Guilt by Association

by Gilbert, Morris

  “He does all right.”

  “Maybe—but he’s building up his own little kingdom.” Overmile walked over to where she was sitting. He placed his heavy hand on her shoulder and said, “Best way I know of to start your own agency. Get in with a firm; convince the clients you’re the best; and when you hang out your sign, you’ve got clients.”

  Dani moved away from his touch, stood up, then shrugged. “No. Ben’s not thinking of that.” She bit her lip, and a frown came to her brow. “But he is too independent.” Al started to argue, but she cut him off and sent him out of the office. She stared out the window, watching the traffic, but thinking of the agency.

  Things were better, and she knew that she had done most of it. Still, it rankled that clients preferred Ben Savage. Dani was a logical thinker—but something inside her kept upsetting her judgment of the man. She thought again of her father’s opinion—either she was jealous of him, or she was attracted to him. She gave her shoulders an angry shake, picked up the report on the desk, and forced herself to work on it.

  That was on Tuesday, and more by chance than anything else, she got another “I’ll only speak to Ben Savage” call on Wednesday and two more on Thursday.

  The second Thursday call came at two in the afternoon, and Dani’s eyes glinted as she came out of her office, pulling on a tan jacket. “What’s Ben’s address?” she asked Angie.

  Angie looked at a sheet taped to her desk. “He lives at 4312 Hickory Street,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, something is wrong!” Dani snapped. “I’m sick of clients who’ll only talk to Ben. Darrell Simmons just called, and he wants to talk to Ben. So I’ve got to run him down! What’s he working on today?”

  “Well, I’m not sure—”

  “Never mind. I’ll leave him a note, if he’s not there.” Dani stamped out of the office, got into her car, and roared out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. She was so angry that she had started driving before she realized she had no idea where Hickory Street was, so she had to pull over and locate it on the city map.

  Dani drove up to a two-story white frame house in one of the older sections of town. It had once been fashionable, but the professional men who’d built the big houses had gone out with the tide, and now almost all the homes were boardinghouses. Most had signs, FURNISHED ROOMS FOR RENT, and a slightly sinister air hung over the decaying neighborhood. It was the sort of place where drugs flourished, and Dani made a note not to come back after dark.

  She went up the steep steps, rang the bell, and waited until a heavy woman with blue hair toddled down the hall. She glanced at Dani’s expensive clothes and asked warily, “You ain’t looking for no room, are you, dearie?”

  “No. Does Ben Savage have a room here?”

  The woman opened the door. “Sure. Room 202—top of the stairs. Hey!” She called out abruptly as Dani walked quickly by and went up the stairs. A sour grin lifted her lips, and she muttered, “He’s already got a girlfriend up there—but you look like a better bet.” She turned and padded back to her room, her worn slippers whispering as she moved. At the thought that there might be trouble—even a shooting—excitement brightened her eyes. She looked upward toward the second floor with hopeful interest, then shook her head, saying “Nah!” and went into her room.

  Dani found the numbers 202 over one of the four doors and knocked on it firmly. She heard nothing and had just raised her fist to knock again, when it opened, and Ben stood framed in the door. He was barefooted, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a thin cotton T-shirt. She brushed past him, saying angrily, “Where have you been? I can’t take time. . . !” Abruptly she halted, for a woman was sitting on the couch, staring at her. One look was all it took for Dani to recognize her trade. She wore too much makeup, and there was a sullen, sensuous quality in her features. Her mini skirt was hiked up, and her overblown figure was plainly revealed beneath the sheer cotton blouse. A bottle of whiskey, half-empty, sat on the coffee table, along with a glass; the woman held another glass.

  “Who’s this, Ben?” the woman asked harshly.

  “Just a friend,” he answered. He didn’t shut the door but gave Dani an inscrutable look. “Maybe you can come back later, Dani,” he said quietly.

  It was a dismissal, and a streak of raw anger ran through Dani. It was all so cheap—so tawdry! Her chin went up, and she forced herself to say evenly, “I don’t pay you for this kind of thing, Savage! Angie will send you your severance pay. You don’t have to come back.” She turned and left the house, letting the screen slam loudly, got into her car, and forced herself to drive away at a reasonable speed.

  She drove automatically for ten minutes, then gave her shoulders a shake and tried to think. The violence of her anger shocked her, and for the first time in her life Dani understood how a person could commit a violent act.

  Back at the office, Angie took one look at her and stood. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  Dani stared at her, her face paler than she knew, and said, “I just fired Ben.”

  Angie gasped. “But—what did he do, Dani?” Neither of them noticed that she used her employer’s first name.

  “He’s holed up with a street woman instead of doing what I’m paying him for.” The scene rolled back before her mind. Dani whirled and wordlessly went into her office. Angie didn’t dare to ask for any detail. She left at quitting time, and an hour later Dani left the office.

  Next morning, when she got to the office, Dani went at once to the file and pulled out the folder of the applications she had taken before hiring Savage. The longer she looked at them, the more hopeless it seemed.

  Angie came in, and a subdued silence lay between the two women. Neither mentioned Ben.

  At noon Angie stuck her head in Dani’s office and said, “I’m going to get a salad. Can I bring you something?”

  “No, thank you, Angie. Transfer the calls to me while you’re gone.”

  At twelve thirty-five the phone rang, and Dani answered, “Ross Investigations. This is Danielle Ross speaking.

  A man’s voice said, “Ah, Miss Ross, I was hoping to speak to your father.”

  Dani explained the situation and asked, “I’m in charge of investigations. May I help you?”

  “Well, I doubt it. It’s a rather complex affair—a financial problem. Actually I was calling your father to ask him to recommend some firm with the expertise to handle such a thing, but—”

  “I am a CPA. And I’ve worked on such things with the attorney general of Massachusetts.”

  A note of respect came into the voice. “Ah? Well, that is different. My name is Roy Lovelace. I live in Houston.”

  “Are you calling from there, Mr. Lovelace?”

  “No. This problem is quite—sensitive. I don’t want anyone from Houston even knowing about it.”

  “Why don’t you come to the office, Mr. Lovelace? I’d like to hear about this situation.”

  Following a slight hesitation, Lovelace said, “I suppose I’m a little paranoid about this thing—but I’d rather not be seen in New Orleans—especially going into a detective agency.” He paused, then asked, “I flew myself down in my own plane. I’m calling now from a gas station about a mile from the landing strip. It’s just outside a small town called Kenner. Do you know where that is?”

  Dani took down directions and replied, “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  She picked up her purse, slipped on her coat, and went through the door into the outer office. She hesitated, then stopped at Angie’s desk and wrote: Gone to talk with a client at Kenner. Be back by 3:30.

  As she propped the note up where Angie could not miss it, she noticed an envelope exactly in the middle of the desk. Her name was written in the center, and the name Savage was in the upper left-hand corner. She picked it up, stared at it, then grabbed a letter opener and slit the paper. Inside was a single sheet of paper, and she scanned it quickly. When she had finished, she took a deep breath and made a curious gesture—she do
ubled up her left hand and placed the forefinger in her mouth, biting it with her teeth. It was an action she had not used for a long time—a holdover from her childhood days, something she would do when she was hurt or frightened or guilty.

  Realizing what she was doing, Dani snatched the hand away and lifted the letter again. At the top it said, Report on the Tellerman Case. It was handwritten in strong, squarish letters, and in effect it said that a woman named Della Markham had witnessed the accident that had injured Virgil Tellerman. She had been promised a great deal of money not to come forward and testify, and she had agreed. The formal report ended: “Della Markham is now ready to testify that the accident that injured Virgil Tellerman was entirely the fault of the Case Bearings Company.” Then the last sentences were heavily underlined: This witness is highly defensive. She must not be pushed. It has taken a great deal of time and effort to bring her to the point of giving her testimony, and it would not take much to make her unwilling to testify. I suggest that you do not contact her, Miss Ross. Use another operator if possible.

  It was signed Ben Savage and dated November 29, 12:30 P.M. Dani looked at the door with a startled expression. “He must have brought it after Angie left for lunch!”

  She stood there, her hands not steady, and knew at once what had happened. He worked on the woman, brought her to the place where she’d tell the truth—and then I blundered in and wrecked it all! A bitter taste was in her mouth, and she knew at once what she had to do.

  Quickly she locked the office, hurried to her car, and pulled up in front of the boarding house on Hickory Street in record time. She was dashing up the steps, when a voice called out, “He ain’t there no more, dearie!”

  Dani stopped and turned to see the manager, the same fat woman she’d talked to the day before. Coming back down the steps, she asked, “He’s out?”

  “He’s moved, dearie!” The small eyes examined her with interest. “Packed his stuff and moved out today. Sold his car to a young guy who rooms here, for twenty-five bucks.”

  “Did he leave any forwarding address?”

  “Sure—Miami, General Delivery.”

  Feeling sick, Dani turned and left the house. She got into the car, started it, then drove down the street, thinking, He’s got a plane. It must be at the airport.

  Glancing at her watch, she saw that she had only thirty minutes to get to her meeting with Lovelace. As she stepped on the gas she decided: I’ll meet Lovelace, then go to the airport. They have to file flight plans, I think—I’ll have them radio him a message!

  She drove recklessly through the city, turned off the main highway, and five minutes later came to the sign that said MABLEVILLE. The airstrip was four miles out of town, exactly where Lovelace had indicated, and she saw a two-engine plane pulled up at the end of the strip. A man was standing under the wing, and he waved as she drove up.

  She stopped the car and got out as he moved to meet her. “Miss Ross? I’m Roy Lovelace.” She took his thick, strong hand, and he added, “I know you’re in a hurry, so if you’ll step into the plane, I’ll explain the situation and give you the papers you’ll need.”

  He was tall, six feet at least, with heavy shoulders and a strong neck. His eyes were light blue, and though his face was unlined, his hair was completely gray. Something of a military air hung about him, and for one instant she thought he looked familiar, but she could not place him.

  The plush cabin smelled of new leather. He climbed in and passed behind her, saying, “The papers are back here. Just one moment. . . .”

  Dani sat there, looking out over the fields of sugar cane that flanked the landing strip, thinking more about Ben than about Mr. Lovelace’s problem. The she shook her head and forced herself to put Savage out of her mind. One problem at a time.

  “Do you think it’ll be necessary for me to come to Houston, Mr. Lovelace?”

  His voice came from right behind her—and it sounded different somehow, though she couldn’t say why. “You’ve got a long trip to make, Miss Ross—but not to Houston.”

  Suddenly his arm came around her breast, holding her like an iron bar, and terror flooded her so completely, that for a moment she was paralyzed. She began to fight, to struggle with all her power, but she was like a child.

  He’s brought me out here to kill me! she thought frantically and at that same instant felt a sharp pain in her left shoulder. Dani cried out sharply and twisted her head to see a large hypodermic needle held in Lovelace’s large hand, piercing her flesh. She tried to butt him with her head, but only hit the back of the chair. As she watched in horror, he carefully pushed the plunger with a steady pressure, until the clear fluid was gone, and he pulled the needle out.

  “Just sit there quietly, Miss Ross,” he said in a conversational tone. “You’ll be going to sleep now—very soon.”

  4

  The Silo

  * * *

  The blackness was not absolute. Once a shattered ray of light broke through, and a faint, muffled voice filtered to Dani’s mind: “Better give her another shot—she’s waking up.” An almost imperceptible pricking sensation touched her arm, and she plunged again into the world of cotton-soft oblivion.

  Pyramids might have been built while she floated in the ebony night that muffled all sound and sight. Or it all might have been a flicker of time, taking no longer than the click of a rifle being cocked.

  Finally she became vaguely aware of being picked up like a child; an engine started up, whirring smoothly. She was swaying in space, the same sensation she’d had as a child, when her father had swung her in the tire swing he’d made for her, in the backyard. One rough jolt clicked her teeth and jerked her out of the velvet darkness—a summoning intensified by a light that shone suddenly like a dozen suns. Instinctively she squeezed her eyelids tight—sending brilliant showers of red and blue sparks dancing in front of her brain.

  A hand touched her face, and a voice said, “Stop crowding! Give her room to breathe!”

  It was a woman’s voice, but a heavier voice with a slight accent said, “Lonnie, carry her to her bunk.”

  “Sure, Commander.” Strong arms lifted her, and her face pressed against rough cloth smelling of strong soap. Heels clicked, and the sudden motion made her slightly nauseous, but very quickly, it seemed, the woman’s voice said, “Put her on this bunk, Lonnie.”

  “Sure, Doc.”

  Dani opened her eyes to thin slits, guarding against a bare light bulb that burned to her left. A man’s face hung over her—a round face with a pair of bright-blue eyes that regarded her intently. Then the other voice: “All right, Lonnie. You can look her over later.”

  “Hey, she’s coming around!” It was a new voice, more shrill than the first woman’s, and as her eyes grew accustomed to the light, Dani opened her eyes more widely and tried to sit up.

  Firm hands held her shoulders, and the first voice commanded, “Don’t try to sit up for a few minutes. Rachel, will you bring some cold water and a cloth?”

  Soon a rough cloth moved over Dani’s face, and the cold water sharpened her senses. She realized that she felt so thirsty that it was almost painful. Her lips were dry, and when she tried to ask for a drink, nothing came but a dry rasping sound. Then the cloth disappeared and an arm under her shoulders lifted her. “I know, you’re thirsty,” the woman said. Dani opened her eyes and saw an oval face, large blue eyes, a shock of blond hair tied up in a bun, and a generous mouth that now smiled.

  “Drink a little of this—slowly.” A cup was held to her lips, and Dani drank eagerly. She tried to take the cup in her hands. “No, just a little now. You can have more later,” the woman said firmly. “Do you want to lie down?”

  The cool liquid had lubricated her lips and throat well enough so that Dani could whisper. “No, let me sit up.”

  “All right, but you don’t want to do too much at first.” The woman lifted Dani’s legs and shifted her around in the bunk so that her back was against a hard surface. “My name is Karen,” she sai
d. “Better put your pillow behind you.”

  “Thank you.” Dani’s face felt stiff, but she managed to smile. “I’m Danielle Ross—Dani for short.” Her words sounded hollow, and she realized that they echoed the tone in Karen’s voice.

  “Welcome to the Hilton.” Several other women had been standing back, and now one stepped into the circle of light thrown by the light bulb. “I’m Candi Cane—your next-door neighbor.” She was short, not over five three or so, wearing a pair of tight jeans and a T-shirt. She had very blond hair and a heart-shaped face accented by large blue eyes.

  “Hello.” Dani nodded, then asked, “Neighbor?”

  “Sure,” Candi laughed. “I got the bunk next to yours. Hope you don’t snore!”

  Dani’s cleared vision took in the room—although room was not the best description of the large area. Several bare light bulbs were burning, attached to heavy white wires strung overhead, but when she looked upward, it gave her a dizzy sensation.

  There was no ceiling! She peered up, trying to see past the murky darkness just over the light bulbs, but the dim light faded, shading off into an inky blackness. She had the sensation that she was in the bottom of some sort of shaft and drew her eyes quickly down to avoid the sensation.

  She saw that the large space was roughly a half circle. Across from her bunk a concrete block wall about eight feet high ran the length of the area. At the end to her left it was broken by a door through which a faint glow broke the dim light. From each end of the flat wall, the room curved in a wide arc. The wall was, she guessed, no more than thirty-five feet or so, but a sense of openness resulted from the sweeping, circular walls. She reached back and touched the wall behind her, finding it to be chilly metal, slightly moist with condensation.

  “Have another drink—just three or four swallows,” Karen said, and Dani drank it down more slowly than before. “How do you feel?”