I had to take Hall’s facts and see what they meant. It was up to me either to fit the facts to Hall’s theory of Johnny’s guilt or to use them to prove Johnny innocent. That wasn’t going to be easy, not with Nelle in the picture.
The elevator hit bottom. I went through the lobby on the double, not wanting to see Chimp or the new man, Peone. I didn’t want to see anyone or anything connected with Kane Hall again.
7
I HADN’T BEEN home in two weeks, yet when I stepped into the apartment it had the fresh odor of a recent airing. I was across the living room, almost to the bedroom door, before I realized I wasn’t alone. I had never considered myself a nervous man but the instant of shock sent me sideways, my hand clawing into my coat for a gun that was no longer there. I hadn’t carried a gun in years.
When I saw who it was I smiled.
“Just me, Nick,” Nelle said.
“I thought this was the night you worked. Or has the store stopped that?”
“I’m not working,” she answered.
She was sitting on the couch but as I approached her she stood up. The top of her head was level with my chin and the sunlight caught her hair, throwing its deep red tones into my eyes. I was reacting to Nelle in the same way I always did; it was an effort to keep from gawking at her.
“Quit, get fired, or inherit a fortune?” I tried to be light.
She stood a few feet from me, smiling with that slight, one-sided twist to her full lips, studying me with her steady, always disconcerting stare. I never could be sure of the color of her eyes; they seemed to change with her mood. Right now they were hazel. I turned aside, feeling for a cigaret. I couldn’t take it placidly, not after what I had just heard from Kane Hall.
“It was nice of you to come and open the place for me,” I said.
She still didn’t answer; I kept moving until I reached the sideboard. “Drink?”
“Yes, to welcome you home, Nick.” She paused and added, “You didn’t even write me.”
I went to the kitchen and got ice and came back. I slopped some whiskey in the glasses, added soda and the ice. “I’m not much of a hand at writing letters,” I said.
“I thought it was because you had nothing to say.”
That sounded a little coy, out of character with Nelle. It bothered me. I took her drink over, shaking my head a little. She was sitting gracefully on the couch again, her legs tucked under her. She had very nice legs.
“That L. A. lead was sour,” I said, drawing a chair near the couch. I felt rotten but I knew I had to get started on this: what Hall had told me was in my mind, digging. I had to find out.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
She sipped her drink, and refused my automatic offer of a cigaret as she had perhaps a thousand times before—with a quick headshake and a smile of thanks. I was nervous, smoking too fast.
“Hall,” I said, “thinks that was a bum steer. He has the idea that you were trying to get me out of the way for a while.”
Nelle set her glass down on the coffee table. She did it carefully, adjusting the glass so that it was in the exact center of a coaster. Her head came up and her eyes met mine. “Why would I do that?”
“He thinks Johnny is guilty.”
For the first time I noticed that Nelle was nervous, too. As a rule she sat calmly, her hands idle when they were not in definite use. She never plucked meaninglessly at things, never squirmed or talked inconsequentially.
But now her fingers stroked the arm of the couch, working through the intricate pattern grooved in the wood. And I could feel her drawing away from me.
“And I’m supposed to think so, too?” she said. “And be afraid—of you? That’s it?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“If Johnny were guilty—if you found that out, you’d …” She stopped, reaching for her drink.
“What else could I do?”
She answered in an abstract voice, as if Johnny’s guilt could never be more than theoretical. “Hall can afford to lose a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Could Considine afford to lose his life?” I asked. I stood up restlessly. “I’ll go along. Because I think Johnny’s innocent.” I was talking myself into it; I was trying hard to keep on believing what I wanted to believe.
There was more I wanted to say but right then Nelle’s last words hit my mind. “How did you know Hall had lost a hundred thousand?” I demanded sharply. How could she have known?
She didn’t answer me. “Johnny’s no murderer,” she said. She was rolling her nearly empty glass slowly between her palms. “They’re still looking for him, aren’t they, Nick?”
“How did you know about the money, Nelle?” I could be tough so long as I didn’t look at her.
“The police came to see me twice,” she said.
“The police don’t know. So far we think we’ve kept Hall’s connection out of it.” I went to the sideboard and freshened my drink. Without turning around I said, “You saw Johnny.”
Her voice was small. “He’s my brother, Nick. Wouldn’t he ask me for help?”
“When was he here?”
“A few days ago,” Nelle said. “Just for a minute.”
A few days ago, just for a minute, and I was in L. A. hunting for him. A few days ago, and then yesterday she had ten thousand dollars to give away and fifteen thousand more in the bank. I turned around.
“Did Johnny give you the twenty-five thousand, Nelle? And tell you to give ten to Edna Loomis? Or did she make you give her the money?”
I got no answer again. Nelle uncurled her legs and stood up. The light from the window touched her hair briefly, passed across her face as she moved toward me, and then she was in the half-shadow of the darker side of the room.
“Nick, what are you trying to do?”
She was very close. “Help Johnny,” I said. “I’m working for Hall, but I’m trying to help Johnny.”
Her slim fingers went out, touching my coat sleeve. Her face was tilted slightly so that I was looking down into her eyes. There were very deep, almost brown now, and warm.
“And help me, Nick?”
I could feel her physically. And it was strange, because she was doing it deliberately.
I heard myself saying, “That would come first, I suppose.”
“You never told me that.” Her lips curved, growing warm with her eyes.
“You never needed help—before.”
I might not have spoken, she seemed not to have heard me. “Nick, you never kissed me.” There was something breathless in her voice, something a little too breathless. “Was that why you didn’t write, Nick? Because you were afraid? Of kissing me, of letting me know how you felt?”
I didn’t like this Nelle. I said, “Yes, that’s it.”
She moved her body so that it touched mine. “Don’t be afraid any longer, Nick.”
A very few women had tried that before—more subtle women. Perhaps, even more beautiful women. I was no saint, no more of a celibate than the next man. But with Nelle it was different. With Nelle this was ugly.
“You’re just a kid!” I said angrily.
She didn’t move. Her lips were almost brushing mine. Her hand came up and tangled in my hair. “Not any more.”
I kissed her. When I thought of it later I couldn’t describe it any other way. It was just that—a kiss. Nothing more. She put everything she had into it. This was everything I had dreamed about—and now there wasn’t anything.
The revulsion hit me faster than a drink of bad whiskey. I pushed her away. “Let’s talk about Edna Loomis—first.”
Nelle stood there, where my push had put her, hands hanging at her sides, the same look in her eyes. She didn’t seem affronted. “Isn’t this more important, Nick?”
• • •
I wasn’t getting anyplace. Nelle was on the couch, with a second drink. I sat in the chair, where I could watch her. I hammered, but she was skillful. She fended me off. She had stopped using sex but she w
as still keeping me away.
“You think,” I said, “that I’m out to get Johnny. So you decided to do what you could to keep me out of it.”
“If you want to think that, go ahead,” she said. “Think anything you want to, Nick. It won’t change the way I feel—toward you.”
“Pretty sudden, isn’t it?”
She shook her head. “No. I just got tired of waiting.” I said, “Why did you give Edna Loomis ten thousand dollars?”
The change of pace didn’t bother her at all; it hadn’t bothered her in the two hours we had been sitting there. “That’s preposterous. Where would I get ten thousand dollars?”
“From Johnny.”
“Where would Johnny get ten thousand dollars, Nick?”
I said, “Loomis, twenty-five thousand.”
Nelle shrugged. “You’re taking Kane Hall’s word for something. And he never saw me. None of his help ever saw me.” She had a touch of the smile women get when they feel they are putting their point over logically. “You and Johnny always kept me away from your work.”
I got up, leaving my empty glass. “I’ll keep digging, Nelle. If you won’t tell me I’ll find out some other way.”
I went to the door and got my topcoat against the chill that would come with night. I turned again. Nelle was watching me, making no effort to move.
“All right,” I said. I hit each word, trying to slap her with them. “If you still feel that way—when I get back …” I stopped, waiting. She was just looking at me.
“I have some work to do,” I said. “I’ll be back later. I suggest you go home—and bring your things.”
I went out then, leaving it there for her to think about. Now maybe I could find out exactly what she did mean. But the steam was gone, my anger was gone. I was empty.
8
I HAD to lower the car visor against the hard slanting sun that bounced off Puget Sound and against my windshield. I was glad to get in the shadow of the Oxnan. It was on the edge of the business district, the remnant of former prosperity surrounded by shabbiness. The town had grown away from the Oxnan and its neighborhood, leaving the area drab and dirty.
I found a parking place and locked the car. When I reached the dim lobby Peone was idling behind the switchboard talking to someone and Chimp was across the way, smoking his hellish cigar and strolling leisurely about. It all seemed deceptively placid.
I ignored Chimp, just as I was ignoring my episode with Nelle. I pushed that to the back of my mind; what I wanted right now was room to concentrate on another problem.
Peone left the switchboard as I started for the elevator.
“Mr. Hall is asleep,” he said.
“I’m not going to see Hall,” I said, keeping on toward the elevator.
“You can’t go upstairs without permission.” His voice was taking on that high bleat of nervousness again.
This guy was almost too much. He rubbed me like a wet diaper on a baby’s skin. “Chum,” I said, “keep your orders to yourself.”
I had the grillwork door of the elevator open and was half inside when a hand touched my shoulder. It was a light, feather-like touch but something about it brushed a warning across my nerves and I twisted sideways, swinging around.
The knife blade sighed against my suit coat, at the level of my ribs. If there was anything I feared it was a knife. Or a guy handling a knife. I could hear the faint tearing of cloth and I got a glimpse of Peone’s opaque eyes. The shock ran through me again. Peone was not only shiv happy, he was coked up.
I dropped a hand on his wrist before he could pull back and make another stab. I yanked and Peone, knife and all, came with me into the cage. I twisted on his thin, fragile-feeling wrist and the knife clattered to the floor. Now we were almost even.
His breath was rotten when it struck my face, he made no sound at all. I got him against the rear of the cage with a hip and closed the doors. I could see Chimp coming toward us, but not hurrying about it, and then I found the up buttons with my finger. When we were between the third and fourth floors, I pressed the emergency stop.
“Now,” I said and stepped back, freeing him.
He was sweating. His face was inches from mine. “No one is allowed …” he began absurdly, and made a ducking motion for the knife on the floor.
I had an unholy desire to destroy the foulness that he represented, to beat at it until it was gone forever. When he ducked I straightened him with an overhand slap. He flattened against the back of the cage and I kept slapping him—not hard, not as hard as I wanted to, but with enough force to throw his head from side to side, to bring spittle out to the corners of his thin mouth. His breathing got hoarse but he made no other sound.
I stopped and stepped back just a little. He dropped suddenly, going again for the knife. I let him get halfway down and then brought up my knee. It made a crunching sound against his face, throwing him backward. He hit the grillwork and bounced sideways.
He was out when he hit the floor, but one hand was still reaching for the knife. I was shaking when I bent and picked it up and dropped it through the side of the cage. I heard it tinkle far below and then there was silence.
The cage began to move of its own accord, downward. I let it go. When we reached the lobby I could see Chimp standing by the call button. When he slid back the doors I picked up Peone and threw him at Chimp’s feet. He lit with a soggy sound and lay still.
“That isn’t smart,” Chimp said in his soft voice. “He won’t like it.”
“I don’t like knives,” I said. My knee hurt where I had hit Peone with it. Reaction had left me shaking a little, but I felt better. I shut the doors on Chimp and pressed the button for five.
This was the first of the fancy floors, where the money stayed. Below five Hall had not redecorated and the rooms and hallways were as drab and ugly as the lobby. But from five on up it was like stepping into a different world, into a hotel fancier than anything else the town had to offer.
The door of 512 was in white, like Hall’s up higher, and there was a tiny number at one side. I rapped briskly.
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of footsteps. I said, “Room service.”
“I didn’t order anything.” It was Edna Loomis’ voice, I was certain.
“All right,” I said, “I’ll stand here and shout what I want to say.”
“It sounds like Mercer,” she answered. There was amusement in her voice.
The door came open. Edna Loomis was just like I remembered her, all gold and white and again wearing the golden negligee. The room behind her wasn’t as good a background as her own apartment, though. It was too subdued. “It is Mercer,” she said and let me in.
This was almost too easy, I thought. I went on past her. The room had no bed, which meant it was one of Hall’s
suites. Which meant, too, that she was laying out lots of cash for the privilege of staying here.
She seemed friendly enough. “Drink?” she said when she had shut the door.
“Whiskey,” I said. I watched her walk. “Where did you model?”
“New York,” she said without turning.
“Not here—on the coast?”
She was busy at a small bar, but she twisted her head long enough to look quizzically at me. Her arched eyebrows had risen a notch. “Why would I model here?”
“I thought maybe you met Nelle that way,” I said.
“I don’t know anyone named Nelle.”
She brought the drinks. I took mine. “Rich, beautiful, and intelligent,” I said. “Kiss it.”
She took the drink I held out, lifted it, and sipped. Handing it back, she sat down on the divan, drawing the glittering negligee around her legs. “Neither my lipstick nor my liquor is poison,” she said.
“I just wanted you to know that I’m intelligent, too,” I said. I tried the drink. It was strong.
“Now,” she said, when she had lighted one of her perfumed cigarets, “who is Nelle?”
“Johnny Doane
’s sister. The woman who paid you ten thousand dollars yesterday.”
She blew out smoke with a soft whoosh of breath. Her eyes laughed at me through the smoke. “Someone gave me ten thousand dollars?”
“Someone gave you a lot more than that.”
She stretched her body, arching it against the back of the divan. I looked at her but not the way she expected me to. It wasn’t her fault; she had a magnificent body. I just couldn’t work up any enthusiasm. She leaned forward after a moment and picked up her drink, tipping it against mine.
“To bigger and better givers,” she mocked me.
I said sarcastically, “You are Edna Loomis.”
“Mrs. Edna Loomis,” she said.
“And you have a bank account of over one hundred thousand dollars.”
She shook her head, her lips parted with interest. “That would be nice!”
“And you added ten thousand to it yesterday—when you deposited a check given you by Nelle Doane.”
“No,” she said. She sounded as if she meant it. “Yesterday I was in Portland.”
I took another swallow of my drink. The liquor was good, very smooth. “You’ve been here over a week,” I said. “And in that time you haven’t left your room.”
“No,” she said again. “I came back this morning by plane.”
“In and out?”
“Any time I care to,” she said. “Why not?”
It wasn’t the place to explain Kane Hall’s spy system to her. “Don’t the police object to your running around like this?”
“Why should they?” she asked. She looked over her glass at me and laughed. “They didn’t bother me long. After all, I was just an acquaintance of Joe’s.”
It took me a moment to remember that Joe was Considine. By then it was too late to do more than look skeptical. I said, “And an acquaintance of Johnny Doane.”
“Through Joe,” she said. “At a party at his place.”
“Then you didn’t tell the cops that Johnny was visiting you around midnight the night of the murder?”
Her eyes were very wide. “Was he?” She shook her head a little, negatively. “I was at the theater that night. I’m sorry.”
Blondes are Skin Deep Page 5