The body of a young girl, recovered from the river eleven miles south of the city at noon had been identified at press time as Alma Brady, civil-service employee at Dean Products. Death was caused by drowning, and the penciled suicide note in the pocket of her red coat confirmed the police theory that she had jumped from one of the Arland bridges some time Thursday night. The note indicated she had been depressed over a love affair.
Poor little chippy, tumbling down the river in her red coat. I could not see her as a suicide type. She was too much on the make, too hungry for life, too tough-minded. With Dolson out of the picture she had started thinking about the next man, not about the river.
There had been a vulnerability about her, but not of the sort that causes suicides. I was making a snap judgment, based on being with her for a half-hour, yet I felt certain she had not killed herself.
Ken had taken his gamble and lost. I mourned him, yet, since I had learned his death had perhaps not been as pointless as I had first thought, I had lost that feeling of resentment a needless death creates. Alma’s death was different. I was positive the fluffy blonde had been murdered. And my anger was strong — stronger than the anger I felt at Ken’s death, because it was more impersonal. There was a callousness about her death. Smashed, Lester had said, like a bug on a wall. Smashed in a professional way which I knew Fitch and Dolson were incapable of.
I turned away from the elevators and hurried to a phone booth in the lobby, found Perry’s home phone number, and dialed. Her mother told me Joan had called earlier to say she was working late and would get her dinner across the street from the offices. I thanked her hurriedly and phoned the plant. The switchboard was closed. The night plug on the number I dialed was into a line to the engineering offices. A man with a weary voice gave me the night number for Granby’s office.
I did not completely realize the extent of my own tension until the sound of Perry’s voice came over the line. I sighed from my heels.
“This is Gevan. Perry. Did you hear about it?”
“I’m sick over it. I wish I’d known it hit her so hard. I thought she was mad at him but not hurt that bad. If I’d known, I could have — stayed with her or something.”
“Did it hit her that hard?”
“What do you mean?”
“Perry, I don’t want to go into it, not over the phone, but I don’t believe it was suicide.”
She made a thin attempt at laughter. “But, good Lord, Colonel Dolson couldn’t possible have—”
“It’s more than Dolson. Have you eaten?”
“I just got back five minutes ago.”
“What time will you be through?”
“Eight-thirty, Gevan.”
“I’ll be parked as close to the main entrance as I can get. I’ll feel better if you lock your office door.”
“You’re frightening me, Gevan.”
“I think it’s time to be frightened.”
It was seven by the clock in the lobby. The storm-lull was over. All the phony words had been said, all the untimed gestures made. Lester had talked his hate, and he would report that no persuasion would work on me. Now the storm could ride down the line of the wind, while the sky changed from brass to ink.
Chapter 15
The hotel made me restless. I wished I had asked her to quit. My raincoat was in my room. I went to the elevators. One came up from the basement level, the Copper Lounge level. The starter motioned me toward it. The door opened and I got in. Colonel Dolson was in there. A husky bellhop and a waiter were supporting him, one holding each arm. His cropped gray hair still had an authoritative bristle, but the face was sagging and lost, the eyes dull. The front of his beautifully tailored uniform jacket was smeared, and his smell was nauseous.
“You shouldn’t have stopped for anybody,” the waiter said to the operator.
“You shoulda took him up in the freight cage,” the operator said.
“Just run your elevator, sonny,” the waiter said.
Dolson stared at the elevator floor. He mumbled and breathed wetly through his mouth. He didn’t recognize me, and I couldn’t understand what he was saying.
They got off at six. When the door slid shut, I asked the operator if they had to take him very far.
“Just to six-eleven, around the first corner. Imagine a guy like that! He wants to get stinking, he ought to wear civvies. He don’t have to wear the uniform all the time.”
“Does it happen often?”
“I never see him that bad before. Now they got to strip him and drop him in the sack. Special service. Courtesy of the hotel.”
I got off at my floor and got my coat. The telephone rang. When I answered it, there was no one there. I smoked a cigarette, wondering about the call, feeling uneasy about it, and then heard the cautious rattle of fingernails against my door. I opened it. Hildy was standing there, brown eyes wide. She came in quickly and closed the door and leaned against it. She was wearing a yellow dress, one obviously styled for the lounge. Over it she wore a polo coat, too large for her, unbuttoned, the sleeves turned up above her wrists.
“Something,” she said, “depth-bombed the good Colonel.”
“I saw him in the elevator.”
“Then you know the condition. Messy, wasn’t he? You’ve been interested in him, so I thought you ought to know this. Tonight was the night. He leaned pretty hard on me. Just pack a little bag, dear. We’ll start in my car. Acapulco, Rio, the Argentine. He couldn’t believe my no was final. He offered one other inducement, Gevan. A sheaf of bills — of large, coarse, crude money. Honest to God, I never saw so much money all at one time since I was a little kid and my daddy took me through the Mint with all the other tourists. Maybe there’s larceny in my heart. For five seconds I was thinking about going along for the ride and the off-chance of rolling him.”
“Do you think he actually intends to take off, Hildy?”
“Yes. He can’t act that good. When the money didn’t work, he started drinking too fast and he told me that somebody had told him everything was set, whatever that means. And he said that, by God, he was no fool and he wasn’t going to wait around and be a clay pigeon for anybody, by God. He knew when the sign said the end of the road, and this was it.”
“Now he’s too drunk to go any place,” I said.
“Maybe some of that load is my fault. He kept insisting I, give him some reason why I wouldn’t go with him. I finally gave him the reason. I told him every time he put his hand on me it made me feel like the time I was a little kid and Buddy Higgins from across the street put an angleworm in my bathing suit.”
“God!”
“I know. Maybe it was too rough. Something was fracturing him and that finished him. He wasn’t lucid very long after I told him that. I guess it’s best that he got so he couldn’t talk at all. I think he could spout some stuff that would make his little pal sore at him.”
“What little pal?”
She gave me a quick glance and pulled the folded-back sleeve up so she could look at her watch. “I’ve got to go sing. Could you take a look at the Colonel, Gevan, just to make sure he doesn’t fly out any windows?”
“How do I get into his room?”
She handed me a key. “With this. He forced it on me during one of his relatively sober moments. Be a good guy, Gevan. I’ve got to run.”
“Do you want a report?”
“Please.”
After she left for the elevators, I went in the opposite direction, toward the stairs. I went down to the sixth and found six-eleven. I knocked and listened with my ear against the door panel, then let myself in. They’d taken off his jacket, tie, and shoes and put him on the bed. He didn’t stir when I turned the lights on. I made a careful search. I found a .45 Colt in the bureau, complete with web belt, holster, and extra clips. I thumbed his eyelid up. He was too far gone to twitch. He blew bubbles in the corner of his mouth. The Colonel was a careful man. There was nothing in the room to incriminate him. So I took a look through his pockets. All Army officers come equipped with little black notebooks for their shirt pockets. I stood over him and thumbed through his little black notebook.