1953 - I'll Bury My Dead (25 page)

‘I’ll answer it,’ she managed to get out, and before he could stop her, she ran unsteadily to the door, opened it and went into the lobby. She tried to open the front door, her knees buckling under her. Then she saw the bolt had been pushed home and she jerked it back.

A tall, dark girl in a rain-soaked mackintosh stood on the step.

‘Mrs. English?’

Corrine nodded. Her breath whistled through her open mouth and she was trembling so violently she could scarcely stand.

‘I’m Lois Marshall, Mr. English’s secretary,’ Lois said. ‘May I come in?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Corrine gasped. ‘Yes, come in.’

Lois looked at her sharply as she stepped into the lobby.

‘Is anything the matter? You look frightened.’

‘Frightened?’ Corrine said huskily. ‘I’m terrified. There’s a man in there . . .’

Sherman came to the sitting room door, a .38 Police Special in his hand. He pointed it at Lois, and smiled.

‘Come in, Miss Marshall,’ he said quietly. ‘Unexpected, but nevertheless welcome.’

Corrine’s hand fluttered to her face.

‘I - I think he was going to strangle me,’ she said, and slid to the floor in a faint.

III

E
nglish lifted his hands.

‘Well, there you are, that’s the setup. How do you like it?’

Crail took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweating face.

‘This is bad, Nick,’ he said in a hard, tight voice.

‘A master of the understatement,’ Leon said from his armchair. ‘The man says it’s bad. Brother, it’s a lot worse than bad. The lid’s blown right off.’

English said curtly, ‘You haven’t been much help, Ed. I told you to watch that devil. I warned you he’d start something.’

‘Take it easy,’ Leon said. ‘We were watching him. I hired two of Black’s men, and they’re good. We haven’t let him out of our sight since noon. There are only two exits to Crown Court, as you know. I had them both covered. I remained in your apartment, and every half-hour I went along to Sherman’s apartment and listened outside the door. He was in there, playing his radio.’

‘But he shot Julie and Harry!’

‘Sure she didn’t make a mistake?’

‘No. She described him. It was Sherman all right.’

‘He couldn’t have left the building.’

‘Is he there now?’ Crail put in.

‘He should be. When Miss Marshall called me I left Burt and Horwill watching the entrance and the rear exit. I guess he’s there or they’ll know about it.’

English went over to the telephone, dialled Sherman’s number and listened to the steady ringing. After a while he hung up.

‘He doesn’t answer.’

‘That doesn’t prove he isn’t there,’ Leon said.

‘There’s only one thing you can do,’ Crail said. ‘Come down with me to headquarters and let us give the commissioner the whole story.’

English smiled sarcastically.

‘How he’ll love it! How Rees will love it! How the mayor will love it! Do you think one of them will believe me? Not a chance in hell!

‘He’s right,’ Leon said. ‘He can’t give himself up.’

‘But he’s got to give himself up!’ Crail said violently. He turned to English. ‘You can see that, can’t you? It’s your only hope of beating this rap.’

English shook his head.

‘Once they get me in their clutches, Sam, the rap’s unbeatable. There are too many of them against me.’

‘Nonsense!’ Crail exploded. ‘If you run away, you’re signing your death warrant! Let me fight for you, Nick. I give you my word I’ll put up a fight that’ll make legal history.’

‘He won’t be interested in legal nor any other history once he’s in the chair,’ Leon said. ‘You keep out of this, Crail. All you lawyers think about is fighting in court. We’re going to fight outside court, then if we don’t pull it off, you can take over.’

‘Yes,’ English said. ‘That’s how it’s going to be.’

‘But don’t you see,’ Crail said, pounding the table with his fist, ‘if you run now, you don’t give me a weapon with which to fight.’

‘Listen to that. Even in a situation like this,’ Leon said sarcastically, ‘the man refuses to end his sentence with a preposition.’

‘Shut up!’ Crail shouted, his fat face furious. ‘I know what I’m talking about! Nick, you’ve got to listen to me. Come down with me to headquarters, and let me tell the story. It’s your only way out.’

‘It isn’t,’ English said. ‘If I can get my hands on Sherman I’ll damn well choke a confession out of him!’

‘That’s talking,’ Leon said approvingly. ‘I’ll find him, you choke him.’

Crail nearly tore his hair.

‘Don’t listen to this crazy man, Nick! You must take my advice. Damn it! I’m the best lawyer in the country, and I’m telling you you must not run away! Do you imagine I’d tell you to give yourself up unless I was convinced there was no other out for you?’

English smiled.

‘Take it easy, Sam. I know your advice is sound, but you re forgetting what I’m up against. I’ve got too many enemies. Rees is only waiting for a chance to fix me, and I’ve given it to him. With me in jail, the D.A. knows Beaumont will fold up. It can’t be done. No matter how smart you are, you can’t beat the combination. It’s too strong. There’s only one way of beating this rap. We’ve got to find Sherman, and we’ve got to crack him so he’ll come clean. There is no other way.’

Crail started to say something, controlled himself and took a turn up and down the room. His face was pale, and his eyes feverish.

‘I know what you’re up against all right,’ he said, ‘and I still say you must give yourself up. Leave the fighting to me. If you don t, you’re a dead duck. All right, suppose you find Sherman, suppose you crack him, what good do you imagine that will do you? Once he’s in the box he’ll deny everything you’ve made him admit, and then where will you be? You’ve got to be the innocent man who has been framed. You’ve got to start that way, and an innocent man doesn’t run away. Leave it to me to make the jury believe you.’

‘It’s not good enough,’ English said. ‘Sorry, Sam, but I’m going to drop out of sight. Ed and I are going to find Sherman, and we’re going to fix him.’

Crail stood looking at English for a long moment, then he lifted his fat shoulders.

‘All right, but don’t forget I’ve warned you. I’ll do what I can when it comes to the trial, but you’re tying my hands.’

‘If you’ll lend me your hankie, I’ll cry,’ Leon said.

‘I’ve warned you,’ Crail went on, ignoring Leon. He picked up his hat and coat. ‘You know where to find me, Nick, when you want me. Good luck to you.’

English came over and shook hands.

‘Take it easy, Sam. I’ve handled my affairs all right up to now, and I think this is the way to play it.’

‘We’ll see. For one thing, where are you going to hide? This town’s like a hot stove already, and they’ll take it to pieces as soon as they know you’re ducked out of sight. It’s not as if you’ll go unrecognized. Nearly everyone in town knows what you look like.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ English said quietly. ‘I’ll get along. See you in court, Sam.’

When Crail had gone, English poured a little whisky into a glass and drank it. His face was hard and pale.

‘He’s right, you know Ed,’ he said, beginning to pace up and down. ‘If we can’t find Sherman, I’m sunk.’

‘We’ll find him, and we’ll make him talk.’

English glanced at the clock on the mantel.

‘I wish Lois would hurry up,’ he said, sitting down. ‘She’s been gone three quarters of an hour.’

Leon stretched his long legs toward the fire.

‘Gone where?’

To get Corrine. I didn’t tell Sam because he would have started fussing about the legal end, but Corrine must have been working with Sherman. If I could talk to her, I might get her to admit it. She could be a big help in upsetting Sherman. Once we’ve got Sherman in the box, Corrine’s evidence might unseat him.’

‘Let’s hope Sherman hasn’t thought of that angle,’ Leon said lazily, reaching for a pack of cigarettes.

English stiffened and half sat up.

‘What did you say?’

Leon glanced up, surprised at the sharpness of English’s tone.

‘I said I hope Sherman doesn’t realize Corrine could be used as a witness against him. Might be bad for her if he did.’

English got to his feet. The look in his eyes brought Leon out of his chair.

‘What’s biting you?’ Leon demanded.

‘I must be out of my mind!’ English said. ‘I let that girl go.’

‘So what? What are you worrying about?’

‘Suppose Sherman’s there? Suppose she walks into him?’

‘Suppose he isn’t?’ Leon said. ‘Suppose she doesn’t walk into him? Don’t take your clothes off, Nick. The chances are . . .’

‘To hell with chances!’ English returned. ‘I shouldn’t have let her go. That fella is a homicidal maniac! I’m going to see what’s happened to her.’

‘Now wait a minute,’ Leon said, his voice sharpening. ‘You’re staying right here. Don’t you know the cops are looking for you? How far do you think you’ll get? I’ll go. The chances are she’ll be here by the time I get back.’

‘I’m going with you!’

‘Then if she came back with Corrine she’d find no one here. Use your head, Nick!’

English hesitated, then shrugged.

‘I guess that’s right. Well, get going, Ed! For Pete’s sake, get there fast’

‘Leave it to me,’ Leon said, snatching up his hat and coat and plunging out of the room. He ran down the stairs into the street, struggling into his mackintosh as he went. It was still raining hard, and he splashed through puddles to reach his car, parked some yards from Lois’ walk-up. He drove rapidly. He had to cross town to reach Lawrence Boulevard. On the way he noticed an unusual number of prowl cars on the streets, and he guessed they were looking for English.

He rubbed his sweating face with the back of his hand, scowling. A fantastic situation, he thought. Nick English on the run! It was unbelievable. Nick English of all people, with his power, his money and his empire, to be hunted like an Eastside hoodlum!

He slightly increased his speed, but he was careful not to drive so fast that he would attract the attention of the prowl cars.

He reached Mason Street, turned into Addison Street, and slowed down as he looked for Lawrence Boulevard.

A prowl car coming in the opposite direction passed him. One of the cops was talking into the radio. Leon wondered uneasily if they had come from Corrine’s bungalow.

He drove into Lawrence Boulevard, his eyes alert for any sign of trouble, but the long street was rain swept and deserted. He pulled up some yards from Corrine’s bungalow, and got out of the car.

He stood for a moment in the driving rain to look up and down the street, then he walked toward the bungalow, noting there was a light on in the sitting room.

He went up the path and dug his thumb into the bell push. The chimes startled him, and he frowned, shaking his head. He waited several minutes, then rang again. No one answered the door, nor did he hear any sound of movement in the bungalow.

Cautiously he turned the door handle and pushed, but the door was locked. He rang again, then, after waiting a long minute, he stepped out of the shelter of the porch, onto the flowerbed to see if he could look into the lighted sitting room, but the curtains were too closely drawn, and he could see nothing.

He walked across the saturated lawn to the path leading to the back of the bungalow. Around the back he saw an overflowing garbage can and a big wooden box full of empty brandy bottles by the service entrance. When he turned the handle of the door he found the door unlocked.

He pushed it open and stepped into a small kitchen. His feet kicked against something that clanked noisily, and he cursed under his breath. He took from his pocket a small flashlight and turned it on.

The kitchen looked as if it hadn’t been touched in days. A pile of dirty dishes stood on the table; flour, dust and bread crumbs littered the floor. More brandy bottles occupied a distant corner, and there was a sour smell of curdled milk that made him wrinkle his nose. He opened the kitchen door, glanced into the dark lobby, listened, then moved forward, making no sound.

He reached the sitting room door, turned the handle and looked in. The room was empty. An overturned brandy bottle had emptied its contents on the rug before the dying fire. A broken glass lay in the hearth. He moved into the room, frowning, not liking the spilled brandy, feeling that here might be a hint of violence. He moved around the room, his eyes missing nothing, not knowing what he was looking for, but hoping to find something that would explain why the light was on and the room empty.

On the settee, pushed half out of sight, he saw something white, and he fished it out from under the cushion. It was a woman’s handkerchief; embroidered in the corner were the initials L.M. He shook his head. Lois must have persuaded Corrine to leave with her, he thought, and they had forgotten to turn off the light.

He looked around for the telephone to call English, to ask him if Lois had returned, when his eyes encountered the overturned bottle again. He frowned. Had Corrine been tight? he wondered. Had Lois’ ring startled her so she had upset the bottle? It seemed unlikely, and he went out into the lobby.

Facing him was a door, and he turned the handle and pushed it open. The room was in darkness, and he groped for the light switch and turned it on. The bedroom was as untidy as the kitchen. In the middle of the floor was a rose-colored silk wrap. Stockings, underclothes and a fur coat lay on the bed. The dressing table was a smother of face powder, and the mirror above it hadn’t been dusted for days. A bottle of hand lotion had been knocked over, and its white, creamy contents had made a messy puddle on the floor.

Leon grimaced, shrugging, and as he was about to turn off the light, he paused, his eyes narrowing.

A door opposite him attracted his attention. It was open a few inches, and fastened to one of the dress hooks screwed to the door was a red silk cord that ran over the top of the door and disappeared down the other side.

The cord looked taut - too taut, as if it were supporting a heavy weight Leon quickly crossed the room, pushed against the door, which opened sluggishly. Something heavy bumped against the other side as he pushed. He stepped into a blue and white bathroom, his heart skipping a beat. He was half-prepared for what he saw, but even at that his stomach gave a little heave as he looked at Corrine English’s dead face.