The Wrecking Crew

Chapter Eighteen

HE WAS LYING on the floor of the car, in the narrow space between front and rear seats, with his arms locked tightly across his stomach. I'll admit I didn't recognize him instantly. Curled up like that, he wasn't showing much of his face, and it had been a long time since I'd known him well. He was dressed in rougher clothes than those he'd worn to visit my Stockholm hotel room, the night Sara Lundgren had been killed. But it was Vance, all right. I'd have thought him dead when I removed the blanket and saw him there, except that blood doesn't usually run with any enthusiasm out of a dead body-once the heart stops pumping, there's nothing to make it run except gravity.

I tried to reach a wrist to check the pulse, but he wouldn't let himself go. I guess he had the usual gut-shot man's conviction that those arms were all that was holding him together. Maybe be was right. Whoever had done the job had certainly got him there more than once.

"Vance," I said. "Vance, this is Eric."

I thought he didn't hear me; then his eyelids fluttered. "Excuse… the hemorrhage," he whispered. "Very embarrassing…"

"Yeah," I said. "Let's get you to a hospital. You can crack wise there."

He shook his head minutely. "No time… drive me where… talk…

I said, "The hell with talk. Just hang on while I find out where to take you in this town."

"Eric," he said in a stronger voice, "I want to report. I've been waiting several hours, hoping you'd come before before…"

"All right," I said. "Report, damn you, but make it fast."

"The fiancй," he whispered. "Named Carisson. Much business on Continent. Raoul Carisson. Little man-"

I said quickly, to save his strength: "Pass the description. I've met the gentleman. What did you find out about Wellington?"

If he had to tell it, the stubborn dope, I could at least hurry him through it. But he didn't seem to hear me. He was off on another tack.

"Under no circumstances take action," he breathed. "This is an order. This is an order. The soft, peaceful sheep in Washington! How can a man defend himself, if he is for~ bidden to kill? He was as slow as molasses in January. Fine old American expression, eh? Did you know I've never been back to the States since the war? Always some new job, some new place. Slow as… I shot him in the shoulder. All I could do, with those orders. Bah! He laughed and gave me this. Under no circumstances… Why not simply order us to commit suicide?"

"Who was it?" I asked. "Who got you, Vance?"

He shook his head. "Nobody. Just a nobody with a gun. Waste no effort on him. Just put another one into Caselius for me, when the time comes." He frowned painfully. "Forgetting something. Oh, Wellington. You wanted to know about Wellington…"

"Never mind Wellington," I said. "We've got to get you to a doctor now."

"No," he breathed. "No. Important. Must tell you about Wellington. Watch out for… Wellington is…" He drew a long breath, and suddenly his eyes opened wide and he smiled a brilliant, bloody smile. "It is too bad, Eric. Now we will never know."

"Know what, Vance?"

"Know if you could… take me…"

Then he was dead, with his wide-open eyes staring past me, seeing nothing, probably, although I can't guarantee that, never having been there. Scratch Vance, a brave man who'd made his last report, not quite complete. It occurred to me I didn't even know his real name. I got up and looked at my hands. They were red. Well, people don't usually bleed any other color.

I heard footsteps in the gravel behind me, and turned to see Lou come running from the hotel.

"What is it, Matt?" she called. "You look so… What's the matter?"

I walked slowly to meet her. She stopped before me, panting from the run. I said, "There's a dead man in the car. We'll have to notify the police."

"A dead man?" she cried. "Who? Matt, your hands-" She tried to pass me, to look, but I put myself in front of her. I said, "I'm protecting you from a horrible sight, Lou, Turn and walk into the hotel ahead of me."

"Matt-"

"Give me an argument, doll, and I'll kick your teeth in. Turn and walk. He was a good man. He doesn't want trash like you near him." She got pale and started to speak and changed her mind. She turned slowly and walked toward the hotel. Walking behind her, I said, "You'll forget I said anything to indicate I knew him."

"He's a perfect stranger to both of us. We have no idea how he came to be in the car. We haven't used the car since yesterday evening. It was left at Direktцr Ridderswhrd's overnight. Don't forget to bear down heavy on the title. It was driven here this morning by Frцken Elin von Hoffman-"

"You want me to say that?"

"Why not?"

"I thought you liked the girl."

"Like? What's like got to do with anything? I like you. Not very much right now, but I'll get over it. But I'll slit your throat at the first opportunity if you say one thing out of line; and if you think that's a figure of speech, honey, just remember what I carry in my pocket and what my business is, and think again."

She said, "Take it easy, Matt."

I said, "Use the names. Ridderswдrd. Von Hoffman. Honest, upright Swedish citizens. Maybe. Anyway~ it'll confuse the issue. And just keep clearly in mind that right now I'd just love to put my gory hands about your pretty neck and strangle hell out of you."

She said, "I didn't kill him, darling."

"No," I said grimly. "You have an alibi, if it happened last night, don't you, sweet?"

She looked around, shocked, and said quickly, "You don't believe-"

"Why not?" I said. "You went out into the night to get your instructions. You came back and followed them, no doubt, to the letter. It's very convenient, isn't it, that we've hardly been out of each others' sight since midnight."

She said, "Darling, I swear I had no idea-"

"Yes," I said, "and you do swear real pretty, doll. And he probably wasn't shot as long ago as last night, but they'd have you take the precaution of getting an alibi, anyway, not knowing exactly when their killer would make his touch. Or maybe you call it a hit, like the syndicate boys back home. But in our outfit we call it a touch. I hope to make one soon, myself."

I drew a long breath. "Well, looking at it objectively, we're in pretty good shape. You know I didn't do it, and I know you didn't do it-not personally, at least. And the company people have had us both in sight all day, thank God. But I think you know who did it. At least you know who's responsible. Don't you?" She didn't answer. "Well, there you are," I said. "A man's been shot to death, but I don't hear you volunteering the description, name, and present address of the murderer…"

The Kiruna police were polite and efficient. They were represented by a nameless officer in uniform and a plainclothes gentleman named Grankvist, whose exact status nobody bothered to explain. He was one of those lean, wiry, bleached-out Swedes. Even his eyebrows and lashes were pale, over pale blue eyes. There was a hint of something military in the way he stood and walked, but then, they've got conscription in that country, and every adult male has been exposed to a certain amount of drill and discipline.

We were questioned thoroughly and asked to present ourselves at poliskontor~t in the morning, which we did. Here our statements were taken, signed, and witnessed, and we were told that we were free to go. Herr Grankvist himself drove us back to the hotel.

"I am sorry that you have been caused inconvenience by this unfortunate affair," he said as he let us out. "I regret that we must keep the car in which the body was found a little longer. Its condition would hardly contribute to pleasant motoring, in any case. But if another car is required, arrangements could be made-"

I said, "No, just return it to the man from whom I rented it, if you don't mind. Tell him that I'll settle with him when I return to Kiruna next week. We've decided to take the train-that is, if it's all right for us to leave town."

He glanced at me in surprise. "But of course. Everything is all cleared up, as far as you're concerned, Herr Helm. It was obviously just an unfortunate chance that caused the poor dying man to seek refuge in your automobile."

He was a little too smooth, a little too polite, a little too reassuring; and when a foreigner speaks to you in English you can never be quite sure which of his inflections are deliberate and which are a matter of accent and accident. We watched him drive away.

Lou said thoughtfully, "Well, there's a little man who isn't exactly what he seems."

"Who is?" I asked. "Come on. If we pack in a hurry, maybe we can catch the ten o'clock train out of here before he changes his mind."

I turned toward the hotel doorway, but she didn't move at once.

"Malt," she said.

"Yes?"

"You were kind of rough yesterday. I didn't mind at the time, because you'd obviously had a shock, but now you might say you're sorry."

I looked at her and remembered certain things about her

– the kind of things you remember about a woman to whom you've made love. "I might," I said. "But I'm not going to."

She made a little face. "Like that, eh?"

"Like that," I said. "Do you want to come along and help me shoot these pix of yours, or would you prefer to stay in Kiruna and sulk?"

There was color in her face, and her eyes were hot and angry, but the advantage was all mine and she knew it. She had to come with me. She had to supervise the taking of the pictures. If I'd had any doubts on that score, the way she swallowed her temper and managed to smile would have settled them for good.

"Just forget I brought it up," she said lightly. "You're not losing me that easily, Mr. Helm. I'll be on the platform in ten minutes."