Black Night Falling
Page 27
‘I don’t have the details. I’ll see to it you get to speak with her.’
‘When?’
‘Let me see what I can arrange.’ He wiped a line of sweat from his top lip and took his hat off. ‘Quite the evening you had last night. My men found Cole Barrett’s LaSalle and the gun in the glove box. It’s being sent to Little Rock for testing. Is it Layfield’s like you said?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s see if the analysis tells the same story you do. Officially you’re still the prime suspect in the murders of Barrett, and Clay and Leland Tucker.’
‘Then why haven’t you had me charged yet?’
He tapped the cuff with the brim of his hat. ‘I’m confident you’re not going anywhere.’
‘You know it wasn’t me.’
He let out a breath. ‘After what I saw last night, let’s say I’m keeping an open mind. I want to get a formal statement on the record as soon as possible – not least because I want to know just what the hell is going on.’
I closed my eyes, seeing Tindall’s face after Layfield had pulped it. ‘Did you get Tindall?’
‘William Tindall is dead. He suffered a gunshot wound and massive head trauma. He died at the scene.’
The words didn’t move me at all – no sense of vengeance, just emptiness; another body strewn on the trail I’d been damned to walk. ‘Did you know about him?’ I said.
‘Know what?’
‘That he and Coughlin were in cahoots?’
‘I don’t recognise that description of the situation.’ He looked to the side a moment, thinking, then back at me. ‘Off the record, I was aware he was tangential to Coughlin’s activities – but given my enquiries into those activities are ongoing, that’s as much as I’m willing to say right now.’
A politician’s answer. The thought crossed my mind that he’d ignored Tindall because he didn’t hold an elected office he could make a play for. At another time it might have got my blood up, but lying in that bed, I couldn’t summon the interest to care. If the worst of Masters’ character was his too-ferocious desire for political power, he was still a better man than those he was trying to oust. ‘I’m willing to testify against Coughlin.’
He nodded, a thin smile on his lips, but he held up his hand. ‘Well, that’s music to my ears, but don’t say anything more for now – I don’t want to leave myself open to accusations of prejudicing your testimony.’
I understood why he’d brought the trooper with him, then – a witness. Always cautious.
I touched my face, my left cheekbone tender from Layfield’s punch. ‘How did you find me last night?’
‘An anonymous tip.’
I drew a blank at hearing it. ‘Seems to happen a lot around here.’
‘Man called in to say you were hiding out at the Viceroy and that a posse was on its way to punch your ticket. That’s why I brought in the state police – had a feeling any Hot Springs cop would happily see you wear one because of what happened to Barrett.’
I gave a slight nod in appreciation – as much as I could manage.
‘The doctor says you need some rest before we can get down to business, so I’ll take my leave for a few hours. Do you want to avail yourself of an attorney?’
‘I don’t need an attorney. I need a telephone.’
He put his hat back on and tipped it as he left.
*
Masters was good to his word. Ten minutes after he went, the trooper appeared with a nurse pushing an empty wheelchair. He unlocked the cuff from the bed rail and motioned for me to climb in.
‘I’ll walk.’
‘Suit yourself.’ He snapped the cuff around his own wrist, chaining us together. Then he led me to an administration office outside the ward and pointed to the telephone. ‘Your wife’s on the line.’
I snatched up the receiver. ‘Lizzie?’
‘Charlie – Charlie, are you all right?’
‘Where are you? Are you safe?’
‘I’m at the Journal, Mr Acheson came to collect me himself.’
‘What happened? What did they do to you?’
‘They tried to take me.’ There were tears on the edge of her voice. ‘Two men, they were waiting to take me right off the street.’
I blinked and my vision was straight red. ‘Tried? What do you mean—’
‘I saw them. I’d seen them before and I put it together. It was just like Texarkana. When they were waiting for you outside the house.’
‘Slow down, what do you mean you saw them? Who?’
She stole a breath. ‘The day before last, I saw a car outside the Journal offices, and I had a feeling then. It was parked down at the corner of the block, but there was two of them in there, I saw them look at me then turn away. They all have that same type of face, they all . . .’ She sounded in shock.
‘Take your time.’
‘When I was home yesterday morning, I kept checking the street outside the apartment, trying to think what I should do, even though I couldn’t see any sign of them. I thought— I thought I was being paranoid, but I’d been looking into it like you said; I’d put it together. Then when I came back from the grocery store last night, they were there, right across the street. There was only one of them in the car. I looked out and I couldn’t see the other one. I slowed up because I just wanted to scream. And then I saw him, in the rearview, walking right towards me. Coming up on the driver’s side. I knew what was happening. I knew exactly what that . . .’ She swallowed quietly. ‘I was shaking. I stamped on the accelerator— I ran the stop sign at the end of the block. I looked back once and saw them, standing there, just watching me go. Calm. As if they could come again anytime they wanted.
‘After that I just drove. I didn’t stop until I was out of the city and then I kept going – like you would. I took a room in a motel in Oxnard and just locked myself in there until I could get my wits about me. I didn’t know who to call or where you were or how to contact you so I just waited there, climbing the damn walls trying to work out what to do.’
‘They told me they had you. I went after the men—’
‘Tindall. It was Tindall told you that, wasn’t it?’
I was stunned into silence a moment, wondering just what I’d done to my wife. ‘How did you know that? What did you mean you put it together?’
‘Sal put me on to a man he knows at the LA Sentinel, Mr Booth. Sal said he was an old-timer from the New York papers who’d be able to better fill me in on Tindall from way back.’
I knew the name, not the man.
‘I contacted him about Tindall and he didn’t think he had anything helpful to say, so he started telling me about all the criminal figures in Los Angeles that have connections to Tindall going back to their time in New York. I didn’t recognise most of the names, but I knew Mickey Cohen, from the papers, and Benjamin Siegel. I remembered Mr Acheson saying your story had to do with Siegel making regular visits to Hot Springs and I knew then it had to be more than a coincidence. Mr Booth said they were in the same gang in New York. It had to be that he was going there to see Tindall.’
The name I’d dropped so casually to Acheson came back to haunt me now: Benjamin ‘Bugsy’ Siegel. His link to Hot Springs was the blaring warning sign I’d missed. He was the story all along.
‘And then I thought about the burglary, and the timing of it and the fact you were out there and I just had this feeling it was all linked. It’s what you always say about coincidences. I wanted to tell you what I’d learned and see what you thought, but I had no way to contact you. I tried to leave a message at the motel you were in before but they said you’d disappeared, and then I got really scared. Then when I saw that car waiting outside . . .’
She sounded exhausted and I wondered when she’d last slept without fear. ‘It’s done now. Tindall is dead.’
The line crackled. Then she said, ‘Was it you?’
‘No.’
‘What happened?’
‘When I get back. There are
things I need to tell you, but when I see you. I’ll be back as soon as they let me go.’
‘Let you go? Where are you?’
‘I’m fine. I found the man who killed those brothers. I can clear everything up now, I just need to tell what I know to the authorities. Have you somewhere safe to stay?’
‘Mr Acheson insisted I stay with them. He’s been a wonder.’
‘Good. Look after yourself. I’ll be there soon.’
*
When they took me back to my bed, an orderly had left a pitcher of water and a glass on my table. I picked it up to pour with my free hand, the movement made awkward by the cuffs, and realised there was an unmarked envelope leaning against it. I looked around, a sense of unease descending over me. There was no one else on the ward.
I held the envelope with my teeth and tore it open. There was a typed note inside:
The keys to a fruitful convalescence are silence and a timely removal to the comforts of the California sunshine. With sincerest regards for the health of your good lady wife, Miss Lizzie.
It was unsigned, but the threat implied in the language meant it could only be from Coughlin. I read it again, then resisted the urge to tear it apart, instead folding it and stashing it under my pillow.
His meaning was obvious – say goose egg about him to Sam Masters. The rage came over me, and it was all I could do not to topple the bedside table to the floor. I tried to control it. I wondered if Coughlin had the juice to get to Lizzie in California – or if that connection died with Tindall. It felt like a roll of the dice by a man who knew his time was running short – but then I remembered Masters cautioning me about Coughlin’s desperation making him dangerous. I figured Lizzie was safe for now as long as she was with Acheson.
I yelled the hospital down demanding they get Masters back so I could start talking, but the doctor insisted I take some rest first. As I waited for him, I thought about Harlan Layfield and how I’d had the chance to stop him back in Texarkana. I’d walked away from the murders there thinking I’d done enough by stopping Callaway and the rest of them – but if I’d have stayed on, seen everyone involved brought to justice, then the three women would still be alive. Same for Robinson.
The guilt was bad, and it came with a chaser. When I finished raking through everything, I couldn’t get away from the fact that Layfield had saved my life when he shot that gunman in the window. The shooter was inches from my head; there was no way he would have missed. Layfield’s motivation might have been selfish – I was just a warm body with a gun who happened to be backed into the same corner he was – but that didn’t change the fact I wouldn’t be alive save for him. My heart still beating only on his intervention. It felt like a taint on my soul.
*
The doctors discharged me after twenty-four hours, under heavy pressure from Masters. He had me moved to the state police lockup in Malvern, saying he couldn’t guarantee my safety if we stayed in Hot Springs. He kept me there for two days of solid questioning. A murder detective from the Little Rock division was brought in to conduct the interrogation, but Masters was present throughout, and it was clear who was running the show.
I talked for hours – my version of the truth, Texarkana and up. I laid bare everything I knew Layfield to have done, the murders he committed and his connections to Tindall and Coughlin. Then I started lying.
I omitted the fact I was present in Winfield Callaway’s house the night he and all the others died, and hoped like hell the truth went to the grave with Layfield. Turned out I could relax on that score because Masters had little interest in matters prior to Hot Springs – anything that wouldn’t lead directly to Coughlin. But the flip side of that coin landed when he started asking about why I’d ditched out on the meet we’d arranged to hand over Layfield’s gun to him. It got hairy, trying to keep my story straight, convincing, but I brazened it out, admitting I’d met with Coughlin at his house, but making no mention of the gun I’d used to persuade him out there.
Masters looked doubtful throughout, especially when I got to the part about Layfield shooting Coughlin, giving me a chance to escape. ‘Then how come I haven’t heard anything to that effect?’
The answer came the next morning when stories emerged of Teddy Coughlin being wounded in the process of foiling a robbery at his home. The Recorder splashed on it, carrying a picture of a defiant Coughlin with his arm in a sling, his trademark carnation pinned to it. According to the account, Coughlin had made an unscheduled return to his house having skipped a dinner engagement due to feeling unwell. Upon entering, he disturbed a masked intruder who was in the throes of ransacking his study. Coughlin was shot in the arm as he beat a retreat from the room, sustaining a serious, but non-life-threatening injury. It went on to state that, despite his wounds, Coughlin had made it to the gun safe he kept in his bedroom, armed himself, and proceeded to drive the assailant from his property. The article painted Coughlin as a hero, and the hack who wrote it speculated he’d see a surge in his electoral support as a result.
As the interviews with Masters dragged on, and the questions repeated, his initial optimism faded and his mood darkened. The truth was I had no hard evidence against Coughlin. I showed him the note I’d been sent at the hospital, and he was in agreement with me about who’d penned it – but it counted for nothing because it was clear that Masters’ best shot at implicating Coughlin for his crimes had died with Cole Barrett.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Monday morning I heard the door to the cell block open, but it wasn’t the usual guard came down the gangway. Instead Masters appeared, looking ashen. I jumped up from the bare cot I was sitting on, fearing it was something to do with Lizzie.
He gripped the bars and fixed me with a stare. ‘I just took a call from your wife. It concerns her house in Texarkana. There was an accident last night and I’m afraid it burned down.’
‘An accident?’
‘Apparently so. The locals are investigating, but early indications are that there are no suspicious circumstances.’
‘A goddamn accident? You’re not buying that.’
He pursed his lips and looked at the floor.
‘That son of a bitch Coughlin,’ I said. ‘You saw the note, this is him trying to convince me to stonewall you.’
He swallowed before he spoke. ‘You can’t make that assumption. But I’ll concede, if I was a gambling man, that’s where I’d lay my money.’
‘Goddammit.’ I smacked the wall with the flat of my hand, seeing a war without end. ‘I want to speak to my wife.’
‘She asked that I relate to you that she’s all right.’
‘I don’t give a damn, I want to speak to her.’
‘You’ll be able to shortly. Your release papers are being drawn up. There are no charges.’
I took a deep breath at that, but the relief was rendered meaningless by what had happened.
‘I may need you to come back when I bring the case against Coughlin. That won’t be until I take office in January, so for right now, I’d advise you to go home to your wife and not look back.’
‘You expect me to just forget about everything he’s done to me?’
‘I told you when we first met: I’ll get Coughlin, but I’ll do it within the law. Be satisfied with that.’
*
They let me out three hours later. The desk sergeant who processed my release gave me a used pair of trousers and a creased shirt to wear in place of the denims they’d kept me in – my own threads long since disposed of. In the pocket, I found some money and a note explaining it was to cover my bus fare to Little Rock, from where I could start the journey west to California. Masters’ initials were scribbled at the bottom. I appreciated the gesture, but I was pretty sure he just wanted to wash his hands of me.
As soon as I was out, I made the call to Lizzie. Her emotion bubbled over when she heard I was free and coming home, and even when I asked her about the fire, it didn’t seem to dim her exuberance. She recounted what she’d been t
old by a fire department official in Texarkana – that the cause was uncertain, but indications were it was a result of an electrical wiring failure.
Her manner came as a surprise – she came off detached. ‘I thought you’d be more upset.’
‘I was at first. But the more I think about it, the more I feel as though it’s a weight lifted.’
‘You care to explain that to me?’
She took a breath. ‘It’s been playing on my mind ever since we got here. Always having that link. All the things inside that needed taking care of. Now we’re free of it. We never need go back there. Pop took care of the insurance, so we won’t lose out.’
I went to ask about everything that she’d lost – the photographs of her parents and Alice, items of sentimental value – and then I realised either she’d made her peace with it or at least was trying to. It wasn’t for me to argue with that. ‘I’m heading for the bus station now. I’ll be back in two or three days, just as soon as I can be.’
It was the truth, with one omission. I squared it with myself by promising I’d tell her everything later. I hung up the telephone and went to catch a bus to Hot Springs. One last time. A risk worth taking.
*
I figured the cops wouldn’t know yet that I’d been cleared of Barrett’s murder, so I moved with circumspection when I got to town.
It was late afternoon when I arrived. That morning’s Recorder carried Coughlin’s campaign schedule for the day; he was due to speak at a rally at the United Methodist Church on Grand Avenue at four o’clock. Alongside it, the results of a poll taken in the wake of his injuries showed the early predictions were correct: he’d overtaken Masters’ candidate for mayor, Edgar Burton, for the first time in weeks.
United Methodist was a five minute walk from Violet Drive. I took a detour on my way from Central Avenue so I could go by Ella Borland’s house. I wasn’t certain what my reason for going was until I got there and saw it.
The drapes were open; I cupped my eyes to the window and looked inside. The front room was mostly bare, the beginnings of a film of dust just visible on the surfaces that caught the light. There was a cup on its side on the table and an ashtray that had been spilled on the floor and left. Signs of a haphazard exit. I realised then it was what I’d wanted to see. Evidence that Ella Borland had made her choice and decided not to throw in with Tindall and his men. That whatever she’d said and done before, when she had the chance to escape, she took it.