The Gutter and the Grave (19 page)

I dropped to my knees, ducked my head, and moved into the tunnel formed by his legs. He started to go over immediately. I grabbed the backs of his knees, shoved myself up simultaneously, crouching and then suddenly erect, his momentum helping me, and then I gave him the final shove which sent him headlong into the wall. I heard the solid
thwunk
when his skull hit. It wasn’t over yet, though. Some guys have very hard heads. I flipped his body as I pulled free from his legs, so that he slid down the wall to a sitting position, and then I moved in on him and I kicked him hard, twice. I kicked him in the abdomen the first time and under the jaw the second time, and that was all. There was nothing further to do. Blackjack had just experienced a variation of the Rugby Capsize. I doubt if he’d enjoyed it.

Dennis Knowles was standing behind his desk with a shocked, awed, surprised, puzzled, and frightened look on his face. He knew this was just the warmup; he knew he was next. I turned to him and started moving toward the desk.

“Look, Matt…” he said.

“Look, hell, Dennis!”

“You broke my nose!” he said. “I had a right to…”

“Shut up, Dennis,” I told him. “Shut up and thank God I’ve only got one good hand.”

“Matt…Matt…can’t we…?”

“I hope to hell you’ve got insurance, Dennis,” I said, and then I stopped short because all the answers hit me at once. “Oh, Jesus,” I said. “Oh, goddamnit to hell!”

Dennis blinked.

I blinked, too. Then I turned and left his office because I was going to face a murderer, and that’s always the hardest part.

* * *

She threw her arms around me the minute I came into the apartment.

“Matt, Matt,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

She was still wearing the black sweater and skirt she’d put on that morning. She had taken off the black shoes and her stockings. Barefooted, she stood on tiptoe to kiss me, her long blonde hair trailing over my hand.

“Just get back from the five and ten?” I asked.

“Yes. Miskler’s cop was with me all day. I felt…”

“He’s still outside,” I said. “On the landing.”

“I felt foolish,” she said, “but I was glad he was there. I’m still frightened, Matt. Suppose that horrible man should come back?”

“He won’t come back.”

“How do you know? He may…”

“He
can’t
come back, Laraine.”

She looked at me steadily, and I could see the first dawning of suspicion in her eyes. “Why not?” she said.

“Because he doesn’t exist.”

“What?”

“There never was a man on your fire escape. Nobody took any shots at you. You did it yourself, Laraine. You knocked over your chair, and you spilled
face powder on the floor, and then you went to the window and fired three shots at the mirror, threw the gun onto the fire escape, flung yourself on the floor near the dressing table, and then screamed like hell. There was no mystery man. You did it all yourself.”

“Wh…why would I do a thing like that?” she said. Her eyes did not leave my face.

“For two reasons. One, you thought Miskler was a little too suspicious of you. You figured this would exonerate you completely. Two, you probably wanted to get rid of the one thing that would connect you to the death of Dom and Christine: the gun. So you tried to kill two birds with one stone. And you damn near succeeded.”

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “Matt, you’re not saying…”

“I am saying,” I said.

“Have a drink. You’re…you’re not thinking well. You’re letting yourself…”

“I’m thinking fine.”

She whirled on me angrily. “And you’re accusing me of killing Dom and my own sister! How can you…”

“I know you did it, Laraine, and I know why you did it.”

“Well, the police don’t seem to think so. Miskler returned my suit today. He said they hadn’t found any traces of gunpowder on it. He said…”

“The lab couldn’t have found any powder traces, Laraine.”

“No? Why not? They’re supposed to be pretty damned effic…”

“Because you weren’t wearing that suit when you killed your sister.”

Laraine stopped talking suddenly. Anger left her eyes to be replaced by something else, a reaction to the threat I was now presenting. Imperceptibly, the eyes became a little more narrow, a little more cunning.

“What do you mean?” she said, but she didn’t say it in outrage or in fear. She said it slowly and calmly, as if trying to ascertain exactly how much I knew before deciding her next move.

“I mean
this
. You told Miskler you’d worn the cotton suit and blouse to work on the day Christine was killed. That’s a lie. Dave Ryan told me you went into the bedroom to
change your clothes
before the audition. Add to that what you told me this morning about wearing flats to work. You were wearing
heels
with that cotton suit, Laraine. I saw them. So whatever you wore to work that day, it wasn’t the cotton suit. And you were smart enough to lie about it when Miskler brought it up.”

She smiled. “I can’t believe I’m listening to all this, Matt,” she said gently. “I’m sure you don’t believe it. Why in the world would I want to kill Dom?”

“Because he had ten thousand dollars’ worth of G.I. insurance.”

“But how would that help me? I’m not his benefic…”

“No, but Christine was. Look, Laraine, cut it out. You and Christine are orphans. She had no will. You’re her closest living relative. This means her estate goes to you upon her death. And part of her estate is the ten grand in insurance Dom carried.”

“But why? Why would I…?”

“You said it yourself, Laraine. You’re going to make your own breaks, and all you need is talent and money. Okay, you’ve got the talent. And murder would give you the money. Ten thousand dollars. Enough to launch you. But I’m going to tell you something. You’d never have made it, Laraine. You’d never have got that network television show, or that Hollywood contract. Do you want to know why?”

“Tell me,” she said.

“Because it takes a little more than talent and money. It takes brains. And a person who handles a murder obviously and stupidly is going to handle a career the same way!”

“Obviously and…!”

“All of it! For Christ’s sake, I can’t stand amateurs.”

“Neither can I,” she said angrily. “I don’t see…”

“Do you think the police are absolute idiots? They handle homicides every day of the week, don’t you know that? How far ahead of Miskler do you think I am? Ten hours? A half-hour? Ten
minutes?
He knows about the insurance, and he knows you’re next in line. There’s your motive, and once he’s got that he’ll add everything up and you’re his target. Dating Johnny, for
example. Why’d you do that? To find out whether or not Dom had insurance? To find out about that gun in the tailor shop drawer?”

She didn’t answer.

“Stupid,” I said, “from start to finish. Why’d you scrawl Johnny’s initials on the wall?”

“Why’d you have to come into this?” she said.

“Answer me!”

“To throw suspicion on him!” she shouted. “Why do you think?”

“Sure. And what did you accomplish? You put a prime suspect in jail at the time Christine was killed. They knew he couldn’t have done it, so who’s their next likely suspect?”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” she said.

“Even killing Christine, for Christ’s sake! A blonde like you, a girl who’d attract attention even in a neighborhood where she wasn’t known, nonchalantly walks up to her sister’s apartment in the middle of the summer when everybody’s sitting outside on the front stoops, kills her, and then calmly walks down again! Jesus! How long do you think…?”

“I’m not that stupid, Matt!” she flared. “I went into a building on the next block, crossed the roofs, and came down that way. And I went back the same way. And besides, nobody heard the shots. I used a pillow.”

“You were still stupid,” I said. “Murder’s always stupid.”

“All right,” she said.

“All right, Laraine.”

“I want what I want.”

“Sure. Everybody does. We just don’t go around killing for it.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Matt.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t think you would.” She paused. “What now?”

“Now I open the door and call to the patrolman who’s on the landing. That’s what now.”

“No,” she said. She took a step closer to me. “You won’t do that, Matt. Not after what we’ve had. I know you won’t.”

“Won’t I?”

“I love you, Matt,” she said, “and you know it.”

I didn’t say anything.

She put her arms around my neck. Her eyes were misting. She parted her lips slightly, and her voice came in a dry whisper. “Matt, I love you. I love you, darling. Matt, please love me…”

“The trick you learned from the strippers in Union City,” I said. “Try it on Miskler when he gets here. Maybe he’ll think you’re singing to him.”

She shoved herself away from me viciously, and viciously she yelled, “All right! Call your goddamn patrolman! Get him in here and get it over with!” She held her head high, her eyes blazing. “I’m Laraine Marsh, and I don’t have to crawl to a lousy drunken bum!”

“Your love just ran out, Laraine.”

“Love? For you? In a free competition, I wouldn’t have let you…”

“That’s enough, Laraine.”

“No, it isn’t half-enough! The only reason you got closer than ten feet from me is because you were the only person to fear. I figured if I kept you busy…”

“No matter what you did, the cops would have…”

“Oh, shut up! Shut up, goddamnit! Shut up! Shut up!” There was naked hatred in her eyes. I had seen that kind of hatred only once before, in the eyes of Toni McAllister Cordell when I was hitting Parker with the .45. “Call your cop! Go on, you drunken louse! You’d turn in your own damn mother if she…”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I wouldn’t kill my own sister.”

“You rotten son-of-a-bitch,” Laraine whispered, and suddenly she began weeping.

I went to the door and opened it. I called down the hall for the patrolman, and then I gave him the story. It hurt. Don’t think it didn’t.

* * *

It was Saturday.

Tonight would be the loneliest night of the week.

It didn’t matter much to me. I sat in the little park outside Cooper Union. I’d panhandled a dollar and a quarter that afternoon. There was a jug in my coat pocket, and a warm glow in the pit of my stomach.

Miskler had thanked me yesterday.

“Keep your nose out of murder from here on in,
you bastard,” he’d said. I think there was a smile on his face. It was hard to tell with his face. He’d told me this right after they’d released Johnny Bridges, and just before they’d begun work on Laraine Marsh, the girl with the drive, the girl who was going to sing her way to the top by killing her way to the bottom. Well, maybe Satan ran a community sing. Or if she were lucky, she might get into the prison choir.

It was hot in the little park.

I sipped from the jug.

The traffic noises sounded muted and distant. That’s the nice thing about the park outside Cooper. It’s an isolated spot in the middle of a big bustling metropolis.

I drank from my jug. It was very hot, and I felt alone.

I felt very alone.

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