Michael Gray Novels

by Henry Kuttner

  “I’ve got a reason for telling you this,” he said. “I’m going to get Eileen out of this mess—somehow. I don’t care how. I don’t care what crazy tales she’s cooked up about me. I don’t even care if she’s guilty. I’m not going to follow the rules any more. But I’m going to save her.”

  He gave Gray a steady glance over the glass rim, his eyes burning in his tired face.

  The table suddenly shook. Daley Quine’s deep voice growled, “Sorry I was held up. Hello, Pollard. Mr. Gray?”

  Gray shook the lawyer’s big, callused hand. Quine was like a moving mountain, broad and big and gray. He sat down heavily, his little shrewd eyes in the jowled face noting everything—Gray’s lunch before him, the empty cocktail glass beside Pollard’s half-full one, perhaps even the air of tension that Pollard’s interrupted speech had created between the two men.

  “Go ahead and eat,” Quine said. “Yeah, sure, double rye,” he added to the waiter. “Gray, I’ve got a job for you. I hope to God you’ll take it on.” He sat down and slapped a pad of paper on the tablecloth, pulled out a pen. “First of all,” he said, “maybe you’ll be good enough to go over Eileen’s story again, the one you told her father on the phone. Plus any comments of your own you feel like making.”

  Gray hesitated.

  Quine gave him a sharp, small-eyed look. “Privileged communication?” he asked. “Look at it this way. She’s already talked to the police. You can give me at least as much as you told her father after she finished spilling to you.”

  “All right,” Gray said. “I guess you’re right. I can tell you at least as much as I know she’s told Zucker. Though from what I gather, they’ve got a few items against her that I don’t know about. Here’s what happened…”

  Quine listened intently, hunched motionless above the table except for a quick, illegible scribble now and then. When Gray came to Eileen’s mention of Pollard, an indignant protest from Gray’s right was silenced by a glance and a grunt from Quine. Gray finished. Quine sat silent, blinking into space, for nearly a minute.

  Then he turned to Pollard.

  “Now,” he said. “Last night at that night club. Just what happened?”

  Pollard turned the stem of his glass between nervous fingers.

  “I’d keep it quiet if I could,” he said frankly. “I’d lie if there hadn’t been witnesses. But I guess it will have to come out. Eileen had a hell of an argument with Beverly Bond.”

  Quine grunted. “Tell us about it.”

  “Well, I was meeting Eileen and some friends of ours, Jim and Mary Donnelly, at the Silver Slipper. I was a Utile late. When I came in Jim Donnelly was alone at the table. He said they’d all been having a drink together when Eileen spotted this blonde alone at another table. Eileen fidgeted a good deal. Then she jumped up, went over to the other table and started bawling the Bond woman out. She kept her voice low enough so nobody could catch what she was saying, but she was really mad.

  “The two of them scuffled a little. Then all of a sudden Eileen started crying and ran into the powder room. Mary Donnelly went after her. They were still there when I came in.

  “Well, Jim and I waited awhile, and then I went over to ask the Bond woman what was up. I didn’t know who she was then, of course. I tried to find out what the trouble had been, but she”—Pollard hesitated—“she wouldn’t talk. Just claimed Eileen was either drunk or mistaken. She didn’t seem much upset by it. I couldn’t get any more out of her, but I was afraid if Eileen found her there when she came back the trouble might start all over. So I told the Bond woman if she’d go home I’d pay her taxi fare. I walked her to the door and put her in a cab.

  “When I got back Eileen and Mary were with Jim. Eileen wouldn’t talk about what had happened. I found out later Mary Donnelly hadn’t got anything out of her, either. Then a phone call came that I’d been expecting, and I had to leave.” He glanced from Quine to Gray.

  “In case you’re wondering, it was a plane flight I was meeting. In connection with my campaign. Senator Brewster’s flight had been delayed. I had to drive out to the airport to meet him. Eileen didn’t want to come along. She decided to stay with the Donnellys. They said they put her in a taxi a little before eleven and thought she was on her way home.”

  Pollard drained the last of his cocktail.

  “That’s all I know,” he said, “except that talk with Beverly Bond was the only time I spoke to her in my life. I don’t know how to prove it, but it’s true. If Eileen really thought I’d been sleeping with the girl, she must be out of her mind.”

  Quine was watching him intently. “And if she didn’t really think so—what?” he asked in his growling voice.

  Pollard made a helpless gesture toward Gray.

  “That’s more in your field,” he said. “I’m lost.”

  Gray had a sudden, strong conviction, based on nothing tangible, that Pollard was lying. It confused him, because up to a point he couldn’t quite define he had believed the man.

  “I’m lost too, right now,” Gray said frankly. He looked at Quine. “You haven’t had time yet to dig into this,” he said, “so you probably don’t know that Beverly Bond had a sister who was murdered about six months ago, under conditions pretty much like this murder.”

  Quine and Pollard made surprised sounds at the same time. Gray told them the brief story. Quine made illegible notes on his pad, shaking his big gray head.

  “There could be a connection,” he said. “I’ll put somebody on it. There’s such a hell of a lot to do at this stage.” He gulped his rye and set the glass down with a thump. “You know there were three others who confessed to the Bond killing? Lunatics, I suppose. But I’m not missing any bets right now. The thing looks bad, and I’m reaching out every way I know how. That’s where you come in, Gray. I’m not only defending Eileen Herrick, I’m representing all three of the other confessors, too.”

  “Why?” Pollard asked, surprised.

  “Mainly so I can get psychiatric examinations for all of ’em,” Quine said. “Right now I want to confuse the issue. Give myself time to think. I’m going to need it. There may be something we can use in these other people. I’ve called in a fellow I think you know, Gray—Dan Abel. He’s a good clinical psychologist. But I’ll want you to examine them, too. Find out if the confessions are phony. And find out why they—Gray, you listening?”

  Gray blinked. He hadn’t been. The name of Dan Abel had rung so loud a bell in his mind that for a moment nothing else registered.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I—know Abel.” He paused. “I know of him,” he amended.

  Quine waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, Quine put the pen back in his pocket, closed his notebook and looked meditatively at Gray.

  “Later on we’ll talk,” he said. “About Eileen and why she—well, what’s behind all this. Thank God she was already in therapy when it happened. If worst comes to worst, we can always make a jury think you only get psychoanalyzed if you’re crazy.”

  Gray said quickly, “You think she did it, then.”

  Quine gave him a cynical look. “You don’t?”

  Tm not sure. Oh, I guess she did if she says she did. But the story she tells doesn’t ring quite true. If she really killed Beverly Bond, I think she didn’t do it for the reason she says. Or in the way she said. Or—hell, I don’t know. There’s something phony somewhere. I know Eileen well enough to know that”

  Quine nodded his gray mane. “Good, good. We’ll go into that, too. You think about it. You’ll work with me, I hope.”

  “Glad to,” Gray said. “Can you arrange for me to see her? The police broke in today at a spot where I’d had to make her so mad at me I may have destroyed most of my progress with her. I want to undo the damage if I can.”

  “Yeah. I’ll fix it.” Quine heaved sidewise and got his wallet out. “Ill let you know. Here’s my card. Call me any time. We can talk money later, but there won’t be any problem there. Not with Philip Herrick.”

  Pollar
d said, “I want to put up my share, too. Don’t worry about the money angle. All I want is to get Eileen off.”

  Gray pushed back his plate.

  “Eileen’s a girl with a problem,” he said. “A big problem. You know what she tried to do this morning. I want her safe myself, but safe may mean in custody. You’ll have to understand that.”

  Quine grinned. “Ill get her off. Just do your job and leave the rest to me.” He thumped down his emptied glass and heaved to his feet.

  “Been a pleasure,” he said. “Got to run now. More time later. I’ll call you.” He lifted a big hand to the two and lumbered off.

  7

  The man who opened the apartment door to Gray’s ring half an hour later looked surprisingly young in the half-light. Then he stepped back, and Gray saw him more clearly. He had a youthful, rounded face, deeply tanned, but his heavy black brows and the almost invisible wrinkles around his eyes, the way he held his mouth firmly, showed that his maturity had not come easily. He was enjoying the Sunday luxury of untidiness. He wore slacks and a pajama top, and he was unshaven.

  Gray said, “Mr. Abel?”

  The man seemed to think it over a moment. Then he nodded.

  Gray said, “I took a chance on finding you in. My name’s Michael Gray. I’ve just been talking to Daley Quine.”

  Daniel Abel’s black brows shot up. Then they knotted together in a scowl. With no attempt to disguise his hostility he said flatly, “So you’re Gray. Well?”

  “If we’re both going to be working with Quine, we’d better have a talk,” Gray said.

  Abel thought about it. Then, grudgingly, he stepped back.

  The living room was warm and pleasant in the afternoon sunlight. The floor was deep in a drift of Sunday papers. From a front page the Herrick name looked up.

  Still grudgingly Abel said, “All right. Sit down.”

  Gray took the chair he indicated. He waited.

  “Well?” Abel said.

  “I’ve just seen Quine,” Gray told him. “He wants me to try to find out what’s behind a series of confessions to the Beverly Bond killing. He said you were going to test the four who have confessed.”

  Abel nodded shortly. “That’s my business. I’ll run a battery of tests, starting tomorrow. It’ll probably take three or four days, even if they’re all co-operative. And if the police hold them long enough.”

  “That’s one of the things I want to ask you about,” Gray said. “The chances are some of them won’t co-operate. If I see them after your tests, they may already be in a negative mood. I’d like to see them first. Will that suit you?”

  “What if you throw them into a negative mood?” Abel sounded hostile.

  “I think it’s less likely. I can adjust my questions according to how they react.”

  Abel thought about it, scowling at the floor.

  “All right,” he said reluctantly.

  Gray said, “Thanks. Are you running all the tests yourself?”

  Abel’s thick brows drew together. “I trust my own judgment. Why?” There was open aggression in his voice.

  Gray ignored the challenge. “Mind telling me what tests you thought of using?”

  “Rorschach, the T.A.T., the Miale-Holsopple, the Szondi, the Most Unpleasant Concept, if they’ll stand still for it—” Abel shrugged. “After that, it’ll depend. I’ll have to play by ear. Some people are so frightened by the Rorschach they won’t even take the test.”

  Gray nodded. “I’ll try not to slow you down too much.” He looked speculatively at Abel, who was still scowling. He waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

  “Is that all?” Abel demanded after a moment. Sudden anger, released in a rising flood, broke out violently in his voice. “What the hell are you here for, anyhow? We could have covered this in two minutes on the telephone. What do you want?”

  Gray stood up. Abel jumped to his feet, too, and they faced each other over the tumble of papers with the Herrick name looking up from the floor.

  “For one thing,” Gray said calmly, “I wanted to find out who asked you into this case. Quine? Or did you invite yourself in?”

  Abel said, “What the hell do you—”

  Gray said, “Oh, for God’s sake. You know Eileen’s in analysis with me. Do you really believe she’s never mentioned your?”

  Abel’s shoulders slumped.

  “No,” he said, the anger sinking out of his voice. “No, I knew…All right, Gray. Quine didn’t call me. I got in touch with him. I’ve got some friends at City Hall. I found out Quine was going to represent all four people who confessed. So I called him right away and suggested he might use me.”

  “Why?” Gray asked.

  Abel said wearily, “I couldn’t stand just doing nothing, when Eileen—Gray, what did she tell you about me?”

  Gray was silent.

  “How does she feel about me now?” Abel’s voice was eager. “Do you think she’ll see me? Has she ever been sorry she—Oh, hell. There’s no use asking. You won’t tell me.”

  “Suppose we sit down again for a minute,” Gray said. “If you can cool off long enough to answer a few questions, I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

  Abel flashed him a dark glance. Then he shrugged and clenched his hands lightly, looking down at them.

  “I don’t like you,” he said. “Now I’ve seen you, I don’t trust you. That’s funny, because I was responsible for Eileen’s being your patient.”

  “Why don’t you trust me?” Gray asked.

  Abel showed his teeth. “A guy your age,” he said. “Young. A girl as pretty as Eileen—how do I know what goes on? You’re alone with her in your office, aren’t you? You’ve got a couch? How do I know—”

  Gray said, “If I thought you meant it, I’d slug you.”

  Abel drew a noisy breath. He tightened the clenched hands into fists for a moment. Then he shrugged and let the tautness go out of him.

  “No, I don’t mean it,” he said. “I’d think it about any analyst she had. But I wouldn’t really believe it. All right, Gray. Let’s sit down. What do you want to know?”

  Gray gave him a faint grin and let his own muscles relax. He sat down again and looked consideringly at Abel.

  “How were you responsible for Eileen being my patient?”

  “Through her mother. I wondered if Eileen ever found out about it. She didn’t know? Eileen was having a rough time at home, and I knew it wasn’t any use talking to her father. Zoe Herrick’s the only one who can handle him. He’s scared to death of psychotherapy. I guess you know that. When I saw I was losing out with Eileen, I figured psychotherapy was one way of getting her straightened out even if I couldn’t look after her any more.”

  “What happened?” Gray asked. “I’d like to hear your side.”

  “Nothing. That’s the hell of it. I was in love with Eileen. I still am. Up to last year I thought we were doing fine. Then Neil Pollard came along. He was starting out in politics, and old Herrick swings a lot of weight. So Pollard started muscling in. Maybe he’s in love with Eileen. Maybe he’s in love with the Herrick influence. Anyhow, Herrick’s all for him. Figures Pollard may be governor in another ten years. So—well, after a while I knew it wasn’t any use. I didn’t push it. The choice was up to Eileen. If Pollard’s what she really wants…”

  “You think he isn’t right for her?”

  “I think nobody’s right for her except me. But she needs somebody. She needs to feel sure of somebody. I don’t know if she’s told you about this big love affair her parents have always paraded. There’s been such a show of devotion between Philip and Zoe Herrick, I think Eileen always felt left out. I hope Pollard’s the man to give her what she needs.”

  Gray looked thoughtful. “You sound skeptical about the Herricks’ devotion to each other.”

  Abel shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it’s genuine enough. I think I resent it because of Eileen. But from all I ever saw, Philip Herrick’s really still in love with his wife. Even
before the accident that crippled her, he was always sending her flowers and making a big deal about how they were on a perpetual honeymoon. If he’d given Eileen half the attention he gives Zoe—”

  “The mother is really crippled?” Gray asked. “Can she walk at all?”

  “A little. A few steps.”

  “So she might be walking more than the family knows?”

  Abel looked at Gray curiously. “I doubt it. Why?”

  Gray shook his head. “No reason. Just a wild idea.”

  Abel said in a sober voice, “Has Eileen got a chance?”

  “How can I answer that?” Gray asked. “We’ll know more tomorrow after the tests—I hope. I’m going to try to see her in the morning. Maybe you could run your tests on her as soon as I leave.”

  “Good,” Abel said, leaning forward. His face tightened, the eyes suddenly resolute under the black, scowling brows. “And let’s get one thing straight, Gray. This is my chance with Eileen. I never thought I’d get another. I don’t give a damn what you do or say about my methods with the other people in this case, but you keep your hands off when I’m working with Eileen. Understand? Just don’t interfere between Eileen and me.”

  Gray said, “What do you have in mind, Abel?”

  An angry glare was all he got in answer. Then Abel said again, “Just keep your hands off. I’ll work this out my way.”

  Gray stood at the curb watching a cable car rattle by uphill. He was frowning thoughtfully. Abel was a problem he could deal with when he had to. If he had to. Gray suspected his bark was worse than his bite. It wasn’t Abel that kept the frown on Gray’s face. It was the whole complexity of little things, bits and pieces that wouldn’t quite add up in the problem of why Eileen had really killed Beverly Bond.

  Gray stood hesitating a moment longer. Then he snapped his fingers with sudden decision and went back into the building lobby to the phone booth.

  Zucker said, “Yeah, Mike?” over the wire.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Gray told him. “I want to take a look at the McCreery house. Have you got the address?”