Double Eagle

by Keith Miles

  Patch Nelms listened impassively to his superior. I had the feeling that he didn’t entirely agree with the theory being put forward. Salgado waved a hand and gave him his chance to come in.

  ‘Could be there’s another wrinkle,’ he suggested. ‘They’re worried about something the girl can tell to Mr. Saxon. If they hit him, then Mardie Cutler is no problem.’

  My disquiet grew. ‘So the killer was there to pick off me or her,’ I said. ‘Whichever he could get at first.’

  ‘That’s the way I read it,’ agreed Nelms.

  ‘Adds up,’ decided Salgado.

  My mind was a hornet’s nest. I felt guilty and deeply upset over Mardie’s death. A new dimension of fear was brought in. I’d been a possible target. If I’d been locked in the magic cabinet, it would be my next of kin they were trying to track down.

  ‘Remember Yankee Stadium?’ asked Nelms.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your baseball cap.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘What happened when a guy goes to the plate?’

  I shrugged. ‘He tried to hit the ball.’

  ‘Supposing he don’t?’

  ‘Three misses and he was out.’

  ‘That’s the rule here, Mr. Saxon,’ he said, solemnly. ‘You’ve been lucky twice so far. Not the next time.’ He held up a finger each time he mentioned a number. ‘Strike one—near Stinson Beach. Strike two—that hotel this evening. With me? This is baseball now, not golf. Three strikes—and you’re dead!’

  The impact of his words made me shiver.

  Salgado reinforced the message in his own manner.

  ‘You wanna stay alive, you use your fucking head,’ he ordered. ‘You wanna do it your way, Alan Saxon is the next fucking blood donor. Now, what’s it gonna be? Ready to trade?’

  ‘Trade?’

  ‘You help us—we save you.’

  ‘I have helped you, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he sneered. ‘Like you helped that traffic cop up in Marin County. You piss around with the facts.’ He banged a fist on the desk. ‘I want this bimbo, Saxon. I got two homicides and an attempted to cuff round his fucking wrists. They’re leaning on me upstairs. They need results. So I’m gonna lean on you.’ He got to his feet with dramatic suddenness. ‘Stop screwing round and tell us every fucking thing you know!’

  ‘What else is there to tell?’ I said evasively.

  ‘Let’s start with Valmai Everett.’

  ‘Skip all that shit about walking the dog,’ advised Nelms.

  ‘You went there to pump her, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I confessed. ‘But I got nothing. Valmai would only talk about the good times. It’s the way she wants to remember him. As far as she’s concerned, Zuke died the day he walked out on her. When I mentioned drugs, she got quite angry and denied there’d been any of that while they were married. I was more or less asked to leave.’

  Salgado found my amended story more convincing.

  ‘And the trip back?’

  ‘It could have been deliberate, Lieutenant.’

  ‘It fucking was.’

  ‘I couldn’t be sure. It all happened so fast.’

  ‘We all know when someone tries to kill us,’ he insisted. ‘Why didn’t you come clean with that traffic cop?’

  ‘Have you ever been hanging over a precipice in a car?’ I challenged. ‘It doesn’t do much for your peace of mind, I can tell you. I was shaking like a leaf. Allow for some confusion.’

  ‘Confusion cleared by the time you got to the airport,’ noted Nelms. ‘That guy didn’t try to bump you off, why get Lori Whyte to help you trace him? He didn’t tail you from LA, how come he rented a car from the airport himself?’

  I conceded his argument with a sigh and a nod.

  ‘Let’s move on to Howie Danzig,’ suggested Salgado. ‘We know you paid him a visit. What did you get there?’

  ‘Nothing, Lieutenant. He can hardly talk.’

  ‘What did you expect to get?’

  ‘I wanted to see how much he knew about Zuke’s private life.’

  ‘That brings us to Mardie Cutler.’

  ‘You’ve just spent hours getting a full statement from me on that score,’ I promised. ‘I gave you all the details—even down to Benjamin Reed Cornelius and his magic piano.’

  ‘She called you to ask for help.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why you?’

  ‘She trusted me.’

  ‘The girl was scared, why didn’t she come to us?’

  ‘Mardie wanted a shoulder to cry on,’ I replied. ‘With all your many virtues, Lieutenant, you could never set up in the sympathy business.’

  Patch Nelms permitted a sly grin to steal across his face. His superior quelled it with a poisonous glance, then turned back to me. He sat down again as he spoke.

  ‘Okay. Gimme the names.’

  ‘Names?’

  ‘On your list,’ he said. ‘We want the mad Mex with the stiletto but we also want whoever pays his wages. You been sniffing round long enough to get some idea who that might be. Gimme the names.’

  I looked from one to the other. Patch Nelms watched me coolly and there was enmity in Salgado’s gaze. If I didn’t make some show of co-operation, I might be in police headquarters all night. Claustrophobia was already giving me pins and needles.

  ‘I think you should take a close look at Kallgren,’ I volunteered.

  ‘We have. Who else?’

  ‘Tom Bellinghaus.’

  ‘We got him, too.’

  ‘Gamil Amir.’

  ‘That the Arab guy with the vagabond dick?’

  ‘He had some kind of feud with Zuke,’ I reported. ‘I saw them clash in the locker room. Amir made a threat. And he wasn’t exactly grief-stricken when Zuke was killed.’

  ‘We’ll follow it up. Anyone else?’

  ‘One more.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Phil Reiner.’

  ‘Didn’t he win the tournament?’

  ‘Only after Zuke dropped out.’

  ‘You think there’s a connection?’

  ‘It’s just a hunch,’ I admitted. ‘There’s something very odd about his tie-up with the Kallgren organisation.’

  ‘Odd?’

  ‘He’s the last golfer I’d have expected to sign up like that.’

  ‘Then why did he?’

  ‘I’d love to find out,’ I said. ‘I don’t think Phil Reiner was directly responsible for Zuke’s death, but he’s implicated somehow. I get these strong vibrations.’

  ‘Yeah, so do I,’ he confided. ‘Every night. Main reason my wife ran out on me. Couldn’t stand living with a sex maniac.’

  ‘That’s my list, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Kallgren. Bellinghaus. Amir. Reiner.’

  ‘In that order.’

  ‘We came up with someone else as well,’ he announced.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Helen Everett.’

  ‘Helen? But that’s ridiculous,’ I protested.

  ‘We don’t think so.’

  ‘Why could she possibly want to kill her husband?’

  ‘Women often try to murder their husbands,’ he observed, drily. ‘We got dozens of cases on file. Women can be violent fucking creatures when they’re riled. Look at my wife—once threw a fucking meat cleaver at me.’ He flashed me a smile. ‘Yours ever do anything vicious to you?’

  ‘Yes. She married me.’

  He went off into peals of laughter and banged the desk.

  ‘I like that, I like that.’

  Nelms remained impassive. I waited till Salgado calmed down.

  ‘Coming back to Helen,’ I said. ‘You’re way off beam th
ere.’

  ‘She sure don’t act like any widow I ever saw,’ he resumed. ‘When we interviewed her, she looked so guilty she was shaking all over.’

  ‘Zuke meant everything to her.’

  ‘Then why didn’t she sleep with the poor mutt?’

  ‘Lieutenant—’

  ‘Maybe she knew he was getting it up with Mardie Cutler. There’s your motive—jealousy.’ Sarcasm crept in. ‘We Mexicans are a hot-blooded race, Saxon. All that lying around in the sun.’

  ‘Helen did not set up the murder,’ I insisted.

  ‘She coulda caused it, though,’ commented Nelms.

  ‘Patch has been checking her out,’ explained Salgado. ‘Seems that she’s run with some pretty fast company. Last guy she lived with, he wasn’t too pleased about her moving out to get married. Tried to stop her any way he could.’

  ‘We’re still looking for him,’ added Nelms.

  ‘She’s in this up to her neck,’ decided the Lieutenant. ‘I know when a person’s hiding something. Then there’s that housekeeper of hers. Dominga. I talked to her in Spanish.’ Sarcasm resurfaced. ‘Wore my sombrero just to let her know I was a true Mex.’

  ‘What did she say?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s our business,’ he said. ‘Tell you this, though. That little lady wasn’t any too fond of Mr. Zuke Everett. She’s the only person so far who believes he got what he deserved.’

  It accorded with my own view of the housekeeper. I saw her face again, watching me as I stood outside Helen’s bedroom. She had a real capacity for hatred.

  Salgado yawned, then sat back in his chair with his hands behind his head. He regarded me through hooded eyes, then made up his mind.

  ‘I oughta book you for impeding a police investigation.’

  ‘Blame my father.’

  ‘Scram!’

  ‘I can go?’ I said with relief.

  ‘We got all we can use tonight,’ he affirmed. ‘From here on in, Orgaz can take over.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Orgaz. One of my men. And no jokes about his name. He’s very sensitive about it. You call him “orgasm”, you won’t have one for a helluva long time.’ He grinned at my bewilderment. ‘We’re putting a man on you, Saxon. Care and protection.’

  ‘But I don’t want any protection!’ I retorted.

  ‘It’s not for you,’ he corrected. ‘It’s for me. I want to safeguard my reputation around here. You get yourself stabbed as well, I look bad. Orgaz goes with you. He’s booked into the motel. Two rooms down from yours.’

  ‘Lieutenant, this is quite unnecessary.’

  ‘He’s waiting downstairs for you. Good cop.’

  I checked myself from saying that that was a contradiction in terms and resigned myself to the inevitable. Salgado didn’t only want to keep me alive. He wanted me under surveillance so that I wouldn’t find the killer before he did. In a way, it was a compliment.

  I stood up and threw Salgado a farewell in raw Spanish.

  ‘Buenas noches.’

  ‘Hasta la fucking vista!’

  Nelms took me out and guided me towards the exit.

  ‘Almost forgot. Message from Lori Whyte.’

  I was pleased. ‘For me?’

  ‘Guy from National wasn’t such a jerk. They made out good. Had a drink, took in a movie. Seeing him again tonight.’

  I was curiously reassured.

  But for me, the couple might never have got together. After all the incidental damage I seemed to have caused, it was nice to know that I could bring a little joy into someone’s life.

  ***

  During the drive back to Santa Monica, I tried to ignore the detective in the car behind me and concentrate on the gruesome events of the evening. Mardie Cutler’s death had rocked me even more than Zuke’s. She’d been in my care at the time. I felt responsible.

  Locked in the cabinet, the girl had been such a defenceless victim and I was haunted by the sound of her final, ear-splitting scream of terror. One savage thrust from a stiletto had put her beyond the reach of any magic.

  My interrogation at police headquarters had been harrowing but it had thrown up a lot of new information. Salgado’s theory about Mardie appealed to me. I sensed that she did know something vital that she might unwittingly have passed on to me. It was to do with her ambiguous role in the Everett household. As I wondered how she had first met Helen, another picture popped into my mind.

  My first day in California. Just after my arrival at the house. Mardie Cutler telephoning a client to apologise for being late. Holding a small, leather-bound object in her hand.

  The stolen address book. That was the crucial factor.

  Somewhere in her little book was a name that would connect everything up. A name that linked Mardie with Helen. A name that led to a professional killer with two murders to his credit already.

  The break-in at her flat had a twin purpose. To plant the bugging device and to steal the address book so that it wouldn’t come into our hands after her death. The theft of the other items from the apartment, including the hi fi equipment, was a decoy.

  Without realising it, Mardie knew the name of the person behind it all and she had to be stopped before she let that name slip out. The manner of her death had been callously ironic. She’d been a young, happy, laughing victim, caught up in the middle of a dangerous situation with knives threatening her from all directions.

  Symbolically, she was stabbed in the back.

  I was so convinced by my deductions that I beeped my horn in celebration. Orgaz immediately pulled up beside me to see what the problem was. I waved him back behind me, then went through it all again in my mind.

  The motel was in Broadway but parking was limited, so I left my Honda in the indoor car park around the corner in 2nd Street. It provided free overnight parking and Orgaz took advantage of the offer as well. He was a big, dark, shambling man around my own age and his new grey suit gave him the look of a businessman who’d just arrived from Mexico City. I had no wish to strike up any kind of friendship with him and he seemed content to carry out his orders with taciturn efficiency. It was a minor consolation.

  He took me to my room and waited until I was safely inside before he went off to his own. The relief of being alone again was tempered by the fact that an armed detective was stationed so near. For a brief moment, I was thrown back to my boyhood in Leicester. Sharing my nights with a policeman. Never free. My father sleeping in the next bedroom. Dreaming of arrests.

  A faint noise brought me back to the present at once.

  I was not alone, after all. There was someone in the bathroom. Its door was closed and its light was off, but the whisper of sound had alerted me. The sensible thing would have been to fetch Orgaz as quickly as possible, but I had been pushed too far to be interested in sensible solutions.

  Two friends of mine had been murdered while in my company. Someone had to be called to account. If that someone was now lurking in my bathroom to attack me, I wanted my chance to strike back. Trying to move as casually as possible, I switched on the television, then used its sound as a cover when I drew my putter from my golf bag. I kept my eye on the bathroom door throughout, but it did not move.

  Evidently, he was waiting for me to go in.

  I found enough courage to whistle and pottered around the room to make the sort of noises he would expect. I pulled the curtains closed with a swish, turned on the bedside lamp and flung back the duvet. Then I strode towards the bathroom door.

  Turning the handle, I stepped sharply back and pushed the door open with the putter. The man made his leap but there was nobody there to take its impact. As soon as he came into view, I swung the club and caught him a glancing blow on the head. It both stunned and enraged him. Hurling himself out of the bathroom, he grappled with me in the m
iddle of the room and forced me to the floor. The putter dropped to the carpet just out of my reach.

  It was the same young man.

  Swarthy, medium height, stocky build.

  The scar was a livid streak on his left temple.

  ‘I told you to leave her alone!’ he hissed.

  There was no stiletto for me. I was going to be strangled with his bare hands. Sitting on top of me, he got a grip on my throat and began to apply pressure. He was powerful and determined but I was not just fighting for my own life. I was struggling to avenge two deaths as well and it lent me extra strength.

  Grabbing his wrists, I slowly eased them away from my neck. Then, with a supreme effort, I turned sideways and brought one thigh up to dislodge him. He rolled off me and hit the television hard, sending it crashing over. Picture and sound were murdered as the plug was snatched out of the power point.

  I was on my feet at once but he came at me again, diving for my legs with a yell of fury. Jerking my knee up hard, I hit him under the chin and saw his eyes glaze for an instant. But he was not finished yet. He got up and circled me menacingly, cursing to himself and looking for the chance to pounce.

  When he made his lunge, I was ready for him. Moving to one side, I grabbed his arms and pulled violently to help him on his way. With the added impetus, he shot across the room and went headfirst into the huge wall mirror, causing it to explode into a delta of ugly cracks. Blood poured from his scalp but it only served to goad him on to further efforts.

  But I was armed again now. Having snatched up the putter, I held it out to prod him away. He made a wild grab at it, then threw himself straight at me. I was too quick for him again. Evading his tackle, I lashed out with the club and smashed his shin. He pitched to the floor with a cry of pain.

  I raised the putter to strike but got no further.

  The door burst open and Orgaz came charging into the room with a gun in his hand. Sizing up the situation at a glance, he aimed the revolver at the prostrate figure and barked his command.

  ‘Police! Don’t move!’

  He pulled out handcuffs, secured the man’s wrists behind his back, then turned him over with his foot so that his blood-stained face was glaring up at us. Still keeping the gun pointed at my attacker, Orgaz turned to me with a baffled expression.