1953 - I'll Bury My Dead (8 page)

‘You won’t need one,’ Morilli returned, picked up the two bundles, checked the amount with a quick flick of his fingers and stowed them away in his overcoat pockets.

‘Of course the D.A. might not trust your report,’ English said, going back to the desk and sitting down. ‘He might send up one of his people to check the room, and he might find the stain.’

Morilli smiled.

‘I like to kid myself that my service to you, Mr. English, is a pretty good one. The stain doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve fixed it.’ He moved over to the door. ‘Well, I guess I mustn’t hold you up any longer. I’d better get over to the stationhouse and write my report.’

‘So long, Lieutenant,’ English said. When Morilli had gone, English drew in a deep breath. ‘Well, I’ll be double damned!’ he said softly. ‘The blackmailing sonofabitch!’

V

F
rom the door of the restaurant, English spotted the senator sitting alone at a corner table, his thin elfish face puckered in a frown of impatience and irritation.

Senator Henry Beaumont was sixty-five years old, small, wiry and thin. His face was wrinkled and the colour of old leather, and his eyes were steel-grey and as sharp as needles. He was a man of insatiable ambition; his ultimate aim was to become president. He had started life washing bottles in a drug store, and he was inordinately proud of the fact. World War I had given him the chance he was looking for, and he proved himself an able leader of men, coming out of the Army with the rank of major and two minor decorations. By chance he had been taken up by the boss of the Democratic machine ruling Chicago at that time, and had been given the job of overseer of highways in recognition of his war service. It was while he was holding this appointment that he met Nick English, who was trying to finance his gyroscope compass. Beaumont introduced him to his circle of wealthy businessmen. It was through Beaumont’s introduction that English financed his compass. When English finally settled in Essex City, he remembered Beaumont and wrote to him, offering to finance him if he cared to run for the post of county judge. Beaumont jumped at the offer, and with English’s money behind him, he was elected.

English was quick to realize that as his business expanded and his kingdom grew, it was essential to have a powerful friend in the political machine. Although Beaumont was no ball of fire, he was at least sharply aware of his debt to English, and was willing to pull strings when English wanted them pulled.

The next move, English had decided, was to get Beaumont elected senator. The opposition was stiff, but again with English’s money and coupled with his ruthless determination, Beaumont became senator. Now, he was to come up for reelection in another six months’ time, and English knew Beaumont was uneasy as to what the results would be.

The maître d’hôtel came hurrying over to English as he stood in the doorway, and deferentially led him down the long aisle to the senator’s table. As he followed the maître d’hôtel, English was aware that everyone in the luxury restaurant had stopped talking and was looking at him with curious eyes.

He was used to being stared at, but today he felt those stares were accentuated by something more than curiosity. The news of his brother’s suicide had caused a sensation, and people were already beginning to gossip about the reason for the suicide.

The senator half rose from his seat at English joined him.

‘I thought you were never coming,’ he said in his shrill, waspish voice.

English gave him a hard, cold look and sat down.

‘I got held up,’ he said shortly. ‘What are we going to eat?’

While the senator was choosing his meal, the maître d’hôtel slipped an envelope into English’s hand.

‘This came for you about ten minutes ago,’ Mr. English, he murmured.

English nodded, ordered a rare steak and green peas and half a bottle of claret, then ripped open the envelope and glanced at the scrawled message.

Everything under control. Corrine put on a beautiful performance. Verdict:
suicide while mind was unbalanced. There’ll be no kickback.
Sam.

English slipped the note into his pocket, a hard little smile lighting his face.

‘What’s this I hear about your brother?’ the senator asked as soon as the maître d’hôtel had gone away. ‘What the hell was he playing at?’

English looked at him, a surprised expression on his face.

‘Roy’s been heading for a breakdown for weeks now,’ he said quietly. ‘I warned him he was working too hard. Well, it got too much for him, and he took the easy way out.’

The senator snorted. His leathery complexion turned a dark red.

‘Don’t feed me that crap!’ he said fiercely, keeping his voice down. ‘Roy never did a hard day’s work in his life. What’s this about blackmail?’

English shrugged.

‘There’s bound to be all kinds of rumours,’ he said indifferently. ‘There are plenty of people who would like to make a stink out of it. You don’t have to get hot under the collar. Roy shot himself because he was worried about his business. That’s all there’s to it.’

‘Is it?’ Beaumont said, leaning forward to glare at English. ‘There’s talk he tried to blackmail some woman, and he was going to lose his licence. How true is that?’

‘Every word of it,’ English said, ‘but no one’s going to say so unless he wants a lawsuit with me about it.’

Beaumont blinked and sat back.

‘Like that, is it?’ he said, a look of admiration coming to his eyes.

English nodded.

‘The police commissioner started this. I’ve had a word with him. He’s not taking it any further. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Beaumont.’

The waiter brought the steaks, and after he had gone, Beaumont said, ‘Maybe I haven’t anything to worry about, but you have. This’ll kill the hospital business.’

English cut his steak, then glanced up.

‘What makes you say that? If the commission thinks they can double-cross me, they have another thing coming.’

‘Now look, Nick, you’ve got to be reasonable,’ Beaumont said anxiously. ‘You can’t get away from it. This rumour is going the rounds, and it’s a damned ugly rumour. You know what the commission’s like. They’ll throw a fit if I tell them you want the hospital named after you.’

‘Then don’t tell them until this has blown over. It’ll blow over in a few weeks.’

‘But they’ve called a meeting next week to choose a name for the hospital.’

‘Tell them to postpone the meeting,’ English said, and reached for his wineglass. ‘This is damned good claret. You should try it instead of drinking Scotch at every meal.’

‘Never mind the claret,’ Beaumont said, shifting uneasily on his chair. ‘The meeting can’t be postponed. You know that as well as I do.’

‘It’s going to be postponed,’ English said. ‘Who built the hospital? Who financed it? What do you mean - the meeting can’t be postponed? I say it’s going to be postponed, and you can tell them I said so!’

Beaumont ran his finger around his collar.

‘Now look, Nick, you can’t treat the commission like that. They’ve called the meeting, and you can’t do anything about it. You can’t treat them like a bunch of schoolboys. Why, damn it! They’re the most important and influential people in this city.’

English grinned.

‘Are they? That’s very funny. Then why couldn’t they finance the hospital? Why did they have to come to me? Important? Don’t make me laugh! They’re a bunch of stuffed shirts. Now listen to me, Beaumont, you are going to see Rees and tell him to call the meeting off. Tell him I said so. If he tries to kick, tell him I’ll withdraw my support. See how he likes that. He’s in this up to his neck, and so are the rest of them. They are committed up to a million and a half dollars. Where’s the money coming from without my guarantee? Let them work that out. Do you think the banks would advance all that dough on the security that bunch of dumb clucks can offer? Not damned likely! The meeting is to be postponed until I say it can go ahead. Do you understand?’

The senator started to say something, then caught the look in English’s eyes. He lifted his shoulders in a despairing shrug.

‘Well, all right, I’ll see what I can do, but I warn you, Nick, they won’t like it.’

English laughed.

‘Do you think I care what those deadbeats like or dislike? To hell with them!’

‘Now look, Nick,’ Beaumont said, leaning forward. ‘I know you’re flying high, and I admire you for it. I’m flying high myself. I know you’re not going to stop at this hospital business. You have other ideas. You’re going to make Essex City remember you. I’ve been watching you for a long time now, and I’m getting to know your methods. There’s the Westside bridge project you have your eyes on, and if I remember rightly, you’ve been thinking about building an opera house. Well, okay. A hospital, a bridge and an opera house is pretty good going for one man, but the commission won’t like it. They’ve lived here a damn sight longer than you have. Their fathers, their grandfathers and their great grandfathers were here long before you were ever thought of. Money isn’t everything. In this straight-laced city a sound reputation is more important than money, and scandal is as lethal as poison gas to anyone who gets into the limelight. Up to now, you’ve got by, but watch out. Rees, the D.A. and the commission hate your guts. If they can pin anything on you, they will, and if they do, bang will go your hospital, your bridge and your opera house.’

English pushed aside his plate, and took out his cigar case. He offered it to Beaumont.

‘Don’t worry about me, Beaumont,’ he said quietly, ‘I’m big enough to look after myself.’

‘Maybe you are, but I’m hooked up with you, and if anything happens to you, it’ll automatically happen to me,’ Beaumont said gravely. ‘I can’t afford to stick my neck out, even if you can.’

‘What’s the matter with you - cold feet?

Beaumont shrugged.

‘Call it what you like. I’ve got to be careful. Are you sure you’ve taken care of this suicide business?’

‘That angle’s all right, but there’s another angle that may hit the headlines tomorrow. Roy had a secretary, a girl named Mary Savitt. She also committed suicide last night.’

Beaumont’s eyes bulged.

‘Good grief! Why?’

English smiled grimly.

‘Maybe she was also overworking.’

‘Do you think anyone’s going to believe that? What were these two to each other? Was it a suicide pact?’

‘That’s what it could be called, but there’s no proof. If we get a break, no one’s going to connect the girl with Roy. Morilli’s leaning over backward on my side. He cost me five grand this morning.’

Beaumont swallowed convulsively. His Adam’s apple flopped about like a frog on a hot stove.

‘You gave Morilli five thousand? Suppose he tells the commissioner? This could be a trap, Nick. Bribing a police officer is a serious charge. That’s the kind of charge they would love to hang on you. It’d finish you.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ English said curtly. ‘Morilli’s all right. He’s got ambitions, and he knows by sticking with me, he stands a chance to get somewhere. Anyway, he can’t prove I’ve given him anything. I paid him in cash, and the bills can’t be traced. He pushed back his seat. Well, I’ve got to get back to the office. Don’t worry your brains about this. It’ll blow over.’

Beaumont got to his feet.

‘But what made these two kill themselves?’ he asked. ‘There must have been some reason.’

English signed the check the waiter laid on the table and left a liberal tip.

‘Sure, there’s a reason,’ he returned. ‘And I intend to find out what it is.’

VI

A
few minutes after six o’clock, the same evening, and after English had finished dictating the last letter of the day, Lois put her head around the door to tell him Sam Crail was waiting, and wanted to see him.

English glanced at his wristwatch, frowning. He had promised to take Julie to a movie, and then drive her to the Garden of Eden Club where she sang. He had promised to pick her up at half past six.

‘Send him in,’ he said, ‘and get off home yourself. You should have been gone hours ago.’

‘Yes, Mr. English,’ Lois said, and turned to beckon to Crail, who was impatiently waiting behind the barrier.

‘Come on in, Sam,’ English said as he caught sight of him. ‘You’d better ride down with me. I promised Julie I’d take her to a movie tonight, and I don’t want to be late.’

‘I don’t imagine you’ll want to go to any movie when you’ve heard what I’m going to tell you,’ Crail said, lowering his bulk into an armchair. ‘Sorry, Nick, but you may even want to call Julie and break the date.’

English stared at him.

‘It’ll have to be pretty important for that. This is the second time I’ve stood Julie up this week. What is it?’

‘I’ve opened Roy’s deposit box,’ Crail said. ‘There’s twenty thousand dollars in it - in cash.’

English gaped.

‘Twenty thousand?’

‘Yep, in hundred bills. How do you like that?’

‘Well, for God’s sake! Where did he get it from?’

Crail shook his head.

‘Search me. I thought you’d want to know right away.’

‘Yes.’ English stood staring down at the carpet, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand while his eyes brooded, then, shrugging, he went over to the telephone, lifted it and said, ‘Get me Miss Clair’s apartment, will you, Lois?’

Crail reached out and helped himself to a cigar.

‘I could do with a drink if there’s one within sight,’ he said. I’ve had quite a day.’

English motioned to the big cellarette that stood against the wall.

‘Help yourself.’ Then into the telephone he went on, ‘Julie? Nick. I’m held up again. Yeah, I’m sorry, but I can’t make that movie. That’s the way it is. Sam’s just come in with some news - about Roy. I’ll tell you later. Sorry, Julie. I seem to be always standing you up. What are you going to do? Look, would you like Harry to go with you? He’s still in the office, and he’d be tickled pink.’ He listened for a moment, frowning, then said, ‘Well, all right. I thought maybe you would like a little company. I’ll meet you at the club at nine. So long for now.’