One Deadly Dawn

by Harry Whittington

  “No.”

  “Good. For God’s sake, don’t ever try to sell that one to them. They won’t buy it.”

  “And you don’t buy it?”

  “Friend, everything in me tells me to take you downtown and lock you up until we find out whether that little lady will live to identify you or not.”

  “Why would I tell you all that if it weren’t true?”

  “Friend, I ask myself that. Why would you tell me a thing like that?” He chewed on his cigar for a moment. “Who’d you say your boss was?”

  I told him, and he chewed his cigar some more. Then he walked over to the phone. He wanted to know the number of Twenty Grand studios. I told him. He dialed, waited, asked for Yol Myerene’s office. He waited some more, then asked for Yol. He listened, then asked if I was known there. He listened some minutes more; somebody was laying it on good. I supposed that would be Gaye Bain, and silently I blessed her.

  He was nodding as he listened. Finally, he asked about Toni Drake, listened some more, and hung up.

  He looked at me. “You want to come down to headquarters and make a statement?”

  “You have my statement.”

  “Sure. And the studio gives you a clean bill, says you handle publicity for the Drake chick. So far, fine. But there’s still that bit about a car speeding out of the alley.” He looked at his watch. “I’m going from here to the hospital. If Drake is alive, we’ll wait until we get a statement from her. If she dies, we’ll send a little group to pick you up. And friend you better be where we can find you easily.”

  “All right.”

  “And don’t plan any trips.”

  “Look. I got a couple things to do. After that I’m going to the hospital to see Toni.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll see you there. And remember this: the reason you’re not booked as a witness even is because you got this clean bill from the studio. That won’t do any good if the Drake babe doesn’t get well fast.”

  “All right.”

  • • •

  I meant to go straight out to Ceil Bowne’s but drove to the emergency entrance of the hospital instead.

  At the desk, I was stopped.

  “She’s unconscious,” the woman said. “They’re working on her.”

  “When may I see her?”

  “I don’t know. Not soon. She’s unconscious.”

  “If I wait?”

  “No. It won’t be that soon. They’re afraid of concussion from a blow on her head. Why don’t you call us in the morning?”

  I stared down at her. “I’ll be back.”

  She shrugged. I turned and walked away. I met the detective coming in the entrance. He just looked at me a moment, then nodded and walked by me.

  • • •

  I sat for a long time in my car. I took out the three carbons and read them. Something tickled uncomfortably at the rim of my brain, but I couldn’t pin it down.

  In Pawley’s soundproofed room I had been sure that the carbons contained everything I needed to know. But I remembered what Leo Ross had said to me in his study. A man might have too good a motive for murder — and the motives in these carbons were that kind.

  I needed something else, and I didn’t know what.

  I got to thinking about the party, and then I remembered something that had gone out of my mind completely. It might not have come back to me now only that Toni was suffering a concussion. Whoever had killed Pawley, and tried to kill Toni, believed in force. He’d beaten Pawley’s skull in with a statue. That’s when it hit me. Suppose he’d used a book end, too?

  I started the car and got out of there.

  I parked on the side street near my apartment, went along the walk to the entrance. Down the street, I saw a car and a man leaning against it, staring toward the building entrance.

  I entered the foyer and would have back-pedaled out of there, but it was already too late. Besides, I knew it was no good; that guy out there had been watching for me, just as the three hoods were watching me inside the foyer.

  • • •

  I recognized Frank and Crewcut and Flashy, all Leo Ross’ boys. I wished I’d had some idea they were looking for me, so I could have spent the night out.

  They closed in on me, moving me toward the elevator. I looked around, steadily feeling more helpless.

  In my years as a publicity hack in a tough racket, I learned a lot of truths, one being that you can’t whip a crowd in a small place, but can get yourself killed, and quietly, just by putting up a fight. There was no fight in me. I was trying to figure why Leo had sent his boys to call on me already.

  I was in the Navy during the Second World War and I’d been shot at a few times. I’d been in places where I was scared. I was in that kind of spot now.

  They pressed me back against the elevator. No one spoke. Frank punched the elevator button and when the door opened, I stumbled back into it.

  I bumped somebody and turned to face Leo Ross.

  He jerked his head and the three hoods followed me in.

  The elevator began to climb. Frank touched the emergency button between the third and fourth floor. The car stopped.

  “Want to talk to you,” Leo said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  I said I didn’t mind. “What’s wrong? I’m working. I’m no magician.”

  “That’s what I came to talk about.” Leo’s hands moved. “I want you to lay off?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I heard this afternoon that the San Rafael prosecutor is willing to accept Roland as Pawley’s killer.”

  “That’s crazy. Look, I found some proof that makes it for laughs. Right in character with Jack Roland.”

  “I don’t feel like laughing. You got any proof, you eat it.”

  “They’ll never make it stick, Leo.”

  “It’ll stick.”

  “It can’t. Leo, this time you’re making a bigger mistake than you ever made. I have proof that Roland was begging Pawley to run that old story. Hell, Pawley was laughing at him. Roland needed publicity. Any kind.”

  “You got proof of that, you get rid of it. Can I be any clearer?”

  “It won’t do any good. It’ll come out sooner or later.”

  Leo sighed. “Just believe me, Howell. I’m sorry it has to be this way. I want you to take a rest. Go away somewhere until Roland is snug in the gas chamber. You catch?”

  I shook my head. That was my mistake. Leo winced, nodded at Frank and I got a fist in under my belt. I would have fallen, but there was no room.

  I gasped like a beached mullet.

  I heard Leo’s voice as if from another county. “Think over what I told you, Sammy; this is the easy way. The day Roland goes to the gas chamber, you get your bonus.”

  Down went the elevator. They walked out, leaving me inside. I didn’t see them leave. I only saw a red film of pain before my eyes.

  The elevator doors closed and then I was going slowly upward. After what seemed several years the elevator stopped, the door opened.

  I walked drunkenly along the hall toward my apartment. I unlocked the door, let it swing open. I was too tired to close it after me.

  I sat in a chair and thought about what Leo had told me. This was the easy way. Next time, it would be with rods. Next time it would be for keeps!

  Things were just as Leo Ross wanted, and all I had to do was leave them that way.

  I stretched out my legs. Some of the pain eased up. As long as I stayed like that, there was just this steady smoldering inside my stomach, but no sharp pains. Sweat stood cold on my forehead.

  Get smart, Howell. Drop the whole thing. Lover boy Roland goes to the gas chamber, you collect a bonus. Sure he was incapable of murder, had no motive. I had proof the poor bastard had been trying to talk Pawley into using that story. That’s how desperate he was, how low he’d fallen. He was forgotten, and he couldn’t stand being forgotten. Even a juicy scandal would make them remember Jack Roland for a little while….

  Leo Ross had sai
d it. All I had to do with that proof was eat it, and Jack Roland would play his last scene up at San Quentin.

  Why not? Would Betty hurt any more inside than I did now? Would she be happier with me dead from Leo Ross’ lead poisoning? Maybe with Jack out of the way, she’d come back to me. Maybe she would forget.

  I looked up and she was standing in my doorway.

  “You expecting somebody?” Betty said.

  She looked lovely, fresh and lovely, like in all my dreams.

  I shook my head. “Forgive me if I don’t get up.”

  “Why not? You don’t have to be polite with me. We were married once — remember?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “You been drinking, Sam?”

  I pressed my hands against my stomach. “A little.”

  “You act drunk.”

  “Yes, don’t I?”

  “Sam, have you been drinking?”

  “What the hell? What if I have?”

  “I’ve been trying to find you all day.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Yes.” She blinked tears from her eyes. “Yes, I see. I hoped you would be trying to help Jack.”

  I thought about the proof I had in my pocket, all he would ever need. What a pleasure to read it to Betty, to let her hear how lover boy was so desperate for publicity that he’d been pleading to get his name in a slimy scandal magazine. Could she go on feeling anything for him then?

  “Who can help him?”

  “Oh, Sam, you could. I thought you would. For me. You were always the one person I could rely on, the one strong person I knew. I trusted you … I knew if I ever had trouble, I had only to call on you.”

  I didn’t say anything. I tightened my fist against my belt buckle.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know now what a fool I’ve been. Oh, it’s all right, Sam. You don’t owe me anything, and I won’t bother you any more.”

  She dragged the back of her hand across her eyes, turned and walked through the door. She didn’t look back. I didn’t say anything.

  Hell, what was there to say?

  Chapter Twelve

  I WENT on sitting in the club chair, legs stretched out before me. I stared through that open door where Betty had walked out. The rest of my life I was going to see her standing there brushing away those tears, seeing how it was when she didn’t believe in me any more, when she no longer believed in anything.

  I warned myself to forget that jazz. I had to concentrate on staying alive. It was easy: all I had to do was go right on sitting in this chair until my insides healed and my mouth grew shut. All the rest of my life I’d know I had let an innocent man die, and the woman I loved go away empty and helpless and alone.

  A hell of a prospect.

  I tried to forget the way the light had gone out of Betty’s eyes, the way her face had sagged when she couldn’t hope any more. Hell, that was life. I’d been full of pretty thoughts about the Drake doll, too. Almost ready to re-enlist in the human. race just because she was sweet and fresh and exciting. Last night, Fred Pawley. Tonight Sam Howell. Hell, why should I be the-one to get clouted? So Betty Roland no longer had faith in her ex-husband. Was I weeping?

  The hell of it is, I was.

  There was another angle. I’d had it — with the Drake babe, with Betty, and now with Leo Ross. If I stood still for this, I’d have nothing. Somehow, it seemed better, to die having Betty think I was something special, than to go on living and not be able to face myself when I shaved.

  I got up while I still felt that way and limped into the bedroom. I sat on the bed, put through a call to the District Attorney at San Rafael.

  “This is Samuel Howell of Twenty Grand Pictures,” I told him. “I’m a publicity executive. I believe that I heard today you’ve decided to take your case against Jack Roland to the grand jury.”

  “That’s right, Mr. Howell.”

  I breathed deeply. “I have come into possession of some facts I believe you should have before you come to this decision. You have a carbon of an old scandal involving Roland, and you are using that as the basis of your case against Roland, as his murder motive. Is that true?”

  He said it was.

  “Today, another of those carbons came into my possession. However this one has a note clipped to it, written by the late Mr. Pawley. The note concerns Jack Roland and that story. Would you care to hear it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m now quoting from the note clipped to this carbon. ‘Kill. No news value, no name value. Roland has been pestering me to run this old squib. I can’t see any value in it. Don’t let Roland annoy me any further.’ ”

  Now he was holding his breath.

  “I believe that Blake, Pawley’s secretary, will vouch that this note is in Pawley’s handwriting. And if it’s true, Roland has no motive for killing Pawley. He wanted that story in Tattle — not killed. He went down there to beg Pawley to run it in the upcoming issue. He had the fool idea the publicity might help him land a part in one of Twenty Grand’s pictures. The man is a fool, but not a killer.”

  “Would you. say how you came in possession of this information?”

  “Why?”

  “Mr. Pawley’s files were robbed and — ”

  “I don’t know how this carbon got out of Pawley’s files. Sometimes private detectives, working on their own initiative, will come into possession of certain facts and sell them either to a scandal magazine, or to the interested party.”

  “And would you give us the name of the person who furnished you with this carbon?”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t do that. It came to my office indirectly. I’m passing it on to you as quickly as I can in the interest of justice.”

  “I see. And when might I expect to have this note and the carbon?”

  “I’ll mail it to you today, registered special delivery. You should get it in San Rafael tonight.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to hold Roland until these and other facts are verified.”

  “Naturally. But I felt you wouldn’t want to put yourself in the vulnerable position of going before the grand jury with a case that wasn’t going to stand up.”

  He was silent a moment. Finally, he exhaled heavily. “I’ll be awaiting the special delivery … and, thank you, Mr. Howell.”

  I replaced the receiver slowly. Oh, don’t thank me. Just send flowers.

  Now that I’d done what I could for Jack Roland, I sealed the carbon and Pawley’s note, put it in my pocket to mail it. Next, I either had to come up with the real murderer, or get out of this world.

  I found the hair-matted, blood-stained book end that had been in the debris of my party the other night.

  I stood looking at it a long time. That night it had had no importance, just a prop from the studio that somebody had left behind as a gag.

  Suddenly I no longer thought that. If I could run this thing through a lab, I believed I’d find it came from Pawley’s place at San Rafael, and that the blood and the hair was his.

  I shivered. Pawley had been clobbered by a heavy object, believed to have been the statue in the garden, and Toni Drake had suffered from some heavy object wielded in anger, the book end had a new and sinister significance.

  Whoever had charged that telegram to my telephone bill had left me another little present. Something that might wrap them up tight. This book end.

  I began to build a real mad. At Leo Ross for threatening me, at the unknown someone who charged that telegram to me, and left a book end matted with hair and blood in my apartment. I hated being used like that. I’d had it up to here….

  I dropped the book end in a paper sack from the whiskey store and got out of there.

  • • •

  I rang the doorbell at Ceil Bowne’s. The paper bag was under my arm.

  It was late afternoon and the sky beyond the hills was shot with red veins. I stood on the veranda looking around at the manicured landscape. The red seemed to have spilled from the sky across the velvet gre
en of the lawn.

  Skinner opened the front door.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Howell. Both Mr. Bowne and Miss Carone are most upset. I’m afraid they’re not at home to anyone this afternoon.”

  “They’ll be home to me, Skinner. Tell Mr. Bowne that I have something from down at Pawley’s place in San Rafael. Hell know what I’m talking about, and he’ll want to see me.”

  “Yes, sir.” He bit his lip. He’d come to the door with explicit instructions, and in this household not to obey a command was rankest insubordination. He let me wait in the foyer, hat in hand.

  I looked around, selected a very modern glass table set on wrought iron legs. I turned the book end out of the paper bag, set it very carefully in the exact center of the glass table.

  Skinner returned, followed by Lorna Carone. I saw her eyes were red rimmed.

  “All right, Skinner,” she said. He nodded, withdrew.

  She came toward me, frowning faintly. I thought she glanced toward the glass table. I did not look in that direction. “I’d like to talk to you later, doll,” I said.

  “What about? Ceil?”

  I shrugged. She took my hat and rain slicker, hung them in the foyer closet. I followed her through the damply chilled, spacious house.

  “Anything you’d like to tell, Poppa?” I said.

  “Still the same.” She sighed, starting through the hallway toward the gym.

  “Carrying that old torch?”

  “Ceil won’t send me away. Maybe that would be better.”

  “Would it, Lorna?”

  “At least I’d know it’s over. This way I’m a servant. That’s all I am, Sam — an unpaid servant in his house.”

  “I thought Ceil was pretty generous.”

  “Maybe it’s what I really want that I don’t get.”

  “Hell, that’s the story of my life.”

  “I don’t want it to be the story of mine.”

  “Speak to Ceil. Tell him you want wages.”

  She smiled wanly across her shoulder, smoothed her damp hair with nervous fingers. “Sure. But when I say anything like that, he just snarls at me.”

  “Maybe he’s got a lot on his mind,” I said, thinking about the carbon in my pocket.

  She stared at me, face pale, and there was a worry in her eyes I could not fathom.