to the door. Roxy forced a smile. "Did you get them, Mike?" "Forget about it," I said. "How did you get in the way?" "I heard a gun go off and turned on the light. I guess I shouldn't have done that. I ran to the window but with the light on I couldn't see a thing. The next thing I knew something hit me in the shoulder. I didn't realize it was a bullet until I saw the hole in the window. That's when I screamed," she added sheepishly. "I don't blame you, I'd scream too. Did you see the flash of the gun?" Her head shook on the pillow. "I heard it I think, but it sounded sort of far off. I never dreamed..." "You weren't hurt badly, that's one thing." "Ruston, how..." "Okay. You scared the hell out of him when you yelled. He's had too much already. That set him off. He was stiff as a fence post when I went in to him." The sedative was beginning to take effect. Roxy's eyes closed sleepily. I whispered to Billy, "Get me a broom handle or something long and straight, will you?" He went out and down the corridor. While I waited I looked at the hole the bullet had made, and in my mind pictured where Roxy had stood when she was shot. Billy came in with a long brass tube. "Couldn'
t find a broom, but would this curtain rod do?" "Fine," I said softly. Roxy was asleep now. "Stand over here by the window." "What you going to do?" "Figure out where that shot came from." I had him hold the rod under his armpit and I sighted along the length of it, lining the tube up with the hole in the wall and the one in the window. This done I told him to keep it that way then threw the window up. More pieces of glass tinkled to the floor. I moved around behind him and peered down the rod. I was looking at the base of the wall about where the two assailants had climbed the top. That put Junior out of it by a hundred feet. The picture was changing again, nothing balanced. It was like trying to make a mural with a kaleidoscope. Hell's bells. Neither of those two had shot at me, yet that was where the bullet came from. A silencer maybe? A wild shot at someone or a shot carefully aimed. With a .32 it would take an expert to hit the window from that range much less Roxy behind it. Or was the shot actually aimed at her? "Thanks, Billy, that's all." He lowered the rod and I shut the window. I called him to one side, away from the bed. "What is it, Mike?" "Look, I want to think. How about you staying up here in the kid's room tonight. We'll fix some chair cushions up on the floor." "Okay, if you say so." "I think it will be best. Somebody will have to keep an eye on them in case they wake up, and Ruston has to take his medicine," I looked at the box, "every three hours. I'll give Harvey the prescription to be filled. Do you mind?" "No, I think I'll like it here better'n the room downstairs." "Keep the doors locked." "And how. I'll push a chair up against them too." I laughed. "I don't think there will be any more trouble for a while." His face grew serious. "You can laugh, you got a rod under your arm!" "I'll leave it here for you if you want." "Not me, Mike. One more strike and I'm out. If I get caught within ten feet of a heater they'll toss me in the clink. I'd sooner take my chances." He began puffing the cushions from the chairs and I went out. Behind me the lock clicked and a chair went under the knob. Billy wasn't kidding. Nobody was going to get in there tonight.
Chapter Seven
Downstairs I dialed the operator and asked for the highway patrol. She connected me with headquarters and a sharp voice crackled at me. "Sergeant Price, please."
"He's not here right now, is there a message?" "Yeah, this is Mike Hammer. Tell him that Miss Malcom, the York kid's nurse, was shot through the shoulder by a thirty-two-caliber bullet. Her condition isn't serious and she'll be able to answer questions in the morning. The shot was fired from somewhere on the grounds but the one who fired it escaped." "I got it. Anything else?" "Yes, but I'll give it to him in person. Have they found any trace of Grange yet?" "They picked up her hat along the shore of the inlet. Sergeant Price told me to tell you if you called." "Thanks. They still looking for her?" "A boat's grappling the mouth of the channel right now." "Okay, if I get time I'll call back later." The cop thanked me and hung up. Harvey waited to see whether I was going out or not, and when I headed for the door got my hat. "Will you be back tonight, sir?" "I don't know. Lock the door anyway." "Yes, sir." I tooled my car up the drive and honked for Henry to come out and open thee gates. Although there was a light on in his cottage, Henry didn't appear. I climbed out again and walked in the place. The gatekeeper was sound asleep in his chair, a paper folded across his lap. After I shook him and swore a little his eyes opened, but not the way a waking person's do. They were heavy and dull, he was barely able to raise his head. The shock of seeing me there did more to put some life in him than the shaking. He blinked a few times and ran his hand over his forehead. "I'm...sorry, sir. Can't understand myself...lately. These awful headaches, and going to sleep like that." "What's the matter with you, Henry?" "It's...nothing, sir. Perhaps it's the aspirin." He pointed to a bottle of common aspirin tablets on the table. I picked it up and looked at the label. A well-known brand. I looked again, then shook some out on my palm. There were no manufacturer's initials on the tablets at all. There were supposed to be, I used enough of them myself. "Where did you get these, Henry?" "Mr. York gave them to me last week. I had several fierce headaches. The aspirin relieved me." "Did you take these the night of the kidnapping?" His eyes drifted to mine, held. "Why, yes. Yes, I did." "Better lay off them. They aren't good for you. Did you hear anything tonight?" "No, I don't believe I did. Why?" "Oh, no reason. Mind if I take some of these with me?" He shook his head and I pocketed a few tablets. "Stay here," I said, "I'll open the gates." Henry nodded and was asleep before I left the room. That was why the kidnapper got in so easily. That was why York left and the killer left and I left without being heard at the gate. It was a good bet that someone substituted sleeping tablets for the aspirins. Oh, brother, the killer was getting cuter all the time. But the pieces were coming together one by one. They didn't fit the slots, but they were there, ready to be assembled as soon as someone said the wrong word, or made a wrong move. The puzzle was closer to the house now, but it was outside, too. Who wanted Henry to be asleep while Ruston was snatched? Who wanted it so bad that his habits were studied and sleeping pills slipped into his aspirin bottle? If someone was that thorough they could have given him something to cause the headaches to start with. And who was in league with that person on the outside? A wrong move or a wrong word. Someone would slip sometime. Maybe they just needed a little push. I had Junior where the hair was short now, that meant I had the old lady, too. Jump the fence to the other side now. Alice. She said _tsk, tsk_ when I told them York was dead. Sweet thing. I had to make another phone call to trooper headquarters to collect the list of addresses from the statements. Price still hadn't come in, but evidently he had passed the word to give me any help I needed, for there was no hesitation about handing me the information. Alice lived west of town in a suburb called Wooster. It was little less than a crossroad off the main highway, but from the size of the mansions that dotted the estates it was a refuge of the wealthy. The town itself boasted a block of storefronts whose windows showed nothing but the best. Above each store was an apartment. The bricks were white, the metal work bright and new. There was an aura of dignity and pomp in the way they nestled there. Alice lived above the fur shop, two stores from the end. I parked between a new Ford and a Caddy convertible. There were no lights on in Alice's apartment, but I didn't doubt that she'd want to see me. I slid out and went into the tiny foyer and looked at the bell. It was hers. For a good five seconds I held my finger on it, then opened the door and went up the steps. Before I reached the top, Alice, in the last stages of closing her robe, opened the door, sending a shaft of light in my face. "Well, I'll be damned," she exclaimed. "You certainly pick an awful time to visit your friends." "Aren't you glad to see me?" I grinned. "Silly, come on in. Of course I'm glad to see you." "I hate to get you up like this." "You didn't. I was lying in bed reading, that's all." She, paused just inside the door. "This isn't a professional visit, is it?" "Hardly. I finally got sick and tired of the whole damn setup and decided to give my mind a rest." She shut the door. "Kiss me." I pecked her on the nose. "Can't I even take my hat off?" "Oooo," she gasped, "the way you said that!" I dropped my slicker and hat on a rack by the door and trailed her to the living room. "Have a drink?" she asked me. I made with three fingers together. "So much, and ginger." When she went for the ice, I took the place in with a sweep of my head. Swell, strictly swell. It was better than the best Park Avenue apartment I'd ever been in, even if it was above a store. The furniture cost money and the oils on the wall even more. There were books and books, first editions and costly manuscripts. York had done very well by his niece. Alice came back with two highballs in her hand. "Take one," she offered. I picked the big one. We toasted silently, she with the devil in her eyes, and drank. "Good?" I bobbed my head. "Old stuff, isn't it?" "Over twenty years. Uncle Rudy gave it to me." She put her drink down and turned off the overhead lights, switching on a shaded table lamp instead. From a cabinet she selected an assortment of records and put them in the player. "Atmosphere," she explained impishly. I didn't see why we needed it. When she had the lamp at her back the robe became transparent enough to create its own atm
osphere. She was all woman, this one, bigger than I thought. Her carriage was seduction itself and she knew it. The needle came down and soft Oriental music filled the room. I closed my eyes and visualized women in scarlet veils dancing for the sultan. The sultan was me. Alice said something I didn't catch and left. When she came back she was wearing the cobwebs. Nothing else. "You aren't too tired tonight?" "Not tonight," I said. She sat down beside me. "I think you were faking the last time, and after all my trouble." Her skin was soft and velvety looking under the cobwebs, a vein in her throat pulsed steadily. I let my eyes follow the contours of her shoulders and down her body. Impertinent breasts that mocked my former hesitance, a flat stomach waiting for the, touch to set off the fuse, thighs that wanted no part of shielding cloth. I had difficulty getting it out. "I _had_ to be tired." She crossed her legs, the cobwebs parted. "Or crazy," she added. I finished the drink off in a hurry and held out the glass for another. I needed something to steady my nerves. Ice clinked, glass rang against glass. She measured the whisky and poured it in. This time she pulled the coffee table over so she wouldn't have to get up again. The record changed and the gentle strains of a violin ran through the _Hungarian Rhapsody._ Alice moved closer to me. I could feel the warmth of her body through my clothes. The drinks went down. When the record changed again she had her head on my shoulder. "Have you been working hard, Mike?" "No, just legwork." Her hair brushed my face; soft, lovely hair that smelled of jasmine "Do you think they'll find her?" I stroked her neck, letting my fingers bite in just a little. "I think so. Sidon is too small a town to try to hide in. Did you know her well?" "Ummm. What? Oh, no. She was very distant to all of us." More jasmine. She buried her face in my shoulder. "You're a thing yourself," I grinned. "Shouldn't you be wearing black?" "No. It doesn't become me." I blew in her ear. "No respect for the dead." "Uncle never liked all those post-funeral displays anyway." "Well, you should do something since you were his favorite niece. He left you a nice lump of cash." She ran her fingers through my hair, bending my head close to hers. "Did he?" Lightly, her tongue ran over her lips, a pink, darting temptation. "Uh-huh." We rubbed noses, getting closer all the time. "I saw his will. He must have liked you." "Just you like me, Mike, that's all I want." Her mouth opened slightly. I couldn't take anymore. I grabbed her in my arms and crushed her lips against mine. She was a living heartbeat, an endless fire that burned hot and deep. Her arms went about me, holding tightly. Once, out of sheer passion, she bit me like a cat would bite. She tore her mouth away and pressed it against my neck, then rubbed her shoulders from side to side against my chest until the cobwebs slipped down her arms and pinioned them there. I touched her flesh, bruised her until she moaned in painful ecstasy, demanding more. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of my coat. Somehow I got it off and draped it over a chair, then she started on my tie. "So many clothes, Mike, you have so many clothes." She kissed me again. "Carry me inside." I scooped her off the couch, cradling her in my arms, the cobwebs trailing beneath her. She pointed with her finger, her eyes almost closed. "In there." No lights. The comforter was cool and fluffy. She told me to stay there and kissed my eyes shut. I felt her leave the bed and go into the living room. The record changed and a louder piece sent notes of triumph cascading into the room. Agonizing minutes passed waiting until she returned, bearing two half-full glasses on a tray like a gorgeous slave girl. Gone now were even the cobwebs. "To us, Mike, and this night." We drank. She came to me with arms outstretched. The music came and went, piece after piece, but we heard nothing nor cared. Then there was no sound at all except the breathing.
Mike Hammer 09 - The Twisted Thing Page 7
