1953 - This Way for a Shroud

by James Hadley Chase

  “Yes, he’s expecting me,” Conrad said. “What’s he doing –pushing Weiner around?”

  A dreamy expression came over the sergeant’s face.

  “Well, he ain’t exactly combing his hair,” he returned. “Three of our best boys got killed through him.”

  Conrad swung around, crossed the charge room in three strides and went quickly along the passage, down a short flight of stone steps, then to a door at the end of another passage. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

  Pete sat in a hard, bright circle of light. The small room was full of tobacco smoke and the smell of sweat and dust. It was also full of bull-necked, red-faced detectives. Bardin was standing in front of Pete, and as Conrad entered the room, Bardin drew back his arm and hit Pete across his face with the flat of his hand. The sound of the blow was like the bursting of a paper bag, and Pete’s head jerked back and then forward.

  Blood ran down to his chin from a cut lip. His dark eyes, narrowed and full of hate, looked up at Bardin without flinching.

  “So you’ve never heard of Maurer,” Bardin sneered. “Don’t you read the newspapers?”

  “Only the sports column,” Pete said through gritted teeth.

  Bardin swung his arm again, but Conrad reached out and caught his wrist.

  “Take it easy, Sam,” he said quietly.

  Bardin swung around. There was a dull, cold expression in his eyes as he stared at Conrad.

  “That’s right,” he said with savage bitterness. “Take it easy. Never mind the guys who got killed. Never mind about their widows or their kids. Take it easy. What do you expect me to do? Put my arms around this little rat and suckle him?”

  Conrad released Bardin’s wrist.

  “Sorry to break up the session, but I want this guy.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and tossed it on to the desk. “This will cover you, Sam. Want me to sign for him?”

  Bardin’s face grew dark with congested blood. He picked up the paper, glanced at it and tossed it back on the desk.

  “What are you going to do with him?” he asked in a hard, rasping voice. “Tuck him up in bed with a radio and four good meals a day?”

  Conrad looked at Bardin steadily and didn’t say anything. Bardin gave a heavy snort, walked around to his desk, took out a receipt book, wrote savagely, spluttering ink and shoved it across to Conrad.

  “Okay, take the little rat. He’s not talking. He knows nothing. He’s never heard of Maurer. He wasn’t within a mile of the amusement park. If you think you’ll get anywhere with him without beating the guts out of him, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “I want him in a wagon and escort,” Conrad said. “Fix it for me, will you, Sam?”

  Bardin got up, nodded to one of the detectives who went out. Then he walked over to Pete and glared down at him. “You’ll be back, Weiner. Don’t imagine you’re going to have it nice and easy just because the D.A.’s interested in you. You’ll be back, and we’ll cook up something for you.” He swung his hand and caught Pete a smashing backhanded blow that knocked him over backwards, taking the chair with him.

  Pete sprawled on the floor, his eyes dazed, his hand holding his puffy right cheek.

  Conrad turned away. He didn’t approve of these methods, but he didn’t blame

  Bardin. To lose three good policemen in saving the life of a worthless young gangster was something to make any Lieutenant bitter.

  Pete got unsteadily to his feet and slumped against the wall.

  No one said anything. No one moved. Minutes dragged by, then the door opened and the detective came back.

  “Okay. At the side entrance, sir.”

  “Take him,” Bardin said to Conrad with a gesture of disgust. “And don’t forget, when you’re through with him, we want him back.”

  “You’ll get him,” Conrad said. He looked at Pete. “Come on, Weiner.”

  Pete crossed the room. He felt as if he were walking through a forest of menacing giants as he weaved his way around the big detectives who made no attempt to move out of his way and who watched him with hot, intent eyes.

  A heavy steel-walled wagon stood at the side entrance in a big enclosed yard. Police stood around with riot guns at the ready. Six speed cops sat astride their motorcycles, their engines ticking over, their hard, sunburned faces watchful.

  Pete climbed into the wagon and Conrad followed him. The steel door slammed shut and Conrad pushed home two massive bolts.

  “Sit down,” he said curtly.

  Pete sat down. He heard the motorcycle engines roar, and then the wagon jogged into life and began its guarded run to the City Hall.

  Conrad took out a pack of cigarettes, shook out two, handed one to Pete, lit it and then lit his own.

  “What are you going to do when a bondsman posts boil for you, Weiner?” he asked quietly.

  Pete looked up sharply.

  “You’re charging me with murder, aren’t you? That’s a non-bailable offence.”

  Conrad looked at him thoughtfully.

  “Maybe I won’t charge you with murder. Suppose I charge you with consorting with known criminals? You’ll be out on bail within a couple of hours.”

  He saw Pete change colour.

  “I don’t want to go out on bail.”

  “Why not?”

  Pete didn’t say anything. He stared down at the handcuffs around his wrists, feeling sweat start out on his face.

  “You’re not scared to be out on bail, are you?”

  “I’m not talking,” Pete said.

  “You’ll change your mind. Think it over. Once you’re out of my hands, Weiner, I wouldn’t give a dime for your life. I’m not protecting you unless you’re going to do some talking.”

  “I don’t know anything about anything,” Pete said sullenly, and shifted around so his back was half turned to Conrad.

  “You stupid fool!” Conrad said. “The girl will identify you. Do you think you can get out of this? You were sent to kill her weren’t you? You acted on Maurer’s orders.”

  Pete didn’t say anything.

  “You’ll have to talk sooner or later,” Conrad said quietly. “You can’t spend the rest of your days suspended in space. You’ve got to come down on one side of the fence. You either talk and we’ll protect you or you’ll keep your mouth shut and we’ll turn you loose. There’s no other out for you.”

  Still Pete didn’t say anything.

  “We’re not interested in you,” Conrad went on. “We’re after Maurer. Play with us and we’ll take care of you.”

  Pete twisted around.

  “Take care of me? That’s a laugh! Do you imagine you can protect me? So long as I keep my mouth shut I stand a chance: not much of one, but a chance. If I talk I’m as good as dead. Neither you nor the whole goddamn police force could keep me alive!”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Conrad snapped. “Of course we can protect you. I’ll guarantee it.”

  Pete stared at him for a long moment, then leaned forward and spat on the floor.

  II

  Van Roche was waiting as Conrad entered his office. “Did you get him?” Van Roche asked.

  “I’ve got him,” Conrad said, and walked over to his desk and sat down. “He’s up on the tenth floor with a couple of guards taking care of him. What are you looking so excited about?”

  “Abe Gollowitz is talking to the D.A. He’s got a writ for Miss Coleman’s release.”

  Conrad stiffened.

  “You kidding?”

  Van Roche shook his head.

  “He blew in about ten minutes ago. The D.A.’s stalling him until you got back. He’s demanding to see Miss Coleman.”

  Conrad got to his feet.

  “I’d better see the D.A.”

  He walked along the passage to the D.A.’s office, tapped and pushed open the door.

  Forest sat behind his desk, his hands folded on his blotter. He looked up as Conrad came in, lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug and waved a hand towards Gollowitz who
was sitting by the desk, his round swarthy face bland.

  “I was just telling the D.A. that I want to see Miss Coleman,” Gollowitz said as Conrad shut the door and came across to the desk.

  “Why?” Conrad asked curtly.

  “She is being unlawfully detained here, and I happen to be her legal representative: that’s why.”

  “Well, well, that’s news,” Conrad said. “Does she know of her extraordinary good fortune? After all, I should have thought you had more important work to do than to bother about a penniless movie extra.”

  Gollowitz chuckled.

  “As the legal representative of the Norgate Union I take under my care any of its members, and Miss Coleman happens to be a member.”

  “Yeah, I should have thought of that,” Conrad said, and glanced over at Forest.

  “He wants to see her right now,” Forest said.

  “And no one can stop me seeing her,” Gollowitz said smoothly. “I don’t have to tell you that.” He got up and leaning forward tapped a paper lying on Forest’s desk. “You’re satisfied with this, aren’t you?”

  “I guess so,” Forest said, shrugging. He looked over at Conrad. “You’d better ask Miss Coleman if she wants to see Mr. Gollowitz. We’ll wait.”

  Conrad nodded and went out of the office. He was sure Frances would want to see Gollowitz, and he stood for a moment thinking. He could warn her, but was she in the mood to listen to warnings? Did she realize the danger she was in? Once Gollowitz got her away from the D.A.’s office, she would disappear. He was sure of that.

  He returned to his office.

  “Get me six photographs of any of our customers,” he said to Van Roche, “and include in the six a picture of Maurer.”

  Van Roche went to the files, and after a minute or so handed Conrad six half plate prints.

  “I want you to come up with me,” Conrad said. “When I give you the tip, bring Weiner into Miss Coleman’s room. Okay?”

  Van Roche looked startled.

  “What’s the idea?”

  “You’ll see. We haven’t much time. Come on, let’s get upstairs.”

  They rode up in the elevator to the tenth floor.

  “Stick with Weiner until I send for you,” Conrad said, and walked quickly down the passage to Frances’s door.

  Jackson and Norris, still at their posts outside the door, gave him bored nods as he rapped. The door was opened by Madge. There was an exasperated expression on her face.

  “Is she being difficult?” Conrad asked, keeping his voice down.

  “I’ll say she is.”

  Conrad nodded and walked into the inner room. He was aware of a feeling of suppressed excitement to see Frances again, even after only a few hours.

  She was looking out of the window. The nurse got to her feet and went out silently when she saw Conrad.

  “I hope you’re feeling better now, Miss Coleman,” Conrad said.

  She turned quickly. Her eyes were angry and she came across the room to face Conrad.

  “I want to go home!” she said fiercely. “You have no right to keep me here!”

  “I know,” Conrad said mildly. He thought how animated she looked in her anger. Not like Janey’s anger. There was nothing spiteful about this girl, “And I’m sorry about it, Miss Coleman. We don’t think it’s safe for you to leave just yet.”

  “I’m the judge of that!”

  “Are you?” He smiled at her, hoping to win a smile from her, but she remained straightfaced and angry, staring at him. “Look, sit down, won’t you? If after what I’m going to tell you you still want to go home, then I’ll have to let you go. I can’t hold you here against your will.”

  Her anger began to fade, but her eyes were suspicious.

  “I don’t want to listen. I just want to go right now.”

  “I wish you would try to be reasonable. We’re only thinking of your own safety. Why do you imagine that gunman tried to kill you? Have you thought of that?”

  He saw uncertainty chase suspicion out of her eyes.

  “He – he must have been mad.”

  “Do you really think so?” Conrad sat down. “Sit down for a moment. I won’t keep you long.”

  She hesitated, then sat down, her fists tight clenched on her knees.

  “You’re still quite sure you didn’t see anyone when you were at Miss Arnot’s place?” Conrad asked, taking the six photographs from his pocket.

  He saw her face tighten.

  “I’ve already said I didn’t see anyone. If you’re going to start all that over again . . .”

  “Please be patient with me. Would you look at these photographs and tell me if you recognize any of the faces?”

  He handed her the photographs and she took them reluctantly. She shuffled through them, and when she came to Maurer’s photograph he saw her stiffen. She dropped the photographs as if they had become red hot and jumped to her feet.

  “I’m not going to have any more of this!” she cried, her face pale. “I insist on going home!”

  Conrad bent down and picked up the photographs. He didn’t let her see his excitement. He was sure now she had seen Maurer at Dead End. Why else should she have reacted like this?

  He held Maurer’s photograph out to her.

  “Do you know who this is?”

  She didn’t look at the photograph.

  “I don’t know any of them.”

  “Have you ever heard of Jack Maurer?”

  “Of course; he’s a racketeer,” Frances said, turning away. “I’m not interested in him, and I’m not interested in any of the others.”

  “I want to tell you about Maurer,” Conrad said, studying the photograph. “He’s quite a character. I’d say he was the most powerful man in the State right now. When he was fifteen he became a bodyguard to Jake Moritti. Before he was sixteen he had been arrested three times for homicide, but each time he made sure no witness lived to give evidence against him. When Moritti ceased to be a power, Maurer joined Zetti. Over a period of ten years he was responsible for thirty murders; mainly gang slayings. When Zetti went to jail, Maurer teamed up with Big Joe Bernstien. A little later he became one of the head men of the Crime Syndicate. You’ve heard about the Syndicate, haven’t you? Their organization spreads over the whole of the country. It is divided into territories and Maurer got California. He has been the racket boss of California now for ten years, and it is remarkable what he has done in that time. He has taken over all the main labour groups. Every member of these unions pays him dues for which he gives them nothing in return, and they’re too blind and stupid to realize it. He has taken over the Shylocking business. Do you know what that is? It’s one of the greatest profit-making rackets in the country. For every five dollars borrowed, the borrower has to pay back six dollars, and the period is for one week. It works out at 120 per cent in forty-two days. If the borrower fails to pay up on time, two of Mauler’s men call on him, and they give him a schlammin. If you don’t know what that is, I’ll tell you. A schlammin is a beating, given with a lead pipe wrapped in newspaper. If the borrower still can’t pay after a schlammin, then the debt’s written off and the borrower gets a bullet in the back.”

  Conrad paused to look at Frances, but she had turned her back on him and was looking out of the window.

  “Maurer has also taken over the wire service,” he went on, “without which no bookmaker dare operate, and for the privilege of using this service every bookmaker in the State has to kick in with a weekly payment or else. He has now control of the gambling concessions in the district, and that alone brings him in fifty-five thousand dollars a month.”

  Frances turned suddenly.

  “Why are you telling me all this? I’m not interested, and I don’t want to hear any more!”

  “Since Maurer’s reign began here, there have been over three hundred murders,” Conrad continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “We have had only ten convictions, and in each case the convicted men were known to be working for Maurer. Mau
rer himself is known to have murdered thirty-three people, but that was before he became the boss. Now he gives orders from a safe distance. We have never been able to slap a murder charge on him. But on the 9th of this month he slipped up. For the first time in fifteen years he killed with his own hands. It was he who killed June Arnot who was his mistress and who was cheating him. We have no proof as yet that he did kill her, but we have very strong circumstantial evidence that he did do it. We have only to place him on the scene of the murder and at the time of the murder to convict him and rid California of the most dangerous, murderous, powerful gangster of this or any other century.” He leaned forward and pointed at her. “I believe you saw him leave or arrive at Dead End. With your evidence I can successfully prosecute him. It’s your duty, Miss Coleman, to give evidence against him, and I’m asking you to do it!”

  Frances backed away. Her face was now as white as a fresh fall of snow, and her big eyes looked like holes in a sheet.

  “I didn’t see him! I keep telling you! And I’m not going to give evidence!”

  Conrad stared at her for a long moment, then he shrugged.

  “Is that your last word?”

  “Yes! Now I’m going home!”

  “Well, I can’t stop you. I’ve told you the kind of man Maurer is. He thinks as I do that you saw him. He knows a word from you will wreck a kingdom worth several millions of dollars a year. Do you imagine he’ll take the risk that you didn’t see him? Do you imagine a man like that will let you live for five minutes if he can get at you? Two of his men have already tried to wipe you out, and you’re lucky they failed. They won’t fail next time if you leave our protection!”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re trying to frighten me! I didn’t see anything, and I’m going home!”

  Conrad restrained his temper with difficulty.

  “Miss Coleman, I beg you to think about this. We can protect you. There’s nothing to be frightened about. Are you frightened of Maurer? Tell me why you don’t want to stay here for a few days?”

  “I have no intention of staying and I don’t want your protection,” she said angrily. “I think you’re just saying these things to frighten me into giving evidence, and I’m not going to do it!”