Shamus in a Skirt

by M. Ruth Myers

  I couldn’t even pretend to swallow that alternative.

  “What else did you notice about her? What did she look like?” The prospect of another lengthy and possibly unproductive road to follow lowered my spirits.

  “On the tall side. Light hair, blonde I’d say, but it was hard to tell.” Frowning slightly, Sylvia buttered the roll that had come with her special. “I guess what made me notice her, besides not seeing her around before, was her having those two bottles. The way she hung onto the bannister coming up, and how she kept her free hand on the wall like she needed to steady herself when she walked down the hall, it looked to me like she already was pickled.”

  Or wasn’t wearing glasses she needed, or...

  Ideas pinged around me, fast and sharp as shots at a firing range. From the start of this case I’d been surrounded by women skilled at changing their looks with makeup and clothes because they’d worked on stage, or hob-nobbed with people who had. Two could qualify as tall. And blonde. One needed glasses. The other was given to wobbly spells.

  Deliberately or otherwise, one was a murderer.

  It didn’t make sense. Yet I knew it had to be true.

  In my purse were photos I hadn’t needed to leave with Freeze, the nonessentials I’d snapped yesterday at the hotel in order to get the one of Nick Perry. They showed Frances and Lena and one of the other female guests. It wasn’t much of a selection, but it would do to convince me if I was wrong.

  I didn’t expect to be.

  My sandwich was tasteless. I let Sylvia enjoy the rest of her meal in peace. When we’d finished, I took the photographs that might yet be worth the extra price I’d paid Ernie to rush them out of my purse.

  “This is a long shot,” I said sliding three to Sylvia. “But look at these and see if you think any of them could be the woman you saw.”

  The hooker’s face quickened with interest. She spread them out and looked. She nodded to herself. She switched the snapshots, studied them some more, stacked them and handed them to me.

  “Like I said, she’d gone to town with her makeup, but that one on top was her.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  I bounded up the stairs at Market House and into Freeze’s office. He wasn’t there. Neither was Boike.

  “Where are they?” I asked two other detectives who looked up from their desks in a far corner. They’d been there that morning. They knew who I meant.

  “Got called out.”

  “Where?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Come on, you heard them say the street at least.”

  “You know we can’t say.” The one talking to me stood up. “Want to leave a message?”

  A notepad on the desk beside me caught my eye. I’d seen Freeze jot something on it and rip off the top sheet that morning. It was his scratchpad.

  “No, that’s okay,” I said quickly. “Maybe you can help me with something else, though. I think I might have lost an earring in here this morning. Would you have a look around over there and see if it bounced?”

  They looked down automatically, nice, helpful fellows. I snatched the pad and held it behind my purse where it wouldn’t be seen.

  “No? Well, I kind of figured it was lost for good, but worth a try. Thanks anyway. When Freeze gets back, tell him I need to talk with him. It’s urgent.”

  * * *

  Stealing police property probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done. I sat in my car and tried to make out impressions left by Freeze’s pencil. I couldn’t. Chafing at the loss of time, I turned the nose of my own pencil on its side and rubbed the lead lightly over the notepad. Enough of a street name emerged for me to make out what it was, and part of a number as well. Sometimes when your heart is pure and the stakes are high, a little bit of crime does pay.

  The street in question was about as far north as you could go and still be within city limits. I tried not to think of a clock ticking down as I drove. Surely what I had now would persuade Freeze to act. Lily Clarke and her diamonds were due to depart day after tomorrow. That meant Perry had only two nights left to nab them.

  I slowed for a funeral procession.

  When I reached the street I was hunting, I found I’d been wrong on the address. It didn’t matter. Farther up I saw two police cars. One was a cruiser. The other was the unmarked number used by Freeze.

  It was a quiet neighborhood. The cops weren’t advertising their presence much. I parked a block away so I couldn’t be accused of interfering and walked toward the cars. When I was three doors away, Boike came out of a handsome stone apartment building. His footsteps picked up as he saw me.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “I need to see Freeze. That stiff who drank himself to death in the flophouse — a witness saw one of the guests from The Canterbury taking him two quarts of booze in that rathole the night he died.”

  Boike stared. Then his blocky head started to shake.

  “He’s not going to listen. There’s a girl in there who bled to death, and it looks like some quack used a coat hanger on her. On top of that, the boss asked a couple of boys in burglary to nose around at that bookshop you mentioned. They didn’t find anything.”

  “Freeze sent them there?” My rising voice shattered the afternoon silence. “Damnit, Boike! He acted like he wasn’t interested. Now they’ll be looking over their shoulders!”

  I left him standing there and ran for my car.

  Boike hadn’t deserved my anger, but here I was with all the pieces falling into place, and Freeze had mucked it up. Instead of using the photos I’d brought him, instead of showing them and talking to the witnesses I’d mentioned — and I’d given him Skip’s name too — instead of doing that and then hauling Nick Perry in while the cops took a good look at his room and his movements, Freeze had sent detectives from a different unit to Rice’s shop to look for stolen merchandise. Out of the sky blue.

  It was more than enough to put a pair of crooks on guard. Worse, it would probably make them wonder if someone was onto them. Nick Perry had taken plenty of risks already. He might take another one, changing his pattern somehow to get Lily’s diamonds. It was equally likely he’d skip town. Maybe his girlfriend would too. If they did, three murders would go unpunished.

  Getting back to the hotel would take less time than stopping somewhere and finding a phone, then waiting while the desk clerk located one of the Tuckers. I pushed the DeSoto as hard as I dared without risking a stop for speeding.

  The Canterbury looked tranquil as ever as I ran past the doorman in his buttons and braid. The lobby was empty. Smith was nowhere in sight. The whole place drowsed in that afternoon interval before guests started drifting down for pre-dinner drinks.

  “Where’s Mr. Tucker?” I asked the assistant desk clerk.

  The urgency of my manner rattled him.

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Mrs. Tucker?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Never mind. What about Mr. Perry and Miss Shields? Are they still around?”

  His shoulders wilted with relief.

  “I just saw Miss Shields going into Mr. Tucker’s office. Oh... that must be where he is.”

  By the lift of his voice, he probably gave a bright smile. I was already halfway to the office and didn’t see.

  At this time of day, the stretch of hall by Tucker’s office was little used. I would have taken out my .38 regardless. I kept it close to my shoulder. If necessary, I’d apologize. I slammed the door open.

  Nick Perry stood just out of range of it, casually reading a sheet of paper.

  Someone on the other side of me stuck a gun to my head.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  “If you want the Polish kid to keep breathing, put the gun on the desk and don’t make a peep.”

  A circle of steel against your skull tends to extend split-second decisions. Lena Shields held the gun. She was talking about the Szarenski girl. I didn’t see any sign of the girl, but there was every chance it was more
than a bluff. A chance I couldn’t take. I did as instructed.

  “What the hell are you doing here? With a gun? Never mind. There’s no time,” Perry snapped.

  He’d already closed the door. He stepped swiftly back to the safe, which I now saw hung ever so slightly ajar. Swinging it open, he pulled out a jewelry case. In broad daylight.

  “Get her out of here.”

  He opened the case. Diamonds flashed.

  “Where?”

  “The car. Get in with her.”

  “But—”

  “We don’t have time for anything better, Lena. She can play patty-cake with the brat. Put her gun in your purse.” He worked methodically, opening cases and dumping their contents onto a cloth.

  “What have you done to the Tuckers?” I asked.

  “They’re—”

  “Shut up! Get her out of here now. Who knows when those yahoos could start dressing for dinner and come down to get something out of the safe.”

  Lena had to let go of my arm in order to pick up my Smith & Wesson, but I couldn’t risk making a move. The sound of a shot would bring at least a couple of hotel employees running. This swell little pair of robbers already had killed three people who got in their way. This close to success, they wouldn’t blink at killing a few more.

  Pulling me close with her free hand as though we were best chums, Lena shoved her gun in my ribs. The long stole attached to one shoulder of her wool dress hid the weapon splendidly. I wondered if she’d dressed for the occasion.

  “In case you’re wondering, if you try to get smart out there, I’ll shoot anybody I need to,” she said into my ear.

  “I wasn’t.”

  Even after I knew she’d delivered booze to the man at the flophouse, I’d supposed Lena was Perry’s dupe. The past few minutes had made me suspect they were equal partners.

  I let her lead me, unresisting, through the lobby. For all I knew, my clients might both be dead. I’d failed them. Failed to save them from ruin as every valuable in the hotel safe was stolen in front of me. If I could manage one good thing in all of this, it would be to save a girl whose parents already had lost so much.

  Smith was carrying bags up for an arriving couple and didn’t even see me leaving. As my Siamese twin and I stepped out, Bartoz was returning from somewhere with a bag from which I caught the fragrance of fresh bread. He nodded and spoke. I inclined my head.

  “Lieutenant Bartoz.”

  Under the fancy stole, Lena’s gun pressed a warning. If Bartoz had recognized anything in my words but polite greeting, his face didn’t show it. We moved on.

  By the time we reached a Nash Ambassador parked at the rear of the hotel lot, Perry was out of the hotel and quickening his pace. He carried a big box of chocolates under his arm. I doubted it held any chocolates.

  “If she tries anything, shoot her,” he said.

  He slid under the wheel.

  Lena took my purse and told me to keep my hands between my knees. As we drove, she opened my purse and went through the contents.

  “Keep your eyes on her,” Perry snapped.

  “Do you think I’m stupid? I’m watching her. She’s got a badge in here. And a paper that says she’s some kind of detective.”

  In case anyone snooped through my room again, I’d been keeping them in the trunk of my car. I’d taken them out in case I needed to show them to Sylvia.

  “You’re to blame for cops showing up at Kevin’s this afternoon!” Perry hissed. The Ambassador swerved.

  “The bookshop, you mean? Yep. And they’ve got proof you killed Lagarde.”

  “No, they don’t, because Kevin did.” He laughed nastily.

  If I could distract Lena, I might be able to open the door and roll out before she shot me. There were several places they might have stashed the Szarenski girl, though, and who knew what shape she was in. Right now my captors held all the cards. If I wanted to help the girl, the first step was to stay alive myself.

  * * *

  It didn’t take long to figure out we were headed to Great Aunt Clara Duke’s place. I suddenly wondered if the pair of thieves I was riding with had done away with the old woman when they’d hit town. But no, I remembered Lena’s sulks over being forced to endure her company.

  Dusk was settling by the time we drove between the gateposts of the haughty old mansion with its deep front lawn and iron fence. Lights shone at a couple of windows. Perry drove the Ambassador around to the back. Another car was parked there too, a smaller and far less memorable Buick half a dozen years old.

  “Wait here,” he said tersely.

  He got out. Producing a gun from under his jacket, he entered the house through the back door. A moment later, he reappeared with a man I recognized as Kevin Rice. Up close Rice had a thin face with a matching mouth.

  “Who’s she?” he asked as Perry opened the door on my side and yanked me out.

  “The meddlesome bitch who sicced the cops on your place. She’s been spying on us. She’s some kind of detective.”

  “Spying!”

  “Don’t worry. She won’t cause any more trouble.”

  He shoved me into Lena’s tender care.

  “No more than you’re already in,” I said. “Killing Lagarde and the maid at The Canterbury—”

  “She was where she shouldn’t have been.”

  “And the man Lena killed at that flophouse?”

  “So what? He had a couple of glorious days before he died.” Lena laughed.

  “Shut up or I’ll add the kid to the list!” Perry ordered, pointing the gun at me.

  “You will anyway.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Contempt curled his lips. “You want to gamble?” He opened the trunk of the Ambassador and spoke to Rice. “You take the kid.”

  Good thing I hadn’t jumped out of the moving car to hunt the Szarenski girl. Rice hauled her out of the trunk, very much alive. She kicked like a mule. Her hands were tied behind her and she was gagged. Lena shoved me forward. I couldn’t see much as I stole looks over my shoulder, but I heard a slap as the girl kept resisting. Someone will pay for that, I vowed.

  The girl proved such a hellion Rice wound up carrying her. When he caught up with the rest of us in the kitchen, he set her on her feet.

  “What are we going to do with them?” He was faintly winded.

  “Depends. You find anything?”

  “Yeah, five minutes before you pulled in. There’s another safe down here in that breakfast room, behind the ugly painting.”

  “My, my,” jeered Lena. “It seems Great-Auntie didn’t trust you as much as you thought.”

  Perry ignored her bait, but a muscle on his jaw twitched.

  “Lock those two up with the old witch while I see if that’s where she put the rest of her jewelry. Then check all the other rooms on the second floor. There might be cash or God knows what else squirreled away. If I can’t get into this other safe in fifteen minutes, we’ll have to clear out with what we have. Someone at the hotel’s bound to notice the kid or the jewelry missing by then.”

  “While you’re busy down here, maybe we’d better look after that for you.” Lena indicated the candy box filled with hotel valuables.

  Perry shot her an angry look.

  “Fine.” He gave it to Rice.

  Lena and the bookstore owner marched the two of us up a flight of gleaming stairs. My eyes took in details that might help us escape.

  “What did you do with the housekeeper?” I asked. “Kill her too?”

  “It’s her day off.”

  “And the Tuckers?”

  “Tied up in the attic above their apartment. Go do some of your stupid measuring.”

  She shoved me into a room to the right of the second floor landing so hard I fell. The Szarenski girl got the same treatment. Before I could get to my feet, the door slammed and a key turned. I tested the door and got a nasty laugh for my efforts.

  We were locked in, with fifteen minutes or less for me to save both our lives. The
first thing I did was remove the Szarenski girl’s gag.

  The first thing she did was spit on me.

  FORTY-NINE

  “Okay. I get the message. You don’t like me.” I put my palms out in surrender, and to ward off more spit.

  But the girl’s gaze had moved beyond me. I turned and looked.

  We were in the sort of upstairs sitting room where ladies in bygone days had entertained close friends. The white-haired woman slumped head first on the silver tea service she’d been presiding over wasn’t likely to do any more entertaining. I went to her side and felt for a pulse, but her skin was already cold.

  The girl looked on without emotion. I tried to think.

  “Look, Julie, Julia — I know I’m not getting your name right, but I can’t quite remember — I know you can’t understand what I’m saying. I know you’re afraid. But we’re going to get out of—”

  “Not afraid. Not afraid!” She jerked her chin at the body. “Dead, yes? I see much dead. Soldiers come to house. They shoot. We too. I shoot. Bang, bang. Make dead—”

  “Yes, good,” I cut in, alarmed by her escalating intensity, and relieved we could communicate, more or less. “Bartoz told me you were very brave,” I added.

  The compliment, or the name of the man she had a girlish crush on, derailed her as I’d hoped it might.

  “Bartoz talks of me?”

  “Yes.”

  She swung from agitation to pouting.

  “Bartoz thinks I am child!”

  Precious minutes were ticking away.

  “When you’re a year or two older, he’ll see you’re not. But for that to happen, we’ve got to get out of here. Understand?”

  “Get out, yes.”

  “Let me untie your hands.”

  Whoever had trussed her up (Lena probably) had used a silk scarf. Fragile as it was, the fabric was strong. It also allowed a knot both smaller and tighter than possible in a rope.

  “Why did they take you?” I asked as I worked at it.

  “Take?”

  “Put you in their car.”

  The girl shrugged.

  “I sit. They park car, see me.”