There was the strain of what had happened on all their faces, of course, but there was no private guilt, no furtive remorse, no sign of self-consciousness or wariness. “Maybe,” she thought, “he doesn’t even remember it himself after it happens each time, in which case— Oh Lord, how am I ever going to be able to tell?”
“O.K., ready, folks?” Dusty asked, slipping down from his high stool. “Let’s go over and climb in the box.”
Everyone paid for himself. There was no Frankie to pay for her now, but just as she was opening her pocketbook, Dusty thoughtfully waved her aside and put the money down for her.
“What’d that dick have to say after we left?” he asked her on the way over.
“Oh, nothing. He’s dead sure Frankie did it. Nothing’ll change his mind about that.”
“I know this sounds like hell, but what do you think yourself?”
“I’m afraid he did, Dusty. Where there’s smoke there’s fire. He acted too funny about it from beginning to end.”
He slipped his arm around her waist, tightened it encouragingly for a moment. “Keep your chin up, pal,” he said.
The men climbed right into the box to play for the rather second-rate supper show the Trocadero put on, but Billie, who didn’t have to canary until the straight dance-numbers later on, went down to the dressing-room and dispiritedly changed into evening dress. “If I were only a mind-reader,” she thought. “If I could only see behind their faces. One of them is a mask hiding death!”
There was a perfunctory rap at the door. “They’re starting number one now.” She got up and went upstairs, stood in the entryway to one side of the box, out of sight of the tables in front. Number one was Sing for Your Supper. It looked funny to see Cobb sitting up there in Thatcher’s chair. She watched their faces closely one by one. Nothing showed. Just guys making music.
Dusty looked over to see if she was ready, then they slowed a little to let her come in and pick it up. She stepped out in front of them and a spotlight picked her out.
The phone was ringing when she let herself into her flat at half past three that morning. It was Lindsey. “Did you notice anything?” he asked.
“I couldn’t tell. He’s good, whoever he is.”
“Keep watching. It’s too soon yet. Anyone come back with you?”
“Dusty wanted to bring me home, but I told him I’d be all right.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.” She hung up the phone and suddenly threw her head down and burst into tears.
Lindsey turned away from the window when Billie started to speak. “We’ve got to do something soon, Lindsey,” she said. “It’s six weeks now. Do you know what this is doing to my brother? He’ll be bugs by the time we get him out of there. I saw him yesterday, and he’s ready to fall apart.”
“I know. I’ve tried everything I can think of, and it’s no go,” the detective answered. “I’ve been over those coronary findings until I know them backwards. I’ve communicated with the officials in Michigan and I’ve interviewed the ones down in Atlantic City. They couldn’t help me. I even went over personally and looked at that shack while I was down there. It’s still about the same as when you people used it, but it didn’t tell me a thing.”
She sat down at the piano and started to play aimlessly.
“I’ve even dropped in at the Troc more times than you know, watching them while they didn’t know it.”
“You have?” she said in surprise. “I didn’t see you.”
“I had a get-up on. I couldn’t detect a sign of anything on any one of them. It must be so damn deep, so latent, that he doesn’t know he’s got it himself.”
She went ahead playing. “Then what good is it trying to find it? It may never come out again.”
He started pacing back and forth. “It’s got to, it always does.”
“What makes you so restless, Lindsey?” she asked over her notes. “You’re as bad as one of us jitter-bugs. Sit down and relax.”
He sank into a chair, immediately got up again, began parading around some more. “It’s got my goat!” he seethed. “I know I’ve got it figured right, I’m dead sure of it, but I’ve got to sit back with my hands folded until he’s good and ready to give himself away again!”
He took out a cigarette, lit it, raised his hand at full arm’s length above his head and banged it down on the floor a moment afterwards. Then he took a kick at the chair he’d just been in, so that it swung around in a half-circle.
“Lindsey, this is my flat you’re in, not the back room at headquarters,” she remonstrated mildly. “I never saw you like this before, what’s the matter with you?”
He trod out the sparks on the rug. “I don’t know myself,” he grunted. “I felt all right until a few minutes ago. I’ve been plugging away too hard, not getting enough sleep, I guess. I’ve got a pip of a peeve on right now. I feel like busting someone in the face!”
“Not me, I hope.” She smiled as her fingers continued traveling over the keys.
He was stalking around the room behind her with his locked hands draped across the back of his neck. He looked over at her a couple of times, started to say something, clamped his mouth shut as though thinking better of it. Finally it got away from him. His voice exploded in an ungovernable shout that nearly hoisted her clear of the bench. “For Pete’s sake, can’t you quit playing that damn piano for a minute! It’s got me on edge, I can’t stand it any more!”
She turned and looked at him in undisguised astonishment. There was a sudden silence in the room.
He was already ashamed of the outburst. “Or at least play something else. What is that screwy thing anyway?”
“Ravel’s Bolero. It’s a long-hair number but we swing it once in awhile.”
“I didn’t think I could stand it for another minute.”
“It is a monotonous sort of thing,” she agreed. “The same theme over and over and over. You just change keys.”
“It sure is an irritant, I know that much! I’m sorry, Billie,” he apologized. “I didn’t know a little thing like that could get me that way. Shows you how jumpy I must be.” He grabbed for his hat. “I better get out of here before I put my foot in it any deeper, get some sleep. This case has me down. I guess. See you tomorrow,” he called back from the door.
She stared after him with a puzzled frown on her face. Then she struck three random notes of what she’d just been playing, with one finger. Suddenly the piano-bench toppled over and she was flying toward the door he’d just closed behind him. She tore it open. Luckily he hadn’t gone down yet, was still out there waiting for the elevator.
“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” she shrieked, as though she herself had gone insane. “Come back here!”
He came inside again. “What the hell—”
She was too excited to explain. “Have you got a gun?” she asked breathlessly, closing the door after him.
“Sure, I always carry one,” he said, mystified.
“Good! You’re going to need one if this works out the way I think it may.”
She’d taken him into the bedroom. “Here, get into this closet and keep your eyes open. Can you see me at the piano from in here?”
“No, it’s not in a straight line with the door.”
“Well, we’ll shove it over further. I want to make sure your eyes are on me every minute of the time, through the crack of this closet-door, or it’s going to be just too bad for me!”
They shifted the piano, then she jumped up on a chair, unslung a heavy framed mirror from the opposite wall. “Hang this from the molding over the piano, Lindsey. It’ll give you a view of the rest of the room, from in there. Now get back in there, leave the door open a crack, and have your gun ready. You’re going to have to listen to that thing steadily for the next few hours. Can you stand it? Your own nerves were pretty much on edge just now. Better take a good stiff drink before you get in there.”