Kill Now, Pay Later (Hard Case Crime (Mass Market Paperback))

by Robert Terrall

  “There’s a first time for everything,” I said without sympathy. “How did they make the identification on Moran?”

  “Fingerprints. He came in a stolen car with a city number, so they checked his prints with New York. His record came in just before you woke up. Two arrests, one for conspiracy to defraud, the second for sending pornographic matter through the mails. No convictions. And to me this looks a little weird. A New York angle-man wouldn’t go robbing in the country unless he thought it was open and shut.”

  I thought for a moment. “How about Mrs. Pope? Who found her?”

  “Mr. Pope. He sleeps in the next room, with a bathroom between. When he heard the shots downstairs, he ran into her room. Something came in on that while you were taking your time shaving. They’ve got the official cause of death. Coronary occlusion. Does that sound right? Heart attack, as everybody figured.”

  “Did you hear anything about my playmate, this Shelley Hardwick?”

  “Three of the bridesmaids spent the night, and she was one of them. She thinks she heard shots. The cops did a lot of tramping through the house later, and you know how they are about using sirens, but she was like you. She didn’t wake up.”

  “Where does she stand with Junior? That’s a thing of the past?”

  “It didn’t come up. All I know is what I heard last night, and you may remember that I walked into that without being briefed. She said something about keeping the ring, though—I didn’t get much of it.”

  “Maybe I dreamed this, but didn’t he threaten to kill her?”

  Davidson turned to me. “Sure he did. And she said, ‘You’ve had practice,’ or something like that.”

  “And what did she say about White Plains?”

  He worked at it for a minute. “She followed him there. Or did he follow her? No, she followed him. Wait a minute, Ben, wait a minute. Who do you think lives in White Plains? Mr. Pope’s secretary. This Anna DeLong.”

  “I thought she was in residence.”

  “No, I was there when Minturn took her statement. She slept over last night because of the wedding.”

  I had forgotten I had a headache. Davidson, too, was looking almost cheerful. I lifted my coffee, remembered suddenly how I was feeling, and put it down.

  “I’ll check on the maid,” I said. “I’ve been wondering how she would look out of uniform. Keep close to Minturn. The main thing I want now is anything that comes in on Moran.”

  Chapter 4

  The name on the slip of paper was Hilda Faltermeier. I drove on to the little town of Prosper. Instead of wasting time and attracting attention by asking for directions, I left the Buick in an A & P parking lot and crossed to the taxi stand at the New York Central station. I got into the first of two cabs and gave the driver the address that went with the name.

  We left the shopping area and passed through a zoned neighborhood that had probably produced most of the cars parked at the station waiting for the head of the house to come back from New York on the evening trains. Soon after this we entered one of those sad developments that were thrown up in the hell-for-leather days after World War II. Hurricanes are infrequent in this part of the country, so the houses were still standing, but it worried me to see a boy bouncing a rubber ball against a wall.

  The driver stopped in the middle of a block. I told him to wait. I went up a short walk and knocked on a screen door.

  “Come on in,” a girl’s voice called. “It’s not locked.”

  I went in. Hilda Faltermeier was up on a stepladder painting a wall yellow.

  “Why, Mr. Gates,” she said. “This is an honor.”

  She was wearing a tight pair of jeans spattered with yellow paint, and a shirt with most of the buttons missing. Instead of being tucked inside the pants, her shirt-tails were knotted in front, leaving an uncovered strip of flesh near the equator. She was barefoot, and I hoped I wouldn’t have the same trouble with her that I’d had with the barefoot Shelley Hardwick.

  She came down the ladder. Her hair was two shades of light brown, but she had darkened her eyebrows and lashes. She was in her early twenties, and if she wasn’t married already I didn’t think she would stay unmarried long.

  “Painting,” she said unnecessarily. “How’s the private detective business?”

  “About the same. How did you know my name was Gates?”

  “The girls were talking about you last night. Most of us hadn’t ever seen a real live private detective, and we thought you were pretty stimulating. You know how girls are?”

  “Within limits.” I took out a cigar and began peeling off the cellophane. “What I wanted to ask you—”

  “Come on in and sit down,” she said. “I don’t suppose you’d be drinking this early in the day, but how about some—”

  “No coffee, thanks,” I said.

  “Sit down anyway.”

  I followed her through an open arch and sat on a couch facing the blank eye of a television set. The room was pleasantly furnished, and somebody had put in a lot of work with vacuum cleaner and furniture polish.

  “My Dad’s at work,” she said, “if that’s what you’re thinking. So we have the place to ourselves.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  She settled on a sort of hassock, tucking one foot under her. She had fewer buttons on her shirt than I had thought at first. Even with close scrutiny, and this is a matter which I like to give close scrutiny, I could only count one.

  “Anyway, it’s flattering,” she said, “because I look like Whistler’s mother in that damn lace cap I have to wear at the Popes’. Anybody who could see I’m worth following up in spite of that cap must have X-ray vision.”

  I bit the end off the cigar. “Do you always put on eye makeup this early, even when you’re not expecting anybody?”

  She gave a little laugh. “All right, I knew you were coming. Mrs. Maguire called me.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Oh—somebody brainwashed her for my name and address, and they figured he probably passed it on to you. They want me to watch out, because you’re supposed to be pretty shifty. Can I ask a question? How old are you?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “That’s what I thought, but we had an argument about it last night. How about the other detective? The one outside? He’s not nearly as old as that, is he?”

  “Not nearly,” I said. “His name is Davidson, if you ever need anybody in our business. Miss Faltermeier—”

  “I don’t expect to need a private detective,” she said, “I mean professionally. Not that I have anything against private detectives.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. What I’m trying to—”

  “And if I ever get in that kind of trouble, which I certainly hope I won’t, I think I’d call you, Mr. Gates, if I had to choose.”

  “Thanks a lot. Now I’d like to find out if anybody said anything to you last night about taking coffee out to Davidson.”

  She crossed her legs in a modified yoga position. The blue jeans had been tight enough when she was standing up, and they were tighter now.

  “That’s a funny question.”

  “It’s one I’d like an answer to, though,” I said. “When Mrs. Maguire told you to take coffee to the library, did she say anything about taking another pot out to the man on the terrace?”

  “No, she didn’t. I didn’t even know he was a private detective then. He looked like one of the guests, only not so drunk!”

  “After Mrs. Maguire poured the coffee, do you remember what you did with it? Did you set it down any place?”

  “No, I came straight upstairs. I got the sandwiches first. Those little silver coffee pots don’t hold the heat.”

  “Did you talk to anybody?”

  “Well, you know what it was like. I had an admirer, one of the ushers. He’d been following me around for a couple of hours, and we had a little scuffle on the stairs. If Miss DeLong hadn’t been right behind us I would have had to go back to heat up th
e coffee. He was quite cute, really, but so tight. The next time they ask me to serve out there I’m going to wear a girdle.”

  “Were you still around when the guns went off?”

  “I should say. I got through at eleven-thirty, and then I had to change. They have these little closets up in the attic where the servants used to live; no heat in cold weather and brutal in summer. And of course this same boy was waiting on the stairs for me when I came down. We played Run, Sheep, Run up the front stairs and down the back. It was like one of those old-time movies. Are you interested?”

  “Sure. What happened?”

  “He didn’t catch me, so you can take the leer off your face. But he wore me out. One time he had me cornered and I didn’t think I was going to make it. Luckily somebody came out of a bedroom—”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know what her name was. A blonde. I think she was one of the bridesmaids, but this was after her bedtime and she had on a kimono, very Japanesey. The way my boyfriend’s mind was working, a girl is a girl, and this girl was already partly undressed, which would save time. But she was too quick for him, so back to the class struggle. I got outside all right. I headed for the front of the house. You probably don’t remember hinting that you might be waiting for me, but I thought if you happened to be there I’d let you rescue me. I didn’t get that far. You can’t run very fast on a lawn in high heels. Don’t think I wasn’t trying to get away, because I was. He tackled me. Did you ever read Anatomy of a Murder?”

  “I saw the movie.”

  “Well, it didn’t go quite that far because that’s when the shooting started. My boy kept on trying until a body came over the railing and nearly landed on us. That was the end, as far as romance was concerned. Now you see what you missed by falling asleep.”

  “To go back to the coffee. You didn’t take the empty pot down to the kitchen?”

  “I didn’t even think of it. What’s all this about coffee?”

  “If you’ll put your feet on the floor for a minute, I’ll tell you.”

  She got out of her yoga position with a smile. “I didn’t know it was bothering you.”

  “I’m not that middle-aged. I don’t know what you heard about last night, but I didn’t have anything to drink except one cup of coffee out of that pot you brought me. Five minutes later I was out cold. How does it look to you?”

  She got up for a cigarette. The cigarettes were on a low table in front of the couch. She had to bend over, and the shirt responded to the pull of gravity. The hell she didn’t know she was bothering me.

  She lighted the cigarette, pretending to think about my problem. “Gee—I don’t know. I had the sandwiches. I poured the coffee. I didn’t meet anybody on the stairs but Miss DeLong.”

  Instead of going back to the hassock, she dropped onto the couch beside me, sitting side-saddle with one leg up. “And she didn’t come anywhere near the tray. As for Prince Charming, he had me doing a ballet dance, but I don’t think he fooled with the coffee pot. He didn’t have any hands free, for one thing. Just thinking about it gives me goose pimples.”

  She gave a little wriggle.

  “How often do you work at the Popes’?”

  “Oh, depending. Sometimes once or twice a week, sometimes not again for a month. Why?”

  “I was wondering about Richardson, Junior. Did he ever tell you you have a very cute navel?”

  She looked down at her bare midriff and laughed. “In the uniforms I wear out there it doesn’t show. If you mean did he ever tackle me from behind and try to lay me in the bushes, the answer is no.”

  “Well—”

  I made a small forward movement and she said quickly, “Don’t go.”

  I drew carefully on my cigar. I like cordial girls, but perhaps this one was being too cordial.

  “Why not?”

  She came up on both knees, letting the shirt take care of itself. The final button was hanging by a thread. “If you really didn’t do any drinking last night, what about that conversation you had with me when I brought up your tray?”

  “What about it? All I’d been doing since noon was standing around drawing three dollars an hour plus expenses, in this case nil. You broke the monotony.”

  “Mmm,” she said thoughtfully. “I didn’t pay too much attention because I thought you’d been sampling the champagne. This makes a difference.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “You don’t?”

  She wriggled again, walking on her knees. She touched the back of my neck. This is a sensitive spot for me, as girls seem to know. The next instant she was all over me. It didn’t seem likely that the single button could stand the strain.

  “I’ve got a taxi waiting,” I said. “It’s costing me money.”

  “There are more important things in life than money.”

  That was perfectly true. The poor child was lonely, with nothing to do all day but paint walls and look at TV. I could spare a few minutes.

  She shifted position, and the crucial button came off with a pop.

  “Just as I suspected,” I said. “You’re a girl.”

  She was smiling. “Don’t you like girls?”

  “In their place. Can I call you Hilda?”

  “I wish you would.”

  “Hilda, wouldn’t you feel more comfortable if I took off my gun?”

  She drew back. She looked at me for a moment and then shrugged. In the open shirt it was an attractive gesture.

  “All right, on your way.”

  “In other words, this was a stall?”

  “You can call it that,” she said. “Now if I were you, Ben, which thank God I’m not, I’d blow.”

  “In a minute,” I said. “Who really called you, Minturn?”

  “I didn’t get his name. Some lieutenant. He said if I wanted to go on working at the Popes’ I should keep you entertained till he could get a radio car over from the barracks. They want to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “Ben, will you kindly spring into action? I don’t want to change my mind and then have them catch you anyway. He said they’re working on a theory that you were in for a percentage last night. You knocked yourself out with sleeping pills so you’d be covered, and now you’re squawking because somebody washed the coffee pot and you can’t prove it.”

  “That’s even worse than their first theory.” I stood up. “But I don’t think they really want to discuss it with me. They just want to give me the rush.”

  “You can move faster than that.”

  “You’d better sew some buttons on by the time they get here. You’re breaking the law.”

  “Ben, hurry! How do you think I’ll feel? I should have told you right away.”

  I stopped with my hand on the screen door and we looked at each other. They weren’t using the siren, but they were coming fast.

  “Damn you!” she said. “Goddam you, anyway!”

  “What’s all the excitement? They’re only cops.”

  Tires screamed as they came around the corner. They didn’t have to look for street numbers; the taxi outside would show them the house they wanted. Suddenly the whole thing seemed unnecessarily urgent. It shouldn’t have been this important for Minturn to keep me from talking to Hilda.

  “Take my bike,” she said.

  “Your what?”

  “My bike. It’s in the garage. You can go out through the back yard.”

  “My dear girl,” I said. “A bike. Don’t you think they could catch me in a prowl car?”

  She took my arm and urged me toward the kitchen. “I’ll pass out. Come on, Ben. They’ll have to bring me to before I can tell them what happened. I only wish I had more clothes on.”

  The police car came to a noisy halt in front of the house and two uniformed troopers jumped out. One of them was pulling at the flap of his pistol holster, and that decided me.

  “I’ll call you,” I said. “Not that this is going to work.”

  I gave her a pass
ing pat on the most inviting target and eased quietly out the back door as I heard the troopers’ footsteps on the porch.

  Chapter 5

  The troopers gave me no trouble. I can’t say the same for the bike.

  I wheeled it across the yard, keeping the garage between me and the house. The boundary between this lot and the next was marked by a flower bed and a low wire fence. I stepped on some delphiniums, but I couldn’t take the time to be careful. I was out in the open now, and I wanted to disappear before one of the troopers looked out Hilda’s kitchen window.

  When I was halfway to the street a woman came out with a basket of wet laundry.

  “Good morning,” I said cheerfully around my cigar. “Short cut.”

  She watched me, her mouth open. When I reached her driveway I swung aboard and pedaled off, biting down hard on my cigar. I hadn’t been on one of these things for twenty years, and this one had a strong tendency to wobble. I straightened it out finally, and I thought I was going to be all right until I put on the brake at the first intersection. It was like stepping on a top step that wasn’t there. The bike reared and bucked me into a barberry hedge.

  I untangled myself, cursing the girl for offering me a bicycle without brakes. I discovered where the brakes actually were by squeezing the handlebars too hard and pitching forward over the front wheel. Before I started again I looked the contraption over for other concealed traps. I found a little lever that was probably a gear-shift, and decided to disregard it. Several housewives had come out on their porches to watch the entertainment. I got on again and managed to disappoint them by staying on. They may have wondered why a man of my years, wearing a business suit and smoking a cigar, should be riding a girl’s bike down their street in the middle of the morning, but if so they didn’t wonder about it enough to report it to anybody.

  I took a roundabout route back to the shopping district. It was downhill most of the way. I was getting plenty of attention, but the bike made no further attempts to throw me. I left it with the ticket agent at the railroad station.