“Well, say something!” he snarled. “Is this something Gollowitz can take care of?”
Maurer looked up. The flat snake’s eyes glowed as if they were on fire, and under his direct look, McCann’s eyes gave ground.
“I want to talk to the Captain,” Maurer said softly.
Gollowitz immediately got up and, followed by Seigel, left the room.
When the door closed behind them, Maurer crossed one short fat leg over the other. He took his cigar out of his mouth, leaned forward and touched off the ash into a cut-glass bowl. He didn’t look at McCann.
McCann sat still, his big fists on his knees, his face purple. Sweat gave an oily
appearance to his complexion.
“Frances Coleman, did you say?” Maurer said suddenly, keeping his voice down.
“That’s right,” McCann said.
“Who is she?”
“Let’s get this straight, Mr. Maurer, are you . . .?”
“Who is she?” Maurer repeated without raising his voice, but
McCann recognized the danger signals.
“She’s an out-of-work movie extra. She checked out of her room on Glendale Avenue on the night of the murder. The Central Casting Agency haven’t her new address.”
“Did she know Miss Arnot?”
“She worked with her on her last picture: a bit part.”
“You’re looking for her now?”
“Yeah. We should turn her up in a few hours.”
Maurer nodded.
“Got a photograph of her?”
McCann took out a print from his inside pocket.
“I got this from the C.C.A.”
Maurer took the photograph, looked at it, then put the photograph face down on the arm of his chair. He looked up suddenly and smiled.
“You’ve finished your drink, Captain. Help yourself.”
“No, thanks,” McCann said.
He wasn’t fooled by the smile. The atmosphere in the room affected him like the pressure of an approaching electric storm.
Maurer got up and walked across the room to a door near the casement windows. He opened the door and went into the room that McCann knew Seigel used as an office.
McCann sat still, his cigar gripped tightly between his teeth. He was aware that his heart was beating unevenly and his mouth was dry.
Maurer returned from the office carrying a long white envelope. As he crossed the room, McCann got to his feet and faced him.
“I have been meaning to give you this for some time,” Maurer said, smiling. “A little investment I made in your name came out pretty well.”
McCann took the envelope.
“Fifteen thousand bucks,” Maurer said in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
McCann drew in a slow deep breath. He slid the envelope into his hip pocket.
“Perhaps I can return the favour,” he said woodenly.
“Well, yes,” Maurer said, and moved over to the empty fireplace. “I should like to be the first to know where Miss Coleman is to be found. Could that be arranged ?”
McCann became aware that sweat was running down his face.
“She may not have seen anything,” he said thickly. “The chances are she didn’t. Miss Arnot wouldn’t have let her come up to the house. She probably left her name and then went away.”
“Could it be arranged?” Maurer repeated.
“I guess so. I’ve told my men to report direct to me as soon as they have found her, and to take no action until I give instructions. I’ve promised to contact the D.A.’s office. They want to see her: they’ll take charge of her.”
‘I think I should see her first. When you have found her address, please telephone here. Louis will be waiting.”
“The D.A. will be waiting too,” McCann said quietly. “I have to be careful about this, Mr. Maurer. There mustn’t be much of a time lag. I can’t give you more than half an hour.”
Maurer smiled. He reached out and patted McCann’s shoulder.
“A half-hour will do splendidly.”
“Can’t you give me this straight?” McCann said hoarsely. “Has Conrad got a case? You – you didn’t . . .?”
Maurer put his hand on McCann’s arm and led him to the door.
“He won’t have a case, Captain,” he said softly. “I promise you that.”
He opened the door and waved McCann to the passage.
“Good night, Captain, and thank you for your cooperation. We shall wait to hear from you.”
It wasn’t until McCann was driving down the narrow dark lane away from the club that he gave vent to his pent-up feelings. He swore vilely and obscenely for as long as it took him to reach the bright lights of the sea front
II
Gollowitz came into the room, closed the door, and walked slowly over to where Maurer was sitting.
There was a long silence. Neither of the men looked at each other. Maurer continued to smoke his cigar, his face thoughtful. Gollowitz waited, his hands clasped behind his back, his mouth hard and set.
“I shouldn’t have used Paretti,” Maurer said suddenly. “That was a mistake. I always thought he was the best man I had. Imagine leaving that sketch plan where it could be found.”
Gollowitz shut his eyes, opened them and drew in a deep breath.
“Are you telling me you killed that woman – yourself?” he said huskily.
Maurer looked up, his heavy eyebrows lifting.
“It gave me a lot of pleasure. I warned her. I told her to keep away from Jordan. She promised, but all the time she was seeing him: a dirty, muggle smoker like him!”
“Why the hell did you have to do it yourself?” Gollowitz said fiercely. “Don’t you realize this is just what Forest has been waiting for? For years you’ve kept in the clear. You’ve never given him an opening. You don’t imagine he’s going to pass up such an opportunity, do you? If you wanted to get rid of her, why didn’t you let Louis handle it?”
Maurer smiled.
“It was a personal tiling, Abe,” he said patiently. ‘It gave me a lot of satisfaction. You should have seen her face when she saw me. She knew. For all her looks, her poise, her fame, she had no courage. You should have seen her. You should have seen her eyes.” He smiled again; a smile that sent a chill down Gollowitz’s fat spine. “You should have heard her scream. It was a personal thing: I wouldn’t have missed doing it for anything in the world.”
Gollowitz rubbed his hand over his sweating face.
“This could sink the organization, Jack,” he said feverishly. The Syndicate won’t like it.”
“— the Syndicate!” Maurer said, his voice suddenly vicious. “I’ve had about enough of the Syndicate! They’re not going to tell me what to do!”
Gollowitz turned away, walked over to an armchair and sat down. He didn’t let Maurer see the shocked, startled expression that showed for a moment in his eyes. “If this Coleman girl saw you . . .”
“You don’t have to worry about her,” Maurer said indifferently “She’ll be taken care of. Without her, Forest hasn’t a case. He can start trouble, but he won’t get anywhere. You can handle this, if she’s out of the way?”
“Sure. But she’s got to be out of the way!”
“She will be. McCann will let us know where she is. He’s going to give us half an hour before the police move in.”
Gollowitz thought for a moment.
“We can’t take any chances, Jack,” he said abruptly. “We’ll have the yacht stand by. There’s going to be a hell of a stink when this girl dies. You’d best be out of the way. A fishing trip where you can’t be reached would be an idea. Just until the heat dies down.”
Maurer shrugged.
“I’ll have Louis take care of it. The yacht’s all ready. I’ll go aboard as soon as McCann calls.”
“Who’s going to take care of the girl?”
“Get Louis in here. That’s his job.”
Gollowitz got up, crossed the room, opened the door near the bar and beckoned to S
eigel.
Seigel came in as if he were walking on eggshells. He was no fool. From what he had heard he knew Maurer had handled June Arnot’s killing himself, and he was appalled at the possible consequences. He knew one slip now might upset the whole of the carefully built-up kingdom. He had clawed his way up the ladder during the past ten years until he was now in the highest position he could ever hope to attain, with plenty of money, plenty of women, and every conceivable luxury within reach. The thought of losing what he had gained filled him with a sick, vicious rage.
“Louis, this girl’s got to be hit,” Maurer said, coming immediately to the point. “McCann will let you know where she is. You’ve got to move fast. We have half an hour before Conrad moves in.”
Seigel stared at him.
“It’ll have to be a crude job, Mr. Maurer,” he said. “We shan’t have time to case the joint, and that’s bad.”
“I don’t care how the job’s done so long as it is done. Who’s going to do it?”
Seigel thought for a moment.
“Moe and Pete,” he said finally.
“Pete – who?” Maurer asked sharply.
“Pete Weiner. He’s okay. He hasn’t hit before, but he’s got to start some time.”
“Is he the guy with the birthmark?” Maurer asked frowning.
“That’s him. He can talk good. His old man was a minister. We want a guy who can get into her apartment without her making a noise. Pete can do that. If he slips up, Moe can take over, but he won’t slip up. He’s keen.”
“I don’t like using a guy with a birthmark,” Maurer said. “He’s too easily spotted.”
“I’ve got no one else who could get into the apartment. I don’t know the setup. If I had a little more time so I could case the joint I wouldn’t use him. As soon as he’s done the job, I’ll get him out of town. There won’t be any kick back.”
“There’d better not be,” Maurer said grimly.
A tap sounded on the door and Dutch Feiner, who looked after the club when Seigel was otherwise occupied, came in. He was a big, red-faced man with blond hair and hard ice-grey eyes.
“What is it?” Maurer said impatiently.
“There’s a dame just come in, Mr. Maurer. I thought you should know. Seems to me she’s Conrad’s wife. I may be wrong. She was in the other night, and I thought her face seemed familiar. I’m pretty sure now that’s who she is.”
“You mean Paul Conrad’s wife?” Seigel said, staring at him.
“That’s right,” Feiner said, pleased with the sensation he had caused.
“She’s not with Conrad, is she?”
“She’s on her own.”
“Check that, Louis!” Maurer said sharply, and got to his feet.
Seigel pushed past Feiner and hurried down the passage that led to the restaurant. He came back after a minute or so, his face excited.
“It’s Conrad’s wife all right. She’s at the bar on her own.”
Maurer waved Feiner away. When he had gone, he looked over at Gollowitz.
“What’s the idea? He wouldn’t send her here to spy, would he?”
Gollowitz shook his head.
“I can’t believe that.”
“Go and talk to her, Louis,” Maurer said. “Handle her carefully. Don’t let her know you know who she is. See if she’ll tell you. Try and find out what she’s doing here.”
Seigel nodded and went out.
“Do you know anything about her?” Maurer asked as Gollowitz sat down again.
“Not much. She’s a looker. I think at one time before she married, she did a bit of singing: small stuff, small fees: you know the kind of thing. They got married about three years ago.”
“What the hell can she be doing here?” Maurer said, pulling at his underlip.
Gollowitz shrugged. He wasn’t interested in Janey Conrad. In a few hours, he was thinking, Maurer would be on the yacht. He would then be in charge of Maurer’s kingdom, something he had thought about as a remote possibility for the past three years, and now it was within his grasp. It would be he now who would be the power in the organization. No longer would he have to persuade or even beg to have his advice followed. He would decide something should be done, and it would be done immediately.
His mind shifted from the taking over of Maurer’s power to something else that Gollowitz had looked at with envious eyes and frustrated desire ever since he had first met her: Maurer’s wife, Dolores.
Just to think of that tall, red-haired, green-eyed woman made Gollowitz short of breath. To his mind there had never been any woman more desirable and intriguing than Maurer’s wife, and yet Maurer seemed scarcely to be aware she existed. How could he have had an affair with that Arnot woman when Dolores was his? Gollowitz wondered. How could he?
“What’s on your mind, Abe?” Maurer asked sharply, his eyes on Gollowitz’s face.
Gollowitz realized he had been practically thinking out loud, and that was highly dangerous.
He shrugged, his face expressionless.
“A hell of a lot of things,” he said, frowning. “Do you imagine I like this? You walk out of here and leave me holding the can. I’ve got a hell of a lot of things to think about.”
Maurer nodded.
“I won’t be away for long,” he said. “Just hold everything down until I get back. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Gollowitz thought that if anyone should worry it should be Maurer, but he didn’t say so.
III
Janey Conrad looked anxiously around the crowded bar. She had got past the doorman by telling him she was expecting friends. The Paradise Club didn’t encourage women on their own. The club had its own flock of hostesses, and outside competition wasn’t welcomed.
The last time Janey had come to the club she had been picked up almost immediately by a fat, elderly man who had spent the evening buying her drinks and telling her off-colour stories. Janey had found him insufferably dull, but now she hoped feverishly that he would put in an appearance, but there was no sign of him.
In fact there appeared to be no unattached men this night at the club, and Janey began to grow uncomfortable. She realized she couldn’t continue to sit alone at the corner table much longer. Already the bartender was looking her way, and two of the hostesses, bright, brassy-looking girls, were eyeing her over with open hostility.
She nervously finished her drink. What a letdown if she had to go! she thought. After spending the whole evening making herself look as attractive as she could, and then wasting a taxi fare to the club. There was nowhere else she dared go. At least none of Paul’s stuffy friends ever came to the Paradise Club.
Then just when she was resigning herself that she could stay no longer, she saw a tall man moving towards her, wearing a faultlessly cut tuxedo: a man that set her heart beating rapidly. His lean good-looking face and the white scar that ran from his left eye to his nose set her nerves in a flutter.
He paused at her table and gave her a wide friendly smile. She smiled back, a little uneasily, but she didn’t attempt to conceal her hopeful interest.
“Don’t tell me he’s stood you up,” Seigel said, bending over her. She felt he was trying to look down the front of her low-cut dress, and she drew back, a little alarmed, but excited, too. “I’ve been watching you. You’ve been here quite a time.”
“Well, yes,” she said, and glanced at her wristwatch. “He is late, but he’ll be along. He – he’s always late.”
“Time and woman should wait for no man,” Seigel said, his smile widening. “Can’t I take his place?”
She pretended to hesitate.
“Well, I don’t know. I – well, we don’t know each other, do we?”
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
“That’s easily fixed. I’m Louis Seigel. Who are you?”
“Janey . . . Conrad,” Janey said, remembering that Paul had said she was easily recognized and deciding at the last moment not to give her maiden name.
“Well,
there you are,” Seigel said. “We now know each other. Simple, isn’t it? Let’s have a drink.”
She watched him snap his fingers at the bartender, and saw how quickly the bartender came out from behind his bar to take Seigel’s order. She noticed, too, the drinks came with miraculous swiftness, and the martini the bartender placed before her was unrecognizable from the one she had ordered and had to wait for.
“I wish I were a man,” she said, as the bartender went away.
“You get all the service. The last drink I had was disgusting.”
“I’m glad you aren’t a man,” Seigel returned, giving her his famous bold look. He had always wondered how Conrad had got hold of such a lovely wife, and now at close quarters he wondered still more. “Didn’t I see you here a few nights ago?”
Janey nodded.
“I look in sometimes. I like this place. Do you know it well?”
“Pretty well,” Seigel said, and laughed. “It’s the best of the night spots in town.” He picked up the martini. “Here’s to a long and beautiful friendship.” He drank the martini, emptying his glass in one swallow. “Down the hatch with it,” he went on, “and let’s have another.”
Janey was ready to comply, and the bartender immediately served two more martinis without being asked. She was not slow to notice the frank admiration in Seigel’s eyes as he looked at her. She was experienced enough to know Seigel was dangerous. He wouldn’t be content just to sit and talk. Before very long the inevitable suggestion that they should go somewhere alone together would be made, and Janey’s heart beat a little quicker as she tried to make up her mind just how far she would allow him to go. It didn’t occur to her that when the time came, she might have no choice. She had plenty of confidence in herself to handle any situation, but then she wasn’t to know that Seigel was a difficult man to stop, once he got going.
Talking to him, seeing the way he was looking at her, feeling the effects of the martinis and hearing the dance band in the restaurant, brought back to Janey the exciting days before she married. She had really kicked the can around in those days, she thought. After all, it wasn’t all that long ago: three years.
1953 - This Way for a Shroud Page 7