The Complete Bragg Thriller Box Set

by Jack Lynch

  “Don’t try to say anything,” I told her. “I want you to look at some pictures to see if you recognize the men who did this to you.”

  She had no trouble at all. Anthony was the one who had held her. The man who did the actual hitting was one of the other three I’d seen that night at the Fitzmorris house, a man of thirty or so with wavy, blond hair that came down to his shirt collar. She indicated that Anthony, with the gaunt face and manicured hands, had been in charge of things.

  I kissed her on the only part of her forehead that didn’t look as if it might hurt, and urged her to get some sleep. At the door, I glanced back. She’d closed her eyes again. They’d had to clip some of her hair even shorter to get at scalp wounds. I never would have recognized her if they hadn’t assured me downstairs about her room number.

  I drove back to Sausalito and found a parking place on Bulkley, down a little way from where Melody lived. I took along a manila envelope with some of Jimmy’s pictures in them.

  I didn’t know if she’d be home, but it didn’t matter. Melody would have to play her role in things. If she wasn’t there I’d hang around the neighborhood until she returned.

  It turned out she was already there. She opened the door after a couple of pokes of the buzzer. She looked as if she’d just gotten out of the shower. She was wearing a white, fluffy robe and had a towel wrapped around her head. She blinked in surprise.

  “Mr. Bragg. I thought you were out of town.”

  “I got back. Can I come in a minute?”

  She hesitated, but finally opened the door, and I went in. I strolled into the living room and settled myself in one of the expensive chairs.

  “Why don’t you sit down and make yourself at home?”

  “Thanks. Have you talked to Duffy today?”

  “Yes. He called me late this morning. Said he was coming home. He said he’d talked to you. That’s why I was surprised to see you here.”

  “Have you talked to your father recently?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “It might be a good idea to give him a couple of hints about the sort of things you’ve been up to with Elliott Fitzmorris. It might cushion the blow some for him when everything falls to pieces around all of you.”

  She sat on the edge of a chair across from me. “When what falls to pieces?”

  “The Fitzmorris hold on the Shores project. Plans for your setting up a call-girl ring there. A few things like that. None of it’s going to work out. You never heard from Cookie, did you?”

  “Not yet. I expect to.”

  “Forget it. They fished him out of the Bay this morning. He’d been dead for a couple of days.”

  She was on her feet then, eyes flashing anger. “Quit shitting me, mister.”

  “You don’t have to take my word for it.” I got up and went over to the phone and dialed Directory Assistance. I asked for the number of the Marin County Coroner’s Office. When they gave it to me, I began to dial. Melody came over and reached down to break the connection.

  “What happened?”

  “He was down on the docks the other night just before the fire started with another man, a white man. I think Cookie is the man who shot Red Dewer. At least, he had the murder weapon on him when they found him this morning. Then I think he and the other man and maybe some others started the fire. And then I think the other man killed Cookie. He was shot in the chest. The other man left. Cookie’s body was found soon after by a caretaker for the docks. The caretaker’s a little whacko, and had a grudge against Cookie from something that happened before. He might have shot Cookie himself if the other man hadn’t done it first. The caretaker wrapped Cookie’s body in plastic and weighted it down, then threw it into the water. Somebody recognized it for what it was at low tide this morning.”

  Melody had sunk back into her chair, her eyes staring at the ceiling overhead as I told her about it. It was the first time I’d ever seen her not firmly and coldly in control of herself. I wondered if young Duffy Anderson would ever grow enough to get that sort of response from her.

  “Do you know who did it?” she asked me finally.

  “No. One of the cherubs who’s been hanging around the Elliott Fitzmorris scatter, I imagine. I’m certain Fitzmorris is behind everything that’s been going on.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she told me slowly. “Cookie worked for the man.”

  “That doesn’t mean much. You’ve worked for him too. He could turn on you just as easily.”

  “Never,” she said quietly.

  “Wake up, Melody; you’re not a stupid woman. There was a girl working as a cocktail waitress at the Sea Deck. Her name is Shirley McAteer. She was working there the night Terri put on her little dance.”

  Melody shook her head. “I don’t know her.”

  “It doesn’t really matter. She also lives on a houseboat at Marinship Basin. She’s been a leader in the group fighting plans to toss out the houseboat community. That was her big sin, just trying to save her home. Sometime last night two of Fitzmorris’s men, one of them named Anthony, went down to the docks and beat up on Shirley. I had these photos taken of her at the hospital shortly after she was admitted earlier today. Take a look.”

  I tossed across the envelope. She opened the flap and took out the prints. She went through them slowly, her lips drawn in the shape of a small zero.

  “My God,” she murmured. “Did she have longish red hair?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I remember now. She was so pretty, and happy. Had the nicest little laugh.”

  “That’s her. She didn’t have much to laugh about when I found her.”

  “But why would anyone do this?”

  “She was in the way. The same as Cookie must have been in the way for one reason or another.”

  She replaced the photos and handed back the envelope. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. There’s something else you should know about. It would have been pretty easy for whoever killed Cookie to have thrown the gun that killed Red Dewer into the bay, where it never would have been found. Instead, they left it tucked in Cookie’s waistband. And whoever killed him, remember, didn’t make any effort to conceal his body. They had no idea the nutty caretaker would come along and do it. The Sheriff’s Department checked with Sacramento and came up with a registration on the person who purchased Cookie’s weapon. It’s registered to you, Melody. A little twenty-two.”

  She looked as if I’d slapped her. She sat quite still a moment, then got up wordlessly and went down the hall. A moment later I heard her rustling through a couple of drawers, probably in her bedroom. When she came back into the room and sat in her chair again she looked as if she was beginning to believe a couple of things. She also was trying to remember something.

  “It was there just a few days ago,” she said quietly.

  “Has Cookie been here since the last time you saw it?”

  “No.”

  “Somebody must have been, if you didn’t take it out of here yourself.”

  She stared at me quietly. “Duffy was here. And Elliott,” she said at last.

  I nodded. “That revolver killed another man while Cookie was down in Los Angeles. Somebody named Kempe. He was staying at Cookie’s place. Chances are if Cookie had been home as well, he might have died a few days earlier than he did.”

  She looked ready to shrivel into a corner. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “I’m trying to give you one more chance to make a clean break with Elliott Fitzmorris before the roof caves in. It’s going to happen, Melody. There are people who are aware of what he’s trying to do. They’re not going to let it happen. Now’s the time for all smart little girls to jump ship. Settle for Duffy and his money. He’s no prize, God knows, but I think he’ll try to make you happy. It’s far better than any long-range prospects you’d have with Elliott Fitzmorris. He could turn on you the same as he did with Cookie and Shirley. Maybe he already has. Remember the gun
.”

  She stared at me soberly, then another thought came into her mind. “Why should you do this for me?”

  “Two reasons. I’m trying to pull you back from the hole because of your father. I think he’s a very decent man. He could never understand a girl like you, but if you got into trouble, the serious kind you’re headed for, it would break his heart. You’re all he’s got. He and Arthur are hardly on speaking terms. You’re the remaining link your father has with your dead mother. He still grieves greatly for her, I think.”

  “I know,” she said quietly.

  “The other thing is, I want you to do something for me.”

  “Uhhh-huh,” she said firmly, as if expecting it.

  “Your cooperation isn’t essential, but it would make things easier for me, and I’m in a hurry.”

  “In a hurry to do what?”

  “It would take a long time to explain. No need for that now. What I’d like you to do is to separate Anthony from the herd. Get him out of that house in Ross. Could you think of a way to do that?”

  “Maybe,” she said with a tight little smile. “He’s looked at me—oh, you know.”

  “Fine. How about making a phone call? Get him over here. Invite him down for the cocktail hour. Tell him you’re lonely. You know how to go about that sort of thing.”

  She stared at me noncommittally. I took the photos of Shirley out of the envelope again and fanned them around on the carpet in front of her. She didn’t want to look, but eventually her eyes drifted over to them. She looked down at them for quite a little while, until she had to dab at one corner of her eye. She sniffed and reached for the telephone.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Anthony didn’t have much of a chance, which is how I’d planned it. I was behind the door to Melody’s apartment when she answered his buzzing. She had changed into a filmy, blue peignoir with matching blue underpants, and had neglected to wear a bra. When Anthony came inside, he was grinning so widely I could hardly recognize him. It went away soon enough when he saw me standing there with the .45 pointed at his midsection. I had been thinking about Shirley again just before Anthony came through the front door. My face must have shown some of that to him. He didn’t say a word.

  “Turn around,” I told him. I spread him against the wall and patted him down while Melody closed the door and went back to her bedroom to change again. Anthony was carrying a switchblade knife, but no handgun. I took away the knife and clicked on a pair of Smith & Wesson handcuffs I’d brought along from my car. I told him to lie face down on the hallway carpet while I used the phone from the living room doorway, where I could keep an eye on him. Then I went back and stood quietly over him. Neither of us said anything. I didn’t kick the back of his head or any of that business. I don’t believe in needless violence. Measured violence is better. Measured, and at the proper time. I didn’t want a man all unconscious and sulky on my hands. I had ambitious plans for Anthony.

  The sun was low in the sky by the time Andy Dustin and two of his men pulled up in front with a half-ton pickup truck. One of the men came to the door. He was tall and rawboned, with what looked like a two-day growth of beard and a prominent Adam’s apple. He looked like a hillbilly who spent a lot of time in barroom brawls, but he spoke softly and had a flinty glint to his eyes.

  “I’m Christopher,” he said quietly. “Mr. Dustin sent me. He’s waiting in the truck on the street outside.”

  I nodded, and dragged Anthony to his feet and motioned him out the door just as Melody came back wearing a pair of jeans and a white sweatshirt. I motioned for Christopher to take Anthony on up to the truck, then turned back to Melody.

  “Where are you going?”

  “With you. I might be able to help.”

  “You figure you’re ready to?”

  “Yes.”

  We stared at each other, but I didn’t know if she was lying to me or not. It hardly mattered, now. I decided it might be better to have her where I could keep an eye on her.

  “All right. Do you have a car here?”

  “Yes.”

  “It might be wise to throw some things into an overnight bag. Stay away from here for a day or so. You can meet the rest of us down at the Shores project. Just tell the men there you’re with me.”

  Up on the street, Christopher had lowered the tailgate of the truck. He’d been joined by a big, blond, Slavic-looking man with thick lips. Christopher told me the second man’s name was Eric. We exchanged nods. They were about to lift Anthony into the bed of the truck, where a couple of blankets had been spread along one side.

  “Wait a minute,” I told them. I went through Anthony’s pockets until I found a ring of keys.

  “What are you driving?” I asked him.

  Anthony looked down the street. “Blue Mazda. It’s rented.”

  I went back into his pockets until I found the rental car key. The two men hoisted Anthony into the truck and put him face down on the blankets. Christopher unfolded a canvas tarp and put it over him. I went around to the window on the driver’s side. Andy Dustin sat at the wheel wearing a white hard hat, blue workshirt, slacks and forest-green quilted vest. He had a fresh cigar going.

  “I’ll follow along behind,” I told him.

  Dustin just nodded. I went down the street to Anthony’s car and opened the trunk. It was empty, and smelled new. I got in on the passenger’s side and looked in the glove compartment. Inside was a 9-millimeter automatic. I took it out and dropped it into my pocket, then went back to my own car and took off after the truck. At the work site I caught up with the others. They were leading Anthony down to an old structure with a corrugated metal roof at the water’s edge. I carried along the manila envelope with the photos of Shirley in it.

  We went up a ramp and into what might have been an old boathouse at one time. It was open on the water side, and smelled of oil and creosote. A block and tackle rig was slung from the ceiling, and from the look of the tools and things stacked around, it now was used for storage. The low sun was casting long shadows inside the building. Somebody flicked a switch, and a couple of overhead light bulbs came on.

  Eric and Christopher led Anthony over to one of the walls up near the open end of the sagging structure. A sheet of three-quarter-inch plywood had been nailed to the wall there. It had some gadgets attached to it, which Anthony now was studying with a brooding expression. The two men raised his arms and used clamps mounted on the plywood to pin his elbows and wrists to the board. A fan of large screws also had been implanted in the board above the place each of Anthony’s hands now were held. Small step-up platforms had been placed on both sides of Anthony. Christopher and Eric stepped up on them to reach Anthony’s hands more easily.

  “This is going to take a slight amount of doing,” Christopher told Anthony quietly. “If you struggle, it will only make things worse for you. We’ll probably break something.”

  Both of Dustin’s men had coils of copper wire. They began snipping lengths of wire. The center portion of the wire they wound firmly around the tip of one of Anthony’s fingers, then the two wire ends were attached to screws on each side of it. It held the fingers snugly in place. They wired his thumbs that way, as well.

  On the opposite wall was a cork bulletin board hanging by a nail. It had some invoices and work sheets on it. I brought it over and propped it up on some stacked nail kegs to one side of Anthony where he could see it.

  I opened the envelope of photos and took out what Jimmy had taken of Shirley. I began pinning them to the board. Anthony was watching me. When I’d finished, I turned around. Anthony swallowed once but didn’t say anything. Christopher had finished pinning the fingers on his side, and stepped down off the platform. A moment later Eric finished also, but he just turned and leaned against the wall with his arms folded.

  Anthony was watching me. I indicated the bulletin board. “I know this girl,” I told him. “She’s a friend of mine. I asked another friend to take some photos up around the Fitzmorris house this afternoo
n, of the people who were around there. I took those photos up to the hospital this afternoon and she identified you and another of the men from there as the people who did this to her.”

  I let him think it over for a moment before I went on. “The man in the hard hat standing over behind you is Andy Dustin. He’s the building contractor here. He’s been out of town. While he was out of town, somebody went down to the Basin and out to an old fishing boat called the Donita Rose. They shot and killed a man living there. He went by the name of Red Dewer, but his real name was Dustin. He was the son of the man standing behind you wearing the hard hat.”

  Anthony’s eyes had begun to change. They didn’t show fear, so much. More like extreme discomfort. And his breathing was becoming a little shallow.

  “Dewer was killed with a twenty-two that was found today on the body of Cookie Poole when his body was pulled out of the Basin. Cookie had been seen on the docks on the night of the fire, the same night Red Dewer was slain. The same man who saw Cookie that night saw another man with him. A white man.”

  I nodded to Andy Dustin. He, in turn, lifted a hand. Some more of his men were over by the door of the shed. One of them came in now, gently leading Soldier Smith. They brought him over to where he could get a good look at Anthony. Soldier didn’t seem to notice the wires and things pinning Anthony’s hands to the plywood. Soldier was a singular type. He’d been asked to see if he recognized the man he was being shown. He put all his concentration into it, holding his cap in his hands, leaning his head forward to stare at Anthony’s face. His head jerked a couple of times.

  “Aye, he’s the one,” said Soldier. “Lopin’ down the docks with the black bird, he was. I thought them two a pair.” He chuckled in his throat. “The black bird and the vampire. Thought them a fine pair, I did.”