Nightfall (14 page)

      “We're talking about John,” the detective said. “The man who was here last night. In what town did you meet him? When did you meet him?”
      “Last night,” she said. “In this room. For the first time.”
      “Really?”
      “Really,” she said. “I'll tell you about it, if you want.”
      “By all means. And you'd better make it good, Miss Gardener, because you're in a terrible jam.”
      “I don't think so,” she said. “I'm not worried about it at all. I know everything is going to be all right.” She turned and smiled at Vanning. “Isn't it, Jimmy?” And then she came back to Fraser and the smile went away and she said, “The man you call John, the man who was here last night, he told me his name was Sidney. He said he was an old friend of James Vanning. I'm quoting him now. Just as he said it. He said he had forgotten Vanning's address. He asked me if I knew. I told him I didn't know.”
      “How did he pick up your address?”
      “I asked him that. He said Vanning had told him about me, and one day when they were walking down Barrow Street, Vanning pointed out the house where I lived.”
      “Did you believe him?”
      “No.”
      “All right then, how did he find out your address?”
      “I haven't the slightest idea.”
      “Then you're not connected with him?”
      “No.”
      “Have you ever been in prison?”
      “No.”
      “Now this John, or Sidney, or whatever his name is, what else did he tell you last night?”
      “That was all. He just wanted Vanning's address. But he stayed for quite a while, trying to get it. He went at it in a roundabout way. I let him talk. I made him feel at home. I even gave him a few drinks. I didn't want him to catch on.”
      “What do you mean, catch on?”
      “I know who he is.”
      “You don't have to keep your face so straight, Miss Gardner. You're not playing poker. You say you know who he is. How do you know?”
      “Jimmy told me. Jimmy told me everything.”
      Fraser made a chin gesture toward Vanning. “Why do you call him Jimmy?”
      “Because he's Jimmy.”
      Fraser took a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He tossed the pack from one hand to the other. He said, “I think we're going around in a circle. We still don't have anything.” His head went down, snapped up, his eyes jabbed at Martha and he said, “Are you really in love with that guy standing there?”
      “Madly.”
      “You realize what a spot he's in?”
      “Yes.”
      “And what a spot you're in?”
      “Yes.”
      “Tell me, Miss Gardner, love is an important issue with you?”
      “It's everything.”
      “Then why the devil don't you come clean?”
      “I've told you all I know. I'll do anything you want me to do.”
      Fraser stood up. He walked across the room, reached the door, took a swing at it and pulled the punch. Then he started to turn, and then he stopped and his arms fell and hung loosely at his sides. And he just stood there.
      That went on for several foolish seconds, but when the foolishness faded it faded quickly, energetically, and Fraser whirled, faced the door, went through rapid motions that got the door open and got the revolver out of his pocket, his finger against the trigger. And he stepped back into the room, beckoned with his other hand.
      “Come on in,” he said. “Open house tonight.”

15

      John came walking into the room. John was very surprised. He had a gun in his hand, but it wasn't pointing at anything in particular.
      “Put the gun on the floor,” Fraser said. “Don't start anything because then we'd both get hurt. Close the door, Vanning.”
      Vanning moved in behind John and closed the door. He stayed there, behind John, waiting.
      Fraser took a step toward John and said, “I told you to put your gun on the floor.”
      “That's asking a lot,” John said.
      “I'm in a position to ask a lot.”
      Now John had lifted his gun and the two guns were pointed and ready, and John said, “I'm in a position to refuse.”
      “We can stay this way all night.”
      “I guess we can.”
      “Or else we can start shooting and get it over with.”
      “You play it your way and I'll play it mine.”
      Fraser bit his lower lip. He studied his own gun for a few moments and then, when his eyes lifted, his gaze rested on Vanning for a very small part of a second, and after that he was grinning at John and he was saying, “I'm not very good at this. My nerves can't take it.”
      He shrugged and tossed the gun away and watched it land on the studio couch. Just as the gun made contact with the upholstery, Vanning moved in and took hold of John's arm and did some twisting. John let out a moan and went to his knees. John's arm was far up behind his back and his limp fingers allowed the revolver to break loose. Vanning caught it before it could hit the floor. He walked away from John and gave the gun to Fraser. And Fraser put the gun in his pocket, stepped over to the studio couch and regained his own gun. He smiled at Vanning. He said, “That wasn't bad.”
      John was sitting on the floor and rubbing his arm. When he started to get up, Fraser motioned him down with the gun.
      “Just stay there,” Fraser said. “We don't need to be formal about this.”
      “I'm a fool,” John said. “And I guess guns don't like me. I've never had much luck with guns.”
      Fraser looked at Martha. And then he looked at John. His gaze went back to Martha, but he was addressing John as he said, “What about her?”
      “She's not in it,” John said.
      “That's not enough. You'll have to tell me why. And it's got to be very good.”
      “Vanning can tell you why,” John said. “We had him unconscious the other night, and while he was out I looked through his pockets. I wanted to see if I could find out where he lived. It was no go, he wasn't carrying any personal papers, not even a card in his wallet. Only a note with the girl's name and address on it. I copied the information and put the note back in his pocket.”
      Fraser looked at Vanning. “All right?”
      Vanning wore a tired smile. He nodded slowly. He said, “It figures.”
      “Now then,” Fraser said, putting himself in a chair, his eyes arrows, with John the motionless target, “you're in a position to make life miserable for Vanning. You understand that?”
      “I can see it.”
      Fraser's eyes were almost closed, and it was as if his eyes were the fine lenses of a fine camera. He said, “It goes along this way, John. You're not exactly a young man any more, and if I'm guessing right, this manipulation is going to send you up for a long, long time. You won't be very happy in prison, but if you have any good in you, I think you'll sleep better at night knowing that you went to bat for our friend here.”
      John went through a brief facial contortion. He said, “I'm not comfortable here on the floor.”
      “Make yourself comfortable.”
      John stood up and walked to the nearest chair. He sat on the edge, his hands folded between his legs. There was a quiet, and it churned, and John stared at the wall across from him, and then there was a strange little interval during which John's eyes skipped from Fraser to Vanning to Martha and back to Fraser again.
      It all came to a head. It broke, and John said, “Can we make an exchange?”
      “We can trade facts,” Fraser said. “Nothing else.”
      “That's what I want. The facts. I want to see where I stand. Let's hear what you have on your side.”
      “The main thing on my side is Seattle. I know you headlined the bank job. Three hundred thousand dollars. It points at you for so many reasons that we won't even bother to count them. Do you want me to keep talking?”
      “I guess you've told me enough,” John said. “It's a fair exchange. I only wanted to be sure about Seattle. That puts me in the soup, and there's no good reason why Vanning should be in there with me. He's clear.”
      “You'll stick with that?”
      “He's clear,” John said. “He had nothing to do with Seattle. He's an innocent man, but if you want that three hundred grand, only Vanning can tell you where it is.”
      “We'll come to that,” Fraser said, and he looked at Vanning.
      There was a moment of shock, followed by a moment of complete realization, and after that the first thing Vanning felt was a greatly multiplied admiration for Fraser's thinking power. That lasted for a few hazy moments, and it contained the knowledge that Fraser had taken him for a beautiful ride. But he couldn't hate the detective. He couldn't blame the detective. He couldn't blame anyone for doubting that story of the lost satchel. He was close to doubting it himself. In a frantic effort to erase the doubt, he hurled his mind back to Colorado, and he tried to see Denver, and a dark street in Denver became part of the swishing, droning circle that went round and round with no indication of a halt.
      Fraser was lighting a cigarette. He went about it slowly, methodically. When he lifted his head, his eyes rested on John. “Let's have a look at Denver,” he said. “If you really want to set things right for Vanning, you'll explain that business in the hotel. You'll explain why you left Vanning alone with the gun and the satchel.”
      “You ought to be able to figure that out. You're a detective.”
      “I'm not psychic.”
      John placed folded hands against the back of his head. “The whole thing was set up by Harrison. It was all his idea. I've never gone in for killing. I don't believe in it. I was trying to figure out a way to get rid of Vanning without killing him. I couldn't get any ideas, and finally Harrison convinced me that there was only one thing to do and the sooner we did it the better. Harrison said it was his job. He was a specialist at that sort of thing. He did it in terms of arithmetic. He always used to tell me there was no sense in risking a charge of first-degree murder when you could angle it toward second-degree or even manslaughter.”
      “You're taking me in deep,” Fraser said. “Go a little deeper.”
      “Harrison was waiting there in Denver. So here's the way things stood. The bathroom door was unlocked. Vanning was in there and I was in the bedroom with another man.”
      “His name?”
      “When you catch him,” John said, “he'll tell you his name.” He waited for that to sink in. Fraser nodded to signify that it had sunk in. And then John said, “Harrison knew the hotel we would use. He took a look at the register after giving us a high sign in the lobby. Then he came up to the room and the three of us talked it over. Harrison told us to go out and he would handle the rest of it. He said he wasn't taking any chances on a charge of first-degree murder. He said he was going to give Vanning a chance to put fingerprints on that gun. And if Vanning wanted to, Vanning could pocket the gun. Figuring on a percentage basis, Vanning would do that. He would pick up the gun and then he would put it in his pocket. Later on, if things developed the wrong way, Harrison could claim that Vanning made a try for him with the gun. No sense doing it in the hotel. Harrison wanted a dark street. A fast powder.”
      “Wasn't that doing it the hard way?” Fraser said.
      “Harrison was very sure of himself. He was too sure of himself. That was a bad habit he had.”
      “Didn't you have any say?”
      “I told him he was taking a big chance,” John said. “But it was his play and I let him go ahead. He was sure it would work out. So what he did was to leave the gun on the bed and the satchel on the dresser, then go out and wait in the hall. And then out comes Vanning with the satchel and the gun, and what happens after that I've never been able to figure. What I mean is, the way Vanning came out on top, because Harrison was a very talented agent when it came to guns.”
      “I had the gun in my pocket.” Vanning said it as if he was talking to himself. As if he was in the woods again running through the dark, trying to get away from the narrow street where Harrison's body grew cold.
      “Sure you had it in your pocket,” John said. “And that's why it's so mixed up. Harrison had a gun in his hand, didn't he?”
      “Yes. He had the gun pointed at me.” And Vanning's voice was a drone, as if it was coming out automatically while his mind was somewhere else. And in his mind he saw the black of the night all over Denver. And the woods. And then the hill. He climbed the hill. There was a field. He crossed the field. There was a stream. He stepped into the stream and the water came up to his knees and went on rising and came up to his waist.
      “So he's standing there,” John said. “He's pointing the gun at you—”
      “I took the gun out of my pocket and showed it to him. It's hard to explain. At the time, at that exact second, I wasn't thinking of using the gun. I don't know what I was thinking. I knew he had his mind made up to kill me and I guess the whole thing was a little insane, the way I took out the gun and showed it to him. All he did was stand there and stare at the gun as if it was some new kind of gadget. I don't even remember telling myself to pull the trigger.”
      “When you produced that gun,” Fraser said, “you must have given him the shock of his life. The way you took it out. The way you showed it to him. If you had actually drawn the gun with the intention of using it, you would have had as much chance as a fly arguing with a spider. What you did was throw him completely off balance, but even so it was a crazy thing for you to do.”
      “I've been doing a lot of crazy things,” Vanning said, and for an instant his eyes hit Martha.
      Fraser hauled deeply at his cigarette. “I think we're finally tying it up,” he said, and then he looked at Vanning. “There's only one more thing, and if you can give me that, we'll have this entire business boxed and wrapped and ready to ship.”
      “I can't,” Vanning said.
      “Fry.”
      “I've been trying. I've tried a million times. I just can't do it. I can't tell you where it is because I don't know where it is.”
      “Go back,” Fraser said. “Take it step by step. Try to remember every detail.”
      And then John let out a laugh and said to Fraser, “What a panic this is. He's kidding you and you're kidding him and the two of you aren't kidding anybody. Sure, he knows where it is, but if he tells you he's a fool.”
      “And if he doesn't tell me,” Fraser said, “he's part of that bank robbery and he goes to prison. And nothing that I say or you say or that the girl says will make any difference. Just picture it in court.”
      “I've done that,” Vanning said. “I've done that so many times I can't stand thinking about it.”
      “I'll think about it for you. I'll picture it for you.” There was hardness in Fraser's voice. “You're in court. They're telling you what you did. Now, here it comes. You take out the gun. You point it at Harrison—”
      “I explained that.”
      “Explain it in court and see what happens. It's a knockedout story, there's not an ounce of logic in it, because there's nothing to back it up. Seattle doesn't want to know from your personal troubles. Seattle wants that three hundred thousand. Listen to the way it goes. Listen—“ And Fraser's voice took on a machine-gun quality, the words coming out with fire in them, coming out faster and faster, saying, “You take out the gun and you kill Harrison and you grab that satchel. You run away with it, it's three hundred thousand dollars, it's all the money in the world, it's yours, it's yours, you're not a crook and actually you didn't steal this dough, but now it's yours and you'll be damned if you're going to let it slip out of your fingers. So you take it in the woods and you dig a hole and you hide it, telling yourself when you're good and ready you'll come back and pick it up—”
      “But that's not true,” Martha blurted.
      Quiet came in like a blade as they all stared at her.
      Then Fraser slowed down a little. “I don't care if it's true or not,” he said. “That's what they'll say. Go argue with them. Go try and make them believe otherwise. You, John. You're on the sidelines now. Do you believe him?”
      “Do I look like a moron?” John wanted to know. He grinned at Vanning. “No offense, bud. You're playing it the smart way. Stay with it. You'll be out in a few years and then it's all yours. It's a lot of jack and it'll buy you a lot of pretty things.”
      Vanning was staring at the floor, his head going from side to side, his hands pressing hard at his temples. “I don't know where it is. I don't, I don't know where it is.”
      “Think,” Fraser snapped. “Think, man.”
      “Why don't you leave him alone?” John said. “You're carrying on like a third-rate detective.”
      Fraser blinked a few times. Then he smiled at John and he said, “All right, I'll leave him alone. I'm going to do better than that. I'm going to walk out, and he can have the gun.”
      John was a statue with big glass eyes as Fraser handed the gun to Vanning, and then the glass eyes moved slowly, following Fraser as he headed toward the door, and John said, “You must be crazy.”
      “Maybe I am,” Fraser said. “But I trust this man. I can't help it.”
      “You're still not telling me anything,” John said. “What's all this good-bye?”
      “No good-bye.” Fraser held onto the smile. “I'm only going outside to have a chat with your friends.”
      The glass eyes became foggy. “How do you know they're outside?”
      Fraser swerved away from the door and moved across the room toward the studio couch. He let go of the smile as his eyes took in the other gun. And he said, “Even a third-rate detective would know they're outside.”