Assignment — Stella Marni (15 page)

The first of the two seamen said something in Polish, gave a brief command. The captain answered angrily. The second seaman took out a short length of pipe and replied in harsh, contemptuous tones.

"I can do nothing," Grozni said to Durell. "They order you to turn the old man loose."

The two seamen were advancing down the passage, sure of themselves. One reached for Albert Marni and flung him aside against the bulkhead. Durell caught the man's arm and twisted, felt bones wrench and muscles tear. The man screamed and Durell shoved his arm high up behind his back and slammed him forward, head first into the steel wall. The man collapsed. Then a massive arm clamped around Durell's throat as the second man leaped on him. His head was snapped back with terrific force. The light faded before his eyes. He let himself go, relaxing suddenly, reversing the thrust of his weight, twisting at the same moment. The man's convulsed face blurred before his eyes. Durell slammed a fist at the open mouth, jabbed a thumb into the corded neck. The grip on his throat slipped and he twisted his head sharply, dropping out of it entirely. His legs were unsteady for a moment and he tripped over the first seaman, crumpled against the bulkhead. The other shouted for help and Durell hit him in the throat, heard the whistle of a blow slamming past his head, and drove a foot into the seaman's belly. The other made a sound like a stricken horse and dropped his steel pipe and reeled away.

Grozni stood still, looking at Durell. Albert Marni looked like a tiny scarecrow in his shapeless blue suit, his thin neck like a pipestem sticking from his oversized white shirt collar. Grozni wet his lips.

"You are an expert. Not an ordinary policeman, eh?"

"Think what you like." Durell's neck ached. "But thank you for not interfering."

"I have seen men trained to kill with their bare hands. Like those two. And you, as well. You are their opposite here, eh?"

Durell considered him. "If your family in Gdynia were free, Captain Grozni, free and safe, would you come over to our side?"

"Instantly. But that is impossible."

"Not entirely so," Durell said quickly. "Perhaps we can help." He watched a small light gleam into life in the captain's eyes. "You will hear from me. Have courage, Captain. And thank you again." He turned to the old man. "Come along, Mr. Marni."

The old man nodded, swallowed, tried to move a step forward, and suddenly collapsed. Durell heard the sound of running feet slapping the passageway behind them. He had not forgotten the officer named Stepov. With a nod to the captain, he picked up Albert Marni's frail body and walked to the open cargo hatch and strode down the gangway to the pier. Albert Marni felt limp and dead in his arms.

It was raining again. A heavy overcast made the city drab and gloomy at two o'clock on that November afternoon. Lights in the windows of Manhattan's tall buildings made a bright pattern against the premature dusk. Durell stood in the hospital corridor with Tom Markey, the sub chief in Blossom's FBI district office. A nurse went by, while Markey chewed his pipe and appreciated the slide and rustle of her nylon uniform. When the nurse had turned the corner of the corridor, he said bluntly:

"Don't think we haven't been on the ball, Sam. We've been well aware of the
Boroslav
and the passengers she might haul out of the harbor. As a matter of fact, we've searched the ship twice. Hell, we've known about this ring operating in New York for over six weeks. You don't have twenty-three Hungarian nationals, seventeen Poles, and four Rumanians disappear just like that. Knowing something exists, however, and proving it in court are two different things. We know there's a pipeline between the New American Society and ships like the
Boroslav.
The people on the
Boroslav
could have been tipped off we were coming to search the ship, of course. They could have played the old shell game with Albert Marni — it's easy enough when you don't have enough men to dragnet a ship like that. More damned holes to hide a man in than you'd suspect Anyway," Markey sighed, "we didn't find him. How you happened to get him so easily is another story. But don't think because an amateur like Frank Greenwald seemingly got a line on the ring when we didn't that we haven't been working on it. We've known everything Frank stumbled on for weeks. But it's proof we need, man. Something to stand up in court." Markey looked shrewdly at Durell. "How come you did find him like this, Sam?"

"Marni? I think they wanted me to find him. They knew I was coming. Somebody tipped them off. It has to be somebody in the New American Society."

Markey chewed his pipestem. "Damion?"

"I don't believe so. Otherwise, why did he mention the
Boroslav
at all? He could have kept his mouth shut about it." Durell shook his head and stared broodingly down the quiet hospital corridor. "No, either somebody has Damion's phone bugged, or his office is tapped with a mike somewhere."

Markey smiled wryly. "We've got bugs all through the place. I told you, we've been working this case. We've got your conversation with Damion down on tape, all of it. But our office didn't think anything would come of your trip to the
Boroslav,
so we didn't interfere. That doesn't rule out the chance that somebody else put a bug in Damion's office and trapped you on the ship when you went there." Markey frowned. "Something we might have overlooked. We'll have another look-see."

"What good would that do?" Durell objected. "We're not ready for a move as overt as that yet. You said yourself you've been digging in this for six weeks, with nothing to take to court yet. But I agree with you that the New American Society has a funny smell to it. On the surface, it seems okay. I think Damion is honest enough, dedicated to his job. But it's the other members, especially the officers, who interest me. I've got Tony Isotti digging into it."

"We've done all that," Markey said quietly. "Blossom has all the data."

Durell said heavily: "Blossom, yes."

"He's been a good man, Sam," Markey said quietly. "One of the best. This new business — the way he's acting — how long do you think he'd have lasted at the head of our New York office if it had been going on for some time? He's never been like this before. Harry Blossom is just sick, Sam, Sick over that girl, Stella Marni. He's worked so damned hard all these years, like an iron man, never cracking, nothing touching him..." Markey sighed. "You wouldn't know him, the way he used to be. I feel sorry for him. Something's got to give pretty soon for Harry, or the top blows off for good. One thing, in all good conscience, and trying to be fair to Harry, I've got to get his files. I've phoned Washington about it. We've had trouble with this case from the start, because Harry kept everything to himself. He hasn't even let me see the reports on the New American Society officers." Markey made an angry sound. "Well, why did they want you on the ship? Why did they let you snatch Marni away?"

"I think their primary objective was to put me out of action. It was a trap. Somebody doesn't like the little bit I've managed to get done, that's all. I wouldn't have made it if the captain wasn't secretly sympathetic."

"Yes. Grozni." Markey' nodded. "We've got a line on him, but he can't be moved and I don't blame a man for that when he loves his family. And they're still in Gdynia." Markey looked up under shaggy brows. "Can you do anything about that?"

"I'm going to try," Durell said. "Grozni might be more helpful if he knew his people were safe. I think he's already helped by doing small things. You had no trouble tracing things to the
Boroslav
— you said you've searched it twice. Even an amateur like Frank Greenwald, and another like Damion, got a lead to the
Boroslav.
Maybe we can thank Grozni for it. Anyway, their trap for me backfired. I got out of there with the old man."

Markey looked tired. His normally pink face was pale and drawn, and his eyes were muddy from lack of sleep. Durell knew him to be competent and thorough, one of the finest men working out of the Attorney General's office. Markey shook his round head and stared down at the dottle in his pipe and looked with sudden shrewdness at Durell.

"Where is Stella Marni, Sam? What did you do with her?"

"She's safe enough."

"We want to talk to her again."

"Later. When I've let her know about her father. I have a hunch shell tell quite a different story now to Senator Hubert and his committee."

"Hope so. I'd still like to talk to her myself."

"I'll bring her in," Durell said.

"Suppose the old man dies?"

Durell shrugged and drew a deep breath. "That makes two of them. Art and Marni. Art came out of the operating room just about breathing, I understand. They picked pieces of bone out of his head for two hours. And now we have the old man. A coronary, nobody can say how bad yet. But bad enough. Nip and tuck for both of them."

"You're lucky to be on your feet, yourself," Markey pointed out. "I ought to feel damned annoyed with you, Sam. You could have called me into it this morning. We could have put a net over that ship that nothing could have slipped through."

"Then you wouldn't have found Marni," Durell said. "I told you, it was me they were after. They never thought I'd get off that ship alive."

"Then what else do you know, Sam? It must be something they think is damned dangerous to them."

"I wish I knew what it was. Then we'd be able to wind this up."

"You must have a piece of something."

"If I do, I don't recognize it." Durell said.

Markey spoke flatly. "Then it's the girl. Stella Marni. You've got her. They want her. They'll be wild now, Sam. They can't afford to let her go and do a switch on the testimony she's been giving the committee. If she tells the true story now about how she's been forced to say what she's been saying just because of threats to her father, all the propaganda hay they've been making will go up in smoke. It will be one of their worst boomerangs; the ones who planned it from the start will see their heads roll. So the girl is the key. And I don't trust her with you, Sam. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. You're too apt to go off into the wild blue yonder. I want to know where she is."

"I'll bring her in," Durell said again.

"She needs contact surveillance every minute of every day until this thing is cracked and smashed and stamped out. They may try to kill her. In fact, unless they kill her, they'll have to snatch her in place of her father. She's in the worst kind of danger at this minute, and you know it. Sam."

"She's safe for now," Durell said. "Trust me, Tom. We can get along, you know that."

"You didn't do too well with Blossom," Markey said quietly. "And I'm not Harry Blossom. I'm not in a twitch over this woman."

Durell looked sharply at the FBI agent's face, but Markey's round features, the face of a family man except for the cold and calculating eyes, simply looked thoughtful. "What did Blossom tell you about me last night?"

"Nothing," Markey said. "But he's got some bumps and bruises he won't discuss, either. And a wild hate that's been driving him since dawn."

"He didn't put in another report on me for anything?"

Markey lifted deceptively mild, shaggy brows. "Should he have?"

"Maybe not. I can't figure him." Durell felt restless. There was no point in hanging around this hospital where he had brought Albert Marni. Tom could take that end of it from here. And nobody was permitted to see or question Art Greenwald, even if Art had been in any sort of condition to answer questions, which he wasn't And assuming, again, that Art could shed any light whatever on his brother's death last night.

He walked with Markey toward the hospital entrance. On the slick, rain-wet granite steps, Markey paused to fill and light his stubby pipe. Durell said: "Who's covering the murder investigation, Tom? Are you working with Homicide East, or what?"

"A Lieutenant Durkin is on it from the precinct, and a good dozen men, as you suggest, from the Manhattan East Squad. Frank Greenwald died from two blows on the back of the head, both identical wounds. Same as Art got, but he only took one. Frank was killed instantly, without ever knowing what hit him."

"Heavy blows? The kind that would take a strong man to deliver?"

"Hard to say. They found a length of pipe in that studio, bloody, bits of hair and bone on it, according to lab analysis, which doesn't leave any doubt about its being the murder weapon."

"Check for prints?" Durell asked.

"Only Stella Marni's," Markey said in a fiat voice. His glance flicked up to Durell's expressionless face for a moment. "So you see what I mean."

"I don't think she killed them."

"Maybe."

"Two strong, healthy men?"

"It could have been done by a woman. By surprise. All at once, and quickly."

"I don't believe it." Durell said.

"I know you don't. Maybe you don't want to believe it, like Harry. That's why I want the girl out of your hands, Sam. I don't want you strolling down the same path Blossom has taken."

Durell was angry. "Don't be a damned fool, Tom."

"I told you before. Blossom was one of our best men. I'd have staked everything on him, up until a month ago. Now he's got Stella Marni in him, like a disease, and he's sick with it, crazy with it. But just because a man is sick you don't forget all the great things he's done in the past and turn your back on him. I've been talking to Washington. I'm getting authority to take over the case — once I get my hands on the files Harry kept to himself. But we don't throw a man like Blossom to the wolves without giving him every chance. I'm hoping he'll snap out of this thing he's got with Stella Marni, be like he used to be. A top man, Sam." Markov's voice had lifted, then grew calm again. "Well, all right. You've got the girl now, haven't you? And you haven't turned her over to me or to Homicide."