The Noir Novel

by Thomas B. Dewey

  She’d been up here, not two hours before her death, living and breathing. Beautiful, afraid. Another of the 37,000 club. My stomach churned, I was glad I hadn’t eaten any breakfast. A dirty, lousy car. A thing on four wheels with a lunatic behind the fifth wheel…

  When the nausea went away, when I quit tasting stale sherry wine, I began cursing. It had nearly happened to me. The grinding, chilling memory now repeated itself in my brain, again and again. It wouldn’t quit. I threw the paper down and lunged into the bathroom.

  When I came out I felt better. Nothing I could say or do would bring her back any more than it would lift Angela out of her tomb.

  Henry—I snatched the paper up again, reading swiftly. The subhead had said injured. In a few seconds I exhaled a sigh. Bruised, some ribs cracked. It appeared he had been between the car and Miss Schmidt—he had leaped away from the thrust of the vehicle in time to save himself. Louise’s head had been fatally fractured on the pavement. Henry was knocked unconscious.

  It had happened in a heavy fog at the intersection of Fifth and C Streets, almost in front of Louise’s apartment, the Terrace Arms. A quiet corner, two blocks from Main. No one seemed to know which direction the car had been moving.

  The only witness police had uncovered so far was a wino who really hadn’t witnessed anything. He’d wandered onto the two figures crumpled up at the intersection, and had passed the word onto another pedestrian, who called the police.

  The story seemed rather vague, perhaps due to a lack of information at press time. I wondered if Henry and Louise had been returning from the police station.

  I was still reading when I heard unfamiliar footfalls on the stair, far below. Two pairs, heavy male tread. I could have looked out the window, but the blind was still drawn, and maybe they weren’t coming up to see me, anyway.

  I guessed wrong.

  They came across the ramp and knocked on the door.

  I got into my chair and pulled a robe over my legs. I said to come on in.

  The door opened, and I should have known. A uniformed policeman and an Irishman in plain clothes I knew to be Lieutenant Angus Riley. His nose was red. He extended his big freckled paw and I shook it.

  “Sorry to bust in, Jason,” Riley said, glancing around the room. He didn’t miss the empty wine bottle. “This is Sergeant Wilson.”

  “Have a seat,” I said. “Little messy—”

  They made no comment, found chairs, and Riley removed his hat. He appeared to have his best big foot forward.

  “I suppose you’re wondering, Jason. But I see you read the paper, and we wouldn’t be here, except this girl and Dee came down to the station last night and reported some threatening calls. They said you said for them to.”

  Typically bad Irish grammar.

  I nodded, having a smoke. Maybe it would help settle my queasy stomach. Or maybe it would taste like ragweed.

  “They were up here last night,” I said. “Young Dee’s a friend of mine. I think the phone company told you I’d been getting anonymous calls, too. I told them I thought they ought to report to the station.”

  Riley nodded, turning his hat around in his big paws. “You understand, we’d like to get a lead on this thing. I wasn’t on duty when they came in—but I read the statements. You got any ideas?”

  “No. I wish I did.”

  He glanced at my phone, with the cord dangling loose. I explained the jack the phone company had suggested.

  “Have you talked to Dee?”

  He smiled patronizingly. “We been up there. He’s in pretty good shape, considering.”

  “Which way was the car moving?—the paper didn’t seem to know.”

  “You better leave the police details to us, Jason.”

  “You want information, but you’re not giving any—that the general idea?”

  His smile was cool.

  “They go down and report, like good citizens, and get no protection on the way home.”

  He started to shoot back and thought better of it. Wilson cleared his throat.

  “Get this, upriver man. We don’t want no amateurs messing around.”

  “I could sure do a lot, sitting around here on my pratt, now couldn’t I?”

  “Cut it,” Riley broke in. Wilson reddened.

  The Lieutenant stood up and put on his hat. They walked to the back door. I had to get in one more shot.

  “I trust this one won’t wind up on the shelf, too, Riley.”

  He smiled thinly. “As a taxpayer, you have a right to shoot your mouth off, Jason. But don’t overdo it.”

  “My best wishes and an unpleasant good day to you both.”

  They left without another word. I hadn’t made any friends or influenced anybody at all.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “It was one hell of an experience,” Henry said, drinking his coffee too fast. He’d lost color and weight both. A patch of adhesive on his right cheekbone, right eye black. I was surprised they’d let him out of the hospital.

  “No looks at the driver—?”

  “Like I said—like I told this Riley. The car was coming along like it was going on down C Street, heading west. We were crossing the intersection there, and hell, you know—cars are cars. The fog was kind of thick, and all of a sudden the car turned toward us—that would be south on Fifth—and the lights went out. I heard Louise gasp. I guess she saw it before I did, and she grabbed my arm…The motor revved up.

  “I happened to make a lucky move. The old basketball reflexes, I guess. But the bumper grazed me and flipped me. I tried to grab her—but things happened too fast! Christ! That crunching sound when it hit her…”

  He swallowed convulsively, glaring at the floor. I waited for him to get his bearings.

  “—the next thing I know I’m looking up at the street light, with a fog circle around it, the fog is wet on my face, or something is, and an old guy bending over me, looking down…”

  His hands trembled. I shook my head, indicating I’d heard enough. Henry had been through the wringer.

  When I had a cigarette, I found my own fingers shaky. I had thought that a night’s rest—not much sleep, I’ll admit—would cool me down, but it hadn’t. The thing was too near.

  “I’m gonna find out who did this if it takes ten years,” he growled.

  “The police are working on it.”

  “Yeah!”

  “Naturally it occurred to you that the driver might have been aiming for you and got her by mistake—”

  “I guess! Or maybe both of us. It nearly worked, too.”

  I let him alone for a while, had more coffee, smoked my cigarette and rolled my chair over so I could look out of the north-facing window. During the night the snow-line on the far hills had drifted lower.

  And why hadn’t I told Henry about how strong I was getting? When I’d heard him on the stair earlier it had seemed natural to get into my chair and pull a robe over my legs.

  I’d saved it for a surprise. I didn’t think Fay would tell—she’d promised. I found myself wondering idly when she’d come up again, or even maybe when I’d go down and see her!

  “How do you propose to go about catching this spook?” I asked, finally.

  His eyes came up to meet mine. “I guess I don’t know, yet. You’ll help me, won’t you, Mark?”

  “If I can. I was getting calls long before he started in on you and Louise. I’m as anxious to catch this character as you are—but I’m rather limited.”

  Perhaps at the right moment my secret would be advantageous.

  “Okay—” He leaned forward eagerly. “I’ll go out and nose around and do what I can, and come back and report to you. How would that work?”

  “Damn it, Henry, I’m no detective. Riley’s warned me against it.”

  He grinned. “I knew you would!”

  These young people are so enthusiastic, so confident. What did we have to go on? A voice, a high-pitched, almost mechanical giggle. Perhaps a way of talking—but that could be faked, to
o. A clever psycho, unbalanced, unpredictable—and dangerous. “Where do we start, Mark?”

  “Maybe a few questions about Louise. Any guy been hanging around her lately, acting funny?”

  He frowned. “Not that I know of.”

  “Maybe some guy she had known before—”

  He shook his head, rubbing his hands along his trousered thighs. “Mark…”

  “Now listen, my young friend. A gal that good looking has had men around since she was fourteen, and you know it. Where’d she come from?”

  “Spokane.”

  “No relatives here, then?”

  He shook his head. “That’s why she got this apartment at the Arms.”

  “I hear the rents at this joint are a little steep.”

  “So what? Louise had a good job!”

  “Henry, banks aren’t notorious for high wages.”

  He reared out of his chair. “Mark, that’s one hell of a suggestion—”

  “Hold it—”

  “You think some guy has been—slipping around, and paying some rent?” He was flushed, angry.

  “You said it, I didn’t.”

  “Okay, okay…” He stood up, pacing around, but not so lively this time. A thickness under his shirt had to indicate taped ribs. “They’re having the funeral at Spokane tomorrow. I’m going up.”

  I nodded.

  “It’ll give me a chance to meet her folks…”

  I had another smoke, watching him. I felt sorry for him, but I wasn’t through yet. “I suppose you took her to meetings of the Jollies.”

  Fay had mentioned this, but it was a good opener. He halted, beginning to stiffen. His brown eyes hardened. “Sure, a few times. Not with that Outies bunch, you understand—regular meetings. But I don’t see…”

  “I don’t either, but that collection of oddballs might be a good place to start. I could give you a definite lead, too. Look for a relative or friend of Angela Stein, the girl I—ran over and killed. You may not have any luck, but if this caller is the same one, he started on me first—and made no bones about why he was after me. Or there could be no connection with Angela at all. Maybe just the fact that I did it, it got in the papers—and they never found the one who ran me down, either.”

  He stared at me intently. More pacing, then. Faster than usual. “Yeah—I see what you mean. The same one!”

  I hadn’t told Henry or any one too much about my spook calls. If he wanted to do some footwork, maybe he’d come up with something.

  “When do the jolly Jollies meet again?”

  “Mark, you shouldn’t make fun of them all the time.”

  “Poetry simply fascinates me…”

  He groaned.

  “My question?”

  “Oh—tomorrow night, Friday.”

  “Why don’t you go and look ’em over?”

  He sat down, finally. “Mark, I already know them!”

  “If you want to detect, you got to move around.”

  He hesitated. “Mark, I don’t think I could—so soon.”

  I could have said a lot of things, but I saved them. Like you grow up just so fast, and when you’re young you get hurt. It takes time to grow a thick hide.

  I poured more coffee and we sat quietly a while. Henry seemed overly preoccupied, not as alert as usual. But he had plenty of reasons, and I wondered if maybe he hadn’t ought to be back in the hospital—sometimes people are in light shock for several days after an accident.

  I said: “Just for kicks, fill me in on this Outies business.”

  “Oh—” He seemed to come out of his own private fog. I’d kidded him so much about those jolly dingbats he wasn’t sure I meant it.

  “For real,” I said.

  “You know how Mrs. Snark and Cecilia Swatch run the show, on account of the money—some of the young members have been holding ‘side’ meetings, and there’s some talk about forming a new club. The old members are calling this new branch ‘Outies,’ for Outsiders, naturally. I don’t think it’ll amount to much. Some of the Outies live over in Hillview. There’s Jerri and John Sproot and—”

  “Hold it.” I didn’t want to get enmeshed in this poetry jazz any deeper than necessary. But I had to dig around if I wanted to uncover anything. “Did Louise really go for the poetry bit?”

  “Oh—I guess. She liked meeting people…”

  Men people, I said to myself. Aloud, I said: “How well did you really know her?”

  “That’s one hell of a question!”

  “Take it easy. She came down from Spokane when?”

  “About six months ago.”

  “And you met her when?”

  “September, I guess. Yeah. It was at the bank. I was making a deposit, and—”

  “Been up to her apartment?”

  “Yeah—so what?”

  “When did it happen?”

  He flushed. “Mark, what’s that got to do with it?”

  “Probably nothing…”

  He squirmed in his chair. “Okay! Maybe she was after me, but I…Nothing happened, you understand? She was a nice girl. A man should respect—Oh, hell! I see you don’t understand, so we’ll skip it.”

  I waved my arm.

  “I don’t like these questions,” he said.

  “The police may get around to them.”

  He stared. “You mean the cops might think I had something to do with it?”

  “They think lots of things, Henry, especially when there’s a young, attractive gal involved. There will probably be an autopsy. Was she knocked up?”

  He came out of his chair. For a second I thought he was going to try me.

  “Hell, no, she wasn’t preg! I told you—”

  I said nothing.

  His eyes swung around again, surprisingly cold. “I see now what you’re thinking.” He’d got control of himself, but he was pale and rigid. “You’re pushing me pretty hard, Mark. We don’t seem to have the same ideas about girls.”

  “Now listen, my young friend. You wanted to pry around. I can’t help you or me or anybody if I don’t know something about the people involved. This isn’t a kid game, this is cold-blooded mayhem. I’m right in the middle of it, and so are you—so let’s be sensible.”

  He lit a cigarette slowly, carefully.

  “I’m sorry, Mark.”

  “So am I. We’re both raspy. Go home and get some rest—you look like you needed it.”

  He stood up, wincing; “Kind of stiff in the ribs—”

  “And me in the brain,” I said.

  He grinned and got ready to leave.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The following morning Henry said he was still too sore to go to the Jolly meeting, and I began putting together a little plan. I’d had my phone plugged in since breakfast, and no calls. An ominous silence had followed Louise’s death.

  About one-thirty I called Fay down at the Steak House.

  “Mark—is that you?”

  “Could be. It’s getting mighty lonesome up here.”

  She laughed, real friendly. “I have tonight off—”

  I felt strong and masculine. “How’d you like to invite me to your Jolly meeting?”

  “Oh-that—”

  “Were you going?”

  “Sure—if you want to—”

  “You’re a nice, agreeable kitten.”

  “Stop! You’re getting mushy—”

  “Just for kicks, Fay. I’ve got some ideas about this spook. You been getting any more calls?”

  “No—and I’m glad!” She giggled softly. “I’m tickled that you called.”

  “Take it easy, there. This ‘meeting’ will probably give me fits, but I want to look some of them over.”

  “I see. Sure, Mark.”

  “Don’t give away my secret.”

  “I promised, didn’t I?”

  “Why not drop by when you’re ready. I’ll get the old Chevy operating. It’s been sitting out in front here for too long.” I suggested what she should wear, that I’d be dressed
appropriately too. She laughed again.

  “Mark, you’re a card, you know that?”

  “Ho-ho!”

  “There’s another bottle of wine at my apartment—”

  I made hungry noises of appreciation, and we rang off. Nice chick. She kept it light and pleasant.

  Later in the afternoon I called a service station where I was known, and told them to come up and get my car operating again—then I called a costume store along Main and told them to bring up a few things, for rental purposes only. The package came in plenty of time.

  At 7:15 I was ready. And the damn phone rang. I lifted the receiver, that nagging fear still inside me. The last twelve hours I’d felt better than I had for a long, long time—and now the bottom dropped out.

  That weird, scratchy giggle again. I gulped a curse and hung on. Maybe some inflection or placement of words…many times before I had merely dropped the receiver. And if the call repeated, I’d unplug the jack.

  Now—“…well, how is our murderer tonight? Killed any more young girls lately? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…I warned you, Jason! If I can’t get you, I get your friends, see? I got one of ’em. Messy, but justified. She won’t go twitching her rear end around any more in that evil way, or showing off her legs! Ha, ha, ha, ha, he, he, he, he…” The line went dead.

  I cursed and cursed, my hands clenching and unclenching, hoping for a chance at that throat. And someday they’d get it. Someday they’d still that vicious cackle, squeeze until its owner flopped and squirmed in agony…

  I snapped the phone cord out of the wall. I stormed into the kitchenette and dug out a fifth of bourbon I’d stashed away. I uncorked it, tipped the bottle and gulped it down, raw and biting. It helped, but not enough. I shouldn’t have listened to the whole rotten thing.

  I thought about calling Riley and reporting. What good would it do? Probably from some remote phone booth, and there were scores of them all over town. An impossible situation.

  A dangerous, sex-crazed maniac, and I had to have him (or maybe her) for a playmate. To trap this boy would take brains and cunning—and a pile of luck. If he didn’t get me first.

  Someone knocked on the front door. I hid the fifth, got into my chair, adjusted the robe and rolled into the small parlor.

  “Who is it?”

  “Me—Fay—”

  I began to relax. I unlocked the door. She came in breezily, smiling. She saw me in the chair and the smile faded.