Killer with a Key

CHAPTER 14

HE woke in the late afternoon with a pain in his chest; he opened his eyes to find Sassy ensconced on her favorite spot. He lifted her off, and she swished her tail indignantly. “For somethin' that weighs about seven-eighths of a pound, white stuff, you sure walk like a Mack truck.”

He picked up his wrist watch from the table and looked at it. He shook his head; he had been asleep for only an hour and a half. He had had nearly an all-day session with the police; they had landed in force shortly after his own return to the hotel, and only Jimmy Rogers' presence beside him at the critical moment and Patrolman Gliddens' admission that Johnny had not been specifically told to stay put prevented the occasion from being even stickier. The police were mad.

He lay back on the bed and explored with his hands the two dark spots just below his breastbone, so tender to the touch that the digging of the kitten's paws had awakened him. The twin souvenir of his early-morning encounter with Lorraine Barnes' heels had not only discolored but had swollen slightly. A fraction higher or lower, and she would really have sanded his engine.

Lorraine Barnes-now there was an all-purpose woman for you. Killed a husband of her own, according to Mike Larsen. Definitely not the delicate type in the clinches, yet with a distinct feminine appeal. Insistent upon doing her own snooping around four murders. And that savatte kick-where could she have learned that?

He stirred restlessly, leaned up on an elbow and reached for a cigarette from the pack on the table. He sucked in on the smoke and exhaled noisily as he lay down again. Sooner or later, Killain, he briefed himself, you're going to have to make up your mind about Lorraine Barnes. She may be Vic's Wife, but the more you look at it she's about the only qualified entrant left in this murder derby, and the record says she's capable of it.

A motive? That was a little tougher. If Robert Sanders had been reneging on a romantic attachment she could have wanted him hung out to dry. She had a lot of pride. But the police seemed to have done nothing with that angle, which only went to show their sources of information might not be as good as Mike Larsen's. So-Sanders, possibly. But Ellen, and the Perry girl, and Russo? He felt that Lorraine Barnes was capable of very nearly anything in the white heat of anger, but the cold-blooded elimination of three more people-even though it could hardly have been planned that way originally-had a calculated touch to it that seemed foreign to her.

Still, on opportunity she rated high. By her own admission she had been close to Robert Sanders when he was killed. No one knew where she had been when Ellen Saxon was killed. She had not been at her apartment-or anywhere else that could be accounted for-when Roberta Perry was killed. And there were those clothes, so closely matching the description of the things worn by the killer. She had been out in the rain last night when Ed Russo caught the black pills. Four murders-and she had an alibi for none of them. But did you always have an alibi when you needed one, especially living alone?

He sat up on the edge of the bed. Well, boy, you've thought yourself full circle. Did she or didn't she? You're not likely to find out from her; you made hardly a dent in her head-on. Although if Cuneo hadn't shown He circled his drawn-up knees with his arms. Robert Sanders, Ellen Saxon, Roberta Perry, Ed Russo. Every one of them connected in one way or another with that public relations office. Some of them connected personally apparently not at all. That public relations office… Johnny stared thoughtfully at the far wall. Have you been missing a bet, Killain? There's at least one other person closely connected with the tight little group of deceased. The widow Sanders. Yet the police seemed to have no interest in her at all; her alibis must have been sheet steel.

Her husband and three of her employees. She'd been with Ed Russo last night just before he died. The widow Sanders…

He slid from the bed and reached for his clothes. He thought of Lieutenant Dameron and shrugged. Cross that bridge when you come to it, Killain. The back of your hand to Joe Dameron, anyway.

He walked to the window and drew back the shade for a look outside. A little hazy. He closed the window against the chance of more rain. In the phone book he looked up the agency address and headed for the street. In the cab on the way over he tried to decide on an approach that would get him in to see the widow Sanders. He discarded two or three notions and finally gave it up; he'd think of something when the time came.

The agency offices were impressive; he looked around at the walnut paneling and the limed oak desk in the receptionist's corner behind the little wooden fence before he spoke to the girl seated at the desk. “My name's Killain, and I'd like to see Mrs. Sanders. If she's busy I'll wait.”

He had waited only five minutes when the girl beckoned to him. “Through that door and the third door on the right, sir.”

The third door on the right was frosted all the way to the top and was completely unmarked. He knocked once and turned the knob. The tall blonde he had seen on the mezzanine with Ed Russo last night sat behind a desk overflowing with papers and half-filled ash trays. His first really good look at her disclosed clear, tanned skin and a healthy outdoors look, a little surprising in the executive type. Her linen suit stayed crisp-looking, even in the heat. The eyes were blue and direct; the mouth was firm, with a shade too much chin below it for prettiness. It was a strong face, and she did not boggle at his inspection.

“Mrs. Sanders, my name's Killain,” Johnny said. He took a deep breath and waited for the next line to appear on the prompter's card.

“Helen Sanders,” the tall woman amended absently. The blue eyes took him in inch by inch. “Killain. I don't seem to know the name, but don't I know- Of course; you're from the hotel.” She smiled, a frank, open smile. “And you came to see me. That's rather remarkable, since I had already told someone to see you in the morning.”

“See me, ma'am?”

“Exactly.” The blue eyes retraced him, this time in quarter inches. “You've been at the hotel ten years, give or take a few months. I'm told that you exercise authority over and above what might reasonably be asked of you and exercise it well. Did you ever think of making a change?”

“What kind of a change, ma'am?”

“Mr. Killain-”

“The name is Johnny, ma'am,” he interrupted her.

“Johnny, then. You'll forgive me, I hope, if I'm a little abrupt.” Again the frank smile. “It's a habit of mine. I'm a businesswoman, not a sentimentalist. Ed Russo told me about you, and I checked you with another source. The public stenographer's office at the hotel is mine, Johnny. My money supported it, and Ed Russo ran it for me. I need a man to take Ed Russo's place, a man with a little raw intelligence, nerve and drive. Would you like to be that man?”

Johnny removed his cigarettes from his shirt pocket, shook one free and placed it in his mouth. As an afterthought he rose and offered one to the woman behind the desk; she accepted, and he lighted it for her. He sat down again and tried to keep his voice noncommittal. “I'd have thought Russo's attitude toward me might be a little negative.”

Helen Sanders smiled again. “It was. So was the attitude of the other party I checked. I was told-even warned- not to make this offer to you.” The smile widened; she had a really nice smile, Johnny decided. “I felt I had to decide for myself. The right man over there is worth a good deal to me, the wrong man is worthless.”

“Does Tim Connor fit into the picture over there, Mrs. Sanders?”

“You've met Tim? I'll put it this way-Tim Connor was an independent contractor taken on by Ed for specific jobs. I personally feel that Connor was one of Ed's major mistakes.”

“And here I thought Connor was a wheel.”

“In his own circles, possibly; I can tell you explicitly that as far as the operation over there was concerned, far from being a wheel, Tim Connor was a very small gear.”

Johnny settled back in his chair. “So you've warmed me up. Roll the cameras.”

“Fair enough. The public stenographer bit is a blind, of course. The main purpose of that office is to serve as a briefing center for the people assigned to the special jobs which come out of my office here.” Helen Sanders looked down momentarily at the glowing tip of her cigarette. “The girl there now will have to go, incidentally. I made it a practice not to interfere with Ed's pets, but she attracts entirely too much attention.”

“You still haven't said anything,” Johnny pointed out when she paused.

The voice was crisp. “I say I'll pay two hundred a week and expenses to a man who can follow specific directives and who can procure the people to carry them out.”

“That's a good week's pay. Anything illegal?”

“There shouldn't be. Ed was inclined to trim his sails a little too closely in that respect. When you have a mind as devious as mine, illegality becomes an unnecessary luxury.”

He considered the clear blue eyes in the candid face. “I haven't heard anything yet I can hang a nail on, Mrs. Sanders.”

“I'm sure you're giving me credit for a little common sense. Before I reach the point of no return with you I want a reaction. I think you understand me. You asked if it was illegal, and I said no. If you asked if it was ethical, I might feel it necessary to tell you that a clear two hundred a week buys up a few ethics. My late husband had ethics. I prefer a bank account.”

This woman left no snagged threads at all; Johnny made one more try. “How about a for instance on a directive, Mrs. Sanders?”

For an instant he thought she was going to refuse, and then she changed her mind. “All right. Follow me closely, now; this is a little complicated. Some time ago a jeweler came to me-in my business I get referrals all the time-with a story of having been tricked by his partner. I checked and found out his story was true. I always do check, because over the years I've found that countermeasures such as we specialize in rarely result in an official protest if there has been an original wrong. Too much dirty linen would be exposed.”

She knuckled a hand and scrubbed it briskly in the other palm. “I thought about it for a week. Then I had Ed Russo contact Tim Connor and three unemployed actors, one of them a woman. I set up a timetable for them, and for once they followed it perfectly. On a day like today, for example, the woman was sent to the jeweler where the wrong was to be righted, and she purchased an expensive watch of a type uncommon enough that the jeweler could not in reason have very many in stock. This watch was taken to a man who does work for us, and the expensive moment was removed and a very cheap movement substituted. The tampered watch was then returned to the woman. Three or four days later, in the early morning a man of the group went in to this same jeweler and bought an identical watch. This, too, was taken to our man, the expensive movement removed and the cheap movement substituted. An hour after the first man left the store, the second man went in and bought up all the watches of that style which were left in the store. Because of the price and style of the item there shouldn't be too many; regardless, it is his job to see that he gets them all, from counters, vault and windows. Hard on the heels of his departure the first man came back and returned the watch he had bought earlier the same morning, only now of course it contained the substituted cheap movement. On a returned item the store's watchmaker will automatically check the merchandise as a matter of course, but where is the watchmaker who will take the back off the case and check the watch movement inside?”

Helen Sanders smiled as Johnny leaned forward in his chair, trying to follow her story. “In the meantime, Tim Connor had contacted a man he knew on the District Attorney's Racket Squad. Tim told this man that he'd bought an expensive watch for his girl, had had trouble with it, had taken it to another jeweler, and that the second jeweler had told him that it had a cheap, inferior movement in it and that he'd been rooked. The Racket Squad man naturally said let's go and see this crooked jeweler. Tim led his little party on the scene and accused the clerk of selling his girl a doctored watch. The clerk denied it, naturally, and called out the watchmaker, who took the back off the case of the woman's watch and was confounded by what he found. The Racket Squad man moved in and demanded to see all other watches of that type in stock. They could only have one; the returned one which also had a cheap, inferior movement. Try explaining it to a Racket Squad man some time.”

Johnny blew out his breath. “Lady, when you said you had a devious mind it was the understatement of all time!” He thought back over it, step by step. “Foolproof. A perfect frame.”

Helen Sanders nodded. “All purchases are for cash, strictly. Phony names, except for the woman complainant, and phony addresses. It's an expensive operation, but the man who wanted the job done paid fifteen hundred dollars for it. Paid it cheerfully. He didn't know how it was done; he didn't care. He saw the result.” She looked at Johnny across the desk. “Well?”

“Let me sleep on it. I'll call you.”

“An amendment. I'll call you.” Helen Sanders rose and stubbed out her cigarette vigorously; there was an air of quiet competence in everything this woman did, Johnny reflected. She smiled at him again, the sudden, bright smile which made her appear so much younger. “I think we'll get along, Johnny.” She sobered then, considering him. “There is one change I'm going to make in the operation. Ed Russo used to come to this office for his instructions. I find that a needless involvement. You will in the future receive your instructions from a third party who will be connected with both offices, but will appear in neither.”

“You mean you're installin' an overseer? I might not like that.”

“You won't have any trouble with the overseer.”

“I could feel different about it.”

“You won't. When you learn who it is.”

He considered her carefully. “The overseer know about this? How's he gonna feel about it?”

Helen Sanders' smile was crisp. “I'll have to admit he warned me not to approach you. He felt you were-shall we say-unstable? On the other hand, I need a man with your seeming flair for direct action. The decision I reserved for myself, of course.” She moved out from behind her desk. “We've talked enough, until you give me your answer. I think we're all practical people. I risked only one thing, actually, in approaching you. An outright 'no' might have made it necessary to transfer the operation to another hotel. A hotel is a perfect cover for all-hours and all kinds of comings and goings. It would have been inconvenient, but it was worth the risk to get the right man.”

Lady, you just think you only risked one thing, Johnny thought. He felt a rising excitement gnawing at him as he stood up to confront Helen Sanders. He had to get out of there… he needed time to think “I'll call you in the morning,” Helen Sanders was saying firmly as she walked with him to the door. Absently he noted that she had a nice way of moving; she must be forty, forty-five, but she was sure giving it a battle.

He reached the street without being fully conscious if he had used the elevator or the stairs. He looked for a drugstore and a phone booth, and then changed his mind. He started to look for a cab and changed his mind again. He set out for the hotel at a steady pace, his mind churning.

He nearly walked past the foyer entrance as he plowed along; he turned in and went directly up to his room. Sassy jumped up from a kittenish sprawl to greet him; he ruffled her fur absently for a moment, kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling for a long time.

He roused himself finally, stretched and walked over to the window. He was surprised to find it dark outside. He drew the shade to three-quarter length and returned to the bed. With hands locked behind his head he resumed his critical inspection of the ceiling.

When he stirred finally his left arm had fallen asleep; he rubbed the circulation back into it and picked up his phone. “Ring eight-fifteen, Edna,” he told the operator when she came on the line. He listened to the insistent brrrrtt.

“Mike? Johnny. You got time to run down to my room a minute? Looks like you're gonna be my new boss, so I ought to start gettin' in right.”

“You mean she-”

“After what you told her she did it anyway. A whim of iron, that lady. Come on down and let's talk it over.” He replaced the phone gently, looked around the room, rose from the bed and extinguished the room light. Back at the bed he sat down on its edge, letting his eyes gradually accustom themselves to the room's darkness. He felt a sharp sting in his ankle; Sassy was diligently exercising her claws on it. Johnny reached down, picked her up and put her in his lap; even in the darkness he could make out the white puffball of the kitten's figure as she settled down contentedly.

Johnny sat and listened to the quiet in the room, his eyes on the thin pencil of light under the edge of his door. Beside him the phone rang, and he jumped; in his preoccupation it was a jarring, unexpected sound. He picked it up hurriedly. “Yeah?”

“This is Edna, Johnny. There's a lady here to see you. A Mrs. Barnes.”

“Tell her-tell her I'll be down in a few minutes, Edna.”

He waited impatiently in the short pause before Edna's voice came back on the line. “I don't see her in the lobby. She came on the house phone before when you were talking, and I couldn't connect you. Could she have gone upstairs? I didn't-”

“Listen, Edna,” Johnny said rapidly. “Find her, or have someone find her for you. Hold her in the lobby. I'll be down shortly.” He hung up quickly and waited for the telephone noise to die out in his ear so that he could again concentrate on room sound. His eyes again picked up the line of light under the door, and he settled back on the bed. He stiffened as his ear picked up a faint, alien sound, and his unwinking stare focused on the line of light as he waited for it to widen in indication that the door had been silently opened.

The line remained constant, however, and the noise repeated itself, direction indistinguishable in the darkness. Johnny wrenched his eyes away from the light at the door and stared blindly around the room. He became conscious suddenly of the kitten on his lap; the small head was turned at right angles toward the window. Johnny tensed; he could picture the pink nose wrinkling as Sassy tested the air — had she felt a current of air from the window being raised slowly and almost quietly from the outside?

He bounded from the bed, carrying the kitten with him; he flattened himself against the end wall, out of line with window and bed. Over his shoulder he strained his eyes back to the door, but the thin line of light remained stationary, and then in the middle of his breath of relief the night around him erupted in gunfire.

He couldn't count the sharp explosions; in the small space the noise was deafening. Blue flame pierced the window shade, which jumped crazily in the blur of shots. Johnny found himself on his knees as he listened to the slugs tearing up his mattress, and then his ears tingled with the quiet. On his belly he snaked across the floor; he reached up and grabbed the bottom edge of the smoldering shade and yanked it completely off the window. He tightened against another fusillade, but there was silence. He could smell the shade burning at the edges of the bullet holes, and he ground out the creeping edges of fire with his palms.

He rose cautiously and angled a look out at the fire escape. There was no movement in the night; he leaned forward by slow degrees, and verified that the fire escape was empty. A flutter caught his eye; he strained to make out the object-paper? — which stirred lightly in the after-sundown breeze as it appeared to be caught on the iron handrail.

His eyes swam from the intensity of his stare, but he could see no details on the flapping material. In stockinged feet he went lightly to the closet and fumbled out two coat hangers. Back at the partially raised window he listened to the silence in the outside world. It was not silent in the hotel; already he could hear noises in the corridor. He had to move and move quickly.

He set himself, and in one quick lunge reached out the few feet with the extended coat hangers, trapped the lightweight material on the handrail between them, and pulled it back into the room. His fingers told him it was cloth; in the darkness he could make out no details, and he wanted no light in that room. Hurriedly he put on his shoes, shoving the cloth in his pocket. He opened his room door carefully and eased out into the corridor. Once out he ran for the fire door, paying no attention to the curious heads in the open doorways.

On the first landing he stopped and pulled the piece of cloth from his pocket; he looked down for an instant at a patch-pocket, apparently torn from a black-and-white checked jacket, and jammed it back in his pocket. He raced down five flights of stairs, caroming off walls on the sharp turns. He burst down off the mezzanine through the lobby, and in the foyer he saw them, between the inner and outer glass doors.

Mike Larsen whirled as Johnny rushed in, his lips a dark gash in his white face. His staring eyes were locked blindly upon Johnny's face; at his elbow Lorraine Barnes' hypnotized glare was fixed rigidly on the ugly, black automatic in Mike Larsen's right hand.