Night of the Toads

by Michael Collins

  I said, ‘I guess he finally ‘got’ Vega, too.’

  He dropped the barely smoked cigarette into an ash tray, leaned across the desk toward me.

  ‘You said you could prove it was a frame-up?’

  ‘I can prove Foxx framed Vega for Anne Terry’s death, maybe for Marshall’s killing, but Vega had to try to murder Emory Foxx, and kill Mrs Foxx by mistake.’

  I slipped my hand into my pocket, gripped my old pistol. I didn’t think I’d need it, not really, but I like to be careful. A one-armed man needs help in a fight.

  I said, ‘Vega sent Sean McBride. You know he did, Lehman.’

  I had my cannon on its way out. I never did see where his gun came from. A small automatic, maybe a 7.65mm. Mauser, in his right hand. He held it at me. I brought my hand out empty.

  ‘You saw me at Foxx’s place,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

  A mistake, that’s what I’d made. No, two mistakes. I had been sure George Lehman didn’t use guns, few people do. I had been sure he wouldn’t defend Ricardo Vega so far. Too many mistakes for my work. Inside, I was jelly, but I talked.

  ‘I won’t move anywhere, Lehman. You’ll have to shoot here with your family upstairs, or nowhere. I’m tied to this case, Gazzo’ll trace me to you easy. For what, Lehman? For Rey Vega? You and McBride were tools. You weren’t even in the actual bombing. Turn witness for the state, you’ll get off light. Vega’s the killer. Kill me, you’ll get caught, rot in—’

  ‘What if Rey never sent us?’ he said. ‘On our own.’

  We all make too many mistakes, every day. Most of them don’t kill us. A third mistake—because all along I’d wanted Vega to be guilty of a crime? Lehman was saving that Ricardo Vega had killed no one, and he had a gun, and deep down I knew he was telling the truth. I was cold. I felt the chill down to my feet. My mouth as dry as caked mud inside.

  Lehman said, ‘An ex-con’s nightmare is going back. So I waited. If they were going to convict Rey for Anne Terry, why hang myself? But you tell me you can prove Rey’s been framed, and you saw me on that street, so now I have to move. You’re sure you can prove Rey was framed for Anne Terry?’

  I managed a nod.

  ‘And Ted Marshall?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘You’ll swear you saw me—across the street? Outside?’

  Somehow, maybe it was his calm eyes, I sensed what he wanted me to say. The truth. ‘I saw you. Outside.’

  He nodded. ‘I could shoot you, keep quiet, maybe be safe, maybe not,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. If I kill you, tell nothing, Rey Vega’s going to jail. No jury could see it any way except Vega at least sent McBride to kill Foxx, any more than you and the police did. If I let you go and don’t tell my story, it’s even worse for Rey he sent both of us. Maybe if you hadn’t seen me—’ He thought about that, shook his head as if wondering about himself. ‘Give me the pistol, Fortune.’

  He emptied my old gun one-handed, put the bullets in his pocket, the gun in his belt. He laid his automatic on the desk.

  ‘I couldn’t let you take me in,’ he said. ‘I go on my own. That way maybe they believe it all, maybe I get a break.’

  The saliva began to flow in my mouth again.

  ‘Funny,’ Lehman said. ‘Right now I don’t care a damn about Rey Vega. I’ll lose all he gave me, anyway.’

  ‘What happened at Emory Foxx’s place, Lehman?’

  He had more on his mind. ‘I’ve been thinking all week. I’ll never be important—no leader, no boss. I’m not hard enough to put my mistakes on the shoulders of another guy, let him take the punishment for me. Vega can. Big man. He’ll wash his hands of me. I still have to tell it. A born loser, Fortune. Soft, scared to hurt another man. Hang myself first, and hope for a pat on the back.’

  He was right, but, somehow, his face didn’t seem so flabby to me anymore. We’d both never be big men in this world. We didn’t have the gall, the narrow ego to think that only we really mattered, counted for anything.

  I called Gazzo’s office. The night sergeant said that Gazzo was out picking up Emory Foxx. Boone Terrell was there. When I hung up, Lehman had his coats on.

  ‘Why would you kill Foxx on your own, Lehman?’ I asked.

  ‘Not me,’ he said, ‘McBride. Let’s go, get it over.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A wet night mist had moved in over the city as Lehman and I walked into Centre Street Headquarters. They told us Gazzo was in the Interrogation Room. Lehman had stopped talking soon after we left the subway. He walked like a man wrapped in years of silence.

  Sarah Wiggen sat on a bench near Gazzo’s office, the two little girls, Sally Anne and Aggy, asleep on blankets on either side of her. One of her hands rested on each of them in the midnight corridor.

  ‘I wanted to be here,’ she said. ‘They’ll sleep.’

  In the Interrogation Room where Boone Terrell had first told his paid-up story, and where some long ago loser would say how sorry he was as long as the walls lasted, Captain Gazzo and his silent team of shadows in shirts stood around in their casual poses. Boone Terrell sat under the light at the base table. Emory Foxx had been put in a chair just at the edge of the light facing Terrell, with two shirts-and-shoulder-holsters behind him. Gazzo looked at George Lehman as we came in.

  ‘Terrell’s just telling us an interesting story, isn’t he, Mr Foxx?’ Gazzo said.

  Emory Foxx didn’t answer. He wore a pin-striped suit coat this time, with baggy corduroy trousers and another expensive checked wool shirt. Now that I knew, he looked like what he was—a man who had been high on the well-paid hog once, and who still wore the rag-tag remains of those big days. His buffalo-face was still florid, but his eyes were battered, and his heavy shoulders seemed to want to sag.

  ‘Okay, go on, Terrell,’ Gazzo said.

  George Lehman stepped toward the Captain.

  ‘Hold it, Lehman,’ Gazzo said, waved Lehman off.

  ‘You’ll get your turn,’ Gazzo said, waved Lehman off.

  ‘I want you to know I’m here on my own,’ Lehman said.

  ‘You’ll get your turn,’ Gazzo said. ‘Terrell.’

  Boone Terrell went on. He’d gotten to where Emory Foxx found him Tuesday morning. He handed Grazzo the money in an envlope, and then told what had really happened on Steiner Street the Friday Anne Terry came home early.

  ‘I guess what I done wasn’t so legal,’ Terrell said when he finished. ‘I guess I got somethin’ coming.’

  ‘We’ll talk about it,’ Gazzo said. ‘I think I want to hear what Mr Foxx has to say.’

  Emory Foxx said, ‘He’s lying, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s the best you can do?’ Gazzo said.

  Emory Foxx said, ‘His word, that’s all you have.’

  Gazzo put his foot on a chair, leaned on his knee, stared straight at Emory Foxx. The thick writer didn’t blink, stared back. Gazzo rubbed the stubble on his acid-sensitive face.

  ‘No, we’ve got more than that, Foxx,’ he said. ‘The trouble with a frame-up is that it’s like propaganda. As long as you believe it, everything sounds fine. The first time you don’t believe it, everything falls apart. Fortune, there, he’s got it all down better than us right now.’

  I moved into the light. I don’t like interrogation rooms; they are where men are broken to less than men, frightened and alone, but this time I didn’t feel too bad. Emory Foxx was another of those who think that only they matter, only his revenge counted. The unblinking toads on their dry rocks.

  ‘Sarah Wiggen will tell how you came to her, a stranger, to ‘help’ a woman you’d never met. She’ll say she told you where I was Monday night, and you left to follow me. You did out to Steiner Street. You called Sarah, and she told you Anne had died, and how. You tracked Terrell through The Pyramid bar.’

  Gazzo said, ‘Terrell told us most of it before we got you, Foxx. Lieutenant Denniken already talked to the neighbours, to Matt Boyle. He says you wanted Terrell, you talked money. We
check your bank tomorrow.’

  ‘That note,’ I said. ‘I saw you at Anne’s when you got the paper to type it on. I know that sheet was there on Monday. Anne Terry was orderly, she wouldn’t have used a page from her plans. That was clumsy, Foxx, too risky.’

  ‘With Terrell talking, and Fortune’s story, the note’s proof against you,’ Gazzo said. ‘It’s like that with a frame-up. A jury’ll believe Vega lost the money clip now, too. That Hudson Street room checked out: her blood type, her hair, one thumbprint. Prints all over, none Vega’s. How’d you know, Foxx?’

  ‘Only Ted Marshall knew the place,’ I said.

  ‘So you killed Marshall, too?’ Gazzo said.

  Emory Foxx had been sitting tall as if resisting a wall falling on him. Now he moved his head a sharp negative.

  ‘I don’t murder people. That’s Vega,’ Foxx said. He pressed his hands down on his knees. ‘All right, yes, I waited thirteen years for the chance. Thirteen years! Waiting; watching Rey Vega.’

  The silent detectives waited stonily, a small incident in their lives of wives, kids and a home in Brooklyn. Lehman showed cold fury, and Boone Terrell his calm impassiveness. Only Gazzo and I breathed hard. A moment of confession is like seeing a man cut open. Foxx looked up at us, his face almost proud.

  ‘I knew everything Vega did where he went. Thirteen years I’ve watched him. Every chance I could.’

  The pride faded. Maybe he was thinking of those thirteen years, and saw his wife in her costume jewellery from gaudier days. A woman lost in romantic novels, indoor plants, and goldfish, dead because of his obsession.

  ‘I went to Sarah to at least make trouble,’ he said. ‘Then there was the abortion. It was my chance. Maybe I couldn’t make it work, but it was a chance. I’d saved money while we rotted, just for when I might need it against Vega. I’d carried that money clip ever since I found it five years ago.’

  Gazzo said, ‘Marshall told you where the abortion was done?’

  ‘You hit me?’ I asked. ‘Tied me in that cellar?’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘When I paid Terrell to tell you Anne had implicated Vega, it was just a story. I had him mention a note to make it sound better. Then I realized I could maybe plant a note out in Queens. It was late, but it might work, evidence is missed the first time, sometimes. So I went and got that page from her plans, and started looking for Marshall. He didn’t move out of that apartment with his mother until she left for work. When he came out, I lost him. So I waited in his place. I had to know where the abortion was done to write the note. Fortune came first, I had to hit him.’

  He sneered. ‘Marshall showed up just then. When he saw Fortune tied up, he was scared out of his wits. He was eager to help me. He jumped at the chance to blame anyone but himself. We carried Fortune to the cellar, but Marshall was ready to crack. He kept telling me it was an accident, they’d made a mistake. So he told me where it had been done, and I went and planted the money clip. Then I went out to Queens, typed the note on that page I had, and planted it in the garbage.’

  ‘What time did you leave Marshall?’ Gazzo asked.

  ‘I had to calm him, he was breaking up. He might have blown the whole thing. So we talked some. I suppose it was just after eight-thirty. I saw Sean McBride again. He had been outside the building when I went in, but inside when I left. He didn’t know me, then, but I knew him. He must have been watching Marshall. When I left, the super was threatening to call the police if McBride didn’t stop loitering around the lobby. I could see McBride didn’t like being warned, but he left. He must have come back. He killed Marshall for Vega, just as he tried to kill me for Vega! But he didn’t kill me, he killed my wife, and I’ll see Vega burn!’

  His voice had risen, almost happy in its intense hatred. Triumph was all over his heavy, buffalo face, eager in his thick body dressed in the remains of his days of success. He had been a prince of success, too, an important writer who was paid well, and he had waited thirteen years for revenge. But he wasn’t a prince any more, just another victim now.

  ‘Rey Vega didn’t send McBride,’ George Lehman said.

  Gazzo didn’t look at Lehman, he looked at me. I nodded. Lehman took my pistol from his pocket, gave it to Gazzo with the bullets.

  ‘No one brought me in. I could have run, Captain,’ Lehman said. ‘I came in to clear Rey Vega. I was with McBride when he took that bomb to Foxx’s place.’

  ‘He was there, Captain,’ I said. ‘I saw him that day.’

  Gazzo held my gun. ‘You didn’t tell me, Dan.’

  ‘Not until I had all of it,’ I said.

  Gazzo turned to Lehman. ‘You might as well give us your yard. Go on, tell me Vega didn’t do anything.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ George Lehman said. In his velvet-collared topcoat, immaculate white shirt and Broadway-tie, he was all wrong in the dim room. But he was the ex-con, he knew what he was doing. ‘It was all McBride alone.’

  He looked for a cigarette in his pockets, found one. He lit it. His movements businesslike as if talking to some clients. ‘After Vega found out from Fortune that Emory Foxx was mixed in the thing, he blew his top. ‘Wasn’t he ever to get rid of Foxx? Wasn’t there any way to stop Foxx short of killing him? God, he wanted it finished with Foxx, over, ended!’—Like that more than once. Raging. You know how he talks, Fortune. ‘Did he have to handle everything himself?’ all that like. Just blowing steam, the way he does. It’s the tension.

  He smoked, spread his fleshy, soft hands out in disbelief. ‘That McBride was half-nuts, at least. After Rey fired him he begged me to help him get back in good. He’d lost his big chance playing the fool. I like people; I’d helped guys Rey was mad at before. Rey cools quick, sometimes. So I tried. Rey said what good was Sean McBride to him? I told McBride. I figured that was the end. Only it wasn’t, McBride came around to the office. I was out, so he left a note—my secretary saw him write it, and I’ve got it here. He said he was going to do Rey a favour by handling Emory Foxx, he wanted me to help.’

  Here he stopped again. His face had a distant look, as if seeing how it had all happened. ‘I knew how much Foxx had driven Rey crazy over the years. This time it was worse, and even the show was going bad.’ He looked at Gazzo. ‘Right then I heard you’d pulled Rey in, and heard what you said you’d found out. I guess I was worried crazy, figured maybe McBride could scare Foxx off like Ted Marshall. So I went to see McBride. He wanted me with him to help, so I could tell Vega what he’d done. I thought it was going to be a beating, I swear that. McBride never told me. I guess it doesn’t matter, I’m still an accessory. You know, he had this messenger uniform on, had that package, didn’t even ask about it! I figured he’d just gotten a messenger’s job. Actors do that. Maybe I was too worried about Rey to think. Anyway, Foxx wasn’t home. McBride waited upstairs, sent me out to watch for Foxx. I was to signal when I saw Foxx coming. Only I saw Fortune, and beat it. I just ran. I forgot that was the signal—look up, and cross the street, when I saw Foxx. McBride only really wanted me there so I could be a witness, tell Rey what McBride had done for him.’

  I suppose everyone in that room was thinking the same—how crazy can a man be, Sean McBride; how stupid can a man be, Lehman. But it wasn’t so stupid. Not if you put yourself in Lehman’s place. Who would even dream that a man would kill just to get back into favour? Who would do it, except a half-sane, dull-minded, semi-savage given to impulses and violence he had never controlled, who hungered for a dream of success he had almost had in his fingers? McBride would have, yes, without a second thought, a hesitation.

  Gazzo said, ‘That’s why he thought Fortune was Foxx, you’d given the signal by mistake, Jesus!’

  Emory Foxx was on his feet, out of the chair. ‘You don’t believe that Lehman, do you? He’s lying! All of it!’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Emory Foxx laughed at us. ‘That’s quite a story. Lehman should write TV scripts. Beautiful! You notice how it makes Vega pure as snow, and Mr Lehman a poor duped lamb?
Everything done by Sean McBride—who happens to be conveniently dead and very silent. A really perfect story—for Ricardo Vega.

  Gazzo said, ‘An ex-con? He lies, risks going back to prison, loses everything he’s made for a lot of years?’

  ‘Lehman would do anything for Vega,’ Foxx snorted. ‘He’s grateful. I’ve watched him bowing and scraping for years. Vega would pay him a fortune to save his yellow skin, and what does Lehman risk? That you don’t believe the part about him now knowing McBride had a bomb. It’s a risk, yes, but Vega would pay big, and if you believe Lehman, he gets a slapped wrist.’

  I said, ‘I believe him, Foxx. In thirteen years neither Vega or Lehman tried to kill you. McBride is with Vega a few weeks, and he takes a bomb to you. It fits McBride alone.’

  ‘Vega never found an animal to do his killing before!’

  Gazzo said, ‘That note McBride wrote, you have it, Lehman?’

  Lehman took the note from his inner pocket. Gazzo read it. ‘It’s handwritten, Foxx. It says what Lehman told us: McBride wanted to do Vega a favour by handling you, he wanted Lehman’s help. We’ll prove it’s McBride’s writing. Lehman’s secretary is a witness. McBride alone bought the bomb materials; we checked. He made it in his room, all night like a crazy man, alone. No, McBride had the idea by himself.’

  ‘Ted Marshall, then!’ Foxx said. ‘McBride hadn’t been fired then. He was working for Vega. Maybe Vega found out that Marshall was helping to frame him. I saw McBride there—twice that night. I’m not lying, the superintendent saw him.’

  ‘He already told me he saw McBride,’ I admitted.

  George Lehman said, ‘I don’t know. Rey was pretty mad at Marshall, yeh. Before he found out about you, Foxx, he had the idea Marshall was working against him. He sent McBride to watch Marshall, and Fortune, and Fortune’s girl—off and on. Rey blows a lot of steam, that’s how he is. Maybe he said something about wanting Marshall off his back, and McBride did the same thing he tried with Foxx.’

  ‘It’s a pattern,’ Gazzo said. ‘Men usually work, and kill in a pattern.’