Killy

by Donald E. Westlake

  ‘All right. Let me think a minute.’

  I finished the iced tea, and lit a cigarette. Alice brought me an ashtray and watched me, while I tried to figure out what to do next.

  I knew as much as Charles Hamilton had known. Now, what was I going to do with that knowledge? Should I bring it—and Alice—straight to Walter now?

  No. They were mad at me, and in no mood to listen to me. I’d have trouble enough convincing them to let me stay on in Wittburg, without bringing them hearsay evidence of embezzling. And even if they believed me, what then? They weren’t the police; they had neither the duty nor the authority to start searching for the guilty one. Their concern here was to see to it the workers got a chance at the election that at least some of them desired. All else was incidental. Fletcher had made that clear: finish the unionizing first, and then let the new local bring pressure to bear, to force the police to get to work on the murder of Charles Hamilton.

  But couldn’t they use this information? Of course they could, and that must be why Fleisch was so worried. He must suspect—would he know for sure? That seemed doubtful—but he must at least suspect the presence of a skeleton somewhere in the closet. He wasn’t the owner of this plant, after all, he was only the manager. And if there was sudden labour trouble, or that skeleton should get out of the closet—or both—he would be manager here no longer, and he would have a black mark on his record that would be no help to him when he went looking for another job. Fleisch was perched uncomfortably in his managerial chair at the moment, and was doing everything he could think of to keep anybody from rocking the boat.

  Oh, God help us, block that metaphor!

  But, wait a second. Why would Fleisch have to be involved in this embezzlement thing at all? He would certainly have more sense than to be a party to it, and if he suspected any such thing he’d be sure to call for an audit at once, to minimize whatever scandal might emerge. I disliked Fleisch, and so I was too willing to find him skulking under every rock. Leave Fleisch out of this He was worried because labour trouble would finish him here and that was all.

  But that meant he’d had nothing to do with either of the murders. I didn’t like that idea—I’d seen him as the evil genius behind everything crooked in this town for too long, and had liked the picture too well, to want to give it up now—but it was inescapable. The murderer was also the embezzler. If nothing else was really clear, that much definitely was.

  Damn it, I had knowledge! What was I going to do with it? There was no sense going to Captain Willick with it; he wouldn’t listen to any bad news I might bring him about the Mclntyre plant. And at this point there was no sense going to Walter and Fletcher with it either.

  But they could use it, if they would. What if they were to go to Fleisch, and tell him they had evidence of embezzling going on at his plant? And what if they were to offer him a deal? Either he could cooperate, set up the election and abide by its results, and be allowed therefore to handle the embezzler with a minimum of publicity and fuss, or he could continue to obstruct the union, and have the embezzlement bomb go off with a roar that would he heard even on the soft Southern sands where the current brood of Mclntyres wiled away their profits. What if they were to give him the choice?

  I knew what. He’d stall for time before making his decision, have a quick audit done on the books, and clean things up himself before the union could make the bomb go off.

  If he had the books.

  ‘Hey! ‘I said.

  Alice looked across the table at me, bewildered. ‘What?’

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Can you still get into the bookkeeping offices?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And you can still get at the books?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Okay. Okay. I want you to take me there tonight, will you?’

  ‘Well—all right, Paul, if you want.’

  ‘I want. What time?’

  ‘You’ll come here?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Nine o’clock?’

  ‘Nine o’clock it is.’ I pushed back from the table and got to my feet. ‘I’ve got to get back to the motel,’ I told her, ‘before I get fired. Is there anybody you can stay with today?’

  ‘Stay with? Why should I stay with anybody?’

  So I had to tell her now. I said, as gently as I could, ‘Alice, two men have been killed for knowing what you know. The murderer couldn’t have known you weren’t going to be home when he got here this morning. He came here to get you, too.’

  Her face paled even more, and she said, ‘Oh,’ in a faint lost voice.

  ‘So you’ll need someone with you today.’

  ‘Yes. I can go next door. I can stay with Mrs Kemmler.’

  ‘All right. I’ll pick you up there tonight, at nine.’

  ‘No!’ She seemed flustered, and looked around helplessly before saying, ‘I’d rather not, not yet, I don’t want—I’ll come bad here. I’ll be here when you come.’

  She was already beginning to be ashamed of what we’d done. I said, ‘All right. But be sure it’s me before you open the door.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I’ve got to go now.’

  She walked me to the front door, and suddenly folded into my arms again, clasping me close, and I could feel her trembling. She whispered something, but her face was pressed to my chest, muffling the words, and I couldn’t make out what she’d said. I held her awkwardly, and said, ‘I’ll be back. Tonight.’

  ‘Yes.’

  I left, and went out to the car. The street was deserted again I looked both ways, wondering if the killer were still lurking near by, waiting for Alice to be alone, but I saw no one. I got into the Ford and made a U-turn, and headed back down the hill into town.

  The thoughts were rushing and scrambling through my head bumping into one another; I couldn’t concentrate at all. I finally switched the radio on, to distract me so I could drive, and found a Watertown station playing old Glenn Miller arrangements by the new Ray McKinley band. The cool dim living room came back into my thoughts, and the steep staircase, and the cool dim bedroom, and Alice upon the white sheet. I was going to change the station, but then the Kingston Trio came on, so I left it alone.

  Three o’clock happened while I was still driving along, and with three o’clock came the news. After the crisis here and the crisis there, the announcer said that one particular crisis had worsened, so maybe Sondra Fleisch was a better journalist than I’d thought—but after the mess the world was in had been recorded, the announcer turned to local news, and told me that a long-time employee of the Mclntyre Shoe Company, one Gar Jeffers, had been murdered in his home this morning. He had been shot to death. In a clumsy attempt to make the crime seem a suicide, the murderer had closed Gar Jeffers’ dead fingers around the gun, to leave his fingerprints. But there were no other older prints; the gun had been wiped off before being placed in Gar’s hand.

  Twenty

  I parked in front of the unit I would be sharing once again with Walter, and went on inside.

  They were all in there, waiting for me. Walter was lying on his own bed, George was on mine. Fletcher was seated with grim patience in the easy chair, and Mr Clement sat knees together in the wooden chair in the corner, while Phil Katz was prowling around the room.

  They all turned to look at me as I came in. Fletcher said, ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘At Gar Jeffers’ house,’ I said.

  Fletcher glanced at Walter, and then back at me. ‘You’re a damn fool, Standish,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Walter sat up and looked at me. He was still bruised and battered, but he had fresh clothes on and had apparently taken a shower. He shook his head and said, ‘I don’t know what to do with you, Paul. You’ve been acting like a kid.’

  ‘I was trying to help,’ I said.

  ‘I know that.’ Walter shrugged and looked over at Fletcher. ‘Paul and I had a rough time up here, Ralph,’ he said. ‘Things were pretty frantic f
or a while. I don’t really blame Paul for getting shook up.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ said Fletcher. His words were gritty, and full of the same grim patience as his posture in the chair. ‘I understand the situation here,’ he said, ‘and I don’t blame this young man at all for being upset and using bad judgement. What I do blame him for is his refusal to concentrate on his job.’ He turned to me. ‘You are an employee,’ he told me, ‘of the American Alliance of Machinists and Skilled Trades. As such, you are a part of a team which has come to this city for one purpose, and one purpose only, to wit: to create a local of our union in the Mclntyre Shoe Company plant. But you have chosen to ignore this purpose. You have chosen, instead, to become an amateur detective. I will remind you one last time that your job is not to track down murderers. There are hundreds of thousands of better-qualified men for that job.’

  Angry answers burned in me, but I kept them to myself, and said, ‘Yes, sir.’

  Fletcher fumbled in his pockets, and produced a pipe and a tobacco pouch. ‘I can understand,’ he said, ‘that when Walter was in custody, you conceived the notion that you should free him by tracking down the actual murderer of Mr Hamilton. A beautifully romantic idea, to be found frequently in the type of novel on which my wife squanders her time. Be that as it may, it is an idea I can understand, though I cannot approve it. But you see Walter is here now, free and exonerated. Only stubbornness can keep you on your search.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I said.

  Walter said, ‘Ralph wants to send you back to Washington, Paul, but I’m against it. I brought you here to show you how an organizer works, and up to now there’s been damn little organizing to watch. I’d like to have you stick around. But you could put me in a rough spot, Paul, if you go wandering off on your own again.’

  ‘I can see that,’ I said.

  ‘Paul, will you give me your promise you’ll leave these murders alone from now on?’

  ‘I promise,’ I said. ‘I’ll work only for the union from now on, only to get the local here. Mr Fletcher’s right, you’re free now and that’s that.’

  But even while I was delivering these half-truths, I was wondering why I shouldn’t simply tell them the way I felt. Gar Jefiers had come to me for help, and in the very short time I’d known him he had become my friend, and now he was dead. Gar’s granddaughter, Alice, was in danger from the same man who had killed Gar and, although my feelings for Alice were a little too complex yet for me to be able to state them clearly, I did know the sum of it, that I wanted to protect her, I wanted to keep her from being hurt.

  Why not tell them this? I can’t forget the murderer, because he killed a man who was my friend and is endangering a girl I feel very close to. And while I know I don’t have the knowledge or the training to track him down myself, I have a plan that should wind up with Fleisch putting his tame police force to work really to look for the killer. And, as an incidental, this plan will also put the union in a very strong bargaining position with Fleisch.

  It would have been so much easier if I could tell them the truth. But they didn’t trust me, they didn’t trust my competence or my judgement. And if I told them that I was still primarily concerned with the murders rather than the creation of the local, they would send me back to Washington. So I had to lie, and smile, and convince them that I would be a good boy from now on.

  They accepted it. Fletcher, looking less grim, settled back more comfortably in his chair, and said, ‘I’m glad to hear thai, Paul, and I hope you mean it.’

  ‘I’m sure he does, Ralph,’ said Walter. He grinned at me ami got to his feet and said, ‘Well, Paul, you learning much about economics?’

  ‘I’m learning,’ I told him, smiling back at him.

  ‘Right.’ He made a half-turn, to face all of us at once, am! immediately the businessman’s facade snapped into place. ‘It’s time we all got to work,’ he said. ‘We’ve been delayed, but we can make up for it. Ralph, you want to go to City Hall, check the local laws on assembly, pamphlet distribution, and so on. Phil, you and I will go to Watertown now, place our newspaper advertising, and see what kind of sympathy we’ll get in the local press Paul, find us a printer in town here to make us up a batch of pamphlets and throwaways.’ He winked and grinned, the phoney wink and false grin of the businessman, and said, ‘The union trades with local business, of course. George, you go along with Paul and make sure he doesn’t get lost again. Right?’

  ‘Right,’ said George. He gazed at me and nodded solemnly and I realized it had been a great embarrassment to him this morning when I’d suddenly gone running off. So it might be more difficult than I’d thought to get away this evening, unless I could lull George into a false sense of security. I smiled reassuringly at him, and he smiled reluctantly back.

  We all got ready to leave. Walter and Phil were using the car Fletcher had rented, while Fletcher would travel by cab, and George and I would take the Ford. Mr Clement, almost invisible in his corner, would stay at the motel and mind the store.

  On his way out, Walter stopped beside me and the businessman mask slipped as he whacked me heartily on the shoulder and said, ‘Now you’ll see the way it’s done, Paul! Now you’ll see organization.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  Twenty One

  I let my fingers do the walking through the yellow pages, and copied down the addresses of Wittburg’s seven printers. Then I gathered up the samples of the two pamphlets and three throwaways, and George and I went out to the Ford.

  As we headed up Harpur Boulevard, George said to me, ‘Mr Fletcher was real mad at you, little friend. You know how I can tell?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Up here on the head.’ He tapped two thick forefingers against his temples. ‘When Mr Fletcher is real mad, he gets white up here.’

  ‘I could tell anyway,’ I said.

  ‘Let me tell you something,’ he said. ‘A good word. You been going around like Batman, you know what I mean? Catchin’ the crooks and avenging justice and all that. But that ain’t the way to be. You watch out for you, that’s what you do. You take care of your own job and your own family and your own self, and you just forget everything else. That’s the way to be.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I lied.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I got to thinking about Batman one time, and he ain’t doing any good. Like, say one time he catches this jewel robber, him and Robin. And they turn him over to the cops, like they do. So this jewel robber, first thing, he calls a lawyer. And the lawyer comes in and says. “What you guys doing with my client?” And the cops say, “He was caught robbing jewels.” And the lawyer says, “You got any proof? You got any witnesses?” And the cops say, “These two guys that caught him, that’s all. They said they was out wandering around and they caught this client of yours here robbing jewels.” And the lawyer says, “Who are these two guys? Are they prepared to testify?” And the cops say, “It’s a couple guys with masks on, they call themselves Batman and Robin.” And the lawyer says, “Hold on a minute. You got these two guys with masks on, and they come in and accuse my client of robbing jewels, and these two guys don’t give you their right names, and they go wandering around in the middle of the night.” And the jewel robber says, “Yeah, and they wear funny suits, like a couple of nuts, and they got this souped-up customized car.” And the lawyer turns to the assistant da, and he says, “You sure you want to go to court with this? You sure you want to put these two kooks on the stand?” And the assistant DA says, “The hell with it.” And the jewel robber walks out of the precinct, and that’s it.’

  George, one way and another, had an astonishing gift of mimicry. When he was talking as the lawyer, he did a very good imitation of Fletcher’s impatient perfectionist. The cop talked the way gorillas would talk, if gorillas talked, and the jewel robber sounded like Arnold Stang. I was laughing aloud by the time the jewel robber walked out of the precinct, and George was grinning at me like a big friendly Saint Bernard. He said, ‘You see what I mean, little frien
d?’

  I had to admit I saw what he meant.

  I had to admit I was going out on a limb, and I had to admit I was going around like Batman (or Philo Vance, depending), and I had to admit I hadn’t done anybody any good so far. But I also had to admit that I was stubborn, and I was still angry and upset at the local imitation of a police force, and I was still determined to do what I could to help and protect Alice MacCann. So whatever I had to admit, and however many well-meaning people proved I should quit, I wasn’t going to quit. I was damned if I was going to quit.

  And then I wondered what the murderer would think if he knew of my fiery resolve. He’d probably laugh for a week. And he might even be right.

  I had worn myself into a blue funk by the time we reached the first print shop. Whatever confidence I had in myself had vanished. Only blunt childish stubbornness kept me from throwing in the towel.

  George and I walked into the print shop, and found a cluttered roll-top desk, and sitting behind it a genteel lady with lace cuffs and a pince-nez. I told her we wanted to order a printing job done, and she called to a man named Harry, who came out to us, ink-stained and greasy-shirted, from the noisy back room. ‘We need a relatively fast job,’ I told him. ‘We’d like a thousand of each of these.’ And I handed over the pamphlets—which were simply four-page affairs, made by doubling a sheet of eight-by-ten paper—and the throwaways.

  ‘I’m not sure I could match the paper,’ he said. He was a mild-mannered, pleasant-faced man, with stubby hands.

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ I told him.

  ‘Well, I think I could do you a job,’ he said. He glanced then at one of the throwaways, and read it slowly, moving his lips. He frowned, and looked through the other material, and then looked back at me regretfully, and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘This is a tougher job than I thought. I don’t have the proper founts and—’