Mourn the Hangman Page 6

  He wanted to retch. It was as though a hand grasped at his belly and shook it until he was sick.

  He stared at Bricker’s desk. He began to see Bricker as his partner had been yesterday afternoon when he arrived in the office. Bricker had been nervous as hell. He hadn’t thought anything about it at the time. He’d thought it was because tight-mouthed little Prue Quincy had hot pants in the outer office.

  Bricker had practically sprinted back to his desk. Fumbled around while he talked. And locked something in his desk drawer.

  Calmly and coldly, Blake went around Bricker’s desk and sat down. He tested the drawer. It was still locked. His heart had begun to slug hard against his ribs.

  First, Blake decided to pick the lock. Then he shook his head. Hell no. Let Bricker know the truth. He had been through Bricker’s desk.

  With a sharp thrust of the heel of his hands, he broke the second of Bricker’s locks.

  But he didn’t have to go through Bricker’s desk. The papers were there just as Bricker had fumbled them together and shoved them into his drawer yesterday afternoon.

  One letter was from Dickerson. Terse, brief, it was dated Friday. It simply terminated any agreement between Dickerson and Bricker & Blake, Confidential Investigations.

  Dickerson had called it off on Friday!

  Sick at his stomach, Blake remembered how Bricker had smiled when Blake had said he was through on the Dickerson job.

  His fingers were trembling slightly as he read the other brief note. It was bold as hell. It was on Arrenhower stationery. It was written, scrawlingly, in ink and unsigned. Simply, “Enclosed. For value received.”

  7

  BLAKE HEARD the outer door of the office opened and closed.

  A smile, grim as the outskirts of hell, sat on his lips. He sat back with the two letters in his hands. He heard the footsteps across the outer office, heard the humming. Then the inner door was shoved open.

  The humming stopped. Bricker’s mouth stayed open. His eyes widened. The blood crept down out of his face.

  “Did you mess in your pants, Bricker?” Blake inquired. “I hope you didn’t. You’re a big boy now.”

  “What — are you doing here?”

  “Reading. Waiting. Wondering what in the hell. What made you do it?”

  Bricker took another step into the office. Plainly, he was sick at his stomach.

  “It was over, Steve. Finished. There wasn’t any choice.”

  “What do you mean, there wasn’t any choice? I’m your partner. I was your partner. You sold me out.”

  Bricker took another step forward. “Look, Steve. Look at it this way. For the past five years or so, it’s all been investigations of companies like Arrenhower’s, who’ve been cheating on the government. Right? The government couldn’t hit hard enough at profiteers and chiselers. Right? So they wanted Arrenhower investigated, because the small businessmen who supplied his raw materials wanted him investigated. Is that still right?”

  “You’re talking, Bricker.”

  Bricker dampened his lips. “But now there is a war scare. It’s like the early forties all over again. The government needs the big plants. To hell with investigations. They’re kissing the big boys again. The people being exploited can go to hell. If they howl, the government don’t like it. They’re unpatriotic; they’re practically Commies. So that’s what happened, Steve.”

  “Talk sense.”

  “But damn it, I am talking sense. Dickerson was in the driver’s seat. He had plenty of money and he hired us. Then all of a sudden, Arrenhower was crying to a few senators and the government withdrew its tacit support of Dickerson. And Dickerson was left holding the bag. Only we were left holding the bag. They came around to me. From Arrenhower. Somebody was working for Dickerson and I had just so long to make up my mind. I could tell them, Steve, or, well, damn it, they’d have put us under. And they could do it if they wanted to!”

  “That figures. But there is still something you’re not telling me.”

  Bricker was sweating. “Look, Steve. I know you’re upset. My God, it’s a wonder you ain’t crazy. Stella dead and all — ”

  “I know how bad you feel, Bricker. I heard you grievin’ when you came into the office.”

  “I am sorry, Steve. Sorry as hell. But the police are after you — ”

  “I’m still waitin’, Bricker. How about it? How much? Arrenhower’s men weren’t crude enough to threaten you. How much did they offer you — ” his jaw tightened; he felt the muscles in his belly constrict — “to see that I was in that plant yesterday?”

  “I tell you we’d have been finished!” Bricker whined. “License revoked. Clients gone. Trouble. Trouble.”

  “How much, Bruce?”

  “All right, Steve. Ten thousand. Prue and I talked it over — ”

  “Prue and you talked it over! Prue and you! Since when have you been partners with Prue Quincy?”

  “I had to talk to somebody! I was worried crazy!”

  “And I wasn’t around — ”

  “No, Steve, you weren’t around — ”

  “Bricker, you’re a son-of-a-bitch — ”

  “All right, Steve-”

  “You’re a dirty son-of-a-bitch — ”

  “I said, all right, Steve!”

  Blake stood up.

  “So you sold me out to Arrenhower? What would you have done if I’d been accidentally killed walking out of his plant? That happened to Roberts, remember? That’s how we got this job in the first place. Suppose I’d been hit by a hit-and-run driver. That happens, doesn’t it, Bricker? Especially to guys who don’t know they’ve been sold out! Would you have sent flowers, Bricker? Is that why you tried so hard to get me to go back over there yesterday?”

  Bricker mopped at his face with his handkerchief. “It wasn’t like that, Steve. They just wanted you out of the plant.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Lucky for me I was worried about Stella and got out of there before they could put Operation Exterminate to work!”

  Bricker came forward slowly. “Why don’t you go to the police, Steve? You didn’t kill Stella — ”

  “Do you think I can prove it?”

  “You don’t have to prove it! They’ve got to prove that you did!” Bricker cried. “You know that. At least, Steve, you’d be safe from Arrenhower — ”

  “What do you care if I’m safe from Arrenhower or not? You got your ten grand, didn’t you? Besides, you just got through saying you knew nothing was going to happen to me! Remember? Arrenhower didn’t want to hurt a hair on my head. Remember? Wasn’t that what you said?”

  “Yeah! Sure, Steve. That’s what I thought. God almighty, I’d have never gone along with them if I’d thought anything else. You know that!”

  “The world’s flat, Bricker. Ends at the North Pole. I know that.”

  “Stop, Steve. Good God, don’t you think it’s hard enough for me?”

  “I think it ain’t started being hard for you, Bricker. I think you got out of your warm bed, patted Prue Quincy’s tight little behind and came down here to destroy two letters that you meant to destroy last night. But I came along and you didn’t get a chance to. I think if that had happened, you’d have smiled in my face and told me you didn’t know a goddamned thing about it. You’d have smiled at me all the way down the river. Because that’s the kind of sneak you are!”

  “Be reasonable, Steve! I did what I thought I had to do. But I’m trying to make it up to you now. I want you to give yourself up to the police — you’ll be safe from Arrenhower — ”

  “Why don’t you give yourself up to the police? Then you’d be safe from me — ”

  “Stop it, Steve! Damn it. You shouldn’t have come here. You think that elevator operator didn’t recognize you? She called me instead of the police. That was a lucky break for you-”

  “Oh, I’m all over four leaf clovers. I got you on my side.”

  “I am on your side, Steve.”

  “Then may God help me — ”

/>   “Steve, I’m going to work for you. I didn’t know that Arrenhower was really after you — ”

  “How do you know now? How’d you find out?”

  “I tell you, I’m working for you. Dickerson called me — ”

  “Boy, that busy little telephone of yours!”

  “Stop hating me, Steve, and listen. Dickerson called and said you’d told him that one of Arrenhower’s private police was tailing you. Terravasi — ”

  Steve felt the jolt of that in his diaphragm. The wrongness again.

  “Who?” he said. “Who was tailing me?”

  Bricker’s gaze wavered. His face flushed slightly. “That’s — that’s what Dickerson said you told him. Terravasi — ”

  “You’re lying, Bricker. Again. I know. I didn’t tell Dickerson. I said that one of Arrenhower’s goons. He must have twenty men on that police squad of his. I didn’t mention any names.”

  He started slowly around the desk. Bricker gasped sharply and took a step backward.

  “Steve!” he whispered. He jammed his hand into his coat pocket. “Steve, stay where you are. One murder is enough. Stop right there. Don’t make me be guilty of one.”

  Steve looked at the outline of the small automatic in Bricker’s coat pocket. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to Bricker’s eyes. Bricker was smiling!

  Bricker began to talk, his voice more confident. “You’re in bad trouble, Steve. Trying to assault me wouldn’t help you any. Some day, you’ll thank me for stopping you like this.”

  “You’re still a son-of-a-bitch, Bricker. Even with that gun in your hand.”

  “Some day you’ll thank me, Steve.”

  “Yeah. When they strap me in that electric chair at Raiford, my last thoughts will be of you, Bruce. Believe me.”

  “I hate for it to be this way, Steve. Honest to God. But I know how wild you are. With Stella dead and all. I just can’t take any chances with you losing your head — ”

  Blake shrugged. “So you might have to shoot me. That would be terrible. You wouldn’t be able to sleep until you got back in bed with Prudence, would you? All right, Bricker. What do we do now? Have you called Ross Connell of Homicide, Dickerson of American Materials or your new boss, Arrenhower?”

  “I haven’t called anybody, Steve. You can get out of here. I’ll give you plenty of time.”

  “Everybody giving me a chance! Everybody loving me — you guys are going to love me to death.” He walked over and picked up his coat. He slid his arms into it and shrugged it up on his shoulders. “I think Stella was killed because somebody wanted to frame me for her murder. Even you look pretty sour to me, Bricker. It might be a good idea if you shot me now. You’d sleep a lot better if you know too much about this thing — ”

  “I don’t know a thing, Steve! So help me God. This — this other thing — with Arrenhower — that was business. I had to do what seemed best. But, my God! Stella was — my friend!”

  “Yeah. So was I.”

  “Steve — believe me, anything I can do to help you — ”

  “Oh, no. I think I’m here because of you. But you could help me a lot if you’d tell me how you knew Terravasi was tailing me.”

  “It’s the God’s truth, Steve. Dickerson told me.”

  “He couldn’t have! I didn’t mention that name. And Terravasi is working for Arrenhower!” Suddenly, he stared at Bricker. “Or he was working for Arrenhower!”

  Bricker dampened his lips. He shook his head. “No, Steve. Dickerson was hiring Terravasi, too. He worked for Dickerson — at Arrenhower’s — just like you did.”

  Blake’s shoulders sagged. “It don’t figure,” he whispered.

  Bricker stepped away from the door and gestured for Blake to pass through it on his way out. “But that’s the way it is, Steve. I guess Dickerson wanted to know what you were doing, too.”

  Blake moved slowly past Bricker. At the door he stopped. “Well, this is it, Bricker. Four years shot to hell. I don’t want you to think it hasn’t been wonderful. Because it hasn’t.”

  He turned and walked across the outer office. God, how his little part of the world had tumbled about him. But beside the grief and loneliness he felt at the loss of Stella, losing this partnership and this office and even the plans he’d had for it, meant nothing. To care about things was another luxury peculiar to the living, he told himself bitterly. And there was no place in him for anything except finding Stella’s killer.

  Manley had been in town. Bricker had sold him out. Dickerson had tossed him over. Arrenhower had discovered his secret. Those were the things Blake had found out. He had to stay free until he found out what those things meant. Maybe, if he could stay free long enough to get to Arrenhower in Tampa tonight….

  He was positive now that Stella had been killed as part of a plan to eliminate Steve Blake via a framed-up murder.

  He pushed through the stairway door and started walking slowly down the open iron stairs. Down. Around. Down. The building throbbed with its unaccustomed Sunday morning silence. At the ground floor, Blake stepped out the rear exit into the alley. He looked both ways. He smiled grimly and started walking east in the alleyway.

  At Third Street there was a current of churchgoers. Blake counted this as fortunate. He mingled with them, moving sedately in their midst to the corner of Central. He crossed the street then, remembering to wait for the green traffic signal. There was no sense in getting arrested for an ordinance violation.

  He still had the key to his room in the Regal Hotel. He wasn’t sure when a day ended in this scabby establishment, but he meant to find out.

  He climbed the stairs slowly. There was a clerk on duty in the second floor lobby, but he only looked up disinterestedly as Blake crossed the wide corridor and started up to the third floor landing.

  Daylight lent no enchantment to the dim hallway with its pockmarked doors closed and locked against theft, the shabby runner and the ceiling with the paper torn and peeling. At 305, he listened for the radio. But the room was silent. Maybe the girl — Sammy Anderson — could sleep now, in daytime and silence.

  At the door of 308, Blake fitted the key into the lock and sighed a little as the door swung open. He didn’t envy Sammy Anderson living in a place like this, but at least 308 would be a haven for a few hours more.

  He had already closed the door, hearing the lock click into place, before he was aware of the man across the room.

  He was sitting on a straight chair that was propped on two legs against the window that he’d opened to the morning sunlight. He was wearing a lightweight topcoat, and his gray felt hat was in his lap. He wasn’t a handsome man and he wasn’t a big man. He was about medium height, with sandy, thinning hair, a thin nose and tired blue eyes. He was the most patient man that Blake had ever known. His name was Ross Connell.

  He was a lieutenant in the homicide bureau of the Gulf City police.

  “I thought you were smarter,” Connell said mildly. “Why’d you come back here, Blake? You ought to know. First thing we do is put a check on hotel registers. How long’d you think it would be before we found out you’d been here?”

  Blake shrugged. “I thought you’d give me credit for more sense. I thought you’d figure I knew about the hotel check and would stay away.”

  “Yeah,” Connell said. “That’s what I thought you’d figure. That’s why I waited.”

  8

  AT THE police station, Lt. Ross Connell said no to everybody and everything. As if by some kind of magic, a crowd formed in the dusty room when Connell came in with Steve Blake, wife slayer. To them all, Connell gave the same curt negative answer. No reporters. No lawyers. No questions. And no pictures.

  But of course, they got pictures. Somebody spoke Blake’s name, softly and urgently. It was an old trick, but Blake fell for it. He turned, his haggard eyes hopeful. Lights flashed, shutters clicked and Connell said, “Damn it all to hell, I said no pictures!”

  The photographers must have gotten a dozen more shots. WIFE SLAYER BOOKE
D…. BELT, SHOESTRINGS, KNIFE TAKEN FROM CAPTURED KILLER…. WILL WIFE MURDERER EVER RECLAIM VALUABLES SHOWN BEING CHECKED BY POLICE SERGEANT? … ALLEGED KILLER, CAGED, ON WAY TO CHAIR.

  The temporary cell in city jail must have once been a narrow corridor leading nowhere. It was a few feet removed from the tank where the common drunks, vagrants and petty thieves were lodged. There was only room to stand between the cot and the obscenely scrawled walls. Behind the cot was a commode without wooden seat. Before the cot was a straight chair with a wicker bottom.

  Blake sat dispiritedly on the cot. His arms and legs were numb with the lassitude that had attacked him when the chase ended so abruptly in the room at the Regal Hotel.

  They had him where they wanted him now and there didn’t seem to be a hell of a lot of use to fight any more.

  He could hear them arguing and talking in the tank. At least, he thought, they had not put him in there where someone would have tried to talk to him. Murderers always get more attention than first offenders in some petty crime. He shook his head grimly. A kid on a first rap is tossed in a pen with perverts, goons and two-time losers. But a murderer is protected. He doesn’t have to associate with such scum. With an angry shake of his head, Blake dismissed that vagary. Undoubtedly some man had been worrying about that since the first jail became overcrowded for the first time.

  Finally, he sank back on the cot and stared at the ceiling. Such ugly ceilings, he thought. He’d been meeting the poorest type ceilings lately.

  He let his thoughts move painstakingly back over everything he had seen, discovered and been told since yesterday afternoon at five o’clock. But no matter how he figured it, the thing looked like a murder frame. Arrenhower had gotten to Bricker. Bricker would sell his mother for greenbacks and Bricker had sold out to Arrenhower. Arrenhower had planned a perfect murder frame. Hell, Bricker might even have told Arrenhower of the violent and drunken quarrel between Stella and Steve the Saturday before!

  If that were true, Blake thought, he might as well relax. He was going to grow mighty old just staring at ceilings even filthier than this one.