Текст книги "The Lady in the Lake"

Автор книги: Raymond Thornton Chandler

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

TWENTY-EIGHT

Webber said quietly: “I suppose some people think we’re just a bunch of crooks down here. I suppose they think a fellow kills his wife and then calls me up on the phone and says: ‘Hi, Cap, I got a little murder down here cluttering up the front room. And I’ve got five hundred iron men that are not working.’ And then I say: ‘Fine. Hold everything and I’ll be right down with a blanket.’ ”

“Not quite that bad,” I said.

“What did you want to see Talley about when you went to his house tonight?”

“He had some line on Florence Almore’s death. Her parents hired him to follow it up, but he never told them what it was.”

“And you thought he would tell you?” Webber asked sarcastically.

“All I could do was try.”

“Or was it just that Degarmo getting tough with you made you feel like getting tough right back at him?”

“There might be a little of that in it too,” I said.

“Talley was a petty blackmailer,” Webber said contemptuously. “On more than one occasion. Any way to get rid of him was good enough. So I’ll tell you what it was he had. He had a slipper he had stolen from Florence Almore’s foot.”

“A slipper?”

He smiled faintly. “Just a slipper. It was later found hidden in his house. It was a green velvet dancing pump with some little stones set into the heel. It was custom made, by a man in Hollywood who makes theatrical footwear and such. Now ask me what was important about this slipper?”

“What was important about it, captain?”

“She had two pair of them, exactly alike, made on the same order. It seems that is not unusual. In case one of them gets scuffed or some drunken ox tries to walk up a lady’s leg.” He paused and smiled thinly. “It seems that one pair had never been worn.”

“I think I’m beginning to get it,” I said.

He leaned back and tapped the arms of his chair. He waited.

“The walk from the side door of the house to the garage is rough concrete,” I said. “Fairly rough. Suppose she didn’t walk it, but was carried. And suppose whoever carried her put her slippers on—and got one that had not been worn.”

“Yes?”

“And suppose Talley noticed this while Lavery was telephoning to the doctor, who was out on his rounds. So he took the unworn slipper, regarding it as evidence that Florence Almore had been murdered.”

Webber nodded his head. “It was evidence if he left it where it was, for the police to find it. After he took it, it was just evidence that he was a rat.”

“Was a monoxide test made of her blood?”

He put his hands flat on his desk and looked down at them. “Yes,” he said. “And there was monoxide all right. Also the investigating officers were satisfied with appearances. There was no sign of violence. They were satisfied that Dr. Almore had not murdered his wife. Perhaps they were wrong. I think the investigation was a little superficial.”

“And who was in charge of it?” I asked.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“When the police came, didn’t they notice that a slipper was missing?”

“When the police came there was no slipper missing. You must remember that Dr. Almore was back at his home, in reponse to Lavery’s call, before the police were called. All we know about the missing shoe is from Talley himself. He might have taken the unworn shoe from the house. The side door was unlocked. The maids were asleep. The objection to that is that he wouldn’t have been likely to know there was an unworn slipper to take. I wouldn’t put it past him to think of it. He’s a sharp sneaky little devil. But I can’t fix the necessary knowledge on him.”

We sat there and looked at each other, thinking about it.

“Unless,” Webber said slowly, “we can suppose that this nurse of Almore’s was involved with Talley in a scheme to put the bite on Almore. It’s possible. There are things in favor of it. There are more things against it. What reason have you for claiming that the girl drowned up in the mountains was this nurse?”

“Two reasons, neither one conclusive separately, but pretty powerful taken together. A tough guy who looked and acted like Degarmo was up there a few weeks ago showing a photograph of Mildred Haviland that looked something like Muriel Chess. Different hair and eyebrows and so on, but a fair resemblance. Nobody helped him much. He called himself De Soto and said he was a Los Angeles cop. There isn’t any Los Angeles cop named De Soto. When Muriel Chess heard about it, she looked scared. If it was Degarmo, that’s easily established. The other reason is that a golden anklet with a heart on it was hidden in a box of powdered sugar in the Chess cabin. It was found after her death, after her husband had been arrested. On the back of the heart was engraved: Al to Mildred. June 28th, 1938. With all my love.”

“It could have been some other Al and some other Mildred,” Webber said.

“You don’t really believe that, captain.”

He leaned forward and made a hole in the air with his forefinger. “What do you want to make of all this exactly?”

“I want to make it that Kingsley’s wife didn’t shoot Lavery. That his death had something to do with the Almore business. And with Mildred Haviland. And possibly with Dr. Almore. I want to make it that Kingsley’s wife disappeared because something happened that gave her a bad fright, that she may or may not have guilty knowledge, but that she hasn’t murdered anybody. There’s five hundred dollars in it for me, if I can determine that. It’s legitimate to try.”

He nodded. “Certainly it is. And I’m the man that would help you, if I could see any grounds for it. We haven’t found the woman, but the time has been very short. But I can’t help you put something on one of my boys.”

I said: “I heard you call Degarmo Al. But I was thinking of Almore. His name’s Albert.”

Webber looked at his thumb. “But he was never married to the girl,” he said quietly. “Degarmo was. I can tell you she led him a pretty dance. A lot of what seems bad in him is the result of it.”

I sat very still. After a moment I said: “I’m beginning to see things I didn’t know existed. What kind of a girl was she?”

“Smart, smooth and no good. She had a way with men. She could make them crawl over her shoes. The big boob would tear your head off right now, if you said anything against her. She divorced him, but that didn’t end it for him.”

“Does he know she is dead?”

Webber sat quiet for a long moment before he said: “Not from anything he has said. But how could he help it, if it’s the same girl?”

“He never found her in the mountains—so far as we know.” I stood up and leaned down on the desk.

“Look, captain, you’re not kidding me, are you?”

“No. Not one damn bit. Some men are like that and some women can make them like it. If you think Degarmo went up there looking for her because he wanted to hurt her, you’re as wet as a bar towel.”

“I never quite thought that,” I said. “It would be possible, provided Degarmo knew the country up there pretty well. Whoever murdered the girl did.”

“This is all between us,” he said. “I’d like you to keep it that way.”

I nodded, but I didn’t promise him. I said goodnight again and left. He looked after me as I went down the room. He looked hurt and sad.

The Chrysler was in the police lot at the side of the building with the keys in the ignition and none of the fenders smashed. Cooney hadn’t made good on his threat. I drove back to Hollywood and went up to my apartment in the Bristol. It was late, almost midnight.

The green and ivory hallway was empty of all sound except that a telephone bell was ringing in one of the apartments. It rang insistently and got louder as I came near to my door. I unlocked the door. It was my telephone.

I walked across the room in darkness to where the phone stood on the ledge of an oak desk against the side wall. It must have rung at least ten times before I got to it.

I lifted it out of the cradle and answered, and it was Derace Kingsley on the line.

His voice sounded tight and brittle and strained. “Good Lord, where in hell have you been?” he snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“All right. I’m here now,” I said. “What is it?”

“I’ve heard from her.”

I held the telephone very tight and drew my breath in slowly and let it out slowly. “Go ahead,” I said.

“I’m not far away. I’ll be over there in five or six minutes. Be prepared to move.”

He hung up.

I stood there holding the telephone halfway between my ear and the cradle. Then I put it down very slowly and looked at the hand that had held it. It was half open and clenched stiff, as if it was still holding the instrument.

TWENTY-NINE

The discreet midnight tapping sounded on the door and I went over and opened it. Kingsley looked as big as a horse in a creamy Shetland sports coat with a green and yellow scarf around the neck inside the loosely turned-up collar. A dark reddish brown snapbrim hat was pulled low on his forehead and under its brim, his eyes looked like the eyes of a sick animal.

Miss Fromsett was with him. She was wearing slacks and sandals and a dark green coat and no hat and her hair had a wicked lustre. In her ears hung ear drops made of a pair of tiny artificial gardenia blooms, hanging one above the other, two on each ear. Gillerlain Regal, the Champagne of Perfumes, came in at the door with her.

I shut the door and indicated the furniture and said: “A drink will probably help.”

Miss Fromsett sat in an armchair and crossed her legs and looked around for cigarettes. She found one and lit it with a long casual flourish and smiled bleakly at a corner of the ceiling.

Kingsley stood in the middle of the floor trying to bite his chin. I went out to the dinette and mixed three drinks and brought them in and handed them. I went over to the chair by the chess table with mine.

Kingsley said: “What have you been doing and what’s the matter with the leg?”

I said: “A cop kicked me. A present from the Bay City police department. It’s a regular service they give down there. As to where I’ve been in jail for drunk driving. And from the expression on your face, I think I may be right back there soon.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said shortly. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. This is no time to kid around.”

“All right, don’t,” I said. “What did you hear and where is she?”

He sat down with his drink and flexed the fingers of his right hand, and put it inside his coat. It came out with an envelope, a long one.

“You have to take this to her,” he said. “Five hundred dollars. She wanted more, but this is all I could raise. I cashed a check at a night club. It wasn’t easy. She has to get out of town.”

I said: “Out of what town?”

“Bay City somewhere. I don’t know where. She’ll meet you at a place called the Peacock Lounge, on Arguello Boulevard, at Eighth Street, or near it.”

I looked at Miss Fromsett. She was still looking at the corner of the ceiling as if she had just come along for the ride.

Kingsley tossed the envelope across and it fell on the chess table. I looked inside. It was money all right. That much of his story made sense. I let it lie on the small polished table with its inlaid squares of brown and pale gold.

I said: “What’s the matter with her drawing her own money? Any hotel would clear a check for her. Most of them would cash one. Has her bank account got lockjaw or something?”

“That’s no way to talk,” Kingsley said heavily. “She’s in trouble. I don’t know how she knows she’s in trouble. Unless a pickup order has been broadcast. Has it?”

I said I didn’t know. I hadn’t had much time to listen to police calls. I had been too busy listening to live policemen.

Kingsley said: “Well, she won’t risk cashing a check now. It was all right before. But not now.” He lifted his eyes slowly and gave me one of the emptiest stares I had ever seen.

“All right, we can’t make sense where there isn’t any,” I said. “So she’s in Bay City. Did you talk to her?”

“No. Miss Fromsett talked to her. She called the office. It was just after hours but that cop from the beach, Captain Webber, was with me. Miss Fromsett naturally didn’t want her to talk at all then. She told her to call back. She wouldn’t give any number we could call.”

I looked at Miss Fromsett. She brought her glance down from the ceiling and pointed it at the top of my head. There was nothing in her eyes at all. They were like drawn curtains.

Kingsley went on: “I didn’t want to talk to her. She didn’t want to talk to me. I don’t want to see her. I guess there’s no doubt she shot Lavery. Webber seemed quite sure of it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said. “What he says and what he thinks don’t even have to be on the same map. I don’t like her knowing the cops were after her. It’s a long time since anybody listened to the police short wave for amusement. So she called back later. And then?”

“It was almost half-past six,” Kingsley said. “We had to sit there in the office and wait for her to call. You tell him.” He turned his head to the girl.

Miss Fromsett said: “I took the call in Mr. Kingsley’s office. He was sitting right beside me, but he didn’t speak. She said to send the money down to the Peacock place and asked who would bring it.”

“Did she sound scared?”

“Not in the least. Completely calm. I might say, icily calm. She had it all worked out. She realized somebody would have to bring the money she might not know. She seemed to know Derry—Mr. Kingsley wouldn’t bring it.”

“Call him Derry,” I said. “I’ll be able to guess who you mean.

She smiled faintly. “She will go into this Peacock Lounge every hour about fifteen minutes past the hour. I—I guess I assumed you would be the one to go. I described you to her. And you’re to wear Derry’s scarf. I described that. He keeps some clothes at the office and this was among them. It’s distinctive enough.”

It was all of that. It was an affair of fat green kidneys laid down on an egg yolk background. It would be almost as distinctive as if I went in there wheeling a red, white and blue wheelbarrow.

“For a blimp brain she’s doing all right,” I said.

“This is no time to fool around,” Kingsley put in sharply.

“You said that before,” I told him. “You’ve got a hell of a crust assuming I’ll go down there and take a getaway stake to somebody I know the police are looking for.”

He twisted a hand on his knee and his face twisted into a crooked grin.

“I admit it’s a bit thick,” he said. “Well, how about it?”

“It makes accessories after the fact out of all three of us. That might not be too tough for her husband and his confidential secretary to talk out of, but what they would do to me would be nobody’s dream of a vacation.”

“I’m going to make it worth your while,” he said. “And we wouldn’t be accessories, if she hasn’t done anything.”

“I’m willing to suppose it,” I said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you. And in addition to that, if I decide she did do any murder, I’m going to turn her over to the police.”

“She won’t talk to you,” he said.

I reached for the envelope and put it in my pocket. “She will, if she wants this.” I looked at my strap watch. “If I start right away, I might make the one-fifteen deadline. They must know her by heart in that bar after all these hours. That makes it nice too.”

“She’s dyed her hair dark brown,” Miss Fromsett said. “That ought to help a little.”

I said: “It doesn’t help me to think she is just an innocent wayfarer.” I finished my drink and stood up. Kingsley swallowed his at a gulp and stood up and got the scarf off his neck and handed it to me.

“What did you do to get the police on your neck down there?” he asked.

“I was using some information Miss Fromsett very kindly got for me. And that led to my looking for a man named Talley who worked on the Almore case. And that led to the clink. They had the house staked. Talley was the dick the Graysons hired,” I added, looking at the tall dark girl. “You’ll probably be able to explain to him what it’s all about. It doesn’t matter anyway. I haven’t time to go into it now. You two want to wait here?”

Kingsley shook his head. “We’ll go to my place and wait for a call from you.”

Miss Fromsett stood up and yawned. “No. I’m tired, Derry. I’m going home and going to bed.”

“You’ll come with me,” he said sharply. “You’ve got to keep me from going nuts.”

“Where do you live, Miss Fromsett?” I asked.

“Bryson Tower on Sunset Place. Apartment 716. Why?” She gave me a speculative look.

“I might want to reach you some time.”

Kingsley’s face looked bleakly irritated, but his eyes still were the eyes of a sick animal. I wound his scarf around my neck and went out to the dinette to switch off the light. When I came back they were both standing by the door. Kingsley had his arm around her shoulders. She looked very tired and rather bored.

“Well, I certainly hope—” he started to say, then took a quick step and put his hand out. “You’re a pretty level guy, Marlowe.”

“Go on, beat it,” I said. “Go away. Go far away.”

He gave a queer look and they went out.

I waited until I heard the elevator come up and stop, and the doors open and close again, and the elevator start down. Then I went out myself and took the stairs down to the basement garage and got the Chrysler awake again.

THIRTY

The Peacock Lounge was a narrow front next to a gift shop in whose window a tray of small crystal animals shimmered in the street light. The Peacock had a glass brick front and soft light glowed out around the stained-glass peacock that was set into the brick. I went in around a Chinese screen and looked along the bar and then sat at the outer edge of a small booth. The light was amber, the leather was Chinese red and the booths had polished plastic tables. In one booth four soldiers were drinking beer moodily, a little glassy in the eyes and obviously bored even with drinking beer. Across from them a party of two girls and two flashy-looking men were making the noise in the place. I saw nobody that looked like my idea of Crystal Kingsley.

A wizened waiter with evil eyes and a face like a gnawed bone put a napkin with a printed peacock on it down on the table in front of me and gave me a Bacardi cocktail. I sipped it and looked at the amber face of the bar clock. It was just past one-fifteen.

One of the men with the two girls got up suddenly and stalked along to the door and went on. The voice of the other man said:

“What did you have to insult the guy for?”

A girl’s tinny voice said: “Insult him? I like that. He propositioned me.”

The man’s voice said complainingly: “Well, you didn’t have to insult him, did you?”

One of the soldiers suddenly laughed deep in his chest and then wiped the laugh off his face with a brown hand and drank a little more beer. I rubbed the back of my knee. It was hot and swollen still but the paralyzed feeling had gone away.

A tiny, white-faced Mexican boy with enormous black eyes came in with morning papers and scuttled along the booths trying to make a few sales before the barman threw him out. I bought a paper and looked through it to see if there were any interesting murders. There were not.

I folded it and looked up as a slim, brown-haired girl in coal black slacks and a yellow shirt and a long gray coat came out of somewhere and passed the booth without looking at me. I tried to make up my mind whether her face was familiar or just such a standard type of lean, rather hard, prettiness that I must have seen it ten thousand times. She went out of the street door around the screen. Two minutes later the little Mexican boy came back in, shot a quick look at the barman, and scuttled over to stand in front of me.

“Mister,” he said, his great big eyes shining with mischief. Then he made a beckoning sign and scuttled out again.

I finished my drink and went after him. The girl in the gray coat and yellow shirt and black slacks was standing in front of the gift shop, looking in at the window. Her eyes moved as I went out. I went and stood beside her.

She looked at me again. Her face was white and tired. Her hair looked darker than dark brown. She looked away and spoke to the window.

“Give me the money, please.” A little mist formed on the plate glass from her breath.

I said: “I’d have to know who you are.”

“You know who I am,” she said softly. “How much did you bring?”

“Five hundred.”

“It’s not enough,” she said. “Not nearly enough. Give it to me quickly. I’ve been waiting half of eternity for somebody to get here.”

“Where can we talk?”

“We don’t have to talk. Just give me the money and go the other way.”

“It’s not that simple. I’m doing this at quite a risk. I’m at least going to have the satisfaction of knowing what goes on where I stand.”

“Damn you,” she said acidly, “why couldn’t he come himself? I don’t want to talk. I want to get away as soon as I can.”

“You didn’t want him to come himself. He understood that you didn’t even want to talk to him on the phone.”

“That’s right,” she said quickly and tossed her head. “But you’ve got to talk to me,”

I said. “I’m not as easy as he is. Either to me or to the law. There’s no way out of it. I’m a private detective and I have to have some protection too.”

“Well, isn’t he charming,” she said. “Private detective and all.” Her voice held a low sneer.

“He did the best he knew how. It wasn’t easy for him to know what to do.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“You, and what you’ve been doing and where you’ve been and what you expect to do. Things like that. Little things, but important.”

She breathed on the glass of the shop window and waited while the mist of her breath disappeared.

“I think it would be much better,” she said in the same cool empty voice, “for you to give me the money and let me work things out for myself.”

“No.”

She gave me another sharp sideways glance. She shrugged the shoulders of the gray coat impatiently.

“Very well, if it has to be that way. I’m at the Granada, two blocks north on Eighth. Apartment 618. Give me ten minutes. I’d rather go in alone.”

“I have a car.”

“I’d rather go alone.” She turned quickly and walked away.

She walked back to the corner and crossed the boulevard and disappeared along the block under a line of pepper trees. I went and sat in the Chrysler and gave her her ten minutes before I started it.

The Granada was an ugly gray building on a corner. The plate glass entrance door was level with the street. I drove around the corner and saw a milky globe with Garage painted on it. The entrance to the garage was down a ramp into the hard rubber-smelling silence of parked cars in rows. A lanky Negro came out of a glassed-in office and looked the Chrysler over.

“How much to leave this here a short time? I’m going upstairs.”

He gave me a shady leer. “Kinda late, boss. She needs a good dustin’ too. Be a dollar.”

“What goes on here?”

“Be a dollar,” he said woodenly.

I got out. He gave me a ticket. I gave him the dollar. Without asking him he said the elevator was in back of the office, by the Men’s Room.

I rode up to the sixth floor and looked at numbers on doors and listened to stillness and smelled beach air corning in at the end of corridors. The place seemed decent enough. There would be a few happy ladies in any apartment house. That would explain the lanky Negro’s dollar. A great judge of character, that boy.

I came to the door of Apartment 618 and stood outside it a moment and then kicked softly.