I lit an Old Favorite to show how calm my nerves were.
“That worried me for a while. But I came up with an answer for that, too. I’m a fair sized man, take a lot of heaving and pulling to get me far enough from the floor to shove me out.”
It was McCann’s turn to sneer.
“I could do it easy. You want a demonstration?”
“No,” I demurred. “I know you could. But Lady Godiva over there, she couldn’t.”
There was quick alarm on his face.
“What’re you saying?”
“I’m saying it wasn’t you killed Flower. It was Shiralee, Pook to her friends. I was too heavy for her, so I had to stay on the floor.”
“Now you wait a minute buster,” ejaculated the girl, with fear in her voice. “You can’t pin this on me.”
“Sure I can,” I assured her. “But I don’t have to try. Ten minutes after I leave here, you’ll find both the cops and the Martello crowd on their way. Whichever gets here first, is a matter of chance. It makes no difference to me.”
While talking to her I hadn’t taken my eyes off McCann. He was the one I had to watch. Now he said:
“You took an awful chance coming here with this kind of stuff.”
“No,” I pooh-poohed. “I don’t think so. You’re not able to do a thing about it. You’re not carrying a gun, I can see that. I have one right here.”
I patted at my arm and smiled.
“So have I,” gritted Shiralee.
I turned quickly to see the small silver-plated automatic in her hand, the half-opened drawer beside her. I thought quickly about trying for the .38, but I wouldn’t have had a chance. McCann came close and said:
“Hold the hands way up Preston. Honey, if he blinks, let him have it.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be a pleasure.”
McCann looked at me with disgust.
“I oughta knock you off right now for what you’re doing to me.”
“No,” said the girl sharply. “We’re in enough trouble as it is. We’ll put him where he can’t do any harm till we’re clear of town.”
“You heard what the lady said,” McCann told me reluctantly. “I hope you have lousy dreams.”
The door bell clattered. Shiralee jumped up in alarm.
“Answer it,” hissed McCann. “And you Preston, shut up or you’re dead.”
He took the gun from the girl and nodded to the door. The bell rang again. She went and stood beside it.
“Who—who is it?”
“Miss O’Connor?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Hamilton, Miss O’Connor. Like to talk to you for a minute.”
“I was just taking a shower,” she called. “Could you come back later?”
“It’s pretty important. I’ll wait while you get dressed.”
She came back to where we were standing. All I had to do was shout and Hamilton would burst down the door. But I had no relish for two or three nickel plated slugs in my belly.
“Fire escape,” hissed McCann. “Get busy.”
Then he transferred the gun to his left hand.
“This is a pity,” he murmured, “I was going to have a little fun with you.”
He sank a vicious right into my middle. I gave a great whoosh of agony and as I doubled up he grabbed the back of my head with both hands and smashed my face down on to his upraised knee. A warm red blanket settled over me and that was all I knew.
There was something cold and wet on my face. I scrabbled at it with limp fingers. Somebody laughed. Painfully I forced open an eye and found myself looking up at Clyde F. Hamilton. He grinned cheerfully.
“Why Mr. Preston, you really do drop off at inconvenient times. If you had stayed awake you might have prevented those characters from taking off.”
I didn’t like Hamilton, and I liked his jokes even less. Groggily, I sat upright. It wasn’t a very good idea, because the room seemed to be having difficulty in keeping still.
“They got away huh?”
“Thanks to you, yes. But they won’t get far,” he said off-handedly.
“Don’t be too sure,” I told him. “They have a roll. There isn’t just the money McCann got from Brookman. There’s also a stake he got from a little blackmail on the side.”
Hamilton’s eyes glittered.
“Blackmail too, eh? My my, they are a busy pair. But they won’t get out of town. Jake’s boys have been watching ever since yesterday, and this morning I brought the police in too.”
“Police? You think Jake will like that?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. He’d like it a lot less if these two young lovers got clean away. Anyway, it’s my responsibility.”
I was thankful it wasn’t mine. The Jake Martellos of this world do not normally welcome police involvement in their little activities. But maybe Hamilton had not been around long enough to be blamed. And, as he reasoned, the main idea was to prevent McCann and the girl leaving town.
“Well,” I said resignedly, “What do we do now?”
“We wait,” replied Hamilton. “Or rather, I wait. Jake wouldn’t hold it against you if you ducked out now. You’ve done well. You smoked out the people he wanted, and he can’t ask much more than that. In fact, you almost got yourself killed, and I’ll tell him so. Jake can be a very grateful man. You won’t lose by it.”
I hadn’t heard Hamilton so friendly before. Maybe that was something he reserved for special occasions.
“Thanks, but I’ll see it through. I’ve been this far, and nobody could say I don’t have an interest in what happens. No point in waiting around here, I imagine?”
“Nope,” he confirmed briskly, “Jake’s office is the nerve center. Everybody has that number, and if there’s anything to hear, that’s where we hear it. So, if we’re going?”
He looked at me pointedly. The look meant, if you’re in this thing you’re in it, and if not, say so. Because those who are in it have things to do.
“You go ahead,” I told him. “I’ll just rest up a few minutes and I’ll be behind you.”
“Right. You know where I’ll be.”
After he’d gone, I sat around feeling sorry for myself for a time. Then, when I was able, I scrabbled clumsily to my feet and looked around for the bathroom. All the old powers of detection came into play that time. There were three doors leading out of the room. One led to the kitchen, one to the bedroom. Even in my fuddled condition, I was able to deduce instantly that the third door would be the bathroom. That’s the kind of reasoning you only get from a professional, even after he’s been pushed around by an expert. The bathroom had a basin which supplied hot and cold water. I filled it with cold, loosened my tie, and dunked my head into the cool. It was a refreshing experience, so much so that each time I took my head out, I waited just long enough to recharge my lungs with fresh air, then down I went again.
A few minutes of that and I was feeling more or less normal. I was patting at my face with a rough towel when the phone blatted. At first I wasn’t going to answer, then my nose got the better of me.
“Well?”
There was a man at the other end. I thought I knew the voice but I couldn’t recall where from.
“McCann?” came the anxious query.
I’m no good at imitations, but you can’t go wrong on one word.
“Well?” I repeated.
“This is Art. Art Green. You remember, Shiralee’s agent.”
That was it. I did my big McCann act again.
“Well?”
This time I was more curt than before.
“Thought you ought to know. There’s been some guys here. Police type guys.”
Now I had to make a more serious attempt at impersonation.
“What’d you say, Art?”
“Listen, I didn’t tell ‘em nothing. What do I know? Nothing. They seemed to think you knocked ofT those people. But I didn’t tell ‘em nothing.”
“So?”
His voice took on a wh
ine.
“Gee Mr. McCann, a guy has to make a living. Listen, I been sick lately. I didn’t even mention the boat.”
Boat. My mind leaped. It was an even bet Martello’s people would not be watching boats. Nor the police, for that matter. Watching a railway station, an airport, is one kind of proposition. There are just so many ways in and out. But boats. Beaches stretch for miles, and we have a lot of beaches within a short ride of Monkton. Suddenly I needed very badly to talk to Art Green.
“Stay right there. I mean it.”
That was all I said before I put down the phone. As an imitation of Leg’s McCann’s voice, I didn’t know how it would stand up. But I wasn’t in the market for auditions. I needed to catch up with a couple of killers before they left town. A few hours in a seaworthy craft could put them in Baja California, and with the kind of stake money they were carrying, none of us would ever see them again. Of all the things they’d done, it was Flower’s murder that more determined me than anything else. At once, I dialled Jake Martello’s office. A strange voice said:
“Race Investments Limited.”
“Is Clyde Hamilton there yet?”
“No. Who is this?”
“Now listen, I don’t know who you are, but you’re going to take a message. You are going to get it right the first time, because there isn’t any room for mistakes. You understand?”
“Say what is this? Who are you, anyway?”
“The name is Preston. Got that? I’m after the people who shot Jake. Understand? Right. Now tell Hamilton this. We need a man on each quay. That’s Q-U-A-Y. Got it? We need a man on each one, and pronto. McCann may have a boat. And tell Hamilton I’ll see him in thirty minutes at White’s Boat-House. Repeat it all back.”
“If you’re kidding me——” began the voice.
“Just get it wrong, my friend. Get one thing wrong, and you’ll find out who’s kidding. Now read it back.”
He read it over and I was satisfied.
“He’ll be there any minute,” I announced. “See he gets that message immediately.”
I was about to hang up, when the voice said:
“Wait. What about the other Mr. Martello? Suppose he gets here first?”
“Tell him too. Tell everybody. But get it done.”
I got out then, down into the early evening sun and the slowly cooling Chev. Within fifteen minutes I was banging on the door of Art Green, Impressario.
“Who is it?” came a quavering voice.
“McCann,” I gruffed.
The door was unlocked and he opened it slowly. Seeing me, he gasped and tried to close it, but I was in no mood for those impressario moves. I slammed it open, grabbed him in both hands and kicked the door shut behind me. The small dirty man was whimpering with fear.
“Now Art, tell me about the boat,” I invited.
“Boat?” he queried.
I slammed him against the wall, not too gently.
“Art, we have to understand each other. McCann and the girl are wanted for two murders. Two, Art.”
To illustrate the point I banged him against the wall twice more. He shivered with fright.
“The boat,” I prompted. “If I have to break an arm or a leg, or maybe both, you are going to tell me about the boat. Go easy on yourself.”
He shook his head.
“Legs’ll kill me. I tell you he’ll kill me.”
“He’s all washed up Art. Everybody in town is after him. Martello’s people, cops, everybody. And me. And I’m the one who’s here. Where would you like me to start? Left arm?”
I grabbed the arm, putting one hand behind the elbow and exerting pressure. He screamed, more from fear than pain.
“No, wait,” he gasped. “How about a few dollars? I could blow town till it’s over.”
I let go and looked at him with disgust. Then I took some bills from my pocket, peeled off a few.
“Two hundred. Way you live, that should last a year. What about the boat?”
“It’s an old tub really. Just for coast work, you know. Fruit season, McCann usually runs a few greasers up from the south.” Illegal immigrants. A favorite local pursuit.
“Name?”
“The Costa de Mar. It’s beached just this side of Indian Point.”
A quiet piece of coast, too rocky for all but the most expert divers and swimmers.
“Who has the concession down there?”
“An old guy named Jim. Calls himself Captain Jim. Everybody knows him. He just makes sure things are O.K. while the owners are not there. You know the kind of thing.”
I knew the kind of thing. An excuse to keep some old beach bum off the public charge.
“Art, here’s some advice. And there’s no charge. Grab your other shirt, if you have another shirt, and be out of town within thirty minutes. I won’t tell Martello you’ve been holding out about McCann for one hour. That’s all I guarantee. Kabish?”
He nodded feverishly.
“Gotcha. Say, I sure appreciate——”
I looked at my watch.
“Time is running out, Art.”
I left him looking for the other shirt.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HAMILTON WAS PARKED outside White’s Boat-House in an open white Alfa-Romeo when I got there.
“What’s it all about?” he greeted.
“You drive, I’ll tell you on the way. You got a man out at Indian Point?”
“Should be by this time.”
He slammed gears and I was pushed against the back of the seat as we roared away. I told him about the boat as we hurtled along the beach highway.
“Nice going,” he complimented. “Very nice going.”
“We could be too late,” I reminded. “They had a head start.”
“Maybe. But I took the distributor out of the girl’s car before I went calling. They’d have to hire, or get a cab. And they know everyone’s watching out for them. It’s my bet they won’t even make their play until dark.”
That made sense. Fifteen minutes hard driving brought us to the base of Indian Point. There were ten or twelve small boats hauled up on the beach. An old guy in a dirty white peaked cap sat talking with a thickset man whom I’d seen around one of the betting parlors. He got up as we approached.
“It’s here, huh?” he greeted.
“With luck,” replied Hamilton. “What was that name again?”
“The Costa de Mar,” I told him.
She was the fifth tub along, a faded thirty footer in bad need of a paint job. There was no sign of life. We went back to the old man.
“You Captain Jim?” I asked him.
“That’s me, shipmate,” he confirmed.
“O.K. shipmate” I emphasized, “tell us about the Costa de Mar. Will it run?”
He cackled.
“Not now it won’t. Not right now.”
“Listen you.”
The other man took a menacing step forward, but Hamilton waved him away.
“Why not now, Captain Jim?” he asked softly.
“No oil for the engine,” he explained. “No oil, no run. Makes sense.”
“Where would a man get oil?” pressed Hamilton patiently.
“From me mostly. Keep a stock back there.”
He waved towards a once-white shack that stood back from the beach.
“Cash in advance of course,” he cautioned.
“Sure, sure. So if anybody wants to get that old hulk out to sea, they have to come to you for oil first?”
“Don’t have to,” he denied. “But there ain’t no point dragging them big drums all the way out from town, when they know I got ‘em right here on the spot. Makes sense.”
Hamilton smiled and patted him on the shoulder.
“That it does old man, that it does.”
He walked away, leaving him sitting there.
“All we have to do is wait,” said Hamilton. “That is, assuming they decide to come this way at all.”
“Makes sense,” I replied.
> It would be dark in about an hour. Hamilton drove the car behind some bushes where it wouldn’t be so conspicuous. We sat there, busy with our own thoughts. I looked up at Indian Point, thinking what an odd coincidence it was that the whole thing should begin and end at the same place. Thinking about a guy who wrote lousy poetry, and who ended up on the jagged rocks a couple of hundred yards from where I was sitting.
Time dragged slowly by, and the sun lay low on the sea now, shooting blood red darts across the darkening surface. I threw away the butt of my third cigaret, resolving that tomorrow I would definitely give up the habit.
“Listen,” said Hamilton suddenly.
Above the soft splashing of the waves came the sound of a car, and soon headlights came into view further along the beach. Hamilton reached inside his jacket and pulled out the little black automatic I’d last seen in Rose Suffolk’s office.
“Might get rough,” he explained.
I nodded and produced my .38.
The headlights stopped twenty yards away, and were switched off. A man climbed out and called out to the old man, who sat puffing at his pipe.
“Cap’n Jim, gonna need some oil.” It was McCann’s voice. Hamilton put a hand on my arm and motioned for quiet. The other door of the car opened now and Shiralee got out and walked to catch up McCann. She was carrying a bag.
“McCann, hold it right there,” shouted Hamilton.
At the same moment, he switched on the car headlights, catching the two in the sudden beam. McCann shouted.
“It’s Hamilton.”
He dived inside his pocket and pulled something free. The gun in Hamilton’s hand jumped once, twice. I fired at the same time. McCann screamed and clawed at his stomach. The girl shrilled with fear, and turned to run. Before I realized what was happening, Hamilton levelled the automatic carefully and pumped two shots at her retreating back. She threw her arms out sideways and sprawled forward on to the sand.
“You lousy butcher,” I snarled, “She couldn’t get away.”
He turned on me with lips pulled back over his teeth like an animal. For a split second, I thought I was going to get some of the same. Then he laughed lightly and put the gun away.
“But we couldn’t be sure.”
I felt sick. I left him to look at McCann while I walked over to the spreadeagled body of Shiralee O’Connor. It didn’t take a second look for me to know she was dead. The two black holes in between her shoulder blades were not three inches apart. She looked pitiful with her legs twisted all askew, and her face half-buried in the sand. I felt cold rage at Hamilton, who had shot her down as if she were a mad dog. McCann had been different. He was armed, and somebody had to shoot first. But with the girl, all we needed to do was run and catch her.
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