by Robert Bloch
“Sarah’s gone and Harry’s at the office. I wonder what you had planned for me, Daisy? Surely you must have made some plans about me, in case it turned out that I knew the truth.”
She stood up again. “I was going to shoot you,” she said. “Shoot you and tell Harry you were the killer, that you’d come to me and confessed, tried to get me to run away with you. That you were an addict yourself.”
“You don’t think he’d have gone for such a whacky yarn, do you?”
“Why not?” She shrugged. “I was going to use the gun I’d used on Hastings, and say I had gotten it away from you during a struggle.”
“Where’s the gun, Daisy?”
“In the drawer.” She started to turn away.
“Don’t go any nearer,” I warned her. “I’ll shoot if you do. I mean it.”
She smiled at me over her shoulder.
I grinned back. “That’s the only thing you didn’t know about, Daisy. Harry forgot to tell you he gave me this gun of his when I saw him this noon.”
She shook her head. “He told me, all right.” She turned away again, walked over to the desk, reached for the drawer.
“Stop!” I snapped. “One more step and I—”
“Go ahead.”
She didn’t even look around. She took the step. She opened the drawer.
I could feel the sweat run down my arm, run down my hand, wet the finger that was pressing against the trigger. I had to press it, there was no other way. In another second she’d have a gun of her own. She’d killed before; she’d kill again. It was self-defense, it was the only way.
I sighted carefully and pulled the trigger.
She took the gun out of the drawer and pointed it at me.
I pulled the trigger again.
“Keep trying,” she said. “It won’t work. I fixed Harry’s gun a couple of days ago. Just in case.”
Her smile was broader now. “Smart operator, aren’t you? So smart you never even bothered to check a borrowed gun. Well, I’ve checked this one. So drop that and get your hands up. Fast.”
I did what she said.
“Sit down,” she told me. “Right there, where I can see you.”
I sat down, staring at the useless weapon on the floor. She was right. I’d never even looked at the gun, just took Harry’s word for it that it was loaded and set. No wonder Joe Dean hadn’t bothered to lift it from me when he knocked me out. It was useless.
It was useless, and I was useless. Everything I’d done was useless, now. She held the upper hand. And her gun was in it.
“You dumb jerk,” she said. “I could have taken you any time I wanted since you came in this room. But I thought I’d wait and hear what you knew, find out if you’d spilled to anybody else. You haven’t, so that makes it perfect.”
“Then I was right about the killings.”
“Yes, you were right, if that makes you feel any better.” She took a step closer, and she wasn’t smiling now. “You’ve got it all pretty straight. Except for a couple of things you wouldn’t know about. Like the reason I shot Ryan.
“I didn’t go to the clinic for appendicitis. I was pregnant. And Ryan was to blame. When I found out for sure, I went to his trailer that night and told him. I wanted him to know. I said I’d divorce Harry and he and I would get married.”
Her mouth twitched. “You know what he did? He laughed at me. He laughed, like it was all a joke. Well, I showed him what kind of a joke it was. I took the gun lying there and...”
Daisy shuddered. “You think it was easy? You’re wrong, Clayburn. It was hell. I went back to the clinic and had a miscarriage. And I quit reefers. That wasn’t easy, either, but I did it. From then on I was going to play straight, with Harry, and with everybody.
“But Hastings wouldn’t let me. Sure, I slept with him. Because he made me. He threatened to tell. About the murder, about the baby. I had to do what he said. And when this other trouble started, he told me what to do then. He killed Foster and he had me kill Trent. That was awful. Not only the risk, but doing it. I felt—dirty—inside.”
She gulped. “You don’t know what it’s like, do you? To feel dirty. To feel murder crawling around in your stomach, making you gag and throw up. I’ve felt that way ever since the beginning. Until today. When I went to kill Hastings today, I felt good again. I was happy to see him die, Clayburn, because when he died, the dirty part of me died with him.
“Now I’m clean again. And I’m going to stay clean. After this is over, after I finish with you.”
I shook my head.
“No, Daisy. You’ll never feel that way, not if you kill me. It’s too late.”
“Too late for you.” She took one more step forward. “I’m sorry. But I can’t stop now. I can’t.”
She wasn’t stopping. I saw the gun come up, noted the silencer attachment for the first time, realized that it explained why no one had heard the shot when Trent died. No one would hear the shot now, either.
This was it. A silly way to die, sitting in an armchair in a big house out in Laurel Canyon, watching a woman’s hand move, watching her finger squeeze the trigger on a gun mounted with a silencer.
She squeezed.
Funny. I heard the shot after all.
No, it wasn’t a shot. Somebody must have thrown a stone through the glass of the front window. Yes, because Daisy was turning to look.
Wrong again. She hadn’t turned to look. She’d turned to fall. And it was a shot after all, but not from her gun. Somebody had fired through the window.
I watched her drop to the carpet, watched the redness run out of her mouth.
Daisy Bannock lay on the floor, her body curled like a question mark.
I stood up. I walked over to her and started to kneel down.
Then the question mark straightened out once and for all, and Al Thompson walked into the room.
Chapter Seventeen
You never feel clean after a murder.
That’s what I’d tried to tell Daisy, and that’s what I found out now.
Hastings’ death had been a mess. Lucky for me, because when they went through his room they’d run across a notebook inside his mattress. Names of clients, including Daisy Bannock.
That’s what brought Al Thompson out to see her, and saved me.
For a while there, I wasn’t even happy about being saved. Not when I had to watch them break the news to Harry. They found him at his office, and he took it hard. The poor guy had never suspected. I felt bad about that.
I wasn’t rejoicing when they managed to pick up Joe Dean and Estrellita Juarez, either. They were traced to San Bernardino, where they’d holed up on a piece of property his brother Andy owned. Yes, they got Andy and this big guy Fritz, too. I had to testify against them.
They made a deal with Kolmar to drop his charges about the gun and the assault, so I was in the clear. And I did what I could to help in the weeks that followed.
It was some consolation to know that this particular reefer pushing outfit was broken up; turned out Dean’s brother Andy and his friend Fritz were both peddling for Hastings, too.
But they never were able to trace Hastings’ source. If there was anyone higher up, the police couldn’t find him.
And of course, I never got any eleven grand from Harry Bannock, either.
I haven’t seen him for months, but that’s my fault, I suppose. I could call him up and ask how’s tricks, sweetheart, and did he ever sell his films to See-More?
But I haven’t, and I won’t.
I just sit here in the office and tend to business. The literary agenting business, where all the murders are on paper and nothing is red except the ink of a typewriter ribbon.
Sometimes, though, when I happen to be working overtime, at night, I stop and stare out the window.
I can see across the city from here, and look down into the streets. And no matter what the hour, the streets are never empty.
They’re always moving down there, moving all over town—this
town and every big town. The pushers and their customers, the big dealers and the little squealers, the future killers and the future victims. Along with a lot of other people: guys like Al Thompson, who do their best, and the anonymous thousands like Harry Bannock who never suspect.
When I stare out the window, I see them all, realize what’s happening outside. And I say to myself, It never ends, does it? What you knew was just a tiny fraction of the whole. Somewhere out there tonight there’ll be another murder. Another chapter in a book that’s never finished, even though it started way back with Cain.
That’s what I say to myself when I look out the window.
And then, I pull down the shades and go back to work.
Don’t Let the Mystery End Here. Try These Other Great Books From
HARD CASE CRIME!
Hard Case Crime brings you gripping, award-winning crime fiction by best-selling authors and the hottest new writers in the field. Find out what you’ve been missing:
The CONFESSION
by DOMENIC STANSBERRY
WINNER OF THE EDGAR® AWARD!
She was young, beautiful...and dead!
Jake Danser has it all: a beautiful wife, a house in the California hills, and a high-profile job as a forensic psychologist. But he‘s also got a mistress. And when she’s found strangled to death with his necktie, the police show up at his door. Now it’s up to Jake to prove he didn‘t do it. But how can he, when all the evidence says he did?
As Jake’s life crumbles around him, he races to find proof of his innocence. And with every step, the noose is tightening...
PRAISE FOR THE BOOKS OF DOMENIC STANSBERRY:
“Fascinating, beautifully written...an enviable achievement.”
— San Francisco Chronicle
“A murky, moody slice of noir.”
— Kirkus Reviews
“A compelling and incredibly dark modern noir shocker.” — Publishers Weekly on The Confession
Available now at your favorite bookstore. For more information, visit
www.HardCaseCrime.com
Finalist for the Edgar® Award and the Shamus Award!
Little Girl Lost
by RICHARD ALEAS
Miranda Sugarman was supposed to be in the Midwest, working as an eye doctor. So how did she wind up dead on the roof of New York’s seediest strip club?
Ten years earlier, Miranda had been P.I. John Blake’s girlfriend. Now he must uncover her secret life as a strip tease queen. But the deeper he digs, the deadlier the danger...until a shattering face-off in an East Village tenement changes his life forever.
LITTLE GIRL LOST is the stunning debut novel from Edgar Award-winning author RICHARD ALEAS. And the excitement continues in John Blake’s shocking second case, SONGS OF INNOCENCE, also available from Hard Case Crime.
ACCLAIM FOR LITTLE GIRL LOST:
“Excellent...[a] machinegun-paced debut [with] the style and spirit of the classic detective novel.”
— Chicago Sun-Times
“Combine[s] the noir sensibility with emotional depth and superior writing.”
— Baltimore Sun
“A wonderful novel, brilliantly plotted, beautifully written.”
— Richard S. Prather
“Little Girl Lost is classic pulp.”
— January Magazine
Available now at your favorite bookstore. For more information, visit
www.HardCaseCrime.com
Shamus Award Winner for Best Original Paperback Novel of the Year
SONGS of INNOCENCE
by RICHARD ALEAS
Three years ago, detective John Blake solved a mystery that changed his life forever—and left a woman he loved dead. Now Blake is back, to investigate the apparent suicide of Dorothy Louise Burke, a beautiful college student with a double life. The secrets Blake uncovers could blow the lid off New York City’s sex trade...if they don’t kill him first.
Richard Aleas’ first novel, LITTLE GIRL LOST, was among the most celebrated crime novels of the year, nominated for both the Edgar and Shamus Awards. But nothing in John Blake’s first case could prepare you for the shocking conclusion of his second...
RAVES FOR SONGS OF INNOCENCE:
“An instant classic.”
— The Washington Post
“The best thing Hard Case is publishing right now.”
— The San Francisco Chronicle
“His powerful conclusion will drop jaws.”
— Publishers Weekly
“So sharp [it’ll] slice your finger as you flip the pages.”
— Playboy
Available now at your favorite bookstore. For more information, visit
www.HardCaseCrime.com
The Final Crime Novel From THE KING OF PULP FICTION!
DEAD STREET
by MICKEY SPILLANE
PREPARED FOR PUBLICATION BY MAX ALLAN COLLINS
For 20 years, former NYPD cop Jack Stang has lived with the memory of his girlfriend’s death in an attempted abduction. But what if she didn’t actually die? What if she somehow secretly survived, but lost her sight, her memory, and everything else she had...except her enemies?
Now Jack has a second chance to save the only woman he ever loved—or to lose her for good.
ACCLAIM FOR MICKEY SPILLANE:
“One of the world’s most popular mystery writers.”
— The Washington Post
“Spillane is a master in compelling you to always turn the next page.”
— The New York Times
“A rough-hewn charm that’s as refreshing as it is rare.”
— Entertainment Weekly
“One of the all-time greats.”
— Denver Rocky Mountain News
Available now at your favorite bookstore. For more information, visit
www.HardCaseCrime.com
More Great Books From
HARD CASE CRIME!
The Peddler
by RICHARD S. PRATHER
OVER 40,000,000 BOOKS SOLD
In the cutthroat world of organized crime, Tony Romero was headed straight for the top. But his path was littered with bodies and broken dreams—some of them his.
Say It With Bullets
by RICHARD POWELL
AUTHOR OF ‘A SHOT IN THE DARK’
Bill Wayne’s bus tour through the West becomes more than he bargained for when bodies start turning up at every stop!
The Last Match
by DAVID DODGE
AUTHOR OF ‘TO CATCH A THIEF’
From the casinos of Monaco to the jungles of Brazil, from Tangier to Marrakech to Peru, the chase is on when a handsome swindler tries to escape the beautiful heiress out to reform him.
Available now at your favorite bookstore. For more information, visit
www.HardCaseCrime.com
More Great Books From
HARD CASE CRIME!
Grifter’s Game
by LAWRENCE BLOCK
MWA GRANDMASTER
Con man Joe Marlin accidentally steals a suitcase full of heroin, then plots to kill the man he stole it from—with help from the man’s wife!
Top of the Heap
by ERLE STANLEY GARDNER
CREATOR OF PERRY MASON
The client had a perfect alibi for the night Maureen Auburn disappeared—but nothing made P.I. Donald Lam suspicious like a perfect alibi.
Two for the Money
by MAX ALLAN COLLINS
AUTHOR OF ‘ROAD TO PERDITION’
After 16 years on the run, will Nolan bury the hatchet with the Mob—or will they bury him first?
Available now at your favorite bookstore. For more information, visit
www.HardCaseCrime.com
What Sordid Secrets Would He Find In the Depths of His Crystal Ball?
Eddie Haines came to Hollywood to work in television, not to become a phony self-help guru, collecting secrets from his wealthy clients in order to blackmail them.
But that’s what Eddie be
came, under the tutelage of Professor Otto Hermann, Ph.D., a vicious little man with dollar signs where his soul should have been.
It was a lucrative set-up—until the day the professor pushed Eddie too far...
“Perhaps the finest psychological horror writer.”
—Stephen King
Robert Bloch was the legendary author of PSYCHO and a true Hollywood insider, writing scripts for numerous movies and TV shows including ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS, Boris Karloff’s THRILLER, and the original STAR TREK. You haven’t see Hollywood’s dark side till you’ve seen it through Bloch’s eyes...
SOME OTHER HARD CASE CRIME BOOKS YOU WILL ENJOY:
GRAVE DESCEND by John Lange
THE PEDDLER by Richard S. Prather
LUCKY AT CARDS by Lawrence Block
ROBBIE’S WIFE by Russell Hill
THE VENGEFUL VIRGIN by Gil Brewer
THE WOUNDED AND THE SLAIN by David Goodis
BLACKMAILER by George Axelrod
SONGS OF INNOCENCE by Richard Aleas
FRIGHT by Cornell Woolrich
KILL NOW, PAY LATER by Robert Terrall
SLIDE by Ken Bruen and Jason Starr
DEAD STREET by Mickey Spillane
DEADLY BELOVED by Max Allan Collins
A DIET OF TREACLE by Lawrence Block
MONEY SHOT by Christa Faust
ZERO COOL by John Lange
SPIDERWEB
by Robert Bloch
A HARD CASE CRIME BOOK