Killer Mine (16 page)

“You aren’t hep, old boy. Maybe it looks like he does, but he pays off to some funny people then. I’ve been around there a long time and it was Leo Marcus’ boys who made those weekly visits. But just don’t try to buck the system. It’s liable to explode on you. They have accountants and machines and front men all making up to a tidy little sub rosa government that pulls a lot of weight. You see what it cost you for prying.”

“You seem to know a lot, Popeye.”

“I got big ears, a lot of talkative friends and a sharp insight into this wild world of money-hungry denizens. Why do you think I pulled out of it?”

“Everybody to their own taste.” I looked at him, flipping the empty can into a trash basket. “You never finished with the redhead.”

“So she was there. So were a lot of others. You were quite a card.”

Edna Rells stepped out from behind the canvas, a lovely naked figure with a paint streak just above her navel and a brush tucked in her hair. “With all the crowding, Spud couldn’t get to the table. She took the tray and served the drinks. One belt later and you were all over her.”

“Thanks, sugar.”

It had been as easy as that. She was planted there or had followed me there. She picked the right time and loaded me. I picked up my hat and pushed myself off the bar stool. “See you around,” I said. “I appreciate the talk.”

“What talk? You came here to discuss art,” Popeye said solemnly.

I looked at Edna who twisted her hips and threw a bump at me with a leer. Only the brush came out of her hair and left a smear across one ample nipple when it fell. “Yeah, art. I’m all for it. You guys are nuts.”

The redhead, Leo Marcus and me. Somebody had missed the boat in planning the State’s case. They should have tied in the redhead and I would have been on the death list at Sing Sing. The D.A. could have made it look like we were in it together to knock off Marcus, that in my hatred I had somehow recruited her. Now she was out of it altogether and if they wanted to build a new case they could try it on me for size. Sooner or later the D.A.’s boys would be asking questions, they’d have some answers to Mildred Swiss’ past and they’d be asking me where I was when she was dumped.

So… where was I? My contacts had been limited. I had been walking and thinking. I was ready to be a patsy again. I needed an alibi, but before I could nail it down I had to find out when she had died.

I waited until I saw Ted Marker come out of the building and followed him from across the street and half a block back to the subway station, made sure none of the others were around and caught up with him as he was buying tokens from the attendant on the platform. He could have used his badge to go through the gate for free but never bothered to. I came up beside him, got two tokens and said, “Wait for me, Ted.”

He nodded curiously, went through the turnstile and stood behind the crowd of commuters. We went three stops and upstairs to a bar and grill where everybody was watching the last inning of a ball game and ordered a pair of beers at the counter.

“What’s it about, Pat?”

“How’d the make go through on Mildred Swiss?”

“Checked right out.”

“They establish the time of death?”

“On the nose. The Medical Examiner’s autopsy report checked with a watch in her pocket that had stopped. Five-fifteen.”

“Why was the watch in her pocket?”

“Because the clasp had been broken.”

“It was daylight then,” I said. “They don’t usually go in during the day. Not female suicides. They think about their hair and their clothes and the water isn’t a good prospect for death. It’s filthy with garbage and sewerage and stinks.”

“That’s suicide. She was murdered.”

I looked at him.

“Fingernails broken from where she clawed somebody apparently. Her hands had been well manicured. She had a bruise on her head that could have knocked her out. There was a hairdressing appointment on a card in her wallet for the next day. She made the date by phone and didn’t seem disturbed at all.”

“It figures. One odd thing.”

“What’s that?” Ted asked.

“Why didn’t the body sink?”

“Simple. She was hung up on a piece of driftwood, a plank with one end waterlogged had nails that snagged her clothes. She wasn’t in the water very long at all.”

Mentally, I checked the time. I had been in the apartment all that while and nobody had seen me come in or spoken to me until I had gotten Spud’s message. It didn’t have to be planned that way, but it could put me back in the hot water again. The other alternative was that somebody wanted Mildred Swiss dead, just plain dead and quickly.

Ted finished his beer and said without taking his eyes from the TV: “Where do you fit in, Regan?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I’m feeling your line of thought.”

“Not good, is it?”

“Uh-uh,” he told me. Then: “I asked some questions about that sleep gas. It took a while, but a smart boy in Washington provided some answers. Right after the war a batch got into this country mixed in a surplus deal. They couldn’t pin it down, but there was a shady aspect about it. About ninety percent was recovered from the Ross and Buttick Warehouse where it was stored by a company who imported it among other things. Bensilee Imports. Legitimate firm operating since 1919.”

“Who broke it down?”

“The O.S.S. discovered the stuff missing, then Washington moved and working with our department located the stuff. It was taken out to sea and dumped. Lot of publicity on it when it happened. They were afraid some kids would get into the stuff thinking it was DDT or something. The citizenry sent in truckloads of stuff for inspection, but none of it was that FS-7 derivative of the Roderick Formula.”

Another little piece,
I thought.
Publicity alerted the public to the potential dangers of the stuff, but it could have aroused the curiosity of other parties to its potential for their own activities.

I said, “Any deaths attributed to its use?”

Ted Marker turned his head and said, “I was wondering when you’d ask. The man in Washington said there were two prominent Syndicate defectors who died mysteriously from undetected causes. It’s a possibility, but wasn’t detected. In each case the M.E. wasn’t familiar with FS-7. Only the prominence of the dead men kept it open.”

“And if I had died it would have looked like a natural thing… nobody would have shaken the room down and probed under the bed for a can until the landlord or a new tenant did… or the guy who planted the stuff came back. It could have been easy… he could have posed as a reporter, a new tenant… anybody.”

“Cute. Again I say you were lucky.”

“Nope… just filled with natural instincts.” I finished the beer and waved to the bartender for another round. “They figure out where the redhead got it?”

“Roughly. The tide was incoming, the rate of drift and time of death put it in the dock area around the Forties… providing the plank that held her didn’t get snagged along the way. In that case it would have happened farther up. Anyplace along there you find traffic, drifters… well, hell, you know the area. Even in daylight it could have been arranged.”

“Yeah, sure,” I agreed.

Ted looked at his watch and I knew he was anxious to get going. “One more thing. I read everything available on the Sentol product. One thing it doesn’t induce… in fact, inhibits it… is a person under its influence passing out.”

“I was out cold when they found me there.”

“That’s what I mean. Sentol keeps the user awake like the goof balls the truckers use, but acting in strange directions.”

“Positive?”

He nodded, his face grim.

“In that case I did it all on my own… that what you’re thinking?”

“What do
you
think, Regan?” he asked me.

“A factor has been missed somewhere. Thanks for the time. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER FIVE

I BOUGHT a barbecued chicken at the delicatessen and brought it up to the apartment for supper. I hadn’t taken time to clean up the place and it was beginning to look like a Harlem hovel with dirty dishes and damp towels all over the place. There was a note in my box, hand delivered from George Lucas, that I opened when I got the chicken on the table that simply said, “Give me a call.”

When I tried his office the number didn’t answer, so I sat down to the chicken, giving him time to get home. The light on the electric coffee pot blinked red, a signal that it was finished, so I rinsed out a cup and poured it full, sitting with my feet propped up on the table and a dripping drumstick in my fist.

That was when the bell rang. Before I opened it I took the .45 automatic I had liberated after the war, checked the load and held it ready. I had to hold the chicken leg in my teeth to unlock the door and swing it open.

Madaline took all of me in with one sweep of her eyes, started a laugh, then stifled it behind a grin. “All you need is a cutlass to look like Blackboard,” she said.

“His name was Teach. Captain Teach.”

“Okay, brains. But you sure do take a big mouthful.” I yanked the chicken down and closed the door behind her. She took one look around and shook her head in disgust. “So this is how a cop lives,” she said. “Can’t you afford any better?”

“I’m not on the take, Mad. It’s okay when it’s clean. Who needs more?”

“You do. Why didn’t you ever get married?”

“I sort of forgot to. Now who would have me?”

She smiled again, pulled up a chair at the table and reached for the other half of the chicken, pulling it apart delicately. “How much money have you got in the bank?”

“About twenty-two hundred bucks.”

“Your life savings,” she stated. “Get a woman who needs it.”

“Forget it, kid. When I get a woman it’s because she needs me and I need her. I still like the old-fashioned relationship.” I poured her some coffee too, then sat back down again. “I didn’t expect company.”

“You said to call.”

“There’s a phone.”

“Quit being so damn proud. Nobody recognized me. Your reputation is still intact… and enhanced if anybody did see me come in. How often do you get a broad in diamonds and minks into this garret, anyway?”

“Not more than twice a week.”

“Sure,” she laughed. “The chicken’s good.” Through a mouthful she added, “I have news again.”

I sipped at my coffee, watching her. Something had changed in her eyes.

“There’s a Jane Doe who had known Mildred Swiss since she came here. Both came from Europe and wound up in the same business. She saw Mildred the day she died… about noon time. They chatted for ten minutes on the street, walked a few blocks together and during that time Mildred gave the impression that she was going away for a trip. She was planning on an extensive wardrobe and couldn’t help rubbing it in a little.”

“She say who with?”

“As I said, it was a hint… an impression the girl got. She was elated, talked amiably, but that was all.”

“Who was the girl? If she was the last one to see her alive the police…”

“I said she was a Jane Doe, remember? This is off the record, Regan.”

“What’s the rest of it?”

She took another bite of chicken and threw the bone down on the wrapping paper. “You’re a shrewd one, Patrick. The Jane Doe wanted to talk more, but Mildred didn’t have time. She was getting ready for a date.”

“With a killer.”

“Quite possible.”

I put my cup down and tilted back in the chair. “Sooner or later something happens to most of them,” I said. “Doesn’t it make you sick? You’re in the racket up to your pretty neck.”

A cloud seemed to pass over her face and she looked down at her hands. When she decided to look up she said, “Then let me give you the answer I never gave anybody else. Yes, I’m in it. I went into it with my eyes open because it was the only answer to feeding an old man who was an alcoholic, paying medical expenses for an invalid mother and supplying the needs of seven other kids in the family. It was a deliberate move and I knew the right person to set me up.”

“You could have gotten out. You did change the nature of the business.”

“There was one thing that didn’t change. I saw what happened to too many girls. I saw where they went and how they ended up. By keeping my hand in I was able to direct more of them out of it in time. Oh, hell, Regan… I know what you’re thinking. I was still involved, but I got to know the right people and had enough going for me so that I could kill any heat that landed on the kids who got to know too much. There are those who say prostitution is better controlled. Funny enough, I’m not one. I’d like it abolished, but as long as the damn public demands it the authorities accept it and the bastards behind the scene control it, I’ll stay in where I can do some good when the time comes. That’s my story, buy it or not.”

“I’ll buy it Mad,” I told her. “It might not be my way, but I’ll buy it.”

She reached over and put her hand on mine. “Thanks, Patrick. I was hoping you would.” Her hand was warm, the pressure gentle and it was like the time she had thanked me silently in school when I came in chopped up after the fight, when she had done the same thing when I was at my desk and nothing more. It had been enough for me then. “Now… will you do me a favor?”

“Sure…what?”

“Let me clean up this fleabag.”

I grinned at her. “Be my guest.”

Downstairs I picked up two six packs of beer and brought them up and was content to sit there and watch the incredible efficiency of a woman used to service and attention doing the dirty work I could hardly face up to myself. She seemed to enjoy it, too, humming snatches of songs from the war years, laughing at the little things I said, content to let me sit and think while she let the years of luxury wash off her so that she was a kid again.

When she turned around her face was flushed, shiny with beads of sweat and her eyes were bright with living. The place was clean, too. She brushed away a wisp of hair that had fallen across her face, looking more lovely and younger than I had ever seen her.

“Better?”

“Perfect, doll, perfect. Do I pay you day wages?”

“A shower will do. I feel like a mess.”

“You look good to me.”