1953 - This Way for a Shroud

by James Hadley Chase

  Conrad looked at Forest.

  “Well, is that the corroboration you want?” He swung around and grinned at McCann. “She thought that one up entirely on her own. She’s quite a detective, isn’t she, Captain?”

  chapter nine

  I

  Ferrari pushed open the door and came into Seigel’s office. He walked over to the desk, sat down in the armchair and wriggled himself into it.

  “Is he dead?” Gollowitz asked in a strangled voice.

  Ferrari stared at him.

  “Does the sun shine? Is the grass green? Why do you waste time on the obvious? Of course he’s dead. When I say I’ll do a thing. I do it.”

  Gollowitz sank beck in his chair. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.

  “And they’ll think it’s an accident?”

  “Yes, they will think it’s an accident,” Ferrari said. “It went just as it was planned.” He folded his claw-like hands across his flat stomach, and looked at Gollowitz with eyes that were as lifeless and as still as the eyes of a doll. “If you make a proper plan, you must succeed. He is dead, and now we must think about the girl.”

  “I’m glad I sent for you,” Gollowitz said, and at the moment he meant what he said. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible to have done the job so easily.”

  “It was only easy because I have had years of experience,” Ferrari said. “With no experience and no plan, it wouldn’t have been possible.”

  “Now about the girl,” Seigel put in. “How are you going to take care of her?”

  “Another accident?” Ferrari asked, looking at Gollowitz.

  “Yes; that’s essential. We may have to wait a week. If she died immediately after Weiner it would look bad, wouldn’t it?”

  “If we have the time, a week would be better,” Ferrari agreed.

  At this moment the telephone bell rang, and Seigel picked up the receiver. He listened for a moment, then the other two saw his face tighten. He handed the receiver to Gollowitz.

  “McCann,” he said. “Sounds as if he’s blowing his top.”

  Gollowitz said into the mouthpiece, “Yes, captain?”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were going to take Weiner?” McCann snarled, his voice blurred on the humming line. “You’ve really started something this time. Listen, that girl’s talked!”

  Gollowitz raised his eyebrows. With Ferrari sitting close by, he felt comfortably safe.

  “Let her talk, Captain,” he said. “I don’t care. Why should you?”

  There was a slight pause, then McCann said viciously, “You crazy? I tell you she’s talked! She actually saw Maurer kill that woman. She’s ready to go on the stand and swear to it!”

  “Let her go on the stand. It’s her word against Maurer’s. She’s got no corroboration. Why should we worry?”

  “She doesn’t need corroboration,” McCann snarled. “She’s got proof!”

  Gollowitz stiffened.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I tell you she’s got proof! She says Maurer pulled out a handkerchief after he had killed June Arnot. A gold pencil fell out of his pocket and dropped on his bloodstained shoe. Then it rolled across the floor and went down a drain. Maurer tried to retrieve it, but he couldn’t reach it. The crazy bastard left it there! The girl saw it happen! The D.A.’s only got to get the pencil and Maurer’s sunk. It has his initials on it and his fingerprints and June Arnot’s blood. There was no blood in the changing room, so the blood must have come from him. It’s proof a jury would love. Do you still want me to stop worrying?”

  Gollowitz’s face suddenly turned a greenish hue.

  “Is this true?”

  “How the hell do I know? It’s what she’s just told Forest. They’ll soon find out if it’s true or not!”

  Gollowitz’s brain was working fast. If this was true then Maurer was as good as in the chair.

  “Where is this drain?” he asked.

  “In the changing room at Dead End: the changing room to the swimming pool.”

  “What’s the D.A. doing about it?”

  “Conrad and O’Brien with a photographer are going out there now.”

  “Are they on their way?”

  “They will be in five minutes.”

  “Thanks, Captain. I’ll take care of it,” Gollowitz said, and hung up. He looked at Seigel. “Maurer dropped a gold pencil down a drain in the changing room of the swimming pool at June Arnot’s place. It might tie him into Arnot’s murder if it is found. Three cops are going out there to get it. I want that pencil. Go and get it!”

  This was something Seigel could understand. He had been worried by his failure to kill Weiner, and still more worried that Gollowitz had called in Ferrari. He felt now that he could reinstate himself by succeeding in this job.

  “I’ll fix it,” he said, and went quickly from the room.

  Ferrari wriggled out of the armchair and stretched his thin, short arms.

  “I think I’ll go to bed,” he said. “I think better in bed.” He paused to run his finger down his bony nose. “Did Maurer kill this woman?”

  Gollowitz shrugged.

  “I wouldn’t know. It’s not my business anyway.”

  Ferrari moved about the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “The Syndicate doesn’t like private killings.”

  Gollowitz didn’t say anything.

  “The Syndicate isn’t too pleased with Maurer anyway,” Ferrari said softly. “He’s getting a little too independent.”

  Gollowitz felt a cold chill run up his spine, but he still didn’t say anything.

  “Well, never mind,” Ferrari went on. “All that can be taken care of.” He looked sharply at Gollowitz. “Is Seigel a good man to have in this outfit?”

  “He’s all right,” Gollowitz said carefully. “He slipped up on Weiner, but I’ve never had any trouble with him before.”

  Ferrari nodded.

  “One slip would ruin even a very good man where I come from,” he said, and walked slowly over to the door. “Still, it’s your affair.”

  He went out and along the passage to the bar. He felt like a drink. He seldom drank, but after a successful killing he usually allowed himself one small whisky.

  As he entered the bar he saw Dolores come in through the opposite entrance. He paused for a moment, his sunken eyes taking in her lithe, sensual beauty, then he crossed over and joined her.

  She was leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender, and she didn’t notice Ferrari as he came up behind her. But his presence was like the presence of a snake, and she sensed him, as one senses danger, and she looked quickly round.

  As she looked into the still, lifeless eyes, a chill of fear went through her.

  “What are you drinking?” Ferrari asked, his head just appearing over the top of the bar. “Let me join you. Beautiful women should never be alone.”

  She not only sensed the danger in him, but she also sensed his power. With any other man of his appearance she would have crushed him, but she knew at once this man couldn’t be crushed.

  “I want a martini,” she said, looking away from him. “You are a stranger here, aren’t you?”

  “I am Vito Ferrari.”

  He watched her lose colour, and he smiled, pleased to see that she knew who he was.

  “You have heard of me?”

  “Yes, I have heard of you,” she returned, knowing now why she was frightened of him.

  “Good.” He rapped on the bar, and the bartender, turning to glare at him quickly changed his expression and jumped forward to give service.

  Ferrari climbed up on a stool, and Dolores didn’t feel quite so ridiculous now the little man was perched up so that at least his shoulders were above the bar.

  Ferrari waved his glass in her direction and sipped, then he set down the glass, took out a cigarette case and offered it to her.

  She reached for the cigarette, then her hand paused as she stared down at the case. She had n
ever seen anything like it before, and its ornate beauty fascinated her.

  It was solid gold. The inside of the case was one mass of glittering diamonds, slightly larger than a pin’s head and set so closely together they formed a white mosaic of fire. Seeing her look at the case, he closed it and handed it to her. In the centre of the case was a big ruby the size of her thumb nail, and on the back of the case were his initials in emeralds.

  “You like it?” he asked, watching her face, seeing her amazed expression.

  “I think it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

  “It was given me by a Rajah for a little job I once did for him,” Ferrari said carelessly. He took the case from her, rubbed it on his sleeve and regarded it with smug satisfaction. “I have many things like this. Are you interested in diamonds?”

  “Who isn’t?” she returned, looking at him with new respect. Neither Maurer nor Gollowitz for all their money had anything to touch that case. This little horror might be a dwarf, but he had power and money. It might be interesting to find out if his power were greater than Gollowitz’s.

  “I have a diamond collar that would interest you,” Ferrari said. “You must see it.” He sipped his whisky while he studied her. “You are friendly with Gollowitz?”

  Dolores stiffened; startled by the unexpected question.

  “He’s Jack’s friend,” she returned, her voice cold. “Jack’s friends are my friends.”

  “That’s very nice.” He leaned forward so his death’s head face was close to hers. “But you shouldn’t rely on him too much.”

  “I don’t rely on him at all,” Dolores said sharply.

  Ferrari smiled.

  “Then perhaps he is relying on you. I had the impression that one of you or both of you were relying on each other, and my impressions are never wrong.”

  Dolores felt frightened. Had she and Gollowitz been so obvious? Was Seigel suspicious of them too?

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and looked away.

  “And yet you strike me as an exceptionally smart woman,” Ferrari returned. “Well, never mind. So long as you don’t pin your faith on Gollowitz you won’t come to any harm.”

  She felt a chill run through her. Was he warning her?

  “I don’t like riddles,” she said, swinging round to face him. “Suppose I do pin my faith on Gollowitz as you put it – and I most certainly don’t – but suppose I do, what then?”

  “You will be disappointed, that’s all.” He finished his whisky. “Can you keep a secret?”

  She felt then he wasn’t talking idly. He had a reason for asking.

  “Yes,” she returned. “I can keep a secret.”

  “Gollowitz thinks he will take over this organization if anything should happen to your husband. I see no reason why anything should happen to your husband, but one never knows. Gollowitz will be disappointed. He is a good lawyer, but a bad leader. So don’t pin your faith on a fading star.”

  Dolores stared at him. So he had guessed she was preparing a back door. But this information he had just given her was so valuable that she forgot to feel frightened.

  “You would know, of course?”

  Ferrari smiled.

  “I would know.”

  “You would know, too, who will take over the organization?”

  Ferrari nodded.

  “I should know.” He patted himself on his chest, looked at her and smiled. “I don’t say anything will happen to your husband, but if something did happen, would you mind very much?”

  She realized this wasn’t the time to conceal her cards.

  She shook her head.

  “Not very much.”

  Ferrari nodded.

  “It’s time I had someone to take care of my leisure moments,” he said. “I’ve been looking around. There are plenty of good-looking women in this town, but I only want the best, and I’m in no immediate hurry. I can wait.” He slid off the stool. “Would you be interested to see the diamond collar? I have it in my room upstairs. You might like to try it on. One of these days you might even own it.”

  She sat motionless, staring at him. She knew there would be more to it than trying on a diamond collar.

  “And at the same time I could satisfy myself that what I’m now looking at is gold and not brass,” Ferrari went on, confirming her suspicions. “You don’t have to come up unless you want to. You are following what I’m saying, or do I still speak in riddles?”

  Dolores struggled with a sense of revulsion. To let a little horror like this touch her, and yet was he any worse than fat, oily Gollowitz?

  She didn’t struggle for long.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday,” she said, and gave him a long stare from her big exciting eyes. “You won’t be disappointed. Where’s your room? I still have to be careful. I’ll come up in a few minutes.”

  II

  Conrad pushed open the door of the changing room and groped for the light switch. He could hear O’Brien’s heavy breathing just behind him.

  “Where the hell’s the switch?” he asked, still groping.

  O’Brien turned on a flashlight and swung the big beam around the room.

  “Bit more to your left.”

  Conrad turned on the lights and walked into the luxuriously furnished room. Facing him were the shower cabinets, each equipped with a fitted wardrobe, a chair and a shower. In one of these cabinets, he thought, Frances had hidden and had watched Maurer wash his bloodstained hands.

  Mallory, a police photographer, came in and set up his camera. He looked inquiringly at O’Brien who was examining the floor.

  “This must be it, Paul,” O’Brien said, and pointed to a brass grill that covered a six-inch square hole in the floor.

  Conrad joined him, and O’Brien directed the beam of his flashlight down into the drain. The light picked out a mass of dry leaves that lay at the bottom of the drain.

  “I wonder where they came from?” Conrad said. “Must have been washed in from an outside vent. Doesn’t look as if any water’s passed through the drain for some time. If the pencil is down there, it should be dry, and the blood won’t have been washed off.”

  O’Brien examined the grill covering the drain.

  “Cemented in. No wonder Maurer couldn’t retrieve his pencil. Did you bring the tools, Mallory?”

  “I dumped them just outside. I’ll get them.”

  Conrad sat back on his heels and lit a cigarette.

  “If the pencil’s down there, we’ve got him,” he said quietly. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been after that thug for years.”

  “You haven’t got him yet,” O’Brien reminded him. “Don’t be too hopeful.”

  “Sergeant . . .!”

  The sharp note in Mallory’s voice made both men straighten up.

  “There’s someone outside.”

  Mallory was standing in the doorway of the changing room, silhouetted against the light. Even as he spoke there came a crash of gunfire and he staggered back, holding his arm.

  With a muttered oath O’Brien jumped forward and flicked up the light switch, plunging the changing room into darkness.

  “You hurt?” he asked, pulling Mallory away from the door.

  “Got it in the arm,” Mallory said, and sat down abruptly on the floor.

  Conrad had gone over to the door, and keeping well back, he peered into the darkness. He couldn’t see any tiling.

  O’Brien joined him.

  “Maurer’s mob,” Conrad said, and groped in his hip pocket for his gun. “There’s a telephone somewhere around, Tom. Better get some boys up here.”

  O’Brien grunted and closed the door.

  “Watch out how you use the light,” Conrad went on. “I think I spotted the telephone standing on a table to your left.”

  O’Brien snapped on his flashlight and located the telephone. Out in the darkness a riot gun started up. The black of the night was split by yellow flashes. Lead smashed a window and scatte
red a shower of glass that whizzed over Conrad’s and O’Brien’s ducking heads. Plaster came down from the opposite wall, filling the room with dust.

  “Hell!” O’Brien muttered, flattened out and began a slow crawl across the room to the telephone.

  Conrad aimed at where the flashes had come from and fired a probing shot into the darkness.

  Automatics cracked; pencil points of flame appeared in a semicircle, bullets hummed through the smashed window and thudded into the opposite walls.

  “There’s quite a bunch of them out there,” Conrad said. “Get moving, Tom!”

  O’Brien had got the telephone down on the floor. Conrad could hear him dialling.

  “It’ll take them the best part of a quarter of an hour to get out here unless there’s a prowl car nearby. If these punks rush us . . .”

  Conrad crawled over to where Mallory was sitting.

  “You bleeding?”

  “A little. It’s okay. Just nicked me. I wish I had a gun.”

  Conrad caught a movement at the window. He swivelled round, his arm coming up. He fired as a shadowy figure moved away. He heard the thunk of lead against bone, and then the sound of a body slumping to the ground.

  “Well, that’s one of them,” he said grimly.

  The still night was made hideous by machine gun fire. Plaster came down on top of him as he hurriedly flattened out on the ground. Slugs sprayed against the opposite wall: glass and wood splinters joined company with ricocheting bullets.

  “Like Tunisia all over again,” Mallory muttered as he flattened out beside Conrad. He never let a chance go by of reminding anyone of his war service.

  “Got headquarters yet?” Conrad called over to O’Brien.