The Fifth Grave

by Jonathan Latimer

“I guess not.”

  “All you have to do is disappear. Later, when everything’s quiet, I’ll join you. You’ll like that, won’t you, dear?”

  I said “Yes.”

  “Now where’s the money?”

  I pulled the roll out of my pants pocket. She counted it. “Where’s the other six thousand?”

  “In my wallet.”

  “Keep it.” She put her arms around my neck and kissed me. “Oh, honey, it’s not my fault. I love you, honest. McGee’s just too smart, that’s all.”

  I tried to kiss her lips, but she wouldn’t let me. I wrestled with her for a minute, and then I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.…

  Afterwards I learned everything that had happened. The Elders had told McGee of the robbery and he’d known the Princess was involved because he’d talked over just that kind of a job with her. When he accused her she told him everything, putting me on the spot. Then they made their little plan. I would disappear, and they would blame the robbery on me. And the murder! Brother, that was what worried me: the murder! It would be better for them if I never got caught, but nobody would believe my story if I did. They’d have an alibi.

  The damnedest thing was I still couldn’t do anything about it, even with McGee gone. The Princess still had the whip. I’d have to take the rap! Or do a bunk. I figured I had about ten grand. That wouldn’t last a murder fugitive very long.

  “What are you thinking about, honey?”

  “About how nice it’ll be when we’re together.”

  “We’ll have fun.”

  We’ll have fun like hell! I thought. “When do you want me to leave?”

  “Right away.”

  “I can’t. Grayson’s coming this afternoon. If I’m not around, he’ll make a lot of trouble.”

  She thought about that. “All right, honey. Stay until tonight. And come out here before you go.”

  “That’ll be nice.” I scowled at her. “Only I won’t like thinking about the Grayson gal.”

  “Don’t think about her then.”

  “Just tell me one thing,” I said. “Who kills her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I touched the soft skin on her shoulder. “You must have heard something.”

  “All I know is the Elders have a kind of a ceremony in a room next to the one where Solomon lies. That’s at midnight. Then they take the Bride into the big room and leave her by the coffin.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And when they come for her in the morning she’s dead.”

  I got a bottle of brandy and two glasses. We drank.

  “Dead how?”

  “A knife in the heart. Solomon’s knife.”

  She sat with her eyes half closed, sipping the drink. “It’s crazy,” she said, “but they believe Solomon comes back and does it. It’s his way of keeping in contact with the earth.”

  “It’s spooky,” I said. “Do you believe it?”

  “A guy that’s been dead five years coming back and knocking off someone? Don’t make me laugh.”

  “Well, who does it?”

  “You asked me that,” she said. “Honey, let’s talk about something else.” She leaned against me. “You haven’t been dead five years, have you?”

  I got back to the Arkady just before four. On my way through the lobby the clerk gave me a note. It said:

  Me for the peaceful life. Good-bye.

  Ginger.

  The clerk said she’d checked out at noon. I felt sorry until I remembered she hadn’t returned the bracelet. I went up to my room, but I hadn’t more than poured myself a drink of rye when the phone rang.

  “A Mr. Grayson to see you.”

  I went down to the lobby. Grayson was a heavy-set man, almost as big as me, with a large head. He had grey hair. He was wearing a tan Palm Beach suit. We shook hands.

  “God, what heat!” he said.

  “It’s been like this all week.”

  “Where’s the girl?”

  “I said: “Let’s go where we can talk, Mr. Grayson.”

  We went into the bar. Grayson had a glass of milk. I had a rye highball. “Well,” he said. “Where is she?”

  “I’ll have her tonight.”

  “You’d damn well better.” He glared at me. “I’ve paid you ten thousand dollars. You produce or I’ll throw you in jail.”

  “Like hell you will,” I said.

  That made him angry, but he kept it down. “The hell I won’t,” he said. “But that’s tomorrow. We’re friends until then.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “How’re you going to get her tonight?”

  I told him we were taking the chief of police to the Vineyard in the evening. “We’ll crack the place wide open.”

  “Why haven’t you done it before?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got lots of time.”

  “All right,” I said. I told him some of the story, mostly about Oke Johnson, McGee and Banta, but I didn’t mention the Princess or the Ceremony of the Bride.

  “Then McGee is the man who killed Johnson.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Then who?”

  “If I’m right it’ll be a surprise to a lot of people.”

  “You’d better tell me,” Grayson said.

  “Later.”

  His face got red, but he took it. He was plenty worried about the girl. I wondered how he’d gotten such a red face from drinking milk.

  “The chief’ll pick you up here at eleven-thirty, Mr. Grayson,” I said.

  His eyes were flat and hard. “You’d better come through.”

  I got up. “I always come through.”

  I left him to pay for the drinks. It never does pay to buy anything for a client.

  I went upstairs and called the chief. “I was just going to call you,” he said.

  “What for?”

  “Pug wants to see you.”

  I told him I’d be right over. I finished the rye and then I went down to the station. The chief was in his office.

  “Listen,” I said. “Before I see Pug I want to tell you about a job we got to do tonight.”

  I told him to get a dozen or so men around eleven-thirty and pick up Grayson and go to the Vineyard. There he was to surround the temple and wait for me to tell him what to do.

  The chief’s face was worried. “I don’t know as I ought to fool around the Vineyard. Not without a warrant.”

  “You’d better,” I said; “unless you want me to ask the Governor for some state troopers.”

  He said, don’t get sore. He said, hadn’t we played ball before? I said: “Then you’ll have Grayson and the men there around midnight?” He said he would.

  “Okay,” I said. “Now where’s Pug Banta?”

  The jail smelled of unwashed toilets, and it was damp, like a cellar. A bulb burned in the corridor between the cells, making deep shadows. A cockroach as big as a half-dollar ran on the cement in front of us. I kicked at him and missed.

  The chief said in an aggrieved voice: “I don’t know why in hell he wants to see you.”

  The turnkey clanged the metal gate behind us.

  I said: “Why didn’t you bump him off?”

  The chief swore so much I could hardly understand him. I gathered his men had double-crossed him. Instead of shooting Pug, they had grabbed him. I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t been there, but I didn’t. I knew the answer.

  “Well, he’ll fry,” I said.

  “I don’t know,” the chief said mournfully. “I wish he was in some other jail.”

  We came to a steel door, our shoes making a hollow sound on the cement. A couple of guys in a cell begged for cigarettes. In another cell a woman was weeping.

  “Drunk,” the chief said.

  The turnkey opened the door and we went into a room with two cells. One of the cells was empty and Pug Banta was in the other.

  “If it ain’t my fat pal,” he said.

  They hadn’t touched h
im. I guess he was too important for them to beat up, even with a murder rap hanging over him. I knew the chief would have liked to, because of Carmel. If anybody needed a beating, Pug did.

  Pug said: “You guys scram. I want to talk to fatso, my pal.”

  Chief Piper glanced at me. “Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll tell you if he says anything you ought to know.”

  The chief went out with the turnkey. They locked the steel door behind them.

  “So you double-crossed me?”

  I said: “What else did you expect?”

  Pug stood with his hands over his head, holding to the bar. He looked like pictures of a gorilla. There was that same overdevelopment of arms and shoulders and chest All he needed was more hair.

  “I got a couple of things to tell you,” he said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “One of ’em is I’m going to get you when I’m sprung.” His voice was so deep in his throat I had to move closer to hear him. “I’ll get you if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “The only trouble,” I said; “is you’ll never get sprung.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Now the other thing …” He reached out of the bars with his long arms, caught my coat and jerked me forward. As my face hit the bars he held the coat with his left hand, put his right arm around my neck and then grabbed a bar. He had me in kind of a vice and when he jerked back I thought my neck had broken.

  “Now wise guy …” Pug snarled.

  The hand holding the bar kept me from pulling back. I braced with both hands, but it didn’t do any good. I couldn’t get far enough back to breath. I felt a terrible pressure behind my eyeballs. I tried to shout, but I couldn’t make a sound. My head was bursting. I reached out with my right hand and hit up at Pug’s stomach. He couldn’t move away without letting go with his right hand. I drove my fist into his groin. He groaned and let go the bar and jerked free.

  I got my breath back and said: “Come on and fight, you bastard.”

  Pug moved in, snarling, and hit me through the bars. I felt my teeth give and tasted salty blood. He tried to hit me again, but I caught his arms and jerked him as hard as I could against the bars. His head hit the steel with a thwack. I reached both hands through the opening in the bars and clasped them behind his neck. I pulled forward, but the bars were a little too close together for his head to go through.

  I pulled, bracing hard with my feet. He tried to claw me, but I kept my legs closed.

  I gave a big jerk and his head came through the bars, leaving skin behind. One side of his face was a mass of blood. I let go his neck and he tried to pull back, but couldn’t. His head was still too big. I stepped closer and punched his face, using both hands. It was like a work-out with a punching-bag. I beat his face to a pulp. At last he slid down on the cement, his head still sticking out the bars. Blood began to pool under one cheek.

  I kicked his head a few times; but it wasn’t worth while. He was out cold. I wiped the blood from my face with a handkerchief and pounded at the steel door. The turnkey opened it. Chief Piper stared at my face.

  “What happened?”

  “I bumped my head.”

  The chief said: “I was afraid Pug might try something.”

  “He did,” I said. “But it didn’t work.”

  CHAPTER 19

  I looked at my watch by the arc light over the street-car stop. It was ten minutes past eleven. Fifty minutes and the Ceremony would start. I felt empty. I wanted a drink. I looked to see if I had the flashlight and the pistol I’d taken from the punk. Then I walked slowly down the road to the lane that led into the Vineyard, thinking about what I had to do. Heat lightning flickered in the sky.

  The Princess had on black silk lounging pajamas and Chinese red slippers. The black silk made her skin look very white.

  “Hello, honey.”

  I said “Hello,” and got a drink of brandy. I sat on the big divan and drank the brandy. I could feel it grab my stomach. The Princess stood looking down at me. She made me nervous.

  “Have a drink, baby,” I said. “A farewell toast.”

  “Did you know McGee had been killed?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I read. Too bad.”

  “Did you know about it this afternoon?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes were a glassy blue. “You didn’t frame him, did you?”

  “How could I do that?”

  “Well, it’s damn funny.” Her eyes narrowed with thinking. “Both Pug and McGee were after you, and now one’s dead and the other’s in jail.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I fixed it. They call me Superman.”

  “Damn it!” she said. “I liked McGee. He had brains.”

  “Listen,” I said. “I didn’t frame McGee. And if that’s a lie, God strike me dead.”

  I waited, but nothing happened. Her face got softer looking and she poured herself a drink. Then she came and sat by me on the divan. I could smell her.

  “I guess you’ll have to take his place,” she said.

  “Me? You’re nuts. I’m leaving tonight.”

  “You were leaving, honey. But now you’re business manager of the Vineyard.”

  “I don’t want any part of the Vineyard.”

  “Don’t you?” Her voice was as sweet as if she was talking to a baby. “Suppose the police heard about the robbery? And the murder? And found your finger-prints in the vault?”

  “I’d be in a hell of a fix.”

  “Well, nobody will tell them, honey, as long as you stick around and run things.”

  “I get it.”

  “I knew you would.” She stared at me, and then she unbuttoned my shirt and ran her hand over my chest. “You’re not sore, are you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “A girl likes to have a hold over a man she loves. Can’t you understand that, dear?”

  “Give me another drink.”

  She got the bottle of brandy and filled both glasses. I asked: “How long does this last?”

  “From now on. Won’t that be nice, the two of us together.”

  “What about your wanting to wear pretty clothes and dance and see shows and go to night clubs?”

  “That was just talk, honey. I’m very happy here … with you.” She leaned towards me. “Honey, you love me, don’t you?”

  I said: “Sure.” I looked at a clock on the table. It said half-past eleven. Thirty minutes. The Princess’ eyes went to the clock, too.

  “Honey, I’m sorry about that girl.”

  “Not as sorry as I am.”

  “You couldn’t help it.”

  “I guess not.”

  She ran her hand under my shirt again. “She wanted to join the Vineyard. She even wanted to be the Bride.”

  “Yeah,” I said; “After she’d been doped a little.”

  “Don’t think about it.” She drank her brandy, then bit my neck. I tried to kiss her lips but she wouldn’t let me. I still didn’t understand it. I saw the clock over her shoulder. Twenty-six minutes to go. She lay with her weight against me. “Darling,” she whispered. I ran my hand under her pajama top. She twisted violently in my arms. Her breathing quickened. “All right, darling,” she said. I didn’t have to be told what she meant.…

  When I looked at the clock again it said ten minutes to twelve. She lay on the divan, a thin blanket draped carelessly over her nakedness. Her eyes were closed and her pink lips smiled in repose. Her skin was pale against the black satin divan.

  I poured a glass of brandy and drank it. Then I filled it again. She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Hello.”

  “Hello.”

  “Give me a drink.”

  I gave her the glass of brandy. She sat up and drank a little. I sat beside her on the divan. She leaned over and kissed my neck. Her lips were wet and cool and soft.

  “Honey,” she said. “We are going to have a nice time.”

  “Yes.”

  I kissed her. It was the first time on the lips. It was wonderful. I wondered why s
he hadn’t let me before. I could feel her lips tighten under mine. They were getting warm. It felt like I had kissed an electric battery. I let her go and got up and poured myself another drink. I felt shaky. The clock said eight minutes to twelve.

  “You’re not going yet?” she asked.

  “Pretty soon.”

  “Not yet, honey.” She got off the divan and came over to me. “Not yet.” She stood close to me and drank from my glass. She smiled at me. “Karl, do you love me?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You don’t say that as though you meant it.”

  “I do.”

  “Say, ‘I love you.’”

  “I love you,” I said.

  She put her arms around me. The glass fell out of my hand. Her body pressed against mine. Her skin was warm. She kissed my lips. There was that shock again. Her arms around my neck were choking me. I tried to push her away. She held me. I pushed harder.

  “That’s right,” she said.

  I got away from her. Her eyes were excited. “Now hit me,” she said. “Hit me.”

  I hit her, really hit her. She went flat on the floor. I bent over her and touched her eyes, but there was no reaction. She was cold. I looked at the clock. Six minutes.

  I went into her bedroom and searched for the forty-six grand. I looked everywhere. I looked in the dresser, in both closets, under the beds, even under the rug. In a chest I found the key to the storeroom and I put it in my pocket. Then I searched the bathroom. In the medicine cabinet, in a paper box of Epsom salts, I found the diamonds. They sparkled in the bathroom light. I put them in my pocket. The Epsom salts gave me an idea. I went through the other medicine. No luck. I jerked the toilet paper roll. Wound around under the paper were twenty one-thousand dollar bills. That was better than nothing. I wondered if McGee had got the rest.

  I went into the living-room. She was still on the floor, but she had come to. She looked at me, her eyes dazed. I got the brandy bottle and tapped her on the head with it. She went out again. I looked to see if there was any blood. There wasn’t because of her hair. The clock said two minutes past twelve.

  I got a blouse and a skirt from the bedroom and put them on her. Then I dressed myself. I picked her up. She was heavy. I went out the door with her and across the damp grass to the temple. She made a snoring noise breathing. Her hair gleamed in the moonlight. The heat lightning lit up the horizon, but there was no thunder. I carried her in the basement door of the temple. I put her down and lit my flashlight and picked her up again. I carried her past where she had killed the guard to the door to the stairs. I could hear my heart beating, and hers. I carried her up the stairs and put her down. Under the door at the top I could see a dim light. I put out the flashlight and opened the door a crack.