“Come on in, Steve,” she said when I got to the door. “You know Mr. Talmadge?”
“We’ve met,” I said.
“Now, just a minute, Walters,” Talmadge said quickly. “I know you’ve some crazy idea that I—”
“I haven’t any ideas at all, Talmadge,” I said. “I ran out.”
Liz looked at my leg and came toward me. “What’s happened?”
“It’s all right.” I crossed to Talmadge. “I’m glad you came out, Sam,” I told him. “I’ve something to show you.”
His gaze went beyond me to Liz. “What’s he doing here?” he asked.
“Listen to him,” she said. “Maybe he’ll tell you.”
“Sure, Sam,” I said, “listen to me. You might learn a lot.” I reached into my pocket and fished out Ann Gunther’s diary which looked a little worse for wear. I held it out to him. “Go on, take it,” I said. “It’s damned interesting reading.”
He took the book and looked from one of us to the other. “Toward the back,” I said, “you’ll find it fascinating. Facts and figures on your narcotics trade.”
He stared at me. “Narcotics?” he said.
“Maybe you call it dope.”
He opened the book slowly and started to read and the puzzled expression was replaced by one of fright when he saw what it was. He looked at me and I turned to Liz whose lips were caressed by a faint smile as she observed her father. Moments passed in silence.
Finally Talmadge looked up at us. “This is a frame!” he exclaimed. “Those weren’t my operations. I haven’t had a finger in the traffic for years!”
“It can all be proved,” Liz said suddenly. “There are signed papers—and witnesses.”
Talmadge stared at her, his mouth open, realization filling his eyes.
“The book doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “The girl’s dead. Besides, who’s going to take the word of a hopped-up chippy?”
“It can be proved, I tell you,” Liz said. “You don’t get it, Sam. It’s all been worked out.”
I turned to her. “And what else was worked out?” I asked her.
“Don’t you know?” She smiled her full enjoyment.
“Maybe I could guess. Maybe the last part of the diary was forged.”
She gave me a glance. “You caught on to that pretty fast, didn’t you?”
“Along with some other things,” I said. “How much did you promise Deitrich to take me in?”
The smile left her face. “Too much, I’m beginning to think.”
“And how much did you have to pay Haggart to follow the girl to Vegas and kill her? Was it cash or was he holding out for a slice of the business?”
“Haggart was getting a little ahead of himself,” she said.
“So you were helping me to eliminate him, weren’t you? You sent him out after me, then turned me back on him. Pretty great deal, Liz,” I said in a cold flat voice. “You were damned convincing with that ‘kill him first before he kills you’ routine.” I took a step toward her and she backed toward the bar. “How far back does your deal with Haggart go?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” she challenged to discover what I knew.
“Maybe I could. The way I figure it—it goes back even before Wakely,” I began my analysis. “The two of you used Wakely to make your contacts. Then you married Wakely for a cover-up and had Haggart run him off the cliff.” I shook my head to show what I thought of this as an operating practice. “After that you had Haggart tied up,” I continued. “He’s been doing your dirty work ever since.”
“Haggart was stupid,” she said.
“He was when he got mixed up with you.” I turned to Talmadge. “Meanwhile they’ve been easing you out of the rackets and pinning their deals on you at the same time.” I wised him up. “No wonder you were too hot for the big boys. One slip and you could be toppled at a moment’s notice. It took them a long time to get there, but they finally made it.”
Talmadge looked dazed. He took a step forward. “This isn’t my rap, Liz,” he said uncertainly. “It isn’t. You can’t pin me.”
“It wasn’t my rap, either, when I brought Johnny out here from the East,” she snapped. “But I took it just the same.” The bitterness in her voice was as hard and as deep as unmined iron. She looked around at me. “Maybe it’s just as well you got away from the doctor,” she said and the smile returned to her eyes and lips. “You’ll never know how grateful I am that you arranged this little party.”
Now that I had it all off my chest I felt woozy. The colors of the room began to blur. There was a chair in front of me and I reached for it to steady myself.
“You look in bad shape, Walters,” she said.
“Bitch,” I wanted to spit on her. “I just left a friend of mine who died. And don’t say you’re sorry, because if you do I’ll kill you.”
The room shimmered in my sight but I was aware of Sam Talmadge staring at me, curiously, as though he had never seen me before and was trying to fix my face in his memory. I almost felt sorry for the guy.
“As I said,” Liz continued from somewhere in the distance, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for arranging this little party. It really simplifies everything. For instance, Walters,” she explained, “I was wondering how I was going to get rid of you when you’d served your purpose. I had several ideas, but now I don’t have to worry about any of them.” She turned to her father who listened. “I’ve always had a certain regret about the necessity of letting the law take care of you.”
Liz must have kept a gun handy behind the bar for suddenly it was in her hand, neat and deadly, its barrel casting a dull bluish sheen. As she came toward us, her cool smile had twisted itself into a hateful grimace and the glitter in her eyes was the glitter of insanity. I would never have dreamed that she could be so hideous to look at.
“There won’t be any risk in it,” she said. She came toward us, her eyes on Talmadge. “You always carry a gun,” she told him “And your guns are never marked.” She nudged the revolver at him and held out her hand. “I’ll just relieve you of it now. Hold your hands up.”
He didn’t argue with her; I doubt that he could have if he’d wanted to. I held onto the back of the chair and put down a crazy impulse to laugh. It was really pretty funny. I’d managed to stick through the whole lousy game and now, on the last deal, she was still holding all the aces. Liz reached deftly inside Talmadge’s coat and brought out a .32.
She stepped back and looked around at me. “You probably have it all figured out,” she said. “You’re a smart boy, Walters. You’ll just have to bear with it while I explain it to my father. He’s not so fast.” Her smile became even more grotesque. “This is the way it goes. Sam, here”—she turned from me—“has already made a claim that you’ve made an attempt on his life. That’s just perfect,” she nodded, “because you’re going to make another one and this time you’re going to make it good. Isn’t it ironical, though, that you will have shot him with his own gun? When the police find you two stretched out, they’ll know the setup before I even tell them. You followed Sam out here and shot him.”
“And you’re the distressed lady in the clear,” I said to keep her talking. Even if I was going to die I wanted to know everything.
“I managed to get the gun from behind the bar and shot you. The bullets and prints will check.” She looked from me to Sam. “And when they check the diary, they won’t care which of you killed which or why; they’ll just figure it saved the courts a lot of time and money.”
“You’re crazy,” Sam choked and looked at me for help. “Crazy.”
“But it gets even better than that, doesn’t it, Sam?” Liz enjoyed his fall and fright. “This is the part you’ll understand. You’ve always been so scared of my reputation; you’ve always managed to keep your sacred little daughter so clean and above reproach. I think you were actually proud of it when I was heading the purity leagues against you. But there won’t be much you can do about it, will there, w
hen the newspaper boys get here this time and start figuring out how you happened to get yourself killed in my house. And believe me, Sam, they’ll get all the interesting sidelights I can give them. I may even tell them what I think of my mother for marrying a creep like you.”
Sam Talmadge just stared at her, his face drained of color; He looked like a man in a delirium. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before the words began to come out.
“I always thought you’d get over it, Liz,” he said. His voice was trembling. “I thought—I hoped—you might forgive me someday—maybe for your mother’s sake. You—you’re not responsible I guess, but I only tried to help you—to make things easy—”
That was as far as he got when the shot rang out to echo against the walls like a clap of thunder. For a moment Sam Talmadge stood there, a fat, ridiculous figure of a man with a small red stain spreading on his shirt front and a surprised, almost comic, expression on his face. For a moment he wavered like a wax figure, then crumpled to the floor. Suddenly the room was very silent.
“Goodbye, father,” Liz said after a moment. Then she turned to me. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with a strange fever. She changed guns and held the revolver on me.
“This is where you get off, Walters,” she said. “Thanks for all the help. Thanks for everything. I really don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
The scene was beginning to dim out around me. I gripped the chair as though it were my life. She said something else to me, but I couldn’t make it out. It was as though she were speaking to me from the other side of the world. I felt myself going down on my knees. It was no way for a smart boy to die. I reached out my hand to the floor and caught myself.
I waited for the kick against my chest when the bullet hit me. I waited, and then there was the sound of the shot. But there was no kick. I raised my head and for an instant the room came back into focus.
What I saw didn’t make sense. This time it was Liz who looked surprised. A hand went to her breast and the blood began to ooze through her fingers. She stared across the room in stupefied amazement. The gun dropped from her hand and made a dull sound as it landed on the carpet. She started to say something, but her face twisted with pain and she bit her lip to hold it back. Then she fell, gracefully, and lay still. Her face relaxed and once again she was beautiful.
Maggie Feeney stood in the doorway, her hair up in pin-curlers, wearing an old bathrobe, a gun in her hand. Her face was white and drawn and she looked very old. Maybe I really saw them and maybe I didn’t, but I thought there were tears in her eyes.
I started to say something, to call out to her, but I didn’t have the wind. My arm gave way and I dropped to the floor and blacked-out on the way down.
Chapter Seventeen
The doctor’s voice was easy to listen to, but waking up wasn’t easy.
“How do you feel?” he asked. “Do you hear me clearly?”
“Where am I?” I managed to say.
“General Hospital. Prison ward,” he added.
“Prison ward?” I was just making words because I didn’t really care one way or the other.
“You’ll be moved as soon as possible,” he said.
“Yeah,” I nodded because it was coming back to me.
The doctor smiled as if to take the bite off what he had to tell me.
“Some police officers are waiting outside to see you. I’m supposed to let them in the moment you’re conscious.”
“I don’t want to see them,” I said. “I don’t want to see anyone.”
“I understand,” the doctor nodded sympathetically and paused for a moment. “There’s also a Miss Palmer outside. She’s been waiting since early this morning.”
“Gwynn?”
He nodded. “Is that her first name? She’s very anxious to see you.” He gave me a long look. “I could slip her past the others.”
I held it for a moment, trying to keep my face blank. I didn’t know the meeting with Gwynn would come so soon. I’d hoped it wouldn’t. But now it was here and there was no point in trying to duck it. “Sure,” I said finally. “Sure. Bring her in, doc.”
He put his hand on my shoulder to apply the old reassuring, professional pressure. “I’ll go get her.”
Waiting for Gwynn to come into the room, I took inventory. My arm was strapped tight to my chest. But what bothered me was my leg; it felt like it wasn’t there anymore. I reached out with my good hand, lifted the sheet, and sighed with relief. It was there all right, but it was strapped up, too. I dropped the sheet as the door opened and looked up to see Gwynn.
She closed the door quietly and for a moment just stood there, looking at me.
“Hello, Steve,” she said.
She was too beautiful to be true, not with the obvious beauty of Vicki or Liz, but with a steady, warm radiance that was in everything about her, even in the way she held her head. She wore a light blue suit, neat and trim, but feminine and soft at the same time. She didn’t have any right to look like that. After the trip from Vegas and all, she should have been a mess.
“I wasn’t expecting any beautiful visitors today,” I fumbled for an opening. “Otherwise, I’d have dressed.”
Her smile was very tight as she came toward me to reach down and take my hand. “I’m so thankful.”
“It was nice of you to come, Gwynn,” I said. “How did you know?”
“I knew last night,” she said. “Les kept in touch here all along.”
I shot her a questioning glance, but there was no answer in her face. ‘Les is a nice guy,” I said.
“He’s been wonderful, Steve, he really has.” Her face was grave. “I hate to see you like this. It must have been awful, these last few days—”
I managed a grin. “You’re lucky to see me at all.”
“It’s all over now, and that’s what really matters,” she pressed my fingers. “You’re out of it.”
I shook my head. “Not entirely. There’s still Mike French’s killing to explain,” I turned to her. “Gwynn, I know what happened to Mike now. I knew all the time, but I just couldn’t remember. I kept thinking about the flash of light I’d seen in the darkness when I woke up that night. I knew I’d seen it again afterwards but I couldn’t think where. Then I remembered that when I found Ann’s body the sunlight was shining on the heel of her shoe. It was patent leather and it caught the light like a mirror. I know now that Ann followed Mike and me to the apartment, found my gun, and killed Mike. What I saw was the flash of moonlight on Ann’s heel as she ran out of the place.”
“I’m glad you remembered,” Gwynn said. “But what an awful thing to have to remember.” She shuddered.
“The trouble is it’s all mixed up with a nightmare I was having. I’m sure I heard the shots and Ann laughing too. But how can I ever prove it?” I shrugged. “Should I tell the cops my dreams?” I was bitter. “They’re waiting out there right now to talk to me. They’d laugh themselves sick.”
“Maybe not,” she said and continued rapidly to answer my glance. “Les and I’ve been working on the French killing. We found witnesses who saw Mike take you home unconscious. But we also found the taxi driver who drove the girl to your apartment. It wasn’t easy—he was away on a hunting trip where he couldn’t see the newspapers—but we finally got in touch with him yesterday. He heard the girl swear she was going to kill Mike. His statement is all ready for signature.”
I stared at her and wished she weren’t so damned nice to look at. “I guess Les and you are about the best friends I’ve got.” I tried to keep everything except gratitude out of my voice.
Gwynn smiled. “I guess Les really did it for me,” she said. “He’s always liked me.”
One of us had to say something. “Well, I guess we all came out of it pretty well—all except Vicki Mercer.”
“And Mrs. Feeney,” Gwynn said. “She’s terribly broken up.” Suddenly it came back to me, that last glimpse of Maggie standing in the doorway. “That’s right,” I s
aid. “It was Maggie who dropped Liz.”
“It almost killed her, poor thing.” Gwynn’s eyes were moist. “She was really fond of Liz Wakely. She’d known for a long time that Liz was a mental, but thought it would pass once she’d gotten the best of Talmadge. She’s terribly broken up.”
“Where did Maggie fit into things?” I asked. “I was too far gone to keep it all straight.”
“Well,” Gwynn spoke precisely, “she’d fixed dinner for Liz and gone to bed early, so she didn’t know about Talmadge’s coming or anything else. Mrs. Feeney is a sound sleeper—I guess Liz was counting on that—but she woke to get a glass of water and heard Talmadge’s voice in the living room. Her first thought was that Liz was in danger. She didn’t stop to think. She found a gun of her husband’s and ran downstairs just in time to hear a shot and see Talmadge go down. For a moment she couldn’t understand,” Gwynn said, pausing, “then Mrs. Feeney realized it was Liz who had killed her father and that she was going to kill you, too. She didn’t want to kill Elizabeth Wakely—only to stop her.”
“I hope Maggie isn’t taking it too hard,” I said.
“I think she’ll get over it,” Gwynn nodded. “She didn’t know of all the filth Liz was mixed up in.”
“It’s a wonder she never stumbled on to Liz’s connection with Haggart.”
“Liz was a smooth operator. She was never seen with Haggart.”
“Of course I’m in no position to criticize Maggie.” I didn’t want Gwynn to release my hand. “It took me long enough to figure it out and it was right under my nose all the time.”
“What was?” Gwynn asked me.
“It wasn’t until after Haggart was dead that I realized that someone had to be sending us after each other,” I explained. “And Liz was the only one in a position to do it. Of course I didn’t really catch on until I spotted the forgery in Ann’s diary. After that it was obvious the book had been planted for me to find. That meant that Haggart was working with someone to get Talmadge. It had to be Liz. I should have been brighter.”
“You were moving too fast to do much thinking,” Gwynn still looked puzzled, but that was understandable.
The Noir Novel Page 68