by P. N. Elrod
Bobbi got out with me. I checked both ends of the street, but didn’t see anything remotely resembling a bookie’s collector. We hurried up to Evan, who took no notice of our arrival. A strong fist closed around my gut and more than anything I wanted to take Bobbi and get out of there.
Evan began to shake his head. A thin keening sound rose from his huddled form and put my back hairs up. Bobbi looked from him to me, her face dead white with alarm.
“What… ?”
I spread my hands a little and gestured at the house. Answers would be in there, not with Evan. We went inside and then I told Bobbi in no uncertain terms to stay on the bottom landing while I went up. She didn’t argue and kept an eye on Evan.
The stairs creaked with each quick step. In other parts of the house the tenants made their noises of living: a baby gurgled somewhere in the back, on my left a radio blared an ad for a cold remedy. Drifting down from the floors above was the hiss and smell of frying cabbage and bacon. I could not sort out Adrian’s individual sounds from the others yet.
The door to the Robley flat was wide open and the lights were on. Now I was able to focus down and heard Adrian’s quiet breathing and nothing else. The background of the flat’s front room was unchanged:
Evan’s portrait still leaned against a far wall and a few empty beer bottles cluttered a low table.
New details impressed themselves into the overall picture: some packages carelessly dropped on a chair, a glove on the table, another on the floor, her purse on its side, a tortoiseshell comb fallen from it.
Sandra was on her back in the center of the room, her head turned to one side, her eyes and mouth slightly open.
Adrian was on one knee next to her. He slowly looked up as I entered. He saw me and forgot me because the shock had firmly closed over him. His face was utterly blank and the physical wall I’d seen and felt once before was back, perhaps this time to stay. Walls had their uses, and shutting out unbearable pain was one of them.
He turned to her and with a steady hand gently stroked back a lock of her russet hair. Blood came away on his fingers, but he didn’t seem to notice.
7
HE didn’t respond to his name, not at first, and I didn’t want to have to go in and pull him out.
“She’s dead,” he stated faintly.
“I know, Alex. Please come away.” God, it was surprising how calm I sounded. “Alex. Now.”
His hand stopped, hovering just above her still face. I thought he was going to shut her eyes. The fingers drew back. Delicately. He abruptly stood up and swung toward me, or rather the door. I moved aside to let him pass and listened as he went downstairs. Bobbi asked him a question and got no answer. It was a very strong wall. I couldn’t blame him for it.
I backed out and followed, utterly heartsick and with knees like jelly.
“Jack?”
Bottom of the stairs. Bobbi’s arms. Her warmth, her living warmth. I said something to her, answering her question, and held on to her a little longer. When the worst was over, I was just able to talk.
“This is going to be a mess. Do you want to go home?”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You haven’t really seen anything. The police—”
She shook her head firmly. “I need to be here.”
And I was the one who needed her. I pulled her close again, then reluctantly broke away to knock on the super’s door down the hall. He was a little peach-colored man with flyaway gray hair clinging to the back of his scalp. I told him that I had an emergency and needed to use his phone. He looked at me and at Bobbi standing forlornly next to the stairs. He seemed about to ask something, then shrugged and let me in. He got all the answers he needed as he listened to my end of the conversation.
The first to come were two uniformed cops; a few minutes later Escott arrived. I’d called him first, but he had the longer drive. Before the uniforms knew he was there he slipped inside the building and was upstairs for a quick look. He came down more slowly, his face somber.
“What do you know?” he asked.
In low tones we told him what we could of the evening, which didn’t amount to much, as far as I could see. Just as I finished, one of the cops came up and asked for our story. His partner was trying to question Evan, who was still huddled out on the steps shaking his head. Adrian watched them both, his face expressionless. I repeated it all again, but more simply, and Bobbi corroborated. By the time he’d finished taking notes a car with two detectives pulled up.
The cop went out to talk to them, then held the door as a well-built man in expensively cut clothes stepped out.
Escott glanced at me, one brow raised.
“Thought it’d be a good idea to call someone we know,” I said.
“It cannot hurt,” he agreed.
I’d specifically talked to Lieutenant Blair despite the fact that the last time I’d seen him he’d been one short step away from booking me for murder. We’d worked things out, sort of, but he had no memory of how I’d convinced him to let me go. He only knew we were friends. At the time I’d felt like a heel for artificially inducing the friendship, but now it seemed more like a good investment.
Blair walked around Evan, looked Adrian up and down, then came over to us. We didn’t shake hands, it wouldn’t have been appropriate. He nodded at Escott.
“Charles. Thought you might turn up since Jack phoned it in.”
Escott nodded back. “I’m here solely as moral support.”
“Sure you are.” He went to one side with the cop who questioned me and listened to him, then made the pilgrimage upstairs. More uniforms appeared and followed, keeping emerging tenants out of the way and asking more questions.
Hours later they were still asking them, but not making much progress. They’d taken over the super’s flat. He didn’t seem to mind; it was the most excitement he’d seen since Lindbergh landed.
Evan sat in the borrowed kitchen, his eyes hollow and staring at nothing. He was as cold sober as the stale cup of coffee in front of him, and still in shock. Adrian was the same, but able to respond to things in a slow way. Some time earlier he’d formally identified the body, his voice flat and soulless as he pronounced her name. Now he stood bolt upright with his arms crossed and his back pressed to a squat icebox, watching Evan, but not really seeing him.
Escott, Bobbi, and I had found a corner and quietly talked. I filled him in on the fight with Francis Koller and Tourney and all the business of the portrait and some of the business with Barb Steler. The latter had been judiciously edited since Bobbi was listening, but I would have done that anyway.
“And you say he must have gone out for cigarettes?” Escott murmured, carefully not looking at Adrian.
“That’s what he had in his hand when he drove up. I know what you’re thinking, Charles.”
“It’s just a thought, and certainly not the only possibility open to us. but all have to be considered.”
“Let’s try considering something else,” said Bobbi. “He may have had the time to do it—it was at least an hour between us leaving with Evan and getting to Alex’s—but you’re short on motive.”
“For Adrian, but motives may also be found in the best of families.” Escott’s eyes flicked in Evan’s direction. Bobbi gave him a look that would have burned through steel. He took it stoically enough but did not retract the suggestion. “The police are well aware of that fact and are of the opinion that she did know her killer. From the little Lieutenant Blair has shared with me—”
Her eyes flared again. “But he couldn’t—look at the poor man—”
“I know, but it might be interpreted as guilt, mightn’t it?” Before she could reply he mitigated it all with a brief, dismissive gesture. “I’m only looking at this from their point of view. As yet, neither they nor we have enough data to work with, a circumstance I am more than willing to remedy. When the police are finished questioning the other tenants, I’ll have a turn. Jack, you might find a conversation with Lieut
enant Blair to be profitable.”
“He’ll be wanting to talk with us anyway. I’ll see what I can get.”
“Good man.”
He started to say something else, but there was a muted commotion in the hallway and all eyes except Evan’s turned toward the open door. Two beefy men were thumping heavily down the stairs. No one spoke as they carried the long wicker basket past the door and out into the night. I felt Bobbi’s slim hand grip my arm tightly and she gulped breath back as the reality of Sandra’s death hit her all over again. Bobbi had taken it all quietly enough when I’d broken the news to her, but there’s a big difference between hearing and seeing.
She continued to hold on to my arm and stare long after they’d gone. Her reaction troubled Escott as well, and he covered the back of her other hand lightly with his long fingers, waking her from it.
“I’m very sorry,” he told her.
Bobbi had been dry eyed until now. Escott’s compassion tipped things for her and her lips trembled and twisted. I offered my handkerchief and she dabbed at the tears that suddenly spilled out. It was all very quiet and over in a minute; she’d wait for more privacy before really letting go with her grief.
Lieutenant Blair had followed the body down and now stood in the doorway, his dark gaze traveling and pausing on each of us. He murmured something to the cop who was watching things, and both of them moved in on Evan. Blair sat at the table across from him while the other cop took Adrian to one side, just out of earshot.
Blair spoke to Evan for several minutes. Evan could only shake his head mechanically to the gentle questions. In his bright and totally ridiculous clothes he looked like a sad-faced clown left stranded by his circus. Blair gave up for the time being and crossed to Adrian to hear his brief version of events. Then it was our turn.
Unasked, Escott slipped quietly away and Blair took his place in our corner. We went through it all again, but no amount of talk could change the facts or soften them. He was interested in Evan’s connection with Dimmy Wallace and the scuffle Adrian and I had with his stooges. He noted it all down, but kept his conclusions to himself.
Bobbi asked to be excused and disappeared into the bathroom. It was more diplomacy than body need or wanting to repair her makeup. She knew I could get more out of Blair alone and I silently blessed her brains and tact.
Blair followed her departure and turned his attention back to me. “Bad business, her getting involved in another murder so close to the one during her radio broadcast. And before that, it was those two at the Nightcrawler Club. Death seems to follow that young woman.”
“That’s why I’d like to keep this short, I want to take her home as soon as I can.”
“Of course. Now, what can you tell me?” He put on the kind of manner that invites confidences, but I wasn’t having any because I’d already told him everything.
“You know as much as I do, Lieutenant. I only met this bunch a couple of days ago. God knows I want to help, but I really can’t add anything more.”
“What about the names of their other friends at this party? They might provide us with more information on the Robleys’ personal lives.”
“There’s Reva Stokes and Leighton Brett. There’s also a tough named Dreyer who was at the party. He took a few swings at Evan over a crap game …”
We went around on the business for a while until I was repeating myself. Unlike our last meeting I was trying to cooperate, as this time I had nothing to hide.
“What now?” I asked when he looked ready to end the interview.
“Now we try and get Mr. Robley upstairs to see if anything was stolen.”
“In his condition?”
“We haven’t much of a choice. You only just met him and Mr. Adrian has stated he hasn’t been here in some months. We just want him to take a quick look. If there was a robbery it will affect our investigation.”
From that angle I could see the sense of it, but before he could start, another uniform came in and whispered in his ear. I heard it quite clearly but pretended not to. Blair looked at me, cocking his head slightly.
“Well, you speak of the devil and watch what happens. Miss Smythe’s been making some phone calls.”
Bobbi had long since emerged from the bathroom and was standing protectively close to Evan. “I felt I had to. They are friends of the family.”
“That’s all right,” he assured. “I’m glad you did.” He sent the cop off and a moment later Reva Stokes and Leighton Brett walked tentatively in. Reva looked shaken and was very white except for the red rims of her eyes, and she was hanging on to her fiance like a lifeline. Brett had his arm around her and simply looked grim. Bobbi went to them and spoke in discreet tones, gesturing to Evan in explanation. Reva shook her head—in sadness, not refusal—found some strength within herself, and went over to take Evan’s hand.
At this touch, he slowly raised his lost gaze. The muscles under his skin twitched a little, and he seemed ready to cry as he looked at her. I was hoping he would. He needed some kind of release; his blank silence was much more disturbing than Adrian’s.
I glanced around for him, but at some point he’d left the room.
Blair introduced himself to Brett and explained the need for Evan to go up and see if anything was missing.
“The man hardly knows where he is, how can you expect him to help you?”
Diplomacy came easy for Blair, but then he was used to handling all kinds of belligerents in his job, and Leighton Brett was just another voice in the crowd. “He’s the only one who can do it. I would appreciate your help.” He was polite, but there was an edge to his voice even Brett could not ignore. Growling and sullen, he went to Reva and told her what was wanted.
As though acting as translator, Reva spoke to Evan and somehow broke through the fog that was holding him. He nodded listlessly and the chair scraped over the faded linoleum as he found his feet. Blair proceeded and said nothing as Brett and I followed the slow parade upstairs.
A chalk outline and a little blood on the floor were the only indications of what all the fuss was about, unless you wanted to count the fingerprint dust everywhere. Evan identified Sandra’s purse and nodded to confirm that the smaller change purse that would have carried her money was gone.
“Two dollars,” he said clearly.
“What about two dollars?” asked Blair.
Evan searched his mind for the answer. “She doesn’t carry more than two dollars. We don’t have much, you see—”
“Is anything else missing? Did you keep any money or valuables?”
“We don’t have much, you see.” Evan was drifting again. He wan dered around the room, blinking at the familiar now become horrible and unable to absorb the change. “You see …” He stared at the stacks of oil paintings in their storage slots against the wall.
Brett bulled his way past the cop at the door. “That’s enough, the man needs a doctor, not pointless questions. If you’re through—”
“Yes, I’m through, get him out of here.”
Evan was now looking at the outline on the floor, a place we had all carefully stepped around. He was breathing faster, the air chopping in and out of his lungs in silent gusts. His mouth sagged shapelessly and a line of spittle spilled over the right corner in a fine thread. He began that terrible keening again, hopeless and frightening to hear.
Brett stepped forward to take his arm and the smaller man shook him off with unexpected strength. He rocked slightly from the waist, as though from cramp, and the keening grew louder.
The uniform next to me was gaping. He was young and had never seen anything like it before. I nudged him out of the spell. “You got a doctor here?”
His attention shifted reluctantly. “Yeah, maybe he’s still—”
“Then go get him and make sure he’s got his bag. Move.”
He moved, clattering down in his regulation shoes.
Brett tried to guide Evan out again, talking to him in a low voice. Evan stayed rooted to his spot an
d shook him off again. I stepped forward and motioned Brett to keep back. I looked into Evan’s straining face, but couldn’t quite reach his eyes. He wasn’t seeing me or anything else in the room but the pathetic marks on the floor where his sister had fallen and left him forever.
I called his name, loudly. He matched it with more sound, which was beginning to rise into a full scream. I tried to focus onto him, but it was like squeezing quicksilver; he just wasn’t there. He was lost in a place 1 could not follow. Sending men into madness is one thing; bringing them out of it was another and beyond even my powers at the moment.
Evan’s scream died away for want of breath. No one touched him. We were waiting for him to go berserk, for him to start breaking things up so he could be restrained, but nothing like that happened. We could do nothing but wait, and it seemed like forever before a thin man with a black bag appeared. No one needed to explain what was needed. He quickly dug into the bag and prepared a syringe.
“Lieutenant Blair, make sure he doesn’t kill me,” was all that he said. He approached Evan as though the man were an unexploded bomb.
We moved in a little closer as the doctor slid the shoulder of Evan’s coat back and freed one arm. With a pair of scissors, he cut open a section of the shirtsleeve below the elbow, swabbed the bare skin with cotton, and sank the needle into the vein. Evan never knew he was there.
It must have been a pretty massive shot, for within a few minutes his staring eyes began to glaze over and his heart and breathing slowed. As the tension leached out of his muscles, it seemed to do the same for the rest of us and we all visibly relaxed to a certain degree.
The doctor put his stuff away. “He’s going into the hospital, Lieutenant, at least for overnight observation.”
“No objections,” said Blair. He mopped at the sweat on his forehead with a silk handkerchief.
“My fiancee and I are his friends, we want to take care of him,” Brett offered.
The doctor shook his head. “He needs professional help for now. You can check on him in the morning if you like.”
