I was called to the witness stand in the Old Bailey at twenty minutes after ten. My testimony took hardly more than half an hour. The Crown counsel—I was his witness—then told the judge that I had to go back to the United States but was willing to return to London if necessary. His Lordship looked at me, said he accepted my word but didn’t think there would be any need for me to honor it, then he thanked me for my time and trouble and excused me. The glum look I got from the defense barrister and his client was as good as a guilty verdict.
The desk man at the Savoy lifted his hand as soon as he saw me in” the lobby. “There was a telephone call for you from New York City, Mr. Kent. A Mr. Sloane. He said he would call again at ten minutes after noon.” He glanced at his watch. “That’s in a few minutes time, sir.”
“Thanks. I’ll go straight up to my room. Make up my bill, will you, please? I’ll probably be leaving in a hurry.”
“Yes, sir.”
The desk clerk handed me my room key and I headed for the elevator. I’d already booked a seat on the 2.20 flight for New York. My bag was packed. A taxi would get me to the airport in plenty of time.
I lit a cigarette and waited near the phone. It made noise at twelve minutes after noon. Tom Sloane was at the other end.
“Traced that Stanley Brink, Larry. He has an apartment in Horizon House, a high-riser at Fort Lee, New Jersey. One of my men did some nosing about. Brink hasn’t been seen for a few days. Seems to be par for the course. He does a lot of travelling around.”
“Never mind that,” I said. “How about Eleanor?”
“Negative. I went to her apartment about eleven last night. I pressed the buzzer a few times and a door down the hall opened. A dame. A real kook. Tall. Long brown hair, lots of eye makeup, white lipstick. She had a guitar on a cord around her neck. One of them hipsters.”
“So?”
“I don’t know, Larry. Call it a hunch.”
“Coming from you, I’ll buy it.”
“Well, it mightn’t be worth a dime, but I had a feeling when I talked to this dame ...”
“What kind of a feeling?”
“That she knew something. She asked if she could help me. Sounded and looked casual enough, I guess—you know, good neighbor stuff—but there was a little bell ringing way back in my mind.”
“You’ve heard bells before, Tom—and there was always someone pulling the rope.”
“I’ve had my share of false alarms.”
“Tell me more about this girl.”
“Well, she invited me to come in from the hall. Then she introduced herself. Her name is Kitty Simpson. I gave her a phony name and said I was an insurance investigator. Then she told me about herself. She’s a folk singer. Works in a Village nightspot, the Colony Club. She gave me a drink, tried to get me to talk about Eleanor Gesualdi.”
“And?”
“I figured it would look bad if I acted too cagey. Just cagey enough, you know? So I told her that Mrs. Brink—I figured I’d better use her married name—had been involved in a minor accident a few months back, had made a claim and I just wanted to have a short talk with her. Routine.” Tom paused. “Funny thing, Larry ...”
“Yes?”
“I don’t think she went for it. Oh, she acted like she believed every word, but there was a certain something about her eyes ... I don’t know—seemed to me she figured there was more to it.”
“Anything else?”
“No. But I put a man onto her, just in case.”
“Good work.”
“Your plans still the same, chum?”
“Yes. I’m getting the two-twenty flight to New York.”
“Then you’ll be landing here about half-past three, our time. I’ll check it out and meet you at Kennedy Airport. That way I can fill you in on things on the drive to your place—something might come up between now and then. Keep your feet together, chum.”
“So long, Tom.”
I jiggled the cradle rest, told the desk to order me a cab, then I carried my bag down to the lobby and paid my bill. The cab was waiting outside.
At 2.21 I was in an airborne Boeing 707. I told the stewardess not to bother me with food, turned my back on the fat business-man type beside me and closed my eyes.
I slept until I felt the stewardess shake me.
“We’ll be landing soon, sir. Please fasten your safety belt.”
I buckled on the belt and watched Long Island ahead. The big plane seemed to groan as the flaps came down. A few minutes later there was the short scream of rubber and a barely perceptible thud, then we were rolling along smoothly.
The Customs men were getting to know me, so they moved me through quickly. Tom Sloane was waiting outside the Customs gate. He grabbed my hand in his huge, horny paw and gave it a mauling.
“Good to see you, chum.”
“Anything—?” I didn’t have to finish, for Tom shook his crew-cut red head.
“Nothing. Here, let me take that bag.”
“I can handle it.”
“Sure, but at the rates my agency charges you may as well take advantage of the service.”
We walked out to the parking section and got into Tom’s old Cadillac Special, a bright red monstrosity that was at least fifteen years old.
The engine purred smoothly. It should have—Tom spent hours every weekend working on it, tuning it, polishing it, loving it. And the old Caddy repaid his love by letting out all its horses when Tom needed them. I saw Big Red go to 120 on a five-mile stretch of deserted highway early one Sunday morning. And she’d been building up speed when Tom eased his foot off the accelerator.
But now the speedo needle hardly touched sixty. His hands held the wheel at nine and three o’clock, the racing driver position.
“My man’s been watching Horizon House,” he said. “Brink hasn’t shown.”
“How about that folk singer?”
“She left her apartment for half an hour. Went across the street to a delicatessen. Bought salami, a loaf of bread and a pickle.”
“What kind of perfume was she wearing?”
Tom’s big, wide red face creased in a vast grin. “Hell, I can tell you that myself. Chanel Number 5. Smelt it on her last night. I remember when Number 5 was a classy perfume. It’s like apples, I guess. Why did apples taste so good when we were kids?”
And so it went. Dialogue that meant nothing. He was trying to keep me from dwelling on what might have happened to Eleanor. I knew this and appreciated it, but finally I got tired of it.
“Did you check the newspapers this morning?” I asked.
“Sure.” He kept his eyes on the road. “You know I read every local paper.”
“Did you check the accidents?”
He glanced at me momentarily, nodded. “That was the first thing I did, chum. I also checked all the hospitals, just in case something happened that didn’t make the papers. There was only one possibility. An unidentified girl was lifted out of a Long Island swamp. I know one of the morgue men; he let me have a look; it wasn’t your Eleanor.”
“Then you got the photograph from my apartment?”
“I had some copies made right away. Want some?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Ten, twenty?”
“Five or six.”
Tom opened the glove box, took out some photos, handed them to me. Then he stared hard at the road, making a special point of not watching me. I looked at Eleanor’s face. Her smile made my stomach sink.
We drove along in silence for a while. Finally Tom said, “What do you want me to do now?”
“Keep a man on her husband.”
“Around the clock?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Well ...” Tom swerved to get around a car, pulled ahead and returned to the middle lane. “If you don’t mind, I’ll kind of keep my hand in for kicks. No charge, of course.”
“You have an agency to run.”
“Hell, it just about runs itself.”
I lit a cigarette.
“Larry ...”
“Yes?”
“Sorry I couldn’t come up with something.”
“Maybe you did.”
“Huh?”
“That folk singer.”
I pressed the ivory door button and listened to chimes play the first bars of “Hail, Hail the Gang’s All Here.” The last time I’d heard those chimes, Eleanor had opened the door. She’d been wearing a blue shift dress with a white collar. For just the flicker of a moment, a clear impression of her face crossed my mind, but then it retreated into the haze that always came with it ...
I looked around. The hallway was empty. I started to hum “Strangers in the Night.” If that plus the chimes didn’t bring the folk singer to her door, then I’d have to use a more direct approach and go to her. I reached for the door button again
And stiffened.
There was the click of a lock on the other side of the door. Then the door opened, slowly ...
And I was looking into the square face of Stanley Brink, Eleanor’s husband. It was a tough, hard face. He had a wide, well-shaped mouth except for a downward turn at the corners. His nose was short and blunt. Thick, iron-gray hair, cropped short, topped a high, broad forehead.
But it was his eyes that you noticed. They were set deep, hooded by thick brows. One moment they might look blue, or green, then they’d narrow and seem to go hard, like two gray ball bearings.
Now his eyes were blue-green, and a smile stretched at his lips.
“Well ... Larry Kent ...” He stepped back. “Come in.” I entered the apartment. The only light came from a dim yellow lamp at the other end of the living room.
“Please close the door, Larry.”
I reached behind me, felt the door, pushed it shut, keeping my gaze locked with his.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Now that there was no light from the hallway his face was in deep shadow. But I saw his brows go up, then he chuckled.
“I like that. This is my apartment and you’re asking me what I’m doing here.”
“You know damn well you’re not supposed to be here.”
“I came to get something of mine. Legally, you know, Eleanor is still my wife.”
“She has a separation order.”
“I’m still paying the rent on this apartment.”
“But you’re not supposed to enter it unless she lets you.”
Brink threw out his short-fingered but powerful hands. “I rang and rang on the phone and there was no answer. What harm is there in coming here to pick up something that belongs to me?”
“Where is she?” I asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Where’s Eleanor?”
“If I knew that, Kent, I’d have had a talk with her. I didn’t like the idea of coming without her here, believe me. It just couldn’t be helped.”
“What did you come for?”
“Well, now ...” There was an edge to his voice. “I’d say that was my business, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m making it mine, Brink.”
“Brink.” A deep-down chuckle came out of him. “Once it was Stan. But of course that was before you started to take a close personal interest in my wife. Well, I hope you found her warmer than—”
I hit him. It was a reflex action. There was no message from my brain. My fist bounced off his jaw and he sat down on the carpet. He ran a hand over his jaw. Then he said, “No!” sharply, his eyes looking past me. “Not yet.”
I felt rather than heard movement behind me.
“I suggest that you don’t make any sudden moves,” Brink said. “My ... friend gets excited easily.”
“I’d like a look at your ‘friend’.”
“Go ahead—but don’t let your hands get busy.”
I turned my head just enough to see a tall, hulking ape with a blackjack in his right hand. He was facing the lamp, and I could make out an ugly hooked nose, drooping lips.
“As you can see,” Brink said, getting up, “I didn’t like the idea of coming here alone. I wanted a witness. I wouldn’t put it past Eleanor to throw a break-and-enter charge against me.”
“You know damn well she wouldn’t do that. If she wanted, Brink, she could have got you for a fortune. All she wants is her freedom.”
An odd smile twisted at his mouth as I said “freedom”.
“What the hell does that grin mean?” I demanded.
He chuckled. “Always the detective, aren’t you? Always readings things. Well, you don’t know a thing.”
“But you do, don’t you?”
“I might.”
“Do you know where she is?”
Now his smile was dirty. “Why the big rush, Kent? Getting your passion up?”
My hands became fists. I wanted to flatten that blunt nose, see it pulp.
“You and Eleanor have had a thing going for quite a while, haven’t you?”
“Stop it, Brink.”
“You don’t really think you had me fooled, do you?” His teeth showed through the side of his curled mouth. “How long has she been putting out for you, Kent?” Now his eyes got big and his voice rose to a shrill scream. “She was seeing you even while I was still living with her!”
A change had come over him. His face was drained of color. His mouth twitched. He’d raised his right hand. I looked at the short fingers and watched them shake. I was fascinated. This was Stanley Brink, the big-time-operator, the businessman who never lost his cool because he had ice-water in his veins.
“It was a great act, Kent! The friend of the family. You drank my booze, laughed at my jokes—and when I wasn’t around you took care of my wife for me!” There was spittle on his lips. Some of it sprayed on me as he went on, “I killed you in my mind a hundred times”
I came close to feeling sorry for him. But then I remembered all the other things—his drinking, the women, his callousness, the many little cruelties that can’t adequately be put into words.
“You drove her away,” I said. “Even after she knew she’d made a mistake she did her best to be a good wife to you. But you don’t want to believe that, so I’m just wasting my time telling you.”
He took a step towards me, thrust his face out. “I could kill you, Kent. It would be so easy.”
“Sure, with that ape behind me. Send him out and we’ll see how easy it is.”
Brink moved his head back and forth, slowly. “I like to win.”
“You have won. Eleanor could have got you for at least a million in settlement money. But she wants nothing. Why don’t you let it go at that?”
He continued to shake his head. “You took her away from me.”
“No, Brink. I just gave her a shoulder to cry on. She didn’t want any more than that.”
The dirty smile worked at his mouth again. “Larry Kent, the big stud man, sticking out his shoulder. How stupid do you think I am?”
“For letting a good woman like that get away, pretty damned stupid!”
His eyes blinked once, then narrowed. I stared into them, but I couldn’t be sure what I read there. Uncertainty? Then the thought struck me that maybe Brink was as much in the dark as I was. And I wondered if he could still be in love with Eleanor. For he’d been in love with her once—she’d told me this herself. I asked myself: What if he doesn’t know about the attempt on her life and her disappearance? How will he react if I tell him?
There was only one way to find out.
But I didn’t get to tell him. There was a signal flashed by his eyes, a grunt of exertion behind me—and pain exploded at the back of my head.
The next thing I knew, I was on my knees on the carpet, looking up at a shadowy figure that moved back and forth, slowly, like a metronome in water.
“I could kill you,” Brink’s voice said, and then something loomed before my eyes, getting bigger and bigger, an indefinable something that for one moment of frightening clarity became a gun.
“I want to kill you,” Brink’s voice said.
There was another explosion.
I’m dead, I thought ... I’m dead ...