A Room to Die In

Chapter 10

As Ann crossed the bridge into San Francisco, a wall of fog was building up at the Golden Gate. The fog overtook her at the Presidio and she was forced to slow down to a crawl. Somewhere unseen, far to the west, the sun had set, and an eerie, monochromatic twilight had fallen over the city. The fog grew thicker, blearing vision; the mercury lamps above the freeway glowed sullen lavender, with a scarlet corona.

At her apartment the fog was almost a drizzle; little cold drops with the tang of the ocean brushed her face. A cab groping along the street stopped by the curb, and a short, plump man got out.

Ann, starting up the steps, paused as the man approached. She recognized him. “Harvey!”

“Bless my soul,” said Harvey Gluck. “Am I glad to see you! I was wondering if you’d be home. I telephoned from the airport, but there was no answer. I took a chance, and here I am.”

“I’m glad to see you, too,” said Ann, with an enthusiasm totally unfeigned. She had always considered Harvey Gluck, whom her mother had so patently hoodwinked and exploited, the most patient and harmless of men. His devotion to Elaine Ann found incomprehensible; it was an uncritical and undemanding as the love of one of Harvey’s dogs for Harvey.

“Come on up,” said Ann. “I’ll mix us a drink and find us something to eat.”

“Well.” Harvey looked back at the waiting cab. “I thought you could tell me where to find Elaine.”

“I’ve no idea. Don’t you know?”

“No. A while back she told me she’d come into money, and that’s the last I’ve seen of her.” A trace of uncharacteristic bitterness crept into his voice. “Actually, Elaine and I are washed up. She can’t stand my dogs. When I first met her she was the world’s greatest dog lover. Goes to show how people change.”

“Why are you looking for her, then?”

“If she’s come into money, I want what she owes me — which is thirteen hundred bucks. But I didn’t come here to bother you with my troubles. What do you say we go to Chinatown? I’ll buy you an oriental dinner.”

“In these clothes? I’m filthy.”

“You look just fine to me.”

“I’d love to, Harvey. But let me change.”

“Okay. I’ll tell the cab to wait.”

“Of course not! We’ll go in my car.”

He looked relieved, and trotted across the sidewalk; money changed hands, and the cab blinked away through the murk and was gone.

They climbed the steps. Ann said, “I was wondering what to do with myself; it’s such a dreary evening. You appeared just at the right time.”

“I’m Johnny-on-the-spot where the ladies are concerned,” said Harvey gallantly. “What’s this I hear about your father?”

“It’s a long story.” Ann unlocked her door. “The police are calling it suicide. Maybe it is, but I don’t believe it.”

“I never knew him,” said Harvey. “Elaine was always talking about him. Sometimes what a great hero, but mostly what a heel.”

Ann sighed. “He was both. But I can’t understand what’s happened to Elaine. Hasn’t she written you?”

“Not one word.” Harvey surveyed the apartment. “Nice little place you’ve got here.”

“It’s a place to live.” Ann shivered. “Doesn’t it seem cold? Almost as if the fog has seeped in through the windows.”

Harvey hunched his plump shoulders. “It does seem a bit nippy.”

“I’ll turn up the heat. How about a highball?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Harvey looked around. “Excuse me, but where is it?”

“The bathroom? Through the bedroom, to the right.”

Harvey slunk out. Ann went into the kitchenette, brought out her bottle of bourbon, two glasses... She turned her head. Had Harvey called? She took a step, listened. From the direction of the bathroom came a peculiar bumping, scraping sound. “Harvey?”

The bumping, scraping sound diminished. There was silence. “Harvey?” called Ann in an uncertain voice. She peered across the dark bedroom at the line of light under the bathroom door.

The light snapped off. The door opened, very slowly. In the darkness loomed a shape darker than dark. Ann’s knees wobbled; she gasped, whirled, and ran for the front door. Behind her pounded footsteps. She clawed for the door handle; the door opened at last, and she ran screaming out into the hall — and, screaming, tumbled down the steps, and screaming, picked herself up to hammer at the door of the manager’s apartment on the ground floor.

He was maddeningly deliberate in answering his door. Ann kept watching over her shoulder, trembling all over. No one appeared. She held her finger on the button, knocked, thumped.

The door opened. The manager looked guardedly out. “Miss Nelson! What’s the matter?”

“Call the police,” Ann cried. “There’s someone in my apartment!”

The manager, an ex-Marine named Tanner who had left an arm on Guadalcanal, said, “Just a minute.” He went to a cupboard, brought out a large black automatic pistol. “Let’s go look, Miss Nelson.”

He bounded upstairs.

Ann’s door was shut. She said in a terrified whisper, “I left it open. I’m sure I did.”

“Stand back.” Holding the gun between his knees, Tanner brought out his passkey, unlocked the door fast; then snatching up his gun he thrust the door open. Once more warning Ann back, he peered into the living room.

Empty. On the kitchen counter was the bottle of bourbon and the two glasses.

“Be careful,” breathed Ann. “There’s something terribly wrong.” Her voice caught in her throat. Whatever had happened to Harvey would have happened to her...

Tanner sidled into the bedroom. He reached in with the hook of his artificial arm, switched on the lights. Ann’s neatly made bed sprang up, the dresser, the night table. Tanner peered under the bed, looked suspiciously at the wardrobe. Holding the gun ready he slid aside first one of the wardrobe doors, then the other. The wardrobe contained only shoes and clothes.

“Stand back, Miss Nelson,” he said quietly.

The bathroom door was ajar. The light from the bedroom shone on a polished black shoe, a plump ankle in a black and red silk sock.

Tanner backed slowly off, spoke over his shoulder. “There’s a man’s body in the bathroom. Call the police.”

Ann fled to the telephone. Tanner went into the kitchen and looked out on the service porch. After a moment he returned, waiting till Ann finished. “He’s gone. Broke open the back door to get in, probably took off the same way. What happened? Who’s the man in the bathroom?”

Ann sank into a chair. “My mother’s husband. We’d just come in. He had to go to the bathroom. It was someone who was waiting for me.” The full horror of what had happened to Harvey Gluck — and almost to her — struck her like a blow.

“Easy now,” said Tanner. He stood alertly contemplating the door into the bathroom. Someone might still be lurking there in the dark, undecided whether to make a lunge through the apartment or essay the twenty-five-foot drop from the bathroom window. Better to wait out here, he decided, with the gun trained on the doorway.

A few frozen moments later sirens began to moan, first faintly, then growing in volume, finally dying down outside. A pair of officers appeared from the stairway, burst into Ann’s living room. Tanner briefed them in a low voice, motioned with his one arm toward the bathroom. One of the officers tiptoed over and, covered by the gun of his mate, reached in and jabbed on the light. Then he ducked back. Using a mirror from Ann’s dresser they surveyed the bathroom.

Its sole occupant was Harvey Gluck. Harvey lay on his back with bulging eyes and protruding tongue. In his neck there was a bloody crease, where a wire had jerked tight.

Detective Inspector Fitzpatrick presently descended to the manager’s apartment, where Ann sat cuddling a cup of coffee she did not want. Fitzpatrick brought forth his notebook and spoke in a bored voice. “Name?”

“Ann Nelson.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Employed where?”

“I teach school. Mar Vista Elementary.”

“The deceased is who?”

“My mother’s husband. His name is Harvey Gluck.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Ann described the events of the evening. Fitzpatrick took one or two notes.

“Why had Mr. Gluck called on you?”

“He was looking for my mother.” Ann hesitated, then said, “Perhaps you had better get in touch with Inspector Tarr at the Marin County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Why?”

“My father died a week or so ago. Inspector Tarr has been in charge of the investigation.”

Fitzpatrick’s black eyes snapped. “Homicide?”

“You’d better ask Inspector Tarr,” said Ann. Then with a trace of cheerless humor she said, “He thinks it was suicide.”

“And what do you think?”

“I don’t know what I think. Except that someone was waiting to kill me.” Ann bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

“Easy now, Miss Nelson. How do you know Mr. Gluck wasn’t the intended victim?”

“How could he have been?” Ann asked wearily. “He’d only just arrived in town. No one knew he’d be here. But they knew I’d be home, and alone... Poor Harvey. When he went into the bathroom, whoever was there had to kill him to keep him quiet.” Then the tears came.

Fitzpatrick asked permission to use the Tanners’ telephone. When he hung up he turned back to Ann.

“If it’s any comfort to you,” said the detective, “Mr. Gluck never knew what struck him. That kind of garrote works like greased lightning... By the way, was he friendly with you?”

The implication was too clear to be ignored. “What do you mean?” said Ann with as much indignation as she could muster.

Fitzpatrick was not daunted. “Just what I asked.”

“Yes. He was friendly with me.”

“How friendly?”

“I liked him. He was a kind, generous man.”

“He ever make a pass at you?”

“Certainly not.”

Fitzpatrick nodded without interest. “Has he ever been here before?”

“No.”

“What about your mother? Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Firtzpatrick’s tone was incredulous.

“I haven’t seen her since early March.”

The telephone rang; Fitzpatrick answered as a matter of course. The conversation continued for several minutes. Then he hung up and said to Ann, “That was Inspector Tarr. He’s on his way.” He considered a moment. “Where are you planning to spend the night?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought.”

“A friend’s house?”

“I’ll go to a hotel.”

“She can stay right here,” said Mrs. Tanner.

Ann thanked her. She would have preferred the impersonal calm of a hotel, but she was too upset to argue.

Mrs. Tanner said, “You tell me what you’d like; I’ll run upstairs and get it for you. And you can be taking a nice hot shower.”

“That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Tanner; you’re very kind,” said Ann. “If you’d just bring some pajamas and my bathrobe.”

When Ann emerged from the shower, Mrs. Tanner had a bowl of split-pea soup and a grilled cheese sandwich waiting for her. Ann remembered that she had eaten neither lunch or dinner. She suddenly felt famished.

While she was eating, Inspector Tarr arrived. She heard his voice in the living room and felt an almost frantic sense of relief. Tarr looked in at her. “Good evening, Miss Nelson.” Ann looked up in surprise. His voice was as coolly indifferent as Inspector Fitzpatrick’s had been. She flushed with resentment. What a hypocrite! Trying to make a date with her one moment, the next speaking to her as if she were some whore picked up in a raid!

Tarr sat down beside her. Ann moved away. “This is a very serious matter,” he said.

Ann made no reply.

“Assuming someone broke into your apartment—”

Ann demanded angrily, “Is there any other possibility?”

“Of course. You might have garroted Harvey Gluck and faked a break-in at the back door. A woman could easily do the job. Once that wire gets snapped tight, it’s all over.”

Ann curled her lip in ridicule. “Why should I want to hurt poor Harvey?”

“I don’t know.” And Tarr added blandly, “Incidentally, if you plan to confess, please confess to me. I’m bucking for promotion, and I could use any help at all.”

Ann sipped her tea, too outraged and emotionally limp to react.

“Assuming,” Tarr went on, “that someone broke into your apartment, planning to attack and kill you, the question is, Why?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Any jealous boy friends?”

“No.”

“How about your ex-husband?”

Ann smiled wanly at the idea. “He’s in Cleveland.”

“We’ll check to make sure. Anyone else sore at you?”

“Not seriously.”

“So we’re back where we started — in Inisfail. You’re a threat to someone, or someone profits by your death, or someone hates you. Who?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“The blackmailer?”

Ann shrugged.

“Who would stand to inherit from you?”

“My mother.”

“You haven’t written a will?”

“No. It seems — seemed — premature.”

“Who stands to inherit from Harvey Gluck? Your mother again?”

“Harvey has nothing except two or three dozen dogs, which Elaine has always hated.”

“Suppose your mother were dead, who would inherit from you then?”

“Some cousins, I suppose. People I hardly know. Do you think Elaine is dead?”

“I don’t think anything. The fact is, we can’t find her.”

“What about the letter?”

“It’s interesting,” said Tarr, “but inconclusive.” He got to his feet. “You’d better try to sleep while you have the chance. Fitzpatrick may or may not want to question you some more tonight. He’ll certainly put you through the wringer tomorrow.”

“Should I tell him about my father?”

“Of course.”

Ann cowered in her bathrobe. “I wish I’d never been born.”

Tarr surprisingly patted her head. “Oh, come now; it’s not as bad as all that. Life goes on.”

“Not for poor Harvey. If I’d gone into the bathroom first — or come in alone — it would have been me. He was killed in my place, and I feel as if I am to blame.”

“I don’t see how you could have saved him. Unless you did it yourself.”

Ann glared up at Tarr, uncertain whether he was serious. She read nothing from his face and returned to her tea. Tarr patted her head once more and departed. Ann looked stonily after him.

Mrs. Tanner, who had been in the kitchen, not quite out of earshot, poked her head in. “What a funny policeman!”