The Kissed Corpse

by Brett Halliday

  She was leaning against me looking up at the night. My arm went about her as though it belonged there. She relaxed against it with a little sigh, closing her eyes. Her parted lips were stained the same vivid red they had been the first time I saw her … the same vivid red that was on Leslie Young’s mouth when he died.

  I’ve never been an impressionable fool about women. I’ve always been able to take them or leave them alone.

  I knew it couldn’t be that way with me and Laura Yates. I either had to hate her, or … God help me … love her. Either way, I was lost.

  I was bending closer over her and she lay quietly against me. Had her kiss betrayed Young to his death?

  I got up suddenly and she slumped back against the seat, lifting her lashes and watching me with wary eyes.

  I lit a cigarette with trembling fingers and muttered something about getting home to Nip and Tuck.

  She didn’t say anything.

  She was sitting there slumped back against the seat as I walked blindly down the driveway to the road where I might bum a ride as far as the street car line. I forgot about Burke and about the case and about the book I was going to write.

  There was room for only one thought in my mind, and it drummed at me relentlessly.

  I had to get away from her … before I couldn’t get myself away from her.

  14

  My telephone was jangling when I let myself in the front door of my house almost an hour later. Nip and Tuck waggled a furious welcome but I took time for just one pat and to let them out for a run before hurrying to the telephone.

  Chief Jelcoe’s voice rasped over the wire: “Baker? Do you know where Burke is hiding out?”

  I said, “Yes,” and waited.

  “Where can I reach him?” Jelcoe sputtered. “I’ve been phoning all over the city. He might at least get in touch with his office every now and then.”

  “I’ll see that he gets any message you want to give him.” I didn’t know whether Burke wanted Jelcoe to know where he was, so I played safe.

  Jelcoe sputtered a few puny curses over the wire but I didn’t help him any. He wound up by saying:

  “There is an important confidential message for him from Washington. Evidently in reply to some query he sent out this morning, though it doesn’t make much sense to me.”

  “Send it out to my place by messenger,” I suggested. “I’ll see that it reaches Burke at once.”

  “I certainly would like to know what he’s doing on the Young case … if anything.” Jelcoe sounded aggrieved.

  “He’s making progress,” I told him, and couldn’t resist adding: “Have you arrested Mrs. Young yet?”

  “Not yet. But I’m convinced she lied to us about the pistol being stolen by the party she named. I made a thorough search of her apartment this afternoon and found nothing. But I believe the Yates woman will bear watching.”

  I mumbled something, then asked him: “What public effect did the Free Press story have?”

  “There’s hell to pay down here. Our switchboard is clogged with calls from citizens demanding to know what action Burke is taking. The Mexican quarter is seething with bands of Young Nationalists calling for a public demonstration against any secret settlement of oil claims. Is Burke doing anything, for Chrissake?”

  “He was drinking a Tom Collins the last time I saw him,” I chuckled, and hung up before Jelcoe had a chance to get started again.

  Then I looked up the number of the Dwight residence and called it. After a long wait, I got Burke on the wire and he sounded relieved to hear my voice:

  “I’ve tried to call your house twice, Asa. Why the devil did you run out on me?”

  “You forget I’m a family man. My dogs are well-trained, but I can’t leave them locked up in the house indefinitely.”

  “I forgot about the pups. Why didn’t you take my car?”

  I didn’t want to admit the mood I was in when I left the Dwight estate so I lied to him: “I thought I’d drive my own car back … just in case something came up and we had to go in two directions in a hurry.”

  “U-m-m.” He sounded a bit skeptical. “Laura Yates said you legged it away from here as though you had ants in your pants.”

  I disregarded that, and repeated what Jelcoe had told me over the telephone.

  “That message may be the break I’ve been waiting for, Asa. I should have kept in touch with the office and gotten it when it came. Rush it out as soon as you get hold of it.”

  I told him I would, and asked if he still had everything under control.

  “As far as I know … with the gang I’ve got cooped up here. I don’t think there are any new corpses … yet.”

  “What about Rodriguez?”

  “He was as full of information as the others,” Burke grunted disgustedly. “That telegram from Washington may be the key to a lot of things, Asa. Don’t delay getting it here. It’s a confidential report on Rufus Hardiman, and may be the lever we need to start the ball rolling.”

  I promised again that I’d bring it right out, hung up and stepped out on my front porch. Nip and Tuck came wagging up with reproachful faces and I squatted down to explain to them that I was on the trail of a story that would buy them lots of dog-biscuits and that they would have to be patient with me for a little longer.

  They snuggled down beside me and seemed to understand. Or, not understanding, they trusted me and were perfectly satisfied to enjoy the moment.

  Lucky they weren’t detectives, I thought to myself, or they wouldn’t even be able to trust me. With a hand on each coarsely-furred head I let my thoughts drift to the collection of suspects Burke had herded together at the Dwight mansion.

  I didn’t trust any of them. Not even Laura. Laura, perhaps, least of all. And that was the hell of it.

  I wanted to trust her. And that made me distrust myself. I know I’m saying it very badly. I feel it’s impossible to deal with a thing like this honestly in retrospect. I’m trying to define emotions that were intangible.

  I tried not to think about Laura … but I couldn’t think about anything else.

  A motorcycle slid to a stop in front of my gate. A uniformed man came up the walk and asked me if I was Asa Baker. I told him I was and he gave me a thick yellow envelope which had been opened and resealed. I sat there with it in my hands while his motorcycle roared off.

  Then I gave my brains a shake and called the Scotties inside. They mournfully followed me to the kitchen where I filled their bowl with fresh water and replenished their supply of dog biscuits.

  Their eyes followed me accusingly as I went out the back door toward the garage.

  An instinct warned me, too late, of danger as I passed the black shadow of the hedge.

  I whirled in time to see a shadowy figure and an arm coming down in a chopping motion. I fell a hell of a distance and hit bottom with an awful thud. Then everything was blacked out for me.

  15

  Two Scottie tongues were frantically rasping over my face when I came up from the depths. Tuck whimpered and pawed at me when I sat up. Nip crouched down on the floor with her ears back and a deep worry-line creasing her forehead.

  I was lying just inside the kitchen door and I didn’t have the slightest idea how I’d gotten there. I sat on the floor with my head in my hands for a minute, trying to recall what had happened, but my only memory was of seeing an arm coming down. I didn’t even know whether my assailant was a man or a woman.

  Then I thought about Burke’s important telegram. It was gone. My wallet with its few small bills was still in my pocket. Nothing was missing except the telegram.

  Feeling like hell-before-breakfast, I got up and stumbled into the bathroom, where I doused my head in cold water. There was a nasty bump on the back of my head, but no other damage.

  In the living room I damn near passed out again when I saw by the clock that it was eleven-thirty. I’d been unconscious for hours—instead of minutes, as I first thought.

  I started for the telep
hone to call Burke; changed my mind and went into the bedroom, where I got my .38 and threw a cartridge under the hammer; picked up a flashlight in the kitchen and again went out the back way toward the garage.

  There was a scuffed trail on the dirt walk showing where I had been dragged to the kitchen. I wasted thirty seconds at the spot where I had been attacked without finding anything, then went on in the garage and backed my car out.

  With the wind-wing turned to throw night air in my face, I drove slowly out Piedras. I felt like a nitwit to have had such a thing happen to me, and I couldn’t rationalize the setup at all.

  Someone was after the telegram. Someone who knew I had it and was taking it to Burke. Someone who wanted it badly enough to take a chance on murder to gain possession of it. Yet, someone who was kind enough to drag me back into my kitchen after knocking me out cold.

  It didn’t make sense.

  There was a hammer pounding inside my head and my thinking processes didn’t jell any too well. I speeded up when I began wondering what had happened in McKelligon’s Canyon during the hours I had lost. I had to step on the brake hard to make the turn into the Dwight estate, and I took the slope in second gear with the accelerator all the way down.

  A man came running toward me from the front lawn when I pulled up and parked.

  It was Jerry Burke, hatless and worried. “For God’s sake, Asa, where have you been?”

  I leaned on the steering wheel and told him what had happened. He drew in a long breath of relief when I finished.

  “I couldn’t figure it out. I called your house twice and no one answered … thought you must have started out here and run into an accident. Half the cops in El Paso are combing the city for you or your car. I’d better go in and phone Jelcoe to call them off.”

  I put my hand on his arm as he started away. “Wait a minute, Jerry. Who socked me?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  “Anyone …” My voice was weak, “… from here?”

  “I don’t know how anyone from here could have known about the telegram.” He paused, rubbing his jaw. “Laura Yates slipped away soon after you left. She must have shorted the ignition wires on her car to get it started without a key.”

  “Before or after I called you, Jerry?”

  “I’m trying to think. I can’t be sure, damn it. It was after you called when I noticed that she wasn’t around.”

  “Anyone else been missing?”

  “Hardiman was gone for a short time. I let him go to the city for some cigars. But he’s been back for an hour or more. I’ve been out here walking up and down and wondering what the hell had become of you. I’ve been too busy to keep track of Desta, but nothing she could do would surprise me.”

  “Did either Laura or Hardiman overhear our telephone conversation?”

  He shook his head positively. “I was in the butler’s cubbyhole and there was no one close enough to hear. But there are extension telephones scattered all over the house. Every one of them might have been listening in. I haven’t tried to check because I didn’t know it had any bearing on the fact that you were missing.”

  I got out of the car dizzily. Hardiman and Laura! I was positive that Hardiman wouldn’t have bothered to drag me back to the kitchen after slugging me. What about Desta? I had a hunch she had a queer streak a yard wide and was capable of anything.

  I followed Burke into the house and stood in the hall while he got Jelcoe on the phone and told him to call off the search for me and come on out to the Dwight estate. Coming out, he filled his pipe and said:

  “When I first called Jelcoe about you, I had him repeat the message from Washington as closely as he remembered it. Not knowing what it was all about, he hadn’t read it carefully, but the substance of it confirms my belief that Dwight is holding something over Hardiman’s head, blackmailing him into using his official position with the State Department to force Mexico to make a private settlement with Dwight. I’ve been too upset by your absence to spring my information on Hardiman, but we won’t let it wait any longer. Come on.”

  He strode down toward the open doors of the lighted drawing room. I followed on his heels and we found Myra Young, Michaela O’Toole, Pasqual, and a tall Mexican whom I hadn’t seen before.

  Myra was stretched out on a divan with a highball within reach of her hand. She glanced at us with a grimace, and quickly looked away.

  The three Mexicans were in a huddle across the room. They broke off their low conversation to look up inquiringly as we barged in. Senor Rodriguez was a tall, courtly, old fellow, with a lean scarred face and a bristly white mustache. He reminded me of a duelist on guard as he faced Burke.

  “Where’s the rest of the happy family?” Burke sardonically asked the room at large.

  Nobody answered him for a moment. Then Myra swung her legs off the divan and sat up. “The Dwights said to hell with all their uninvited guests … and went to bed.” Her face was drawn and sallow.

  “What about Mr. Hardiman?”

  “He had a telephone call a while ago, and went out the side door soon afterward. He didn’t tell any of us where he was going but I thought I heard him upstairs talking to Ray a little while ago.”

  By “Ray” I gathered that she meant Raymond Dwight, and the thought flashed through my mind that she wasn’t missing any opportunity to impress upon us her intimacy with our host.

  Senor Rodriguez interrupted my thought by striding forward and confronting Burke: “As a citizen of another country I demand a reason for your holding us here against our will. I warn you that I shall make the strongest diplomatic representations to my government.…”

  Burke broke in rudely: “You’re safer here than if you were within reach of the mobs after your scalp for selling out your country to Dwight.”

  The Mexican’s lips were set in a thin tight line, and his eyes blazed, but he didn’t answer Burke.

  Myra got up and moved toward us. “I’ll run up and see if Mr. Hardiman is still with Raymond. Shall I tell him you want to see him?”

  Burke nodded absently. I went to the center table and mixed myself a stiff brandy and soda from the bewildering array of drinkables displayed there.

  Burke turned to Rodriguez and said: “I apologize for my unwarranted crack about you selling out your country. I think I’m beginning to understand the sort of pressure you’ve been under … and I believe it is about to be withdrawn. But I insist that you are far safer here until the matter is entirely cleared up.”

  The tall Mexican bowed stiffly. “In return, I assure you, Senor Burke, that my every action has been with honorable intent. There has been no secret agreement between my country and private interests, and there will be none if I can prevent it.”

  I heard Chief Jelcoe’s thin voice in the hallway, and Rodriguez moved away from Burke as the tall figure of the detective entered the drawing room. His eyes bulged as their gaze roamed over Senor Rodriguez’s scarred face, then rested on Michaela and Pasqual who were talking together in low tones on the far side of the room.

  “Hello, Chief,” Burke greeted him, then took his arm and drew him aside. “That telegram from Washington has disappeared. I want you to repeat it as nearly as you recall.…”

  Hell broke loose upstairs.

  A door slammed and the clamor of shrill voices tore the silence to shreds. A scream that contained more of anger than anguish sliced through the clamor; then there was the pounding of feet on the stairs and Desta Dwight’s voice crying: “I caught you that time! Just like I knew I would! I’ve been watching.…”

  Myra darted into the drawing room with Desta in close pursuit, Desta, her eyes glittering hotly, her slim body inadequately clad in filmy pajamas of flame-colored silk.

  Burke took one step forward and his right arm encircled Desta’s waist as Myra collapsed on the divan. He slapped a big hand over Desta’s mouth and held her wriggling body tight while sternly asking Myra what it was all about.

  Glaring back defiantly, M
yra panted out: “She came at me in the hall just as I was closing her father’s door. Without stopping to ask any questions, she jumped at her own nasty conclusions and tried to claw my eyes out. She’s nuts if you ask me.”

  Desta looked like a crazy person as she struggled, against Burke’s hold, to get at Myra. Her face was smeared with cold cream or some beauty preparation, and her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. Gurgles of anger crowded past Burke’s big hand pressed tightly over her mouth.

  Jerry lifted her bodily and carried her across to a big chair into which she crumpled when he let go his hold. Her breath wheezed in and out between set teeth, and little bubbles of saliva formed at the corners of her mouth.

  Glancing aside at Jelcoe, I had to smother a laugh at the look of stupefied bewilderment on his sallow face. I had forgotten that he hadn’t been with us all evening and didn’t know this was just the normal thing to expect in that haywire household. In Desta’s collapsed condition I thought I might be able to get something out of her, so I moved forward to the chair and reached down to shake her shoulder.

  She looked up at me with a furtive glint of fear in her eyes, cowering away as though she expected me to hit her.

  I said: “Some fresh air will do you good,” and pulled her to her feet.

  Burke nodded with understanding and motioned the others back when I put my arm about her waist and steered her out the door.

  She apathetically let me lead her out the front door, as though her spirit had suddenly crumpled under the strain. Her flame-colored pajamas were as near no covering as could be devised by modern science, and she began to shiver when we got out into the cool moonlight.

  I went to the bench Laura and I had sat on, saying matter-of-factly: “You’ve been kicking up a lot of hell, young lady. Explanations are in order.”

  She sighed and cuddled down against me on the bench, pressing my hand tightly against the inadequately covered flesh of her flat stomach. “Why?”

  “Have you been away from here the last couple of hours?”

  She snuggled a little lower. Again, she asked sleepily: “Why?”