Innocent Bystander

by Craig Rice

  It was about half-past three when Tony Webb let himself into his cheap hotel room, switched on the lights, and locked the door behind him. He was aching with weariness, but wide awake.

  He slid out of his clothes, hung them carefully in the narrow closet, and put on the purple and white striped silk pajamas, the ones he’d bought on the day of his release from jail.

  He took the automatic out of its holster and tucked it under his pillow. He took a pint bottle of rye from a dresser drawer, glanced at it to see how much the maid had helped herself to, poured an inch and a half into a waterglass, downed it quickly, and shuddered. Then he lay down on the bed, all the lights on full, folded his hands under his head, and looked at the room.

  A hell of a place to live, he told himself.

  Green calcimined walls, and shiny brown woodwork. A brown metal bed. A shaky, imitation-mahogany desk. A white-painted dresser, with all the drawers sticking. One shabby upholstered chair.

  Got to get back in the bucks fast, he told himself. He thought again about the dough McGurn had tucked away in that safe-deposit vault. Fifty grand. Maybe more. Enough to take care of a lot of things.

  If he could just get his hands on it!

  The phone call was what had gotten him into this jam. Sounded like it came from a kid. Could be a shield for someone else. “Be at the Ferris wheel tonight,” the kid’s voice had said, and that had been all.

  To get out of this jam he had to find that girl. He began to think about her.

  Maybe she was some wacky babe, coming down to the Pier to have her picture made and then throwing it away. Some sad little file clerk with dreams of being an artist’s model. It might be fun to take a babe like that out sometime, show her the town, the theaters, night clubs, everything. Watch her eyes pop out.

  Or maybe this was just a good kid who knew how much every fifty cents meant to Amby. Could be. Oh, no. Hell, in that case she’d have come down and had her picture drawn every night in the week. Amby would never have known the difference, but the Pier would have remembered her.

  Probably a nice little chick. But what the hell was she doing all by herself, on the Pier, without a date and apparently not looking for one? He didn’t know, and he couldn’t imagine.

  Not, he told himself, that it was important. He was just curious.

  He got off the bed, opened the dresser drawer, and poured another drink. The room was cold; he lit a match and started the gas heater going. Shivering, he opened the drawer of the rickety desk, pulled out a greasy pack of playing-cards, sat down, and began to deal solitaire.

  Black ten on the red jack.

  Who was she, and where and how was he going to find her?

  Red eight on the black nine.

  He paused to light a cigarette, holding the match folder and striking the match all with one hand.

  Where was she right now? Probably in bed. Awake or sleeping? Was she wearing cotton pajamas or a black chiffon nightgown?

  Red queen on the black king.

  Black, McGurn. Red, for the girl. Funny they should come out this way in the cards. Mamie would know what it meant.

  Was she alone?

  Tony grinned. Hell of a note, getting so curious about a babe he didn’t even know.

  Suddenly he shoved the cards impatiently back into the desk drawer, his game unfinished. No matter what or where she was, she was a menace to him. He had to find her.

  At last he took the folded paper from where he had dropped it on the dresser, unfolded it, laid it on the bed, and studied it.

  What was the rest of her face like?

  Soft, shining hair. Innocent, trusting, smiling eyes.

  His mind began to fill in the rest of it. A smooth oval of a face, delicately pale. A nice little chin, but not too determined. A gentle mouth, soft, innocent, and appealing.

  He stared at his imagined face for a long time. A sweet girl, one that he’d like to spend a lot of time with.

  It was a damned shame that she’d happened to be sitting for her portrait where she could see the whirling Ferris wheel. Brown hair, blue eyes, a sweet mouth. Seemed like such a nice kid. He wished it hadn’t happened this way.

  Because it was a matter of life and death to him now.

  Jack O’Mara didn’t believe in wasting time. He said good night to Art Smith and announced that he was going straight home to bed.

  Instead, he went back to Headquarters, and within half an hour he was back at the Pier, his fingerprint kit under his arm.

  He’d noticed something when Amby showed how he had posed the girl. One of her hands must have rested on the painted railing around the booth. There was one chance in a thousand—

  It turned out that the hunch was right. The prints were faint and a trifle smudged, but he got them.

  Now there was another one-in-a-thousand chance that they would be on file. As a rule respectable young women didn’t have their fingerprints taken. But if she had ever worked in a war plant or applied for a driver’s license or any one of a number of things, he could find them.

  It took a little time for him to find what he was looking for, but he found it.

  His first thought was to dig up more information, get the girl herself if possible, and take it straight to the Chief of Detectives. He’d explain the steps by which he’d found it after Smith had so obviously failed. “Poor old Smith. Must be slipping.” He’d ask if he could handle this case alone. A big case. McGurn. Then a few drinks for the reporters—

  But what he’d found in the files changed all that. Now he knew that with reasonable luck, and if he played it right, he could get a lot more than a lousy promotion out of this.

  O’Mara tucked the evidence in his pocket. He wasn’t going to turn that over to anyone. He had already decided to give the sketch to a shady character named Nick Guyden. Then he’d find the girl.

  He’d ask Smith for permission to work with him on the case. Smith, the poor dumb lug, would never know what was going on.

  For a very brief minute, O’Mara almost felt sorry for Art Smith. When he found the girl—

  A girl sat in a small, shabby room, silent now save for the soft sound of waves kissing against the Pier. She was brushing her hair, brown, smooth hair.

  Her sensuous mouth was curved in a slight smile. Her wide, guileless eyes seemed pleased about something secret.

  She looked like the girl Smith had imagined. Yet, curiously, she looked like the girl Tony had imagined.

  The shabby little room was filled with amusement-park souvenirs. Kewpie dolls, plaster cats, gaudy vases, all the kinds of loot that the customers carry home as winnings from the concessions on the Pier.

  On the dressing-table was a little toy merry-go-round. Suddenly the girl put down her hair brush, reached over and touched a little switch at one side of the toy. It began to revolve, faster, more gaily. A concealed music box began to tinkle a sprightly waltz.

  The girl watched it for a minute, then went on brushing her hair, the soft, secret smile still on her pale face.

  Chapter Six

  PICK-UP ON THE PIER

  It was early afternoon when Tony returned to the Pier. Everything was fairly quiet at that hour. From a little distance he could hear the music of the Merry-Go-Round.

  By daylight, on this, an ordinary week day, the Pier seemed half-deserted. True, most of the concessions were open, and most of the rides were continuing to operate. And there were a few customers. But to Tony, without the lights and the evening crowds, it wasn’t the same.

  He had realized that morning that he really needn’t worry about the police picking him up. Not as things stood now. They might hold him as a material witness for a long period of questioning, and that was going to mess up his plans considerably. But as far as McGurn’s murder was concerned, that alibi Mamie had provided for him was unshakable.

  It was, unless the cops got to the girl first. Unless she told them of having seen him on the wheel.

  That was something that could happen too easily. That
was why he had to get to her first.

  McGurn’s men worried him more than the police. Because he knew what they were after.

  He turned the corner into the Pier and stood, scowling. Yes, he definitely liked it better after dark, when the lights were flashing their many colors and the crowds milled back and forth. Still, he reminded himself, this wasn’t exactly a pleasure trip.

  His first stop was at the Dunk the Girl concession. He wanted to find out what Bill had been about to say when the two gunmen had interrupted, the night before. The place wasn’t operating now, being strictly an after-dark and week-end concession, but Bill was there.

  He greeted Tony with a nod, and said, “Tony, from the description, I think I know the babe you were looking for.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Brown hair, blue eyes, nice face?”

  Tony drew the half picture from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it out.

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Dunno her name. Worked for me for two nights. Told me she’d just blown into town. Quit last night, told me she had another job.”

  Tony groaned. That had been close. Then he scowled. “You mean she was working in this—” His gaze traveled upward to the perch over the tank of water, “—a nice kid like that? Why?”

  The barker shrugged his thin shoulders. “Don’t ask me. I only hired her.”

  “If she’d just gotten into town,” Tony said thoughtfully, “that would explain why nobody remembered her. But where is she now?”

  “They come and go,” the barker said, shrugging again.

  Tony said, “Thanks again, Bill.”

  He paused at Harry’s Place, the chili parlor at the end of the Pier, and ordered coffee.

  “Amby okay?”

  Harry nodded. “Still hiding out, though. The cops scared the hell out of him last night. I sent him over some grub a while back.”

  “I don’t think anybody’s going to bother him,” Tony said. He downed his coffee. “But maybe he’d better lay low for a while.”

  He went on down the Pier, again stopping at every concession, again asking the same question over and over. No one remembered her. No one had seen her.

  The music of the Merry-Go-Round caught his attention, and he paused to watch its brilliantly painted animals flash by in the afternoon sun. A smile instinctively came to his face. He loved them. He’d always loved them.

  Then he saw her.

  She was riding the big white-and-gold horse in the inner ring, her soft brown hair blowing in the wind, her smooth cheeks faintly pink. On the black horse beside her rode a small, taffy-haired girl of perhaps five years old, clinging tightly to the big brass pole and shrieking with laughter. Just behind them, on the zebra, rode a deliriously happy brown-haired boy who seemed a year or so older.

  Her children? Tony doubted it. She seemed entirely too young. And somehow he couldn’t quite picture her as a housewife and mother.

  Somehow he had to get acquainted with her, manage to be alone with her, beyond the sight and hearing of any possible witnesses.

  The Merry-Go-Round was slowing to a stop. Tony watched. Yes, they were staying on for another ride. He raced to the ticket gate, bought a strip of tickets, and leaped on board, taking the brown horse just behind the zebra.

  The gay waltz music began again. The wheel began to speed faster and faster. Tony grinned. He was sure now that he knew just how to handle that little matter of getting acquainted.

  Then suddenly the rings began to slide down their chute. The two children reached for them excitedly, and so did Tony. And it was Tony who got the gold ring.

  He could see the small figure ahead of him drooping with disappointment. As the wheel stopped again, he slid quickly down from his mount, moved up to the small boy, and held out the ring.

  “Mine?”

  “Yours. It was your turn to get it, not mine.”

  He knew the girl was looking at him. He pretended not to notice.

  The ticket taker had reached them. Tony handed over the rest of his strip.

  “We’re going round again.” He thought of the last time he’d said “going round again” and smiled wryly.

  The girl started to protest. “Please. You mustn’t—”

  But the Merry-Go-Round had already begun to turn.

  Tony swung astride the zebra next to the small boy’s. “You like to ride, kid?”

  “Sure thing!”

  “So do I.”

  They rode in silence for a moment.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Pat. That’s my sister, Kit. We’re Mrs. Murphy’s children. What’s your name?”

  “Tony. I’m Mrs. Webb’s boy. Is that your mother with you?”

  “No. That’s Ellen. She’s taking care of us.”

  Her name was Ellen, and she took care of Mrs. Murphy’s children. Now he knew that much about her. But it didn’t fit with her having worked at Bill’s Dunk the Girl concession, even for only two nights.

  “How long has she been taking care of you?”

  “Since this morning.”

  Tony frowned. He decided, after a moment’s thought, that she’d taken the job at Bill’s because she needed money bad and quit because it was too rough for her. But that wasn’t his concern. His concern was with what she had seen. With that and with getting acquainted with her. With managing, somehow, to get her away from crowds, from people, especially from these children.

  The wheel began to slow down again, and he felt a tingling down his spine. There was one critical moment just ahead. When the wheel stopped, and she got a really good look at him—was she going to recognize him as the man she had seen on the Ferris wheel last night?

  He watched her as she slid gracefully down from the white horse and helped the little girl down to the platform. Tony grabbed Pat by the elbows, swung him high in the air, and deposited him on the ground.

  “Thank you, Tony,” said Pat.

  The girl looked at him. There was no sign of recognition on her face. Tony breathed easier.

  It suddenly occurred to him that if she had seen anything of what had happened last night, she would have gone straight to the police with her information. That’s what a nice girl like her would have done. Evidently she hadn’t. He hoped it was that way. Because he liked her.

  “They’re not supposed to talk to strangers,” she said, half apologetically.

  “But we aren’t strangers,” Tony said gravely. “Pat and I are old friends.” He could see that she was trying not to smile at him and not succeeding any too well. That pleased him.

  “He’s Tony,” Pat said. “I like him.”

  Kit said, “I like him, too.”

  “And I know you, too,” Tony said. “You’re Ellen, and you are taking care of Mrs. Murphy’s children. See, I know everything about you. Except the rest of your name.”

  She hesitated for only a moment. “It’s—Haven.”

  “Mine’s Webb.”

  Somehow when Ellen and the two children moved on up the Pier, Tony had become one of the party.

  For a little while he almost forgot the mission that had brought him to the Pier, almost forgot that the brown-haired girl was all that stood between him and safety. There were other rides, the scooter, the bumper, the roller coaster, and the water chutes.

  There was a pause at the shooting-gallery. To the children’s noisy amazement and delight, Ellen picked up one of the rifles, took what seemed almost casual aim, and brought down a whole row of clay pipes, winning an enormous and gaudy doll.

  But it was at the knife-throwing concession that Tony shone, he in his turn delighting Kit and Pat. Ellen tried her hand at the three throws, with no success.

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Tony told her with mock severity. “Anybody who can handle a rifle like that ought to be able to puncture a balloon with a knife.”

  She laughed lightly. “I guess I just don’t have the knack.”

 
A slight note of dissension crept in during the pause at the hot-dog stand. Kit and Pat demanded pop. Ellen insisted on milk. Tony suggested a compromise. Milk first, then pop. Ellen complained that the combination would ruin their young stomachs. But the compromise won.

  While they ate, Tony learned a little more from the confiding Pat. Their mother, Mrs. Murphy, ran the hotel at the end of the Pier. Ellen lived there. No, she hadn’t lived there very long. This morning she had offered to take care of them while their mother was busy. They liked Ellen.

  “I like her, too,” Tony told them.

  Now he knew her name and where she lived.

  She hadn’t recognized him. Perhaps she would never recognize him. Perhaps she would never be a danger to him.

  “Drink your milk,” Ellen said to the children.

  Automatically Tony obeyed along with them. Kit and Pat howled with glee.

  Again they started along the Pier. The children were pleading for one more ride. Tony steered them toward the Ferris wheel. Suddenly Ellen caught his arm.

  “No. Please.”

  He stopped and looked down at her. Her face was just slightly pale.

  “Last night—”

  He watched her sharply. Had she recognized him and was she playing a game with him? And if she was—what kind of game was it?

  “You see, last night—” She caught her breath and said, “I’m sorry—it’s silly of me—”

  For a tense moment Tony went on watching her. Then he said quietly and warmly, “I know what you mean, kid. I’d forgotten about it till just now. Skip it.” He grabbed both children’s hands and said, “C’mon, let’s see if we can find a pony to ride.”

  How much had she seen? There was no doubt about it, he had to find out. Although she hadn’t recognized him so far, she was still a constant danger to him.

  This was daylight, and that had been night. He was bareheaded now. Last night he’d worn a hat and topcoat. There was nothing in her mind right now to associate him in her mind with the Ferris-wheel murder—but—

  Let the police find her. Let some smart cop like Art Smith tell her of his record, of his motive for murdering Joe McGurn. Let them face her with him, dressed as he’d been last night. She’d recognize him. She’d remember. She’d be sorry about it, too, nice kid that she was. But she’d remember.