Murder for the Bride

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Murder for the Bride Page 14

by John D. MacDonald


  Those who guarded her had no way of knowing who had heard the cry. So they had immediately cut her loose and taken her away. I went into the bedroom. The folder was gone. I looked carefully around the area of the chair. Near the door, on the floor, I found two spots of blood, each one no bigger than a dime. They were still wet and fresh. It made me feel as though someone had stabbed me in the belly with a broad-bladed knife, turning it with the thrust.

  What the hell did they want with her?

  The Jills of this world should be kept out of this sort of mess.

  I went back down the hallway and looked through the small hole cut through the door. Some scrawny female young fry were skipping a languid rope across the street. A young girl leaned crossed tan forearms on the shaded window sill facing the banquette and talked earnestly to a sultry-looking young man who leaned against the wall beside the window, his face a mask of arrogant boredom. A sway-backed horse clopped slowly down the street, pulling a trash wagon, his sagging skin rippling under the flies.

  My range of vision was restricted. Across the street I could see a sharp black shadow of a man. I could not see the man who cast the shadow. He leaned against a post. His hat was tilted back off his forehead. He did not move. I weighed my chances. Maybe he was watching the doorway. Maybe he had seen me go in. Maybe he was a guy killing time, or waiting for a girl. Soon the sun would go beyond the cornice of the building, and I would be able to see his shadow no longer. The clothes Tram had lent me were not exactly what you’d call inconspicuous. The white linen trousers were so baggy at the waist that I wore the shirt outside of them. The short-sleeved shirt was pallid green, with dark blue sailfish leaping on it.

  It was twenty steps to the car. Probably just a guy waiting for somebody else. Dangerous to stay here too long.

  And then his shadow changed. I saw the arms come up, the head dip. It was an odd, suggestive pattern. I thought for a moment he was winding a watch. His right wrist kept turning slowly. And suddenly I realized that he was cleaning his fingernails. And I knew who he was. I knew Laura had seen him. And Jill. And Talya.

  I heard a twanging voice coming up the sidewalk on my side, heard the shuffle of many feet. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, ahead on your left you will see the old Ursulines Convent. The Ursulines of France were the Gray Sisters. They made a contract to educate the young-uns here in Louisiana, and the first of them came over here in 1726. You will notice the architecture, particularly the …”

  At the moment when the group was directly opposite the door, I slipped out quickly. I hoped to go along with the group for a few paces, and get into the car quickly enough to get away. I bumped into a stocky perspiring woman who had gloves in one hand and a stringy daughter in the other. She glared at me. I apologized meekly. There were about twenty people in the group, about five of them men. The guide was a withered little man with a peaked motorman’s hat and a penetrating voice. The tourists looked as if they had been trudging around for far too long.

  I glanced quickly toward the other curb, toward the post. He was as Jill had described him. A sandy man with a tight, give-nothing face. He wore a pale gray suit, well-pressed, and a brown cocoa straw hat with a maroon band. Late twenties, I guessed—perhaps older. Our eyes met in that instant. He held the match with which he had been cleaning his nails. He was motionless, his elbows outthrust slightly. There was no look of surprise on his face, just a watchfulness. Then with a deft muscular daintiness, somewhat reminiscent of Cagney in moments of anticipated brutality, he tossed the match back over his shoulder and started across the street. I could see him out of the corner of my eye. I began to shoulder my way forward through the slow-moving group.

  “The Gray Sisters had a lot of trouble, folks. The ship they came over on hit a rock and nearly sank. They were becalmed. Pirates nearly got them. They got stuck on a sand bar out in the Gulf. All in all, it took them five dreadful months to make the trip from France to the mouth of the river, and another week to come upriver to New Orleans by canoe.”

  I reached the car, and just as I grasped the door handle the man opened the door on the far side of the car and slid behind the wheel. I let go of the door handle and kept on with the group. Twenty paces further on I glanced back. He had left the car and was sauntering along behind us.

  “This is all so terribly interesting,” a gaunt woman said at my elbow.

  “It certainly is,” I said. She glared at me. She had been speaking to a plump young girl trodding wearily along behind her.

  “In those days New Orleans was a pretty fearful place for the Gray Sisters to come to. Imagine it. Damp and miserable. Just a bunch of shacks. Floods coming in over the levees all the time. Alligators belle ring at night.”

  I looked back again. The man had casually made himself a part of the group. The guide stopped on the corner. He stared at me. “Fella, are you joining this here tour?”

  “If you don’t mind,” I said.

  “You missed most of it, but it will still cost you two dollars.”

  “I’ll pay for both of us,” a soft, controlled voice said at my elbow. Straw Hat handed over four dollars. He was so close to me I could see a streak of blond stubble on his cheek, stubble that the razor had missed.

  The guide took the money and gave us a dubious look. He moved off through the gathering shadows of early evening, the party following him.

  The man came up beside me. “This is no good, you know.”

  “I always wanted to take one of these tours.”

  “You kill me, Bryant.” Yes, Talya had said that he had made himself very American.

  “Now, this is Gallatin Street, folks. Once upon a time it was a pretty gay kind of street. Man could get himself knifed here with no trouble at all. Used to be headquarters for the Mafia gangs, this little street did. In ’34, I think it was, they took away part to make room for the new French Market. That’s it over there. Anybody feel like buying any snails today?”

  The group cackled obediently.

  “This isn’t doing Miss Townsend any good, Bryant.”

  “You’ve got the whip hand. All you’ve got to do is yell cop. What do you want from me?”

  “That can be explained better in private. I just want to talk to you. Let’s go back to your car.”

  “How did you know I was coming?”

  “I didn’t. I just wanted to see who had phoned her. She was very clever and very foolish and very brave. Having you come was a bit of luck, now.”

  “Can’t you fellas be quiet back there so people can hear?” the guide complained.

  I stopped. We were at the corner of Gallatin and Governor Nicholls Streets. The tour went on down Governor Nicholls Street toward the Haunted House. I put my back against a building.

  “We’ll talk here.” I debated my chances of taking a quick swing at him.

  He had all the extra senses of a jungle animal. He moved away, glanced in both directions, then let his coat fall open just enough so that I could see the gleaming butt plate of the holstered automatic.

  “I could give it to you on the street and win myself a medal,” he half whispered.

  “You have something to say, I believe.”

  “We found out that Miss Townsend was taking an unhealthy interest in some of the organizational aspects of our group, Bryant. We were curious about what you two may have talked about. As you know from the stupid girl who thought she could double-cross us, we’re still after a certain document. We’re not convinced that it doesn’t exist here in this city. Until we find it, no risk is too great to take. I must emphasize that.”

  “You haven’t said anything yet.”

  “I saw you start to search Haussmann’s body, Bryant. You handled yourself very well, by the way. It left me with a pretty problem when the stranger showed up. I didn’t know whether to step in and save you or not.”

  “Siddman saved you the trouble.”

  “Very emotional man, apparently, that Siddman. It was nice to find you again, the other night. I fol
lowed you to Miss Townsend’s place, and then went back and searched Haussmann’s body. A necessary risk. He didn’t have it. I know it isn’t on your person. But, Bryant, I do know that you know where it is.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Please don’t waste time, Bryant.” He paused until a stroller was out of earshot. “We had one of our people phone Miss Townsend. His voice is not unlike yours. For one moment Miss Townsend was fooled. I will repeat her exact words. She said, ‘Dil, that document they want is—Let me hear your voice again, Dil.’ As we had phoned from the neighborhood, we were able to arrive just as she came out the door. Now you see my point. Miss Townsend is a surprisingly stubborn young woman. Both of you share the information we want. Surely you don’t want us to test the extent of her bravery and her determination, Bryant.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Just that some people can be persuaded with very little bodily harm. I am afraid Miss Townsend is not one of those. The proper drugs, the ones used in the mother country, are not available here. We are banking on your personal regard for the girl.”

  “Have you hurt her?” I asked. My voice sounded thick.

  “Just a little. Just enough to discover the extent of her stubbornness.”

  “But you can get the information from her?”

  “Of course. Everyone has a breaking point. It takes time. We’ve already taken too much time.”

  It had been on the tip of my tongue to say that Jill had been going to tell me something about the document that I didn’t know. The danger was that I might have convinced him. And then he would have shaken me off and gone back to Jill. I was in no position to hunt for her. The day grew darker by the moment. Straw Hat glanced up at the sky. The black clouds were rolling across the city, obscuring the sunset.

  “What kind of deal can I make?” I asked him.

  “Can you produce the document?”

  “Maybe. If Jill is turned loose at once. If I’m cleared of suspicion regarding Haussmann and the Dvalianova girl.”

  “Those things can be discussed after we have the document and after we’ve inspected it to see if it’s genuine.”

  “I’m supposed to trust you?”

  “Why not? You don’t have much choice, do you?” He seemed completely at ease. He rocked back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet.

  “I don’t think you’re as confident as you look.”

  He stopped rocking. “That’s an odd thing to say.”

  “How about this. Maybe this will shake you a little. The Townsend girl does not know where the document is. I asked her to find out exactly what it is. That’s what she started to tell me, to tell the man who sounded like me. But she doesn’t know where it is.”

  I’ve played a lot of poker. You can’t run a bluff too bravely. It makes it look like a bluff. You can’t underplay it without achieving the same result. There is a narrow area between extreme confidence and faint uncertainty where a bluff has a chance of succeeding.

  The faint look of dismay in his eyes was immediately concealed. I followed it up quickly. “As far as the girl is concerned, she means exactly nothing to me. I was sticking with her because in a spot like I’m in, it’s nice to have a newspaper on your side. You can do what you damn please with her. Ethically, I want to make her part of any bargain I make with you. But to me the other considerations are more important. Plus a certain amount of cash.”

  “I can’t authorize a cash payment.”

  “You can check with someone who can, though.”

  “Possibly, Bryant.”

  “Where is the girl?”

  “In a safe place.”

  He glanced down the street. At that moment he was within range. I could have taken that moment to slam my fist against the unprotected angle of his jaw. Nothing would have been gained. I was beginning to understand him better. A classic word fitted him. Hireling. Like a wind-up toy that will go dutifully in the intended direction. Now the wind-up toy had run into the leg of a chair. The wheels still turned. But it had to be picked up, rewound, and headed in the new direction.

  “You won’t take my word,” he said.

  “Not for anything. I wouldn’t take your word that in another half hour it’s going to be dark.”

  “All we want is the document. Nothing else.”

  “This is a stalemate, isn’t it?”

  He shifted uneasily. “It can be worked out.”

  “Not standing here on the corner, my friend.”

  He made up his mind. “You can wait at the girl’s apartment. I’ll tell them what you want.”

  “Understand, I’d rather be picked up by the police than have you people get hold of me. Maybe I’d talk quicker than the girl.”

  He gave me a long look. “It is possible. Somehow I don’t think so.”

  “And maybe,” I said, “I’ve arranged things so that if I’m out of touch for too long, a friend will turn the document over to the Washington people.”

  He licked his lips. “They’re all over the city. They’ve made things more difficult than we’d thought.”

  “I don’t want to go to the girl’s apartment. I’ll wait in the car I came in.”

  “It will take maybe a half hour.”

  I took a deep breath. We started to walk, side by side. Friends strolling casually through the blue city. I seemed to see us as though I were a third person looking down onto the street. A big guy in a fancy shirt taking long strides. A smaller man, carefully dressed, walking with that oddly delicate muscular precision. A hunted man and a subversive agent, looking like a pair of tourists heading for the bright lights.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the way back to the car I tried to think of some course of action. I knew that I wasn’t adept enough to follow Straw Hat. And very probably he would go directly to a phone. And very possibly he would phone the Metairie Road home of one Tram Widdmar. I couldn’t figure it any other way.

  I kept remembering Jill’s fragmentary notes on structure. There had to be an A. Mr. A would be top co-ordinator for both the surface and subsurface groups. There was a clear, clean line of deduction that made Tram appear as Mr. A. He had money, power, influence, freedom, access to communications, access to port traffic. If he prevented the police from knowing of Jill’s difficulty by keeping his finger on the phone cradle, it could only mean that he had prior knowledge that she was in difficulty. His reluctance to have me attempt to get in touch with her was a tip-off to that effect. Her difficulties had to spring directly from what I had told him. I had told him that I had stayed with her. I had told him of the folder. I had talked too damn much. That talking jag was odd. Not typical. And the brutal hangover the next morning was indicative. It suddenly appeared obvious that something had been added to my drinks. Some drug that would have the effect of loosening the tongue. Scopolamine, or something of that nature.

  The next deductive step was frighteningly clear. My attack on Tram would indicate to him that somehow I had found out. That made me dangerous to him. If I were picked up by the police, he might be through. Maybe he couldn’t stand the sort of investigation that would result. To protect his cover, I had to be eliminated. If the man walking at my side were to get in touch with Tram, the mechanical toy would be set in motion, aimed at me. Better that the hireling be eliminated than the keystone of the arch fall.

  I thought of the Tram I had known. I saw him in a new way. That booming, bouncing exterior seemed more false the more I thought of it. It was window dressing. Good old Tram. Party boy. Bland-faced brown cupid. But native-born. How had they got to Tram? How had they made him believe? Did he fancy himself as the future commissar of New Orleans? I wondered if I should have struck harder. Removing Tram suddenly seemed more important than anything that could happen to Jill or myself. I knew, without any shadow of doubt, that Jill would feel the same.

  We reached the car. Straw Hat said, “You stay right here. It’s dark enough now so that there isn’t much chance of anyone recognizing
you.” He walked briskly to the corner. I waited a full two minutes and then let myself back into the apartment.

  I phoned Sam Spencer. The man who takes care of him answered and connected me immediately with Sam.

  “Great God, Dil!” he rumbled. “Has everybody in the world gone nuts except me?”

  “Maybe except me and thee, Sam. I haven’t got much time. Look. Get hold of Captain Paris or Lieutenant Zeck. Tell them this. Tell them to get hold of the Washington people and tell them that Tram Widdmar is the kingpin of the organization. Tell them to grab him before he can run. Tell them that if they dig long enough and hard enough, they can find what they need.”

  “Tram Widdmar? What organization?”

  “Just do that, Sam. They’ll know what I mean.”

  “Dil, don’t hang up. I can get you out of the country.”

  “Thanks, Sam. Not yet.”

  I hung up and stood in the gloom of the apartment. One thing was taken care of. One small thing, and maybe that wouldn’t work. Maybe no one would believe me. I went back out to the car. I tapped a cigarette on the horn button and used the car lighter. The slow minutes went by. I was making a guess. A long-shot guess. The chain of reasoning was pretty tenuous. First, it had to be Tram, Mr. A, that Straw Hat would try to contact. Sammy would try to wake up Tram. Sammy would cut Tram loose. Tram would give Straw Hat the word. Blasting me on the street, in Tram’s car, would be poor policy. They would want to get me into a safe place before doing it. They had Jill in a safe place. The easiest way to get me there would be to pretend to be willing to make a deal. And once I was there, it would be a lot more to the point to extract information from me before the inevitable erasure. That left me one course of action. To pretend to go along with Straw Hat, without suspicion, and take any chance I could find.

  The more I thought about it, the less I liked it. They weren’t going to take chances with me. And I had no training in this sort of thing. I was strong and quick, but there are tricks in every trade. I might do Jill more harm than good.

 

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