Killer with a Key

CHAPTER 11

He woke from an uneasy sleep with a long shudder; Ellen had called him. He had heard her so plainly that he half sat up and stared dazedly around the familiar room. He was soaked with perspiration, and his mouth was dry and cottony.

He pushed himself woodenly to the bed's edge, and the hot knife came alive, and bit and twisted. Ellen would never call him again, because he had let her down when she needed him. Ellen, who of all people had deserved a break, and hadn't had one. Her killer was still walking around loose, no doubt planning other murders, and Johnny Killain, who had solemnly promised himself that he would avenge her, was stumbling along in the dark like a blind fool.

He knuckled fiercely at his eyes and stood up. In the shower's hissing water he promised himself all over again. He'd find this killer, wherever he was. And whoever he was. He'd find him, and when he did He turned off the water and in the silence stared blindly at the white tiled wall.

Ellen…

He leaned against the low counter and watched a dark-haired, white-uniformed girl at the right-hand end of the large desk beyond it. The girl wrote busily, referring occasionally to a little book at her elbow. Johnny glanced behind him; the waiting room of the Landry Cat and Dog Hospital was a beehive of activity. There had been a dozen people waiting in the comfortable chairs when he had arrived, and it seemed to him that two more had since come in for every one who had left.

The desk area beyond the counter was efficiently busy. The girl in front of Johnny was expediting the discharge of the recovered animals; at the other end of the desk a blonde was admitting the newcomers. To the left of the desk was a heavy, paneled door, through which each time it opened came a ringing chorus of barks. With the door closed there was no sound; Johnny realized that Jeff had soundproofed this waiting room, in addition to the money he had spent out in back. No wonder he hated to leave.

A white-jacketed attendant emerged from the back and deposited a black carrying case on the counter in front of Johnny. “That's not-“ Johnny began as the attendant turned away, then bent for a closer look. The pink nose and white whiskers crowded up against the neat wire mesh looked familiar; Johnny pushed the tip of a finger through the mesh, and Sassy nipped it enthusiastically.

Johnny laughed. “You've got to be feelin' better if you've got all that ginger, baby doll. Jeff's got you travelin' in style.”

“Here's her diet, Mr. Killain.” The dark-haired girl handed him a closely written half-sheet. She smiled impersonally and looked for the next name on her list. “Dr. Landry will mail you the bill.”

Johnny hesitated, but the girl had already called the next name. He picked up the carrying case, and backed off a few feet. If he knew Jeff Landry there never would be a bill, mailed or otherwise. Should he try around at the back to say thanks? Probably do Jeff no favor, he thought to himself, at the rate people were still coming in. Jeff must be busier He heard the voice first; he hadn't seen the big man enter. He must have pushed up to the counter out of turn, because Johnny could see resentment on one or two faces, and there was a hush in the waiting room. Johnny looked at the expensively dressed beefy body, and the light-colored panama with its too-wide brim, at the round moon face and the livid scar drawing down a corner of the heavy mouth. “-tell me why I had to rush over here?” the overpowering bass rumbled through the room.

The dark-haired girl looked doubtful. “You're Mr.-”

“Morton. Charles G. Morton.”

Oh, fine, Johnny thought. He set down Sassy's carrying case. Charles G. Morton? The last time Johnny had set eyes on this fine-feathered bird-which had been last night-his name had been Tim Connor.

“Morton?” The dark-haired girl turned over papers on her desk. “Oh, yes.” She looked up in sudden uncertainty. “It was Mrs. Morton we called-”

“I know, I know,” the big man boomed. “Mrs. Morton is a bit indisposed. She called me at the office and asked me to stop by here and see what this mysterious call is all about. Now will you please tell me why I'm here, young lady? I'm a busy man.”

There was no mistaking the girl's nervousness. She rose abruptly. “If you will please step inside, Mr. Morton, Dr. Landry will-”

“Young lady!” The girl quailed before the roar. “If Dr. Landry called my wife, will you kindly have him step out here and tell me why? I'm sure the doctor's time is valuable, but so is mine.”

The girl was nearly in tears. “He's just inside, sir-”

The big man seemed to swell. “He's as close to here as I am to there. What kind of nonsense is this? You'll have me thinking in a moment he doesn't want to see me.”

The girl flew out through the paneled door, and Charles G. Morton leaned back negligently against the counter and half turned to survey the waiting room as if to measure the extent of the audience reaction. His casual glance passed over Johnny, hesitated, swiveled back and focused-hard.

He's coming over here, Johnny thought. Play a hunch. Morton, Schmorton. This water buffalo is up to no good. What have you got to lose? Play the hunch.

Charles G. Morton apparently didn't like loose ends; he moved away from the counter like a man of action. Chest to chest with Johnny, he looked at him scowlingly. “I know you. What-”

He broke off as Johnny shook his head ever so slightly and tapped the carrying case at his feet with his toe. The big man looked down at it puzzledly. “Ed sent me over,” Johnny told him, trying to put a sense of urgency into his voice.

The opened mouth snapped shut and reopened. “Ed sent you? Ed sent you? Am I going crazy?” He tried to muffle the boom of the thunderous voice. “Is this guy off the hook? Has-” He broke off again as the paneled door swung open to admit Jeff Landry.

One look at Jeff's white, strained face was all that Johnny needed to know that his hunch had been a good one. He picked up his carrying case and put a forceful hand on Charles G. Morton's elbow. “Inside, Tim. Got to straighten this out quietly.”

Unwillingly the big man permitted himself to be shepherded through the door. Jeff Landry looked at Johnny and followed them inside. Johnny closed the door, and stood with his back against it.

“Now suppose you tell me-” Tim Connor began in the familiar shattering roar, then stopped as Johnny raised a hand.

“Jeff.” Johnny's voice was quiet. “Mr. Morton's dog died.

It was a statement.

Jeff looked surprised. “It was a cat, but it died, all right. I called his wife-”

“Poisoned,” Johnny interrupted, again in the flat statement.

“Yes.” Jeff paused. “You knew? How-”

“I didn't know, Jeff.” Johnny moved away from the door, casually. “But Mr. Morton knew. Didn't you, Mr. Morton?”

“What's all this tomfoolery!” “Mr. Morton” glared from Johnny to Jeff and back again. He made up his mind suddenly and advanced on Johnny, the round face dark. “You sucked me in here, wise guy! I-”

The resonant voice died to a gasp as Johnny put a palm in the center of the cream-colored sport jacket and shoved firmly. Tim Connor staggered back on his heels a quick half-dozen steps, his arms flailing the air. Beside Johnny in the narrow corridor Jeff Landry took a quick step forward. “Is this the guy?” he demanded tensely. “Is he the one?”

“Easy, Jeff,” Johnny counseled. He turned back to the big man. “You should have bought a program, Tim. You guessed wrong on the lineup; I'm in the other dugout.”

Bitter anger mottled the moon face. “I won't forget this, Killain. I'll cure you of meddling. I'll drop a ton on you.”

“That's for later. Right now let's clean house here.”

“Right now I'm getting out of here!” Tim Connor fixed his panama more firmly with an impatient tug at the brim. “And God help the man who tries to stop me!”

At his first step Johnny moved fast; he crowded up against the beefy figure, and Tim Connor retreated the step as his right hand darted under the cream-colored jacket. Johnny pivoted on the ball of his left foot and muscle-punched the reaching right arm with a line-drive right-hand smash. The big man's face went white, and his arm dropped limply as his body caromed from the wall. He made no effort to resist as Johnny snaked the snub-nosed revolver from the shoulder sling under the sport coat and tossed it back to Jeff.

Johnny looked at Tim Connor's suddenly shriveled face and at the left hand supporting the right arm. “You're gettin' old, Tim. You're about fifteen years and forty pounds away from gettin' out of here your way. You want to try mine?”

“I'll… get you for this, Killain-” The voice was still deep, but the vibrancy was gone. The heavy body was half crouched forward, but not aggressively; the face looked sick. “I'll… Let's hear your proposition.”

“Conversation.”

Tim Connor considered Johnny. “And?”

“If it reads you walk out of here.”

“Just a damn minute!” Jeff Landry tried to push by the bar of Johnny's extended arm. “If this is the guy that poisoned those animals he's not going to walk out of here!”

“Listen to me, Jeff.” Johnny said it quickly; he pushed the veterinarian back down the corridor and out of Tim Connor's hearing as he lowered his own voice. “You got a lot of money invested here, and you had a close call. We got a break and you're out of the barrel, but you go working this guy over he can tie you up indefinitely with assault charges and damage suits. Use your head.”

“Those animals-” Jeff began stubbornly, and paused. He took a slow step backward. “Get him out of here, then. Fast. Before I change my mind.”

Johnny walked back to Tim Connor. “Let's hear it, Tim.”

The beefy man swallowed visibly. “Hear? What else is to hear? You laid it all out on the drawing board.”

“I want to hear it from you, and right now. That's a soundproof door there, and Jeff is a little restless. Talk.”

“If I do I walk out?”

“If I think I'm hearing it all.”

“I was hired to scare Landry away from this address,” Tim Connor said abruptly. “It figured that a little bad publicity ought to change his mind that his lease couldn't be bought up.” He hesitated, and his eyes went warily to Jeff. He cleared his throat tentatively before continuing. “I sent two people in with dogs which had already been fed a pill set to dissolve in ten to twelve hours. This last time it was a cat.” He hesitated again and shrugged. “That's it; somehow you caught it. I still don't see how-”

“Who hired you?” It was Jeff's voice; Jeff's glasses were in his pocket, and his tone was shrill.

Tim Connor replied promptly as he kept an uneasy eye on Jeff. “Man named Dave Richman.”

Jeff looked at Johnny, who shook his head. “Never heard of him. It figures. This kind of thing filters down from five or six removes away from the operator like Connor here. With a lot of time and trouble and money you might be able to trace it back. You might. There's a better way.”

“There's a way to do it right!” Jeff said it between his teeth, and then his shoulders slumped tiredly and he turned away. “All right; I said it before. Do it your way. Get him out of here.”

Johnny nodded. “You heard the man, Tim. Get lost.” The big man needed no second invitation. With a careful eye on Jeff he sidled to the door and eased himself out into the waiting room. Johnny stepped into the doorway to make sure he kept on going, and he smiled at Jeff as he stepped back inside. “He hit just about three of the high spots on the way across the room.”

“I shouldn't have let him get away with it,” Jeff said leadenly. The fingers of the hand that traced the lean jawline trembled visibly. “Those helpless animals-”

“You did it right, Jeff. You were vulnerable. Still are, until you rivet this down. This is what you want to do-call up… Say, are you listening?”

“I'm listening. Go ahead.”

“Call up your landlord and tell him to send this lawyer around, that you want to talk to him. But do it fast, before this gets back to him. He'll think you want to settle. When you get him in here, the first thing you do is bounce his tail a foot off the floor. Then you tell him about Tim Connor and Dave Richman like you had them stuffed in your hip pocket. Tell him they've blown the whistle on the whole racket. Tell him that the next thing that goes wrong around this place you're comin' after him and nail his ears to the nearest telephone pole. Can you do that?”

“My pleasure, believe me.” Jeff drew a shallow breath. “How can I ever thank you, Johnny? I'm just beginning to realize I'm out from under this nightmare.”

“You're not out till you muzzle this lawyer,” Johnny pointed out. “If you don't make him think he's a hostage he's just going to try something else.” He stooped to pick up the carrying case. “You know who you should really thank? White stuff here.”

“The kitten?”

“It was a kitten Connor-or Morton-sent in, wasn't it?”

Jeff's eyes widened. “A white Persian!”

“Sure. It was supposed to be this one. It came to me while I was listenin' to Connor bellow outside. I intercepted Sassy here one step short of her being turned over to Connor's partner. She was earmarked for here. When the delivery broke down they had to get a replacement.”

Jeff Landry ran a finger lightly across the front of the wire mesh, and Sassy's pink nose followed it interestedly. “Eight lives left, little one. You don't look worried. Johnny, she has a gold lifetime pass around this place, and I hope she never needs it.” He put out his hand, and Johnny took it.

“Glad it worked out, Jeff.”

“So am I, Johnny. So am I.”

On the street Johnny was surprised to find a light rain falling. He walked up to the corner and caught a westbound cab just when he began to think he was going to have to start walking. In the cab he ran up the windows and took Sassy out of her carrying case. She seemed delighted to see him; she frisked around his feet on the floor and made several brisk, stinging sorties up his shins and thighs. He had difficulty getting her back in the case when they reached the hotel.

He walked down the alley and in through the subbasement entrance and rang for the service elevator. While waiting he removed his shirt and draped it over the black plastic case. When the elevator door opened Johnny got aboard, and Charlie, a wizened gnome with a facial tic who operated the service elevator on the middle shift, nodded grudgingly. He glanced at the shirt-covered case in Johnny's hand as the elevator started up. “What'cha got there, John?”

“King cobra. Take a look?”

“Pass. Knowin' you, it could be.”

They rode in silence to the sixth floor, and in his own room Johnny unlatched the drop-down front of the case. Sassy crept out cautiously, took a long look around and with tail aloft and four white paws twinkling galloped to the refrigerator, where she crouched expectantly. Johnny smiled, then remembered the diet list. He slapped his pockets experimentally, pulled it out and studied it. He glanced down at the vigilant kitten. “I got a feelin' you're not gonna approve of this, baby doll.”

He took down two of Sassy's saucers and fixed one of milk and one of water. With one eye cocked sideways at him from above the newspaper he spread, Sassy took a dozen halfhearted laps at the milk, and then sat back on her haunches and looked at him reproachfully.

“The man says liquids for another twenty-four hours,” Johnny apologized to her. “Then lean meat, and not too much of it.”

The kitten wrinkled her nose at the proposal; when she saw that nothing else was to be forthcoming she returned to the milk. Johnny watched her for a moment, then stripped the bed. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out with a sigh. He tried to blank out his mind; he could use a little sleep.

On the floor below him Sassy came back into his line of vision, walking toward him with her short, mincing steps. With no visible effort she floated upward and landed on the bed beside him, settled down in the circle of his arm and curled herself up into a tight little ball. From the small body there came a deep, purring sound; Johnny lifted his head from the pillow to look down at her. “Shut off your motor, white stuff.” He dropped back to the pillow-and oblivion.

The telephone jarred him awake; he grabbed at it. “Yeah?”

“Eleven-thirty, Johnny.”

“Thanks, Edna.” He yawned, stretched and rubbed his eyes. He had slept either too long or not long enough. He couldn't wake up. He sat up on the edge of the bed finally, then reluctantly propelled himself into the shower. The cold water helped; on the way down to the lobby he tried to recall when he had eaten last. His backbone and ribs felt too close together.

He walked on out through the foyer to the street; Forty-fifth Street's neon complement of lights glowed mistily in the rain that was now a steady downpour. He had a double order of ham and eggs and three cups of black coffee at the greasy spoon four doors up the street, and he felt almost awake when he returned to the lobby.

Marty Seiden waved at him from the front desk, and Johnny returned the wave and then pulled up short. He walked over to the desk, and Marty looked up at him expectantly. “I hear you got a letch for the blonde on the balcony, kid.”

Marty's grin was sheepish. “It makes me unusual?”

“It puts you in bad company.” Johnny studied the unease in the sharp features under the red hair. “I'll lay it on the line, Marty. You been puttin' out information on guests in the hotel to the blonde, for services rendered, maybe?” The boy tugged self-consciously at his bow tie. “Just put this in your peace pipe, kid-there's gonna be a big, loud noise up on that balcony shortly. Are you covered?”

Marty Seiden swallowed. “I will be. And thanks.”

Johnny nodded, and turned away from the desk. At the bell captain's desk Paul was glumly studying the log. “Middle shift had only seven check-ins since six o'clock.”

“Better'n we'll do, if this rain keeps up,” Johnny predicted. “Damn these quiet nights, anyway. I can't stay awake. If you see Mike Larsen come in, Paul, tell him to see me before he goes upstairs.”

He hadn't had a chance yet to check with Mike on the folder of carbons he had taken away from Mavis Delaroche. Mike would probably know whether it was more likely to be a part of Russo's over-all operation or whether the blonde was in business for herself unknown to Russo.

Paul tapped him on the arm. “Lend me your key to Chet's office. Marty needs transcript sheets.”

“I'll run up myself. If I don't keep movin', I'll fall over sideways.” Johnny dug out his keys, detoured to the switch box and turned out the main overhead lights in the lobby, and in the familiar gloom climbed the stairs to the mezzanine. There was a light on in the public stenographer's office which went out even as he looked, and the door opened. Ed Russo walked out of the office, accompanied by a tall blonde; for an instant Johnny thought it was Mavis, and then he saw that this woman was older. Attractive, if you liked the lean, greyhound type. She had the lacquered look of money.

On impulse Johnny stepped into the curtained circular lounge; he was not hidden if anyone looked in there, but he was not out in plain sight, either.

Ed Russo closed the door of his office and shifted a package under his arm as he fumbled for his key. “Take mine, Ed,” the woman said. Her voice was low, but crisp. She removed a key from her bag and handed it to him. “Thanks for taking this trouble for me on such short notice.”

“No trouble, Mrs. Sanders.” Ed Russo tried the locked door and handed her back the key. “All part of the day's work. I'm only sorry the other news tonight couldn't have been a little better.” He led the way toward the stairs.

So this was the widow Sanders; Johnny craned to see better but they were moving away from him. Johnny found it interesting that the widow Sanders not only was on a first name basis with Ed Russo, but actually had a key to his office.

When the descending heads on the stairs passed below floor level he went into action. He ran back across the mezzanine to Chet Rollins' office, opened it hurriedly, grabbed up a handful of transcript sheets and ran back downstairs to the lobby. He slapped the sheets down on the registration desk in front of Marty Seiden and sprinted out to the foyer. As he had hoped, Russo and the widow were still in sight, on the sidewalk under the marquee; as he looked the woman raised her umbrella, and the pair turned left and started toward Seventh Avenue.

Johnny shot into the checkroom behind the bell captain's desk and snatched a raincoat from a hook. From the looks of it it wouldn't shed much rain, but it would cover the uniform. Paul stepped off the nearer elevator as Johnny emerged from the checkroom, and he pointed to the raincoat. “Back in a few minutes, Paul.”

He dashed out to the street and breathed more freely when he saw the umbrella two-thirds of the way toward the avenue. He hadn't lost them. He crossed the street at a trot and took up the chase from the other side, settling down to a long stride that gained rapidly for him.

The rain was a steady drizzle; it looked like being a damp pursuit. And then, as he drew closer to his quarry from a parallel position across the street, in an instant it changed from pursuit to decision. Across Seventh, at the corner of Forty-fifth and Broadway Russo handed the widow the package he had been carrying, and with no exchange at all that Johnny could see widow, package and umbrella turned north on Broadway while Ed Russo continued west on Forty-fifth.

Johnny hesitated and then decided for Russo. The sharp-featured man was on the street in the rain with no hat, raincoat or umbrella now, and he gave no indication of looking for a cab. Ed Russo increased Johnny's interest in the next fifty yards by turning left on Eighth Avenue where he walked the block to Forty-fourth and turned back east, so that as Johnny once again took up the chase from the opposite side of the street the original direction had been reversed.

Between Eighth and Broadway Russo stepped into a doorway, but it was only to turn up the collar of his jacket. So it was not to be a short trip, then; Johnny settled down to it. He was more curious than ever now about Ed Russo's destination, since it appeared to be one that the man felt he had to walk to, in the rain. They crossed Seventh again, and the Avenue of the Americas and Fifth, and between Fifth and Madison Johnny made a discovery. He was not the only one following Russo. A man in an oilskin slicker stayed a steady two-thirds of a block behind the oblivious target.

This observation was confirmed almost at once when Russo turned left on Madison and the slicker followed. Johnny dropped back a little further; let the slicker follow Russo, and he would follow the slicker. Russo turned right again on Forty-sixth; he had evidently only wanted to by-pass the Grand Central building. The procession trekked damply across Park, Lexington and Third, and at Second Avenue Russo turned right again for two blocks to Forty-fourth, and at Forty-Fourth turned east again.

From the opposite side of Second Avenue Johnny made the long diagonal as he kept the oilskin slicker in sight. The slicker turned the corner of Forty-fourth, looked east and broke into a run. From the middle of Second Avenue Johnny accelerated through the puddles, and turned the corner himself.

On Forty-fourth Street Ed Russo was nowhere to be seen at all. The oilskin slicker was forty feet from the corner, poised doubtfully before two narrow alleys, practically side by side, that meandered off almost at right angles into the wet darkness. Evidently he hadn't seen which one Russo had taken.

The speed at which Johnny negotiated the corner caught the slicker's attention; he turned and stared. Rather than turn back and invite inquiry, Johnny walked on more sedately; he would have walked right on by, but the slicker stepped into his path and barred the way.

“I thought so!” the slicker said grimly. “There couldn't be two that big out on a night like this.”

Johnny stared down into the wet, angry features of Detective James Rogers and for once in his life was at a loss for words.

“Well?” Jimmy Rogers demanded. “I'm listening. What-”

His staccato inquiry choked. In the darkness and rain an automatic pistol went off four times, soggy sounds in the soggy night.

“He's got someone else!” Johnny said tightly.

Detective Rogers said nothing at all; he turned and ran up the nearer alley, and Johnny ran hard at his heels.