Murder for the Bride

by John D. MacDonald

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I had to sit up with a sick friend. Feeble, wasn’t it?”

  “Nothing like making me feel at home, Tram.”

  “Es su casa, as we old bullfighters say. Barney was enigmatic. Where the hell were you hiding?”

  “Under a wet rock.”

  “So? You know, I thought I heard the loose connecting rods on Jill’s heap just before you arrived. Sound carries nice on this night air. And I decided that Jill’s place would have made a nice little hidey-hole for you, even though the young lady is colder than the proverbial well-digger’s wallet.”

  “From experience you speak?”

  “From the experience of futile attempts, during which I was laughed at. Hideous thing for a man of my sensibilities. Always thought there was hidden talent there. Did she make you comfy?”

  “On the couch.”

  He turned and awkwardly fixed a new drink. His brown chest was bare and he wore the perennial faded sarong. There is a wide band of rubbery fat around his middle. Not unhealthy fat. Rather, the sort of fat you see on middle-aged Hawaiians who still do a lot of swimming and fishing.

  “To descend into pure corn for a moment, Dil, let me say that I am your boy. Lawyers, pressure, refuge, or alley-type fisticuffs.”

  I felt a stinging sensation in my eyes. A friend is a rare thing, and precious. “Thanks, Tram.”

  “There will now be a brief interlude of music, mostly violins.”

  “Tram, I’m being pushed around without entirely knowing why.”

  “That sounds revoltingly familiar. What does it remind me of? Ah, yes. Our Army careers. Hurry up and wait, soldier.”

  I’d been a battalion commander of an engineer outfit on Pick’s Pike, more commonly known as the Ledo Road. Or the Stilwell Road. My outfit pushed the lead cats out along the track. Tram had been on the staff at Ledo Headquarters, Advance Section I. We’d had a few laughs, a few monumental drunks at Calcutta, a pair of cute little No’th Ca’lina nurses from the station hospital at Chabua. We’d been shot at in anger, and we’d hated the same general officers, and we’d lived through a couple of monsoon seasons while atabrine turned us as yellow as the Chinese troops heading down the line to Myitkyina.

  Nobody had saved anybody’s life. We’d just got along pretty well. Assam and North Burma hadn’t sapped Tram’s energy or lessened his bounce. We’d agreed to keep in touch after the war. We might not have done that had I not worked out of the New Orleans office of Trans-Americas, his home town and great love.

  “That was a hell of a mess, the way Laura was killed, Dil.”

  “It was pretty cold and pretty professional.”

  “When you have something that somebody wants badly enough to kill you for, then you better get rid of it. You know, I’ve been thinking and thinking about it. I’ve talked with Bill French. We’ve been wondering what the hell it was she smuggled in. What do you think it was, Dil? Jewels? Dope?”

  “Information. Some kind of document. Spy stuff, Tram.” With what he was doing for me, it would have been pretty stuffy to clam up on him.

  “Shades of Mr. Oppenheim, eh? Plans of the secret weapon. Cloaks and daggers under a waning moon.”

  “I know how it must sound to you. It sounded that way to me, too. Now I’m used to it. Hell, as far as I’m concerned now, there’s a spy behind every bush.”

  “O.K. Even though it’s intellectually painful, I’ll go along with the assumption that she brought in some kind of information. Did they get it from her?”

  “No. She got rid of it somehow. Or maybe it was memorized.”

  “But I don’t suppose they could take a chance that it was memorized—that is, if it was highly important?”

  “No. She had a partner. Maybe he had it. He’s dead. Maybe they took it off him. If so, then the heat will be off me. The damn fools still think I’ve got it.”

  “And you haven’t?”

  “Hell, no!”

  He was silent for a while. He said, “Dil, I know you pretty well. I know just how stubborn you can be. It would be just like you to hang onto something she gave you just out of pure orneriness.”

  “Brother, if I had it, I wouldn’t have it any longer. I would have given it to the right people and they’d have it in Washington by now, believe me.”

  “Parlor patriot?”

  “Call it that if you want to.”

  “You’d turn it in, even when it might lead you to the guy who killed Laura if you should hang onto it?”

  I gave my answer considerable thought. When I spoke my voice sounded far away, and very tired. “A funny thing, Tram. I was panting around wanting to get my hands on the guy who killed her. I wanted to kill him with my hands. But I’ve learned a lot of things. And now I don’t care too much any more. I think maybe Laura was overdue for killing. I think she had done some things that canceled out her right to keep living. I almost hope she died hard. She was just a disease I had for a while. I can look back on my time with her the way you look back on a fever, a high fever that blurs outlines and intensifies colors.”

  “Pliers and a wire coat hanger don’t make what you’d call a very merciful weapon, Dil.”

  “I think she was unconscious when it was done. I feel a hell of a lot sorrier for that little girl I’m supposed to have killed in Harrigan’s apartment. She knew what was coming, and just how it was going to be done.”

  “Are you sorry for the big guy in the alley, too?”

  “Not exactly.” It was bone-weariness, I guess, but the two drinks plus what I’d had at Jill’s made my lips feel thick and numb. I felt a little dizzy too. I heard myself talking about Haussmann, about Talya, about all manner of things.

  “Get it all off your chest, boy,” Tram said softly. “Talk it out. That’s the best way. I’ll fix you another.”

  The words poured out. A monotonous flood. It was good of Tram to sit and listen to it all.

  I gabbled like a girl. The cornflowers for Talya. The guy with the sunburned nose, cleaning his fingernails. Jill’s research file. The color of Siddman’s face. As I talked, my voice slowly went rusty, and my lips wouldn’t fit around the words any more.

  Vaguely I can remember leaning heavily on Tram as he walked me into the bedroom. I can remember staring into a bathroom mirror at a face that didn’t look like mine, then falling across the bed.

  When I awakened Monday morning it was ten o’clock and Tram had gone to his office. I’ve never felt worse. Sammy brought in some clothes of Tram’s. They bagged around the middle, but they were clean.

  My stomach quivered on the edge of nausea. It was a full hour before I could attempt black coffee, liberally laced with brandy. It was Sammy’s polite recommendation. It worked fine. At about eleven-thirty I had a genuine breakfast and read the morning paper. I was still the object of a city-wide man hunt. It was like reading about somebody else. I remembered the way Jill had acted when she drove me out the night before, and I began to wonder what I could do. I was dialing when Sammy came silently up behind me and reached around me and pushed the cradle buttons down.

  “Terrible sorry, suh, but Mr. Widdmar, he left strict orders for you to do no telephonin’ today.”

  I shrugged. It was probably a pretty smart idea. Tram stood to lose a lot if anyone got a line on where I was hiding. I played some of his old jazz records, took a swim, and managed to get thoroughly restless.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tram came bouncing lustily in a little after five, shedding his city clothes, singing in a thunderous baritone about a lady known as Lou. He came out in flowered trunks and plunged, snorting and bellowing, into the pool.

  It wasn’t until he came out onto the poolside mattress, puffing and hammering water out of his ear, that I got a chance to talk to him.

  “Have a good day?” he said.

  “Oh, dandy! Any more days like this and you better send your demure damosel around before boredom drives me nuts.”

  “I thought you’d
be too busy with your hangover.”

  “It really hit me last night.”

  “Your energy was down, I think.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t make a recording of that gab fest, Tram.”

  “I let you talk, and it was a struggle. I’d rather hear myself talk any time.”

  “Look, I’ve got to decide what to do. It’s a nice house and all that, but I can’t spend the rest of my life here.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too. Dil, I don’t think you ought to risk bucking the officials on this. They grab you and they’re going to have a time. I made some calls. This hiding hasn’t done you any good. I’ve been kidding around, Dil, but right now I’m serious. I think you ought to get the hell out of town. Maybe out of the country, and let this thing blow over.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I’m not. That’s the bad part of it. You don’t know what public hysteria can do. They’re about to hang you in effigy down there in the city. And let me ask you one question. Can you prove, Dil, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you didn’t kill that girl and the guy in the alley?”

  “No, but—”

  “You’d have to have that sort of proof to make it a good gamble to turn yourself in. You know I don’t get hysterical. But right now I’m actually afraid of what they might do to you if they get their hands on you.”

  “This sounds crazy!”

  “Boy, how many men have been strapped into the chair or dropped through the trap thinking, They can’t do this to me? Use your head.”

  “What have you got in mind?”

  “I’ve got the contacts. It shouldn’t be too much of a trick to send you down the river on a freighter. Venezuela might be all right. You know your way around in Venezuela.”

  “Somehow, it doesn’t seem like a good idea. I’m going to have to think about it, Tram. Even so, I don’t think I’ll do it.”

  “You better do something.”

  “That’s for sure. Look, I want to get in touch with Jill.”

  “I don’t think that’s so smart.”

  “Hell, Tram. She knows I’m here.”

  “I don’t think you should.”

  “Look. Thanks a hell of a lot for the refuge and all that. But let me decide who I get in touch with. Getting hold of Jill won’t get you in a jam.”

  “Suppose my phone is tapped? What then?”

  “Get hold of her yourself. Ask her to come on out here. She’s smart enough not to give anything away on the phone.”

  “What good will it do to talk to her?”

  “That’s what I mean, Tram. Let me decide that.”

  “What are you getting all heated up about?”

  “I’m not heated up. This place is fine until it begins to smell like a jail.”

  “You don’t understand the risk I’m taking. They might even jail me for hiding you here.”

  I took a deep breath. There was a faintly surly look on his broad cupid’s face. “Tram. Listen to me. I want to talk to Jill. The why of it is none of your business. Let me phone her, or you phone her to come out here.”

  “Is that some kind of ultimatum?”

  “The alternative is that I go in and see her.”

  “They’ll pick you up, sure.”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  He braced himself on one elbow and gave me a slow lewd grin. “She must be hotter than I thought, boy.”

  My own reaction surprised and shocked me. It was totally unexpected. One minute he was grinning up at me and the next instant I had kicked him off the rubberized mattress into his own pool. I wanted to cut my foot off at the ankle.

  He floundered up over the edge and stared at me. “What the hell, Dil?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t know why I did it. Believe me.”

  He inspected the abrasion on his brown chest. He seemed more shocked than angry. Then, surprisingly, he began to laugh. He laughed so hard he fell down and rolled on the mattress and the tears rolled out of his eyes.

  “All right,” he said, when he could get his breath. “I’ll phone the black-haired wench for you.” He grabbed my wrist and looked at my watch. “Probably won’t get her, but I’ll try.”

  “What makes you think you won’t get her?”

  “Oh, there’s a party I think she was invited to. We’ll try.”

  He padded into the house, leaving damp footprints. I was on his heels. He found the number on his phone pad and dialed. I stood close enough to him so that I could hear it ringing in her apartment. It rang three times.

  He took the phone from his ear and smiled at me. “See? You’ll have to—”

  I heard an odd sound come over the wire. I snatched the phone out of his hand. There was a thudding sound and a faint weak cry. And the phone in her apartment was carefully replaced.

  “She’s in trouble!” I shouted at Tram. “Let’s get down there!”

  His eyes were wide and round. “God! Look in the front of the book. Give me the police number. They can get there faster than we can.”

  “Dial the operator.”

  He did so. He stood close to the table. I jittered with impatience. Then he said, “Sergeant? I just phoned Miss Jill Townsend and heard sounds of a struggle, some sort of trouble at her apartment, I think.” I heard him give the address as I paced nervously back and forth.

  There was a mirror at the corner of the hallway. Tram’s back was to me. I happened to glance in the mirror. I saw that he held the phone in his right hand. The thick index finger of his left hand was holding the cradle down. He was talking into a dead line. I looked at his broad, brown wet back and felt a sudden sense of shock and horror stronger even than what I felt in that instant when I saw Talya’s body.

  “And I’ll phone back in a while and find out, Sergeant,” he said.

  It gave me just time to collect myself, to forcibly restrain myself from spinning him around and smashing him in the mouth. My face wasn’t under control yet. As he hung up, I turned away and walked blindly out toward the patio. He padded along behind me and put his hand on my shoulder and said soothingly, “That’s the best way, boy. They’ll radio a cruiser. It’s probably heading for her place right now.”

  “What do you think it could be?” I asked, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

  “God only knows. Maybe it was just a touch of heat exhaustion. She might have fainted just as she picked up the phone or something.”

  I had enough control then to turn around and look at him. His smile was broad and pleasant. My good friend Tram. My buddy.

  “Say!” he said. “I better get dressed.”

  “I’ll come along and keep you entertained with light conversation.”

  “You do that.”

  I hadn’t been in his bedroom before. It was the most enormous bed I had ever seen. At least ten feet long and eight feet wide.

  “How do you like my skating rink, boy?”

  “Very, very fancy.”

  He eeled out of the swimming trunks and went into the big bathroom. The shower stall had a glass door. I let him get in and get his head soaped. I took a jar of deodorant from the shelf over the sink and wrapped it in a towel. His back was to the glass door. I yanked it open and swung the towel like a sap. The padded glass chunked against his skull. He swayed, tried to turn, and went down in a flaccid heap. I turned off the shower and dragged him out into the center of the bathroom floor.

  I knotted neckties tightly around his wrists and ankles. There was tape in the cabinet. I shoved two more ties into his mouth and crisscrossed the tape across his lips. He was heavy and slippery, but I got him on my shoulder and staggered in and dropped him on the bed. I yanked both sheets from under him, soaked one in the shower, and wrapped it tightly around him. I turned him face down and covered him with the second sheet. Then I found the drapery cords and darkened the room. He had emptied his pockets onto the top of the bureau. I took his car keys, looked at the dwindling state of my own finances, and emp
tied his wallet into mine.

  As I shut the bedroom door quietly behind me, Sammy was coming down the hall. I held my finger to my lips. “He’s got a hell of a headache, Sammy. He’s trying to take a nap. He told me to tell you. If he can get to sleep, he doesn’t want to be awakened for dinner.”

  “Not like him, suh,” Sammy said, frowning. “He never feels poorly.”

  “He does today. I’ve got an errand in town. I’m borrowing a car. That Ford will be O.K.”

  “I’ll bring it around, suh. And you be careful you don’t get caught, Mr. Bryant.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Every foot of the way back to the Quarter I felt as though thousands of eyes were watching me. I circled Jill’s block on Ursulines. Pedestrian traffic seemed normal. There was no sign of her car. I couldn’t see it in the tiny parking lot where she usually leaves it when it isn’t parked in front of her door. I was glad I had forgotten to return her key, and that she had forgotten to ask for it. I parked, got the key in my hand, and walked as casually as I could up to the wooden door. I inserted the key gently, careful to keep out of line of the tiny view hole cut in the door. The lock clicked open. I yanked the door open and went in fast, pulling it shut behind me. I flattened myself against the wall and listened. I could hear the slow drip of a faucet, nothing else.

  My heart was hammering and blood was roaring in my ears as I inched forward.

  The apartment was empty. A chair had been moved close to the grillework iron door, on the living-room side of it. Two nylon stockings lay knotted and slashed on the floor, one still looping the chair leg. It wasn’t hard to reconstruct what had happened.

  Jill had been there, tied to the chair. The phone had rung. Those who guarded her had intended that it should ring unanswered. But the phone was on the other side of the grillework door from the chair. Probably a loop of the wire had sagged through the bars of the door. Somehow Jill had managed to yank on the wire and pull the phone off, had tried to scream for help.