CHAPTER 17

Pettigrew looked at Lila blearily. She filled another glass of Scotch for him and watched him down it and make a face at it. His handsome pan was clouded with discomfort. He was caught and tied in knots by my unexpected appearance.

“I’ll give you one more chance, Pettigrew,” I said. “Either you talk, or I turn you both in to Lunt.”

“Where would that get you, Conacher?”

“Oh, tell him, Larry,” Lila said, joining him on the bed. “Please tell him.”

“What’s wrong with my story?” Pettigrew stared at me arrogantly. He had the same type of personal calm as Lila’s. These two were made for each other. Two commercial characters on the climb to the top, and let the corpses of competitors fall where they may. Pettigrew could do nothing to veil his naturally snide nature. He was tempting me again, tempting me to put away my automatic and take another poke at him, to level him, just to bring him down to my size again. He was content to hang onto his original yarn, that he had come here accidentally, because it was on his way home. He had seen the front door open and walked in. “I saw the light on up here,” he said. “What better motive could you want from me?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, tell him,” Lila said again.

A deep look passed between them, an invisible message; a quick sharp, electric connection that meant something to each of them. These two knew each other well. In the dramatic pause, they could have passed for lovers. For the first time since I met Lila, her eyes were being used for something more than simple deduction. She telegraphed a deep and emotional concern for Pettigrew. They could have been honestly in love.

“All right,” Pettigrew said. “I came up here because I was worried about Lila.”

“You can believe him, Steve,” she said. “Underneath that marble front beats a heart of mush.”

“Let him talk,” I said.

“I was worried,” Pettigrew went on, “about her damned love letters to Wilkinson. We talked about them at lunch today. I sort of felt Lila’d decide to come up here and get them. I told her she had nothing to worry about, but she seemed stubborn about them. That was why I checked through on my hunch and came here after work.”

“Larry Pettigrew, Boy Scout,” said Lila.

“I’m not sorry I came, Lila.”

“I didn’t get the letters, lover boy.”

“Why not?” Pettigrew surveyed the nose of my automatic. He snickered and fondled the thin thread of mustache under his pretty nose. “Why not let her take them, Conacher?”

“You’ve been seeing too many bad movies,” I said. “Private investigators don’t play like career boys in department stores. We keep our noses clean with the city dicks.”

“Those letters could be worth money.”

“You haven’t got enough to bribe me.”

“It can be arranged,” he sneered. “Let’s say, one thousand?”

“For one grand, I wouldn’t give you the right time, Pettigrew.”

“How much does it take?”

“A stiff kick in your butt,” I said, moving in and letting him feel the nose of my gun on his chin. He started to crawl away. I used my free hand to jerk him to his feet. “You’d better take this boy out of here, Lila,” I said. “And do it quick, before I change my mind and phone my friend Lunt.”

“He didn’t mean any harm,” Lila said. “Apologize to Steve, Larry.”

“He can kiss my—”

But I hit him before the nasty word came out. He staggered back, holding his handsome jaw and grumbling at me. He fell against the wall and Lila dashed after him, but he shrugged her off and started my way again.

“Next time, it’ll be for keeps, Pettigrew. Now get out of here before I really let you have it.”

Lila dragged him away. I heard them mumbling and arguing all the way down to the vestibule. Then the door opened and the door shut and I was alone in a large box of silence. I took a quick drink of Scotch and went to work on the wall safe above the bed.

It was a simple box, of the key type. It was cleverly fitted into the wall, but the rim of the tiny vault had been fashioned of wood, which meant that the entire frame would drop open if I could force the edge with my penknife. The metal began to loosen away from the wood after a while. The knife rammed deep and some of the small screws popped out. I could jam the blade all the way up to the handle after that. The frame gave way and the door eased loose. I plunged the knife again and felt the thing yield to my pressure. Then the door was open and my hand was in up to the elbow and feeling for the contents. My fingers touched a strange and unexpected pile of debris in there. The entire back of the safe was jammed with small hard objects. Diamonds? Jewelry?

I never did find out.

Somebody clicked the lights off.

Then a figure hurled itself at me and I went back on my tail on the bed, groping around to lay my clutching hands on him. And missing him completely. He had a gun and knew how to use it as a massage for my aching head. He brought the gun down hard, alongside the flat ridge of my forehead. I heard him grunt under the pressure of the blow.

And that was all I heard.

After that, the long black silence.