The Kissed Corpse (21 page)

“She'll read it,” I assured him between clenched teeth. “No question about her reading it. What … did it say, Jerry?”

“It said, God forgive me, that you needn't go on with your research because I already knew who killed Dwight … that I want you to call me as soon as you get in and we'll go out to ask Myra Young one question that will prove my theory without a doubt.” He paused to lick his lips.

“You didn't mention any names?”

“None.” He shook his head, then was suddenly galvanized into action.

“That's where she's gone, Asa. We've got to beat her out there or there'll be another murder.” He was running out through the crowded corridor and I was following him.

I knew what he must mean. If Laura was guilty the note would give her the idea she was on the verge of being found out, and that Myra Young had some proof against her. A woman guilty of two murders wouldn't hesitate at a third.

And it was my fault. Mine for not suspecting her … for letting her become familiar with my house and giving her an opportunity to get hold of Burke's note.…

We were in Burke's car and he was splitting downtown traffic with his screaming siren. I hung on and was sick at my stomach. I didn't care whether we crashed or not. If we didn't get out to the canyon in time I'd feel
I
was guilty of murder.

21

I've been on wild rides in Jerry Burke's official car before, but nothing to compare with this one. We went screaming into Texas Street, and traffic got out of our way. It had to.

Burke leaned forward with big hands gripping the wheel, eyes glued to the narrow lane of asphalt which kept miraculously opening out in front of us.

Somehow, there was always an opening through which he contrived to twist the thundering car.

He skidded around the half-turn into Piedras at seventy, and I would have been sick if I hadn't been too busy wondering how long we could possibly avoid a crash.

He got it up to ninety after we put the car tracks behind us, and made the turn into the canyon with the speedometer needle flickering just below the sixty point.

The rest of the ride was nightmarish. I was past caring whether we crashed or not. Looking back, I think I almost wished we would. I couldn't let myself think about what we might find at the Young cottage.

My fault! The woman had played me for a fool all along. My fault, not the cop's, that she had been able to dupe him into delivering Burke's note to her instead of waiting for me. It was a pretty ghastly business.

Burke cut his siren as we approached the turn leading up to Young's cabin. I leaned far out, straining my eyes up the slope, hoping against hope that we were in time.

We weren't.

I knew we were too late when I saw Laura's car parked in front of the cabin.

I hit the ground running when Burke slammed on brakes. It took me seconds to go up the path and through the front door … to see Myra Young stretched out on the floor with Laura Yates bending over her … and there was the gleam of steel in Laura's right hand.

I yelled and lunged forward, hitting Laura with my shoulder as Burke came into the room with a .38 in his hand.

Laura tumbled back and her pistol went spinning. I scrambled for it, came up with it in my hand. It was an ugly little .32.

Laura was on her hands and knees facing me when I stood up with her pistol in my hand. She sank back on her haunches and said coolly:

“Nice to see you again. Keep
her
covered while you're being heroic.”

She jerked her head sideways and I followed the gesture to see Michaela O'Toole standing against the wall with folded arms and a set smile on her perfect lips.

I backed away, menacing them with Laura's stubby .32. I muttered, “Stand back … both of you,” and over my shoulder I choked out to Burke: “How … is she?”

“She's still breathing.” Burke came up off his knees from beside the inanimate form of Leslie Young's widow. “Keep both those hell-cats covered, Asa. I'll get a pan of water.”

I took another backward step while he trotted to the kitchen for water. Glancing sideways, I could see Myra's face, white as death. Could see her nude torso the color of old ivory where her blouse had been savagely ripped aside … and I shuddered as I saw blood flowing from a long scratch leading downward from the bottom of her breasts to her navel … with two shorter scratches right-angled across near the top of the vertical one.…

The deadly symbol of the double-cross cruelly marked on her still-living flesh!

I saw all that in one swift glance, then I didn't look any more. I turned back to face Laura and Michaela as Burke came hurrying back with a pan of water.

Michaela hadn't moved from her position against the wall, and the smile hadn't left her lips. Laura had sunk into a chair and was fumbling in her handbag. I started forward with an exclamation which died to a mumble as she calmly brought forth a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches.

“You're being frightfully melodramatic,” she murmured with a puff of smoke. “Wouldn't you just as leave point that thing away from me? It's loaded, you know.”

There was a splash behind me as Burke dumped the water in Myra's face. The splash was followed by gurgling and watery gasps, and Burke's voice soothingly telling her to take it easy.

I began breathing again. Perhaps my stupidity hadn't resulted in a third murder after all.

I took another backward step and saw Myra sitting up on the floor with Burke's arm supporting her. She was staring around wildly, making funny noises, ineffectually pulling at the torn front of her dress.

“Everything's all right,” Burke was assuring her. “No one is going to harm you. Just get your breath and tell us all about it.”

“I can tell you,” came Laura's cool voice. “Miss O'Toole was in the act of ripping her open when I busted in and spoiled the party.”

“You lie!” the O'Toole lips hissed. “I came and found her on the floor like that. When I would have aided her you ran in and pushed me away with your pistol. You were hiding outside where you fled when you heard me coming … before you could finish your work.”

Jerry Burke was rocked back in his heels looking from one to the other as they contradicted each other. “Hold everything,” he growled. “We'll get the straight of it when Mrs. Young gets her breath back enough to talk.”

There were angry sparks in Michaela's incredibly blue eyes, and a contemptuous twist to Laura's too-red lips, but both were silent as Burke leaned over Myra and asked:

“Do you feel well enough to tell us exactly what happened?”

She looked up at him with a shudder. “I … I don't
know
. She,” nodding toward Laura, “had phoned me that you were ready to arrest Les's murderer and were coming out to ask me just one question that would settle the case and she wanted to come first and hide where she could listen so she could get the story to print in her paper and scoop the others. I told her all right and I was sitting here waiting for you when … when something hit me on the head from behind and that's all … all I know.”

Burke's fingers touched the top of her head. He nodded. “You got a good bump. But haven't you any idea who attacked you? Didn't you hear or see
anything?
”

Myra gulped and shook her head. “No, I … I didn't.” Then, faintly: “I … don't feel very well.”

“No wonder.” Burke slipped his arm about her waist and helped her to the lounge, where she collapsed.

Turning away from her, Burke confronted the two girls and said: “I'll have the straight of this now. Which one of you got here first?”

Simultaneously, they pointed at each other and said: “She.”

Folding his arms grimly, Jerry Burke walked close to Michaela. “All right. One at a time. Let's hear your version of it. How did you escape from the Dwight estate in the first place?”

“Those gringo policemen,” she told him scornfully, “are fools. When Mrs. Young telephoned me and said you were coming and she would tell them a secret she knew, I.…”

“
I
didn't telephone you,” came chokingly from Myra behind us. “There's some mistake.”

“I phoned Miss O'Toole and
said
I was Myra Young,” Laura admitted with twisted lips. “I had the bright idea that she would tip her hand by rushing over here to shut up Myra's mouth if she was the murderer. Well, she did just what I expected … so I guess she
is.
”

My knees got too weak to hold me any more and I sank down into a chair. I'll be damned if it didn't look as though Laura was going to be able to lie herself out of
that
mess.

“I came to talk to Mrs. Young, not to hurt her,” came the indignant denial from Michaela. “I know now I heard someone running when I came to the back door and knocked. There was no answer and I came in and found her … Mrs. Young … lying on the floor just like when you came. When I tried to help her,
she
came in with her pistol and pushed me away.”

Laura Yates swung lithely to her feet as Burke shook his head in bafflement. She moved toward Michaela, saying between clenched teeth:

“This might as well be the showdown. I wanted to pull it off for myself and get the jump on all of you, but.…”

She lunged forward without warning and her clawed fingers caught the top of Michaela's gown, ripping it downward before Burke could interfere.

Michaela shrilled out a Mexican curse and her hand darted to her garter with the speed of light. A thin-bladed dagger gleamed in her hand as it came away.

Burke leaped forward and caught her wrist, bent it back cruelly; straightening her and bending her back so that the torn edges of her gown fell apart … revealing a two-barred cross tattooed into the white flesh beneath.

“There you are,” panted Laura Yates. “The secret symbol of the cult of the Double-cross. Try to deny
that
, you murdering Irish-Mayan. Though I
still
don't know why you shot Leslie Young.”

Michaela backed away against the wall as Burke took the deadly little garter-knife from her fingers. She seemed contemptuously unaware of her exposed flesh and of the incriminating symbol just beneath. There was a fanatical flame in her eyes, but her features held the composure and stolidity of an Indian's.

There was a loud commotion outside before anyone else could say anything. A shrill angry woman's voice, and the gruff tones of Chief Jelcoe.

We all turned to look at the perspiring face of the chief of detectives as he came marching in the back door dragging the wriggling form of Desta Dwight with him.

“I missed this hell-cat and have been hunting her,” he panted. “Just found her hiding in the brush outside the back door.”

22

When he saw Desta, Burke said, “goddamn,” five times in rapid succession and with great feeling.

Jelcoe, meanwhile, was standing there staring stupidly around the room, his eyes darting from the lax figure of Myra Young on the couch, to the triumphant attitude of Laura, and then to the defiant Mexican girl. He drew in his breath sharply as he saw the tattooed cross.

“Just a little family gathering,” said Jerry Burke, intercepting Jelcoe's gaze. He stood in front of Desta with spread legs and his hands on hips.

“All right. What are
you
doing here? What do
you
know about all this? Speak up!”

Her gaze went past him to rest malignantly on Michaela. “I followed
her
. I saw her slip away and head over here. Your cops were all guzzling beer, and asleep on the job. I wasn't going to let her get away if I could help it. I think she killed Pops. I've been remembering that night when she took me to my room and I believe I heard a door open and close down the hall when she left my room. That's when she did it.”

“All right. That's what you think. Maybe she did.” Jelcoe's eyelids went fluttering up at this admission but Burke disregarded him and went on to Desta:

“What do you know about
her
?” He gestured to Myra on the lounge behind him. “Which one of these wenches was here first and had the opportunity to carve her up?”

Desta's eyes widened as she took in the details of Myra's condition.

“I … I don't know,” she hesitated. “I wasn't very close behind Michaela. I heard them both inside here arguing when I came up to the back … and I hid outside to see what was going to happen.”

“Are you sure,” asked Michaela, “that it was not you who was here first and who slipped out to hide when you heard me coming?”

“I
said
I followed you,” Desta began, and Burke shut her up with a growled:

“I'll ask the questions around here.”

“That's right.” Jelcoe tightened his grip on Desta's wrist and jerked her back.

Jerry Burke planted himself solidly in front of Michaela and said:

“Let's start at the beginning. You're from Yucatan and your father was Mike O'Toole … a friend of Leslie Young many years ago. You hadn't met Young, but knew about him through your father. Right?”

Michaela O'Toole nodded with dignity. I don't know how she managed it but she faced Burke with more poise than anyone in the room, though practically stripped to the waist.

“When I came on this journey to prevent the betrayal of my country by Raymond Dwight my father told me Leslie Young would help if I appealed to him in the name of the Sacred Cross. One who is not of Maya descent cannot be a blood member of our society, but many of the secrets were passed on to Leslie Young, who was thought worthy, and he was presented with the cross of silver as a token of trust. When I saw my task was difficult, I wrote the note to Leslie Young, marking upon it the symbol he would understand. That is all.” An intense silence held us as her sing-song voice was silent.

Burke broke it harshly: “All right. You wanted Young's help. Why did you kill him?”