The Death Beat

by Fiona Veitch Smith

  An opportunity to change tack? pondered Poppy. Delilah must have been thinking the same thing. “Yes, please, to the top-up.” She passed her glass to Parker, who then gestured to Poppy.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Parker got up and went back to the drinks cabinet. Delilah spoke to his back. “Well, yes, that’s just it. I’ve been hearing stories of some girls who – well – get sucked into things, if you know what I mean. Get lured to the bright lights. I’m sure it will be all right – Miles is a brick – but my father, and my Uncle Elmo… you’ve heard of my great uncle, haven’t you? Guglielmo Marconi, the radio pioneer…”

  Parker’s back straightened but he didn’t turn around. Another potential investor? wondered Poppy.

  “So,” continued Delilah, “they’ve both warned me about young girls getting into trouble. Being lured by the bright lights… young foreign girls, and…”

  Parker laughed and turned around. In his hand was not another glass of port but a revolver. “Oh Delilah, Delilah, Delilah. And now you’ve overplayed the scene. Not quite as good an actress as I thought you were.”

  Delilah’s hand went to her throat. “What on earth are you talking about? And put that gun away, please! It’s not very funny.”

  “It’s not meant to be funny,” said Parker. “Although your attempts at entrapment are.” He pointed the gun at Poppy. “You, Miz Denby, sit beside your friend.”

  Poppy swallowed hard. So he knew. The game was up. They should never have come here tonight. They should have just followed up in the morning as they had planned to do. Parker was right. They had overplayed the scene. She got up and sat beside Delilah on the ottoman. Delilah clutched her hand. Poppy checked her watch. Half an hour had passed. There should be a knock on the door any minute…

  Parker smirked. “If you’re expecting that dwarf to save you, you’ll be very disappointed. He’s not even half the man he thinks he is.” He laughed, cruelly, at his own joke.

  Delilah gasped.

  “Yes, sweet cheeks, I know that Rolandson is upstairs now speaking to Mrs Lawson.”

  Poppy’s face must have shown a reaction to that because he said: “Not such a hot-shot reporter then, after all. Or you would have found out that I’d been paying that negro woman all this time. When Rolandson called her to arrange a meeting she told me straight away. I was planning on going up and dealing with him myself. But then you arrived… That was a surprise…”

  Dear God, what should we do now? In all the detective novels she’d read this was usually the time the sleuth managed to get the killer to confess everything – in long and meandering detail – before somehow managing to turn the tables on him. But Poppy’s throat was too dry to say anything. She swallowed hard again.

  “He – he’ll be here in a moment,” said Delilah. “With the c-concierge. It’s all been arranged.”

  Parker laughed again and gestured for the two women to get up. “The best laid plans of mice and little men will suddenly come to nought. Stand up. We’re going for a ride.”

  Poppy and Delilah stood, still holding hands. They were both shaking.

  “Turn around and walk to the door. And don’t try any funny business.”

  The telephone suddenly rang. It’s the concierge! thought Poppy. Parker smiled coldly and held the gun steady as he answered.

  Should we try and run?

  The door was bolted shut from the inside. It would take too long; it would…

  “Hello?… Yes, Slick, I’m coming down now… No, around the back, the trade elevator. Meet me at the bottom. And oh, Slick, shift things around a bit. We’ve got another two passengers tonight.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Mimi Yazierska had finished her quota of zips for the day and packed up her machine. She was looking forward to a good night’s rest. The swelling on her lip and eye had finally gone down and her ribs – which the Poppy lady hadn’t seen – ached a little less. Hopefully she’d be able to sleep the night without stabbing pain. The other girls in the workshop had looked and lowered their eyes. No one, except sweet Estie, had bothered to ask her what had happened. And with Estie, of course, she had tried to sugar-coat the story. She said she’d fallen in her high heels and hit her face. But Estie had shaken her head and asked: “Man hurt you? Man hurt Estie.”

  Mimi’s temper flared. “What man hurt you, Estie? Here? Was it Slick?”

  Estie shook her head. “Man on boat. Big boat.”

  Her sister’s stomach churned. “What man, Estie? What did he do?”

  Estie was doodling with a pencil and paper, drawing childish stick figures. One of them, Mimi noticed, was lying on the ground with a crooked leg. She pointed to the figure. “Is that you, Estie? Is that what the man did to you? Did he knock you down? Did he hurt you?”

  Estie shook her head again, then took the pencil in her fist and scribbled aggressively over the figure, completely obliterating it.

  “Man kiss Estie. Estie not like. Man pull Estie’s hair.” She clutched and tugged her long black plait to demonstrate. “Estie push man. Man fell. Big machine.”

  Estie looked up at her sister, worry on her face. “Estie do bad thing? Soldiers take Estie away?”

  The sailor who lost his leg… The third-class passengers had heard about it. They’d seen the stretcher being loaded into the ambulance on the dock. They’d been told it was an accident. But it wasn’t! What if the man survived? What if the man told the authorities what had happened? What if they tried to track Estie down – back in Southampton? Then discovered she wasn’t there… that neither of them was… Would they be hunted down? Would Immigration find them?

  Mimi looked around at the other weary young women making their way back to the dormitory after their shift. She had two more years of this. Was she safe here? As long as Immigration didn’t know about them, then yes… but what if they tracked them to here? And was here such a safe place anyway? Not with what had happened to her on Saturday, it wasn’t.

  However, it was a price she was prepared to pay. To protect Estie. She knew her dream of being reunited with Anatoly was over. She had come to the realization that her fiancé, in all probability, was dead. And if he wasn’t, how on earth were they ever to reunite? The address she had wasn’t a home; it was a newspaper office. Anatoly wouldn’t live at a newspaper. Had he known that when he had given it to her? Had he just been stringing her along? She touched the pearl on her engagement ring and bit her lip. Oh, she had been a fool to believe it for so long. Estie was looking at her, her head cocked to one side. Mimi reached out and stroked her hair. She would be a fool no longer. There was still hope for them. They were in America. And eventually – please God – they would be free to live their own lives.

  “Estie,” she said. “Promise me you will never tell anyone about the man on the ship. Can you do that?”

  Estie was drawing again, this time something that looked like a flower. “Uh-huh,” she said.

  Mimi sighed. That was the best she’d get for now.

  Mimi took off her apron and put it in the small bedside cupboard. Then she straightened up and said: “It’s time for food, Estie. Let’s go.”

  But as she helped her sister get ready to go to the dining hall, the blonde, scowling figure of Kat stalked towards them. “The Boss Man’s called. He wants to see you. And her.” She jerked a thumb towards Estie. “Slick will take you.”

  “But we haven’t eaten,” said Mimi. “And why does he want to see Estie?”

  Kat slapped her. Mimi took a step back. But Estie launched herself at the supervisor like a rabid dog, her nails clawing at the older girl’s face. “Get her off me!” screamed Kat.

  Mimi grabbed her sister by the shoulders and heaved her back. Kat’s face was scratched and bloodied. That’ll teach you, thought Mimi, just managing to keep the smirk off her face.

  “Take some bread with you, then meet Slick in his office,” said Kat, backing off and eyeing Estie warily.

  Mimi did not know what to do. She hoped
– she really hoped – that the Boss Man wanting to see Estie did not mean that she too would be put to work servicing men. Mimi could not – would not – allow that. But what choice did they have? Mimi looked at her sister and imagined her fighting off the sailor on the boat. It would not end well for any man who tried to have his way with her. Estie would not be as compliant as her older sister. And then what would happen? Would the man get even more violent? Might he really hurt Estie? She’d have to talk to the Boss Man. To make him see sense. Slick was just obeying orders; he’d be no good to talk to. But she must convince the Boss Man to leave her sister alone, for all of their sakes.

  Poppy and Delilah stepped out of the service entrance to Lexington Towers. Poppy’s eyes flitted from left to right. They were in an alleyway. Bins and skips were lined up at the rear of a number of apartment buildings, and about a block away, the rear entrance of Bloomingdale’s department store. If this was daytime she might have expected to see delivery vans and refuse collectors driving up and down the alley, but it was nearly eight o’clock on a Tuesday night. The flashing lights at the end of the alley from the traffic on 59th Street might as well have been on the moon.

  Howard Parker was close behind them, hiding a gun under the draped coat on his arm. Poppy could hear his breathing – tense but steady. The smell of whisky suggested he’d had enough to give him Dutch courage but not that he’d be dropping off into a drunken stupor any time soon. Now was not the time to run. Poppy prayed, fervently, that she and Delilah would be given a chance to do so soon – either that or they would be able to alert someone to help them.

  What’s happened to Rollo? Poppy was desperately worried for her editor. Was he still upstairs with Mrs Lawson? Had the woman somehow incapacitated him? If she was, in fact, the killer of Prince von Hassler, she was more than capable of hurting Rollo. But Rollo was strong – short but not puny. In a physical tussle he would probably hold his own against the older woman. But what if she took him unawares? Hit him from behind, as she had the prince? Or if she too had a gun like Parker?

  Suddenly the lights of a motor vehicle flashed at the end of the alley. Someone’s coming! This is our chance!

  Poppy held her breath, waiting for the vehicle to approach. She would run at the motor, waving her arms, then it would stop. Surely a young woman in distress would cause the driver to stop. And Parker would not shoot, would he? Not with a witness…

  “Don’t try anything,” growled Parker. “I will not hesitate to shoot.”

  Should I still try? Should I…

  The car was a few feet away and beginning to slow; then it pulled to a stop in front of them. Poppy heard the handbrake being pulled up and saw the window open. She prepared her face to communicate fear, hoping the person would see she and Delilah were in distress.

  “Evening, sir,” said the driver with a flick of a finger to the brim of his hat.

  Poppy mouthed the word “help”.

  The man in the motor grinned, revealing blackened teeth.

  She heard Parker chuckle behind her. Her heart sank.

  “Evening, Slick. Are the other two under control?”

  “Aye aye, sir,” said the driver, opening the door. Poppy caught a glimpse of crumpled bodies on the back seat. “Chloroformed as you said. They shouldn’t be waking up for a while.”

  “What have you done? Who’s that in there?” asked Delilah. “Listen, Howard, I think this has gone too far. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you won’t get away with it. You won’t be able to…”

  Delilah yelped. Poppy looked down to see the barrel of Parker’s gun jab into her friend’s ribs.

  “You got any of that chloroform left, Slick?”

  CHAPTER 39

  Poppy was swimming in the sea at Whitley Bay. Her brother was with her. The waves lifted them up and down, their legs kicking frantically under the water to keep them afloat. Their mother called to them from the shore: “Be careful! Don’t go too far out!” and their father waved to them, a peas-pudding and ham sandwich in hand. It was getting dark and a light swept over them in a wide arc: it was coming from St Mary’s lighthouse.

  Suddenly her brother cried out and disappeared under the waves. Poppy waited for him to pop back up or to grab her ankle and pull her down, pretending he was a shark. She waited. And she waited. The light from St Mary’s was sweeping from left to right faster and faster. She looked to shore but could no longer see her parents. She thought she could still hear her mother’s voice, distantly calling: “Come back, Poppy; come back!”

  No, it wasn’t her name she could hear; it was another’s. Delilah’s… and the voice was male: “Again Delilah, again!” The light from the lighthouse flashed once more.

  Poppy closed her eyes against the glare then opened them again. She was not on a beach. She was not in the sea. She was on a stone floor in some kind of shack. The wall planks were higgledy-piggledy, with gaps in between through which bright, artificial light seeped.

  Poppy shook her head to clear it. Was she awake? Yes. The pain in her arms was real. She shifted to move them, then felt something pull against her wrists. She peered through the gloom and saw that her hands were tethered with a rope, and the rope was tied to a metal ring on the wall of the shack. Where was she?

  “No, Delilah! Not like that!”

  Delilah? Poppy thrashed her head from left to right, looking for her friend. But she was alone. Alone in what looked like a boat shed. Yes, that’s what it was: the lap of water against wood and stone, the dank smell of soaked timber, the roughness of hessian under her bare, cold shoulders; and in the corner, a pile of oars and a rusty anchor. But there was no boat.

  “For God’s sake, Delilah. I thought you were an actress!”

  That sounds like Parker. What’s he doing with Delilah? Poppy tried to peek through the cracks in the walls, but all she could see was the glaring light. What is that? Where’s that light coming from?

  “I-I-can’t, Howard. I-I’m too scared. P-please. Please stop this!”

  Poppy pulled at her bonds. They didn’t give. She looked around, trying to see if there was something she could use to cut through the rope. Nothing obvious… She manoeuvred herself up onto her knees, then shuffled over to the wall. She poked the wood around the metal ring. It was soft and rotting in places. She started picking at the timber, clawing it away. If she could undermine the wood around the bolts…

  After a couple of minutes her nails were cracked and her fingers raw. She needed some kind of tool… What could she use? A pile of shells! Some kind of oyster shells, just within reach. Poppy picked one up and started scraping at the wood as Delilah’s crying and Parker’s shouting got louder and louder…

  And then… yes! The bolts began to shift and twist, the wood splintered, and with a heave, Poppy pulled the ring free of the wall.

  Her wrists were still tied, but at least she was free to move around. She picked up the ring and shimmied her way around the shed until she came to the entrance. She feared that it would be bolted or padlocked shut. It wasn’t. Thank God.

  Poppy pushed open the door, freezing as the hinges creaked. But Parker, still berating Delilah for whatever it was she was failing to do, was making too much noise to hear. With the door open not much more than half a foot, Poppy slipped through.

  Yes, she had been in a boat house. She was now standing on a slipway, and a few yards below her was the blackened water of what appeared to be a lake. A lake? Poppy looked around her. Around the lake and on either side of the boat house were spruce and maple trees in early spring bloom. This place was familiar. Poppy sniffed the air: yes, she’d smelled that smell very recently.

  “This is your last chance, Delilah – do it or I’ll shoot you!”

  Delilah! Poppy ran to the corner of the shed and peered around. There was the source of light; and there were Parker and Delilah. Delilah was standing, ankle deep in water, wearing what appeared to be an Indian squaw’s dress and head gear, her shoulders shuddering as she wept. On the
shore, behind three film studio lights and camera, was Parker. Sitting to his left in a director’s chair, one leg draped over the arm, was Slick… holding a gun. Beyond Delilah, on the lake, a boat bobbed up and down. The boat from the shed, Poppy assumed.

  “Now Delilah, let’s try that again. Peer to left and right. Look all around, desperate. You are calling for your lover! He doesn’t come. Then in despair you walk, slowly, into the lake.”

  He’s mad! Totally mad! He’s filming a movie at gunpoint!

  Poppy thought for a moment of running up behind Parker, swinging the heavy iron ring and whacking him on the head. Or perhaps she should attack Slick first. He had the gun. If there was only one of them, Poppy thought, she might have a chance, but with two… She turned away from the lake and looked up the hill. Yes, it was just as she thought. They were at Lake Ronkonkoma, just below the Spencer holiday lodge. Through the trees she could see the lights of The Lodge blazing. If Slick and Parker are both here, maybe I could slip up to The Lodge and call the police… Yes! I’ll use the telephone in the library!

  She turned back to the perverse film set behind her. Delilah was ham acting the role of the lovelorn squaw. Parker seemed to be happy for now. But how far would he take it? Up to the drowning?

  There was no time to waste. Poppy ran as quickly and quietly as she could, with her hands tied and holding a metal ring, up to the house.

  Mimi had been in this room before. It was a library, smaller than the one where she’d first met Anatoly… Oh my love, if only I could turn back time and stay in that library with you forever…

  This was the library in the house she had been taken to a few days earlier. The place where she had first seen the Boss Man and his friends. The place she had seen that Poppy lady. This time, though, she was not with Kat and the other two girls, but Estie. Estie was still sleeping beside her; Slick must have given her an extra dose of that foul-smelling potion to subdue her when she attacked him.