Mourn the Hangman

by Whittington, Harry

  “I won’t have any luck,” he said. “I won’t need it. I’ve been elected to die for Stella’s murder — and I will, unless I find out who did it.”

  “You must find out,” she said. “You must.”

  “Maybe you can help me.”

  “I want to. I don’t want anybody ever to go through what I have.”

  “Did you ever see Stella — did you ever see my wife at the Palm Club — without me?”

  She looked at him. Nodded.

  “Was she alone?” Why did the questions hurt so terribly?

  “She — she came in alone,” Sammy answered. “Believe me, she did. Always. You don’t have to worry. She loved you. Oh, I know. I saw you together. I saw the way she looked at you.”

  “Thanks. I guess you know how bad I need that.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “And who met her there, Sammy? Who?”

  “I don’t think he met her there, Steve. I’m not trying to spare you,” she added hastily. “It’s true. There was something unwholesome about this man. I don’t know. He was good looking. He was young. He looked like a movie actor — ”

  “Glintner,” Blake whispered.

  “I think so,” Sammy agreed. “Bix. I think that’s what she called him.”

  Blake’s thudding heart was slugging the breath through his aching throat. He started up off the bed, but she caught his arm. He relaxed.

  “At least hear the rest of it,” she said. “You owe that to — her. She laughed at him, Steve. Really she did. He was after her all the time. There was something wrong about it. I’m not smart enough to say what it is — only I felt it. He gave me the creeps. Maybe because he was too pretty. Maybe because he wouldn’t let her alone.”

  “And that’s all?” His voice was hoarse. “There was nobody else?”

  “I never saw anyone else, Steve. He was the only one.”

  He stood up, glanced at his watch.

  “Are you going to find him?” she whispered.

  “You know I’ve got to.”

  She nodded. “Be careful,” she said. “They’ll get you for any reason at all — even if he were to call them. You’ve got to be careful — or you won’t even be able to help yourself.”

  “I’ll be careful,” he said.

  13

  HE REACHED for the drink on the table, but stopped his hand just before he touched it. It wouldn’t hurt him and yet somehow he didn’t want it. He looked at Sammy. She was smiling at him. She leaned forward, reaching beyond his hand for the drink. She gulped it down.

  “One or a dozen,” she said. “They won’t hurt me. I’m dead inside.”

  “No,” he answered. “No, you’re not. You’re going to be all right.”

  She looked up at him, her brown eyes unconvinced. He pulled her up from the bed. He slipped his arms about her. But when he kissed her, her lips were cold and passive under his mouth.

  He tried to smile at her. “I’m getting old,” he said. “I’m losing my touch.” He released her and she stepped back, looking at him.

  “Be careful,” she said again.

  “Well, at least you care what happens to me,” he said.

  Her gaze didn’t waver under his. “I care,” she replied. She smiled wanly up at him. There was a knock on the door. For a moment they stared at each other without moving, without breathing.

  Finally, Sammy disengaged her fingers from Blake’s and started toward the door. The knock was repeated, insistently.

  “All right,” she said. Her voice was calm, unruffled. “I’m coming.”

  She reached out to unlock the door. She looked at Blake. He shook his head warningly.

  “Who is it?” she said.

  “Open it up, sister. This is Ross Connell. I ain’t got time for games.”

  Sammy moved away from the door. She placed her face close against Blake’s. She whispered in his ear, so softly that he could barely hear her. “Undress. Get under the covers. I’ll stall.”

  He ripped off his clothes as she moved away from him. He tossed shirt and trousers over a chair. He pushed off his shoes without touching them with his hands. Sammy had turned back the cover and he slid under it.

  “Open it, sister,” Connell said.

  “Just a minute,” Sammy said. She found a bathrobe and tied it about her waist. “I was sleeping.”

  “This ain’t no beauty contest, baby,” Connell said. “I just want to talk to you.”

  Sammy fumbled with the lock. She tossed Blake a wry, twisted little smile and opened the door.

  Connell brushed past her into the room. He looked at Blake on the bed. His eyes betrayed nothing. “All right, close the door,” Connell said over his shoulder to Sammy. He looked at Blake again. “You’d better get up and get dressed all over again, sonny.”

  “Why?” Sammy said.

  Connell didn’t turn. He answered her, but continued to look at Blake. “Now you’ve been setting fires. You hated a man named Dickerson and so you set fire to his Gale Island home.”

  “Who told you that fairy story?” Blake inquired.

  “Dickerson himself,” Connell replied. “He and a man named Terravasi asked for police protection out of this town. They got it. In exchange, Dickerson told us plenty about you. That he had hired you and then, when he fired you, you got even by burning him out.”

  “Use your head,” Blake snarled, sitting up in bed. “You want me for murder, remember? Why would Dickerson run to escape me? If I had wanted to get him, I’d have gotten him on Gale Island, wouldn’t I? I wouldn’t have burned his house. That’s against the law. I’d have killed him.”

  Connell regarded him patiently. “Where have you been since you got out of jail?”

  “He was here,” Sammy answered. “He didn’t leave this room until he came to the Palm Club. And you were there.”

  “So were you, sister, so you wouldn’t know.” He looked at Blake. “Already in bed with another one, eh, Blake? Come on. Get up, get dressed.”

  “He was here,” Sammy said sharply, “whether you approve of it or not.”

  Connell just looked at her. “He was seen on Gale Island, baby. Forget it.”

  “And I say he wasn’t there. I may be lying, but then, whoever said he saw Steve on Gale Island might be lying, too. Why would I lie? I never saw Steve Blake before.”

  “Then why did you bring him home with you tonight?”

  “That’s my affair. At least, I have no reason to hate him. The men who have reported him do.”

  Blake laughed coldly. “She’s right there, Connell. Someone even called you and told you my wife was in a locked apartment, dead. That would sound like a frame-up to me. But I suppose it sounds all right to you.”

  Connell smiled. “As a matter of fact, Blake, it did. We got a call from Tampa. From a Mr. Manley Reeder. He said that you had just left him. He said that you told him your wife was dead. He insisted we investigate. We’d have gotten you on the bus, Blake, but my harnessmen and sergeant thought we were trying to catch you running and not coming in.”

  He stepped back, looking at both of them. “It may interest you two to know I investigated everybody. Even the people who might have been mixed up with you in that apartment house. Even Reeder. We found out he was in town the day Blake’s wife was killed. But he was at home in Tampa — with friends for dinner — when she was murdered. We questioned old Ada Grueter who lived across the hall. We questioned the garage attendant, just because he was good looking. He swears he was only casually acquainted with Stella Blake. Grueter backed him up on that. Glintner was up in the apartment sometime, the old maid said. But even Grueter didn’t suspect an affair — and that’s something!”

  “You have the word of bystanders on Reeder and Glintner,” Sammy said softly. “You have my word on Steve. I may be lying. But then, maybe all those other people you have been talking to lied, too.”

  “I like you,” Connell said smoothly, “and because I do, I’m not going to take Blake along with me. I’m
going to give you two a little more rope. I’d like nothing better than to see you two hang yourselves a mile high.”

  “And that means?” Blake said.

  “Just this. I now find that you had a sweetie. No wonder you wanted your wife out of the way.”

  “Six months married and I wanted her out of the way!” Blake sneered.

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “I think you’d better go,” Sammy said. “I’m getting a cold standing here.”

  “That would never do.” Connell backed to the door and opened it. “I hope you won’t think though that I won’t have someone watching you two every time you leave this room.”

  He stepped out into the hall. He closed the door quietly after him. Sammy bolted it. Blake got up and dressed slowly. Sammy sat down on the edge of the bed. Blake looked down at her. She looked young, very young. Looking at her, Blake forgot the horror of her sleepless nights. And he forgot, too, that he hadn’t given her age a thought before this minute. What a hell of a trick fate had played on her — a kid, that’s all she was — and sick with bitterness.

  She poured herself a drink of whiskey and Blake watched her gulp it down.

  He said, “Thanks, Sammy. For all you’ve done for me. I’d kiss you again, Sammy, but those cold lips kill my boyish enthusiasm.”

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

  He’d started for the door. He turned and looked at her. “Why, Sammy? Why for me?”

  She smiled wryly and stood up, looking at him. “Let’s say that if I were alive inside, Steve, I’d be alive for you. Only you of all the men I’ve seen in this last year. This isn’t new. I’ve seen you in the Palm Club. For months. With her. When you didn’t even know I existed. It isn’t important, Steve, and it doesn’t matter. It’s just that you would be it. I want to help you. Will that do it?”

  He looked at her, without answering. She followed him out into the corridor. “There’ll be a cop in the lobby,” she warned him. “There’s a fire escape at the end of the hall.”

  “There’s probably a cop waiting at the bottom of it, too,” Steve said.

  “Nothing is ever easy,” she answered. “You may believe mama on that one.” Her hand on his arm hurried him. At the window, she said again, “Take care of yourself.”

  “Find yourself a nice guy, Sammy,” he said gently. “You’ve helped me. You’ve got to get out of this and help yourself now.”

  She caught his arms in her hands. Her eyes were distracted.

  “Don’t talk like that, Steve. It sounds so — so final.”

  “It is final.”

  Her slender hands on his arms shook him. “Steve, don’t,” she whispered tensely. He looked down at her. Her brown eyes were filled with tears. They welled up and spilled down her cheeks. “Look,” she begged. “I’m crying for you. You must know what it means for me to cry. I’m begging you. Take care of yourself. Come back to me.”

  “I won’t be back,” he said gruffly. “You’re out of it. Count yourself lucky.”

  “I can’t get out of it now,” Sammy said, “until you do. You’re all I have now, Steve. If you’ll let me, I can live for you. Just as I cried for you. I cried, Steve. I cared enough for someone to weep for him. Do you know what that means?”

  “It means you’d better find someone worth crying for,” Blake told her roughly. “Don’t count on me. I have no tears. I have nothing, Sammy. I’m as dead inside as you ever were. I’m living just to finish this business and that’s all.”

  She looked up at him through her tears. “And then what?”

  “And then nothing,” Blake said. “What do you care?”

  “I care because you’re what I want.”

  “How do you know I am. You know nothing about me. For all you know, I may have killed my wife.”

  “I know, Steve. Don’t ask me how. How do two people ever know about each other?”

  “God knows. It’s been too long ago for me.”

  “Please, Steve. Come back to me.”

  He looked out at the dark alleyway below him. His jaw tightened. What chance did he have ever to come back here? He forced his voice to remain light. “Sure. Sure, I’ll come to you, as soon as it is over.”

  “Promise, Steve. I’ll make you care again. I’ll spend my life making you care again.”

  He drew away from her. “Sammy, don’t count on it. I cannot live, I cannot think about living until I find the man who killed Stella. There’s nothing beyond that moment. I died when Stella died and that’s the way it is.”

  Sammy covered her face with her trembling hands. He could hear her soft sobbing.

  “Sammy.”

  “Don’t mind me,” she said bitterly. “Some people just weren’t meant to have what they want.”

  He took out his wallet and pressed some bills in her hand. “Buy yourself a new hat, Sammy,” he said. “Men make fun of women’s hats, but they look at ’em.”

  “I don’t want men to look at me. I want you to look at me.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Sammy.”

  “Shut up, damn you! I’ll be a fool if I want to. You have nothing to say about it.” She turned and started back across the musty corridor.

  He caught her by the arm and pulled her back. Her body was warm, pulsating in his hands. He pressed her to him, feeling tremors course through her. He pressed his lips over her full mouth.

  Savagely, she fought her way close against him, pulled herself in so that her tear-wet cheeks were flattened against his face. Her arms dug into his shoulders with fire and intensity. She began to shake with the fierceness of her need for him. Her mouth was fiery hot, parted, under his.

  At last, the shaking subsided and she drew away from him.

  For now, it was Steve’s mouth that was cool, passive.

  “I tried. Honest to God, I tried,” he said.

  She looked at him, her eyes hating him. “Sure you tried,” she said.

  “If I could love anyone, Sammy, it would be you.”

  “You. You couldn’t love anyone.” She stepped away from him. “Goodbye,” she said with finality.

  “I’ll come back, Sammy. If I can.”

  “I won’t be here.”

  He stepped out on the fire escape. The wind was rising. The street below him was chilled and silent. She wasn’t at the window when he started down the rusty ladder. When he reached the alley, he swung down to the pavement. He looked up. She was up there in the lighted window. He waved. But she didn’t answer.

  • • •

  He could feel the man behind in the darkness. He tried to turn. A gun barrel bit into the small of his back. “Turn around,” the man said. “Turn around real slow.”

  14

  HE TURNED around in the alley. Turned slowly, the way the man said. There was only one way to do a thing when a man with a gun ordered it. Follow instructions to the letter. You lived longer that way. That is if you cared about living any more. Only Blake didn’t care about living. It was just that he had to. There wasn’t any choice. Not now. Not since Sammy Anderson had told him who was meeting Stella in the Palm Club bar. This wasn’t living. It was just staying alive until he could get his fingers about that man’s throat.

  Whatever the reason, he obeyed the command. He turned slowly all the way around.

  His eyes bugged. He stared! The man behind that gun was Bruce Bricker. Bricker the sneak. The dirty rat. The partner who had sold him out for ten grand. Bruce Bricker who had tried to set Blake up so that Arrenhower’s goons could kill him the way they’d killed Roberts ahead of him.

  The funny thing was that Blake had never expected to see Bricker again. He never thought Bricker would have the guts to show his face. And maybe he wouldn’t have, even now, except for the gun in his hand.

  “What you want, Bricker?” he said.

  “I got a job for you, Blake.”

  “A job. Real friendly, huh? Then why the gun?”

  “I didn’t think you’d
be glad to see me.”

  “You knew damned well I wouldn’t be. I don’t care what your job is, Bricker, I’m not interested. Get out of my way.”

  Bricker hefted the automatic. “I’m not asking you, Blake. I’m telling you. I got a job. You’re in on it. It’s going to pay me ten grand.”

  “Another ten grand?”

  “One more ten grand. Only this time I’m cutting you in, Steve. I’m giving you half of it.”

  “When a son-of-a-bitch wants to give you half of something, Bricker, you can bet you’re getting half of hell.”

  “I told you, Steve. I’m not asking. I’m telling you. I don’t have to give you half of what I’m getting. I just want to. I’ve made some mistakes. I’m just making it up to you.”

  “The words are all right,” Blake said. “But they don’t sound right coming out of your mouth, Bricker.” He frowned. “How did you find me?”

  “You’re not the only detective in the world, old son. I used to be pretty good myself.”

  “You were never good, Bruce. I just want you to keep that straight. Part of detection is sneaking. That part of it fitted you. Not any of the rest of it.”

  “Suppose we start down the alley,” Bricker said. “My car is parked down there at the corner.”

  They walked a few paces in silence. The silence of the alley. The silence of the night. The way Blake hated this man he’d worked with for four years. He glanced over his shoulder. He wondered if Sammy was still watching at that window up there. He wondered if Sammy had seen what happened.

  They walked into the glow of the street light. The glow increased, became brighter as they moved to the littered mouth of the alley.

  “I’m putting the gun in my pocket, Steve,” Bricker said. “In case somebody is watching. But don’t get any ideas. It’s still fixed on you.”

  “Look, Bricker, I don’t like being afraid of you. I don’t like you thinking I’m afraid of you. I know you’d pull that trigger. You’d rig it up to look like you had to. You’d smile and you’d whine and stand over my dead body and beat the rap. So I’m afraid. I’m afraid of you, Bricker. Does that make you feel better?”

  “Just do as I say. I want you alive. I’m not interested in shooting you, unless I have to.”