The Fifth Grave

by Jonathan Latimer

  “What are you doing?”

  “I thought I saw something.”

  “What?”

  “A coin or something.” I put the disk in my pocket. “It was just a piece of chipped brick.”

  “Oh.”

  I went to work on the wall again.

  From the door I looked back at him. I’d brought down so much stuff he was hardly visible. All I could see was a shoe. He was lying on the wrecked chair, just as if he’d been sitting there when the wall fell. There were bricks and plaster all over him, and all over that side of the cellar. It looked as though there’d been an earthquake. It wouldn’t fool any one with any sense, I thought, but it might fool the Brothers. Particularly if they wanted to be fooled. I thought they would be, since the door of the treasure vault was still closed, apparently just as it had always been.

  The Princess was standing by the body, holding the candle for me to get to the door. The light made her hair look like spun gold, as they say. I lit a match and she put out the candle and threw it by the body, like we agreed. She walked towards me, coming straight for the burning match. I began to feel excited. We went outside.

  I took the pick back to the hill with the graves, wiped the handle with my shirt, and dropped it by one of the shovels. The open grave looked black and mysterious. The moonlight was coming at such an angle the light didn’t reach the bottom. It could have been twenty feet deep. The Princess waited for me at the corner of the temple. We walked back to the women’s building, keeping in the shadows.

  The moonlight was still pouring into her bedroom, making the bed look big and white. I washed my hands and found the bottle of brandy and had a long drink. It was funny, but I could hardly feel the stuff. I waited a minute, and then I had another drink. My throat felt numb.

  She had taken off her robe and got in bed. I sat in a chair and had another drink. I felt her watching me. I had been sweating, and I kept on sweating. I wasn’t used to working with a pick. I sat for a long time, drinking and sweating. I took off my blouse. The air felt good on my bare skin.

  “Honey,” she whispered; “what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come over here with me.”

  “No.”

  I had another drink. Then she said: “I’m sorry I killed him.”

  “This is a hell of a time to be sorry.”

  “I got frightened, thinking what would happen when he told the Elders. They’d have caught us sure.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, yes. We’re really better off with him dead.”

  Her voice was throaty like she had a cold. It made me feel queer. I could see her body under the silk sheet. She hadn’t put anything on. I saw the mound her breasts made under the silk, and her hair on the pillow, yellow even in the moonlight.

  She whispered: “Honey.”

  “What?”

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  “No.”

  “Then come over. You have to sleep.”

  I went over, but we didn’t sleep.

  CHAPTER 16

  In the morning I caught a street-car into town. The motorman stared at me, but he didn’t say anything. It was nine o’clock and the sun was high in a blue sky. I got off at the square and walked to the Arkady. I had the blouse and pants I’d used during the night wrapped in paper, and in the clothes was the dough.

  I went up to my room and dumped the money out on the bed. It made quite a heap. Twenty-five grand! That was more dough than I’d ever seen at one time in my life. I got my knife and made a slit in the under side of the mattress on the spare bed. It was a lousy hiding-place, but it would have to do for a while. I stuffed twenty thousand dollars through the slit and smoothed out the bed. The rest I put in my pants for pin money.

  I pulled the disk I’d found in the temple out of my pocket. It was an American Legion identification tag. It said Post 23, St. Louis. Below that was a number, 8,834. I wrote out a wire to Legion headquarters in St. Louis, asking for the name and address of the Legionnaire with that number. I gave the wire to Charles to send. He rolled his eyes when I told him to keep the change from a ten-dollar bill. I felt rich.

  At the same time I was plenty scared. I sat on the bed and thought what a jam I was in. It was bad from every angle. I stood at the head of the line for a murder rap, to say nothing of grand larceny, and house-breaking. There were a few other things, too. A very tough gangster was trying to make up his mind whether or not to kill me. My partner had been murdered and I wasn’t doing anything about it. I had taken six grand from a client without a chance in hell of doing what I had told him I would do.

  I did have to get that girl out of the Vineyard. Even if it was only long enough for her to miss the ceremony that was due in two nights now. I thought; it all must be phony. It was a human sacrifice; the kind of thing you read about happening in Africa and didn’t believe. And here it was in a dopey town almost in the center of the United States. Things like that didn’t happen! Like hell, they didn’t! I thought of the Hall-Mills case, the Wyn-coop case in Chicago, the case of the two women tourists murdered on the Arizona desert. They happened.

  I wondered how the Brides were killed, and who killed them. I wondered if they were slaughtered on Solomon’s casket. One of them had been named Tabitha. That was a funny name. The poor kid! Only seventeen!

  I looked at my watch. It was ten o’clock. I had a lot to do, only I was pooped. I lay back on the bed and pushed off my shoes. I thought I would nap for an hour.

  At one o’clock the phone rang. It was Carmel’s brother. He said she was going to be buried at eleven o’clock the next morning at Temple. He seemed to take it for granted I would be there.

  “Ginger said she’d come, too.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Have you got a minister?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Get one. I’ll pay for him.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Craven.”

  I hung up, and then I called down for Charles. I wrapped the bracelet in a newspaper and gave it to him. I told him to take it to Ginger.

  “Ask her if she’d like to drive me to a funeral tomorrow.”

  He thought that was a joke.

  “No,” I said. “Ask her.”

  It didn’t seem like I’d slept at all, so I lay back on the bed again.

  The phone rang at three-fifteen.

  “Western Union,” a man said. “For Karl Craven.”

  “Okay, Western Union.”

  “Legionnaire 8,834, is Oscar K. Johnson, 4582 Waverly Street, St. Louis. Do you want me to repeat it?”

  “No, I got it.”

  When the phone rang again it was six o’clock. McGee’s nasal voice came over the wire. “I want to see you, Craven.”

  “I’m in bed.”

  “You’ll have to get up. It’s very important.”

  “All right. Are you at your office?”

  “Yes. I’ll wait for you.”

  There was a click at the other end. I wondered what had happened. I went to the bathroom and washed my face, and then I got dressed. The phone rang again.

  The Princess said: “Hello, honey.”

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Dear, I can’t see you tonight.”

  “No?”

  “Are you terribly disappointed?”

  “Of course.”

  “I have to go to the Festival.”

  I was scared. “My God, is this the night they …?”

  “No. Tomorrow night.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re not still thinking of getting her out, are you, honey?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “That’s a good boy.” There was a pause. “What have you done with what we got?”

  “It’s in a safe place.”

  “I think it’ll be safer together.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes. Bring it out tomorrow afternoon.”

  This was a command. “Okay,” I said.

  “Don’t forget; ho
ney, around two tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I won’t.”

  I hung up. She’d probably decided I was getting too big a cut. I found the bottle of rye and poured myself half a tumblerful. I got my hat and went down the hall to the elevator. When the elevator came I heard a door open up the hall towards my room.

  It was hot out on the street. I walked towards town. Near the big movie theatre I stopped in a lunch-counter joint and had three hamburgers, a whole dill pickle and two bottles of beer. Then I had some fresh peach pie. Mr. Music was playing at the movie. A sign said: “Cool Inside.” About a block further down the street I got an idea a man was following me. I looked back and saw a big man in a black suit. I went by McGee’s office building and around the block. The man tagged along. I went into the office building.

  McGee was sitting at the desk in his private office. He made washing motions with his hands when he saw me. “You seem to be in trouble, Craven,” he said.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  His eyes watched me out the triangles of flesh. “There has been a robbery at the Vineyard.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. A man was killed and it is believed a sum of money was taken.”

  “I didn’t know they kept any money out there,” I said. “How much?”

  “The exact sum is not known.” He leaned over the desk. “But the point is: they suspect you of having taken it.”

  “Me?”

  “One of the Brothers reported you struck him the other day.”

  “I did,” I said. “But that was so I could talk with the Grayson gal.”

  He nodded. “I know.” He washed his hands again. “But there are other things. You were seen at the Vineyard with me.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and looked at him. He went on:

  “And most important, you were seen leaving the Vineyard early this morning.”

  “Who saw me?”

  “The same Brother.”

  I wished I had hit his head a little harder, so it had split. “That doesn’t look so good,” I admitted.

  He tapped his fingers on the desk. “Did you take the money?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “You did not kill the guard?”

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “You’re–ah–quite sure?”

  “Christ, yes!” I said. “I ought to know who I kill, hadn’t I?”

  “What were you doing out there last night?”

  “Early this morning’s more like it,” I said. “I wanted to take a look around. I’ve been thinking I might have to kidnap the Grayson girl, after all.”

  My story didn’t get over so good. “I thought,” he said, “we agreed that we wouldn’t do that?”

  “Well, nothing else seemed to do any good.”

  “That’s true. Quite true.” He looked down at his hands. “It is too bad.”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “I don’t believe you follow me, Craven. It is too bad it will be necessary for you to leave town.”

  “Me leave town? Don’t make my laugh.”

  “I am not trying to be funny, Craven. You say you did not steal the money. I believe you.”

  “That’s white of you.”

  He went right along. “But the Brothers do not. They are very dangerous when aroused. It is not safe for you here.”

  “I’ve got to stay.”

  “I will explain to Mr. Grayson,” McGee said. “He will not want you to risk your life.”

  “It’s my life.”

  “They may be after you even now.”

  “To hell with them.”

  He stood up. “Well, Craven, I must say I admire your spirit. I hope you will not have to regret your decision.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I felt it my duty to warn you.”

  “Sure.”

  “If you should change your mind, let me know.”

  “All right.”

  He tapped his yellow teeth with a fingernail. “I’d rather you didn’t phone me … because of the position you’re in now. You understand?”

  I nodded.

  “If it’s at night, come to my residence. I read until one in my library. It is in the rear of the house. You can tap at the french doors.”

  “Okay,” I said. “The french doors. But don’t count on me coming around.”

  I went out and after half a block, the guy in the dark suit picked me up again. I began to get creepy. Nobody likes to be followed, especially when it might be somebody with murder in his mind. I thought I’d better find out about the dark suit.

  I walked to a place where there was one cab waiting. I got in and said loudly: “To the Arkady.” When I got there I went upstairs to my room, slammed the hall door and then opened it a crack. Pretty soon the elevator stopped at the third floor and the guy came out and went into the room next to mine. I waited a minute, and then I knocked on his door.

  “Who is it?”

  “The room clerk.”

  The door came open a foot. I put my shoulder against it and shoved my way into the room. The guy in the dark suit had a pistol pointed at my stomach. I closed the door. The guy looked scared.

  “What do you want?”

  “That’s what I came to ask you.”

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “You’ve been tailing me,” I said. “Why?”

  The hand holding the pistol was kind of shaky. “You’re wrong, buddy; I haven’t followed anybody.”

  “Nuts,” I said.

  I saw the guy was cockeyed. One eye was looking at the door and the other was looking at me. “If you don’t get out, I’ll call the operator.”

  “You’re sure you haven’t been following me?”

  “Of course I’m sure. You must be crazy. I don’t even know who you are.”

  I pretended to be convinced. “I’m sorry, mister. Somebody has been following me. I thought he came in here.”

  “You thought wrong.” The guy was getting cocky. He waved the pistol at me. “You’re lucky I didn’t plug you, buddy, when you pushed into here.”

  “I guess I was.” I turned to go. There was a Bible on the dresser. I picked it up and threw it. He ducked, and I had the gun before he knew what had happened. I hit him with it, and he went down. I let him sit up, and then I kicked his face. The kick stunned him. I pulled a sheet from the bed, tore off a piece and gagged him. I pulled him up on the bed. After a while he came to.

  “Now let’s have the story, brother,” I said.

  He made a noise through the gag, but I didn’t want to take it off for fear he’d shout. I got a pencil and a sheet of writing-paper from the desk. When I came back he kicked my stomach with both feet. I lit hard on the floor, most of the breath out of me. He slid across the bed towards the telephone. I caught at his legs, but his hands knocked the phone off the table. It crashed on the floor. He tried to kick me again, but I had his legs. I brought him off the bed to his knees. His fists beat against my head. I punched him in the gut and he doubled up, still on his knees. I could hear a voice saying “Hello” on the phone. I let him have one on the side of the jaw. It cooled him. I crawled to the phone.

  “Hello,” the clerk was saying. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” I said. “Can you tell me the right time?”

  “Why, yes. It’s twenty past seven.”

  “Thank you.”

  I hung up. I got a towel and wet it and wiped the blood off the guy’s face. The water brought him around. He lay on the floor, on his back, trying to get air through the gag. His gasping sounded awful. I wondered if he was going to die.

  He got better in a few minutes. The sound of his breathing died away. He looked up at me from the floor, his eyes wet with pain.

  “Sit up.”

  He sat up. I found the pencil and paper and gave them to him. I asked: “Who hired you to tail me?”

  He wrote: “The police.” I hit him, and said: “You better come clean, brother.” Blood began to s
eep through the gag.

  He wrote: “McGee.”

  I blinked at that. “McGee, eh! Why did he want me tailed?”

  He shook his head. I hit him. He wrote: “McGee wanted to frighten you out of town.”

  “How much did he pay you to do it?”

  He wrote: “$200.”

  He crawled up on the bed. I got a hundred-dollar bill out of my pocket. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Kansas City.”

  I tore the bill. “Listen. I’ll give you half of this now, and I’ll send half to Kansas City, care of Paul Smith, General Delivery, if you telephone me from there in the morning.”

  He reached for half the bill. “And if you’re still in Paulton tomorrow, I’ll kill you, so help me,” I said.

  His eyes got big and I stuck the bill in his hand and went to my room. I locked the door and pulled the shades down and undressed. I looked at his pistol. It was loaded. I took it to bed with me.

  CHAPTER 17

  The coupe slid along the cement at a smooth sixty, heading for a bank of heavy clouds that steadily got higher on the horizon. The country was flat and dry-looking, and when the coupé got near the edge of the road dust swirled up. It was hot, but the air smelled of rain. We came to a sign saying: “Temple–one mile.”

  Ginger was driving. “If Pug ever hears I took you,” she said, “he’ll bump me.”

  There wasn’t much I could say to that, so I didn’t say anything. Ginger let up on the gas. I heard a rumble of thunder. The black clouds covered half the sky. We went by a long field of corn, and then we came to a row of elms. There was a farm-house and a white fence, and on the lawn two kids were playing with a collie. Temple had two garages, a general store, a drug store, five service stations, a movie and a combination restaurant and pool hall. There were about thirty frame houses in the town.

  Ginger said: “Now where?”

  The dashboard clock said eleven-ten. “The cemetery, I guess.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Two old men were sitting on the porch of the general store. I leaned out the window and asked one of ’em: “Dad, where’s the cemetery?”

  One of the old men had a drooping moustache. He spat through it at a post. “Which one?”

  Ginger said: “What! have you got two?”