Lady Crymsyn

Chapter 17

I unlocked the liquor storage, got a bottle and glass, and took them to the table. I filled the glass and slid it across to Malone.
"Drink." The old-fashioned remedies are usually the best.
Some of the frozen horror leached out of his eyes, and he made an abortive move toward the booze. His hand was shaking too much to lift it to his lips; he had to bend close to the table to prevent spillage. He sipped down a good portion, then turned away, giving in to a coughing fit. Obviously a man not used to hard spirits even if he dealt with them daily.
Tic. "Wh-what are you going to do?" he asked. It sounded like someone else was using his voice.
He'd taken it for granted that I knew everything, and this lack of denial damned him completely. I'd only had a strong certainty before, diluted slightly by the weak hope that I was wrong. "I want to hear what you have to say."
"B-but-"
"Just talk to me. I think you need to. Get some more of that into you, then tell me everything from the start."
He meekly obeyed, draining off half the glass.
"Who are you really?" I asked.
Lips trembling, but he mastered himself. He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose, trying to put himself in order after I'd smashed him down with a sledgehammer. "My real name is Robert Tielli. I'm-I was-Walter's older brother, Norrie's uncle."
Well, that explained his motive.
"And you did it?" No need to specify what.
"Yes."
"Go on. How'd it start?"
"God, you might well say when he married her. They were young, he was only twenty, but she was pretty and they were happy enough. I was his best man at the wedding. He did carpentry, house construction, made a good living at it. I had the store-that much of what I told you was true. He worked there between jobs. And he gambled."
"What about the hot checks?"
"True, all true. I got the blame for them. I was angry with him, disappointed, but there wasn't much I could do. He was still my brother, and if I'd shifted the blame to him, who would support his family while he was in jail?"
"You?"
He shook his head. "Helen didn't like me. She came to know about my... my life, and it disgusted her. Walter just ignored it. I wish to God she could have done so as well. She was afraid to leave me around the children. I know there are men out there that... I'm not one of them, but she refused to understand."
"So you took the blame for the bad checks and went to jail."
"Not gladly, but yes. I thought it better for me to go instead. If I'd only known."
"What happened?"
"Walter was killed, not in a car accident, but on the job, some falling beams. He never woke up. The prison wouldn't let me out for even one day to attend his funeral. Helen never wrote me afterward. Never told me what she was doing. If only she had just said one word."
If only. The saddest words ever put together by helpless regret.
"I would have found some way to help her, help his children. They were my blood, too, all that I had left of my brother. I loved them as though they were my own. And then she... she..."
He had to stop. To break down. To release years of grief and rage and might-have-beens. It was awful to watch, to feel. The force of all that stored-up pain rolled over the table at me like a physical thing. If he'd been a woman, I'd have known what to do; but he was a man, and we suffer alone without the comfort of touch. I found a stack of napkins behind the bar. His handkerchief was inadequate to the task of all those tears. Feeling awkward, I put them within his reach, sat, and waited him out.
Gradually his sobbing trailed off. He scrabbled in near blindness for the napkins, savagely wiping his eyes, clearing his nose. He showed no embarrassment for himself; he looked very tired, though, very old. The thin lines that defined his otherwise youthful face had deepened and stretched.
"I was in prison when she did it. It was only later I found out how she'd tried to put the children in an orphanage. There was just a month to go before my release. I would have gladly taken them in, or found another home for them. But I didn't know. Dear God, if only I'd had some hint, but she'd cut me off, and there were no other relations of mine she could turn to. She'd said I was sick, perverted. That I was sick."
His throat clogged. He sipped more of his drink, coughing again.
"So rather than have a sick deviant like myself care for them, or at least help support them, she preferred them dead. What went through her mind? Did she feel anything, or have even a second's remorse? Was she insane by then? By the time I was out, she was gone. All I had was speculation, the wondering why, the not knowing."
Hers was an idiot's cruelty, I thought, trying to connect her horrific actions to that bland studio portrait that had come from the cops. "We want to know the why of it, to know how anyone could do such things, but there's no way any decent soul could or should understand. If we did, we might become like her."
He puffed out a small bitter laugh. Oh, but I do understand. I did. I turned into her. For one night."
"Did you adopt Norrie?" I asked, to keep the flow going in the-right order and interrupt his staring into space. Whatever he saw there had to be ugly.
He blinked at being drawn back. "I tried. I thought I'd have a chance since I was her uncle, but they turned me down because of my jail record-and other things. She was in an orphanage. A couple was all set to adopt her. They were probably nice, kind people, but she was all I had left of Walter. I couldn't let her go to strangers, so I took her away." He grimaced. "I know it was kidnapping, and there was a terrific hue and cry. They compared it to the Lindbergh baby."
"What, you put a ladder to a window?"
"There was no need. I waited until the children were on the playground. I wore overalls like the orphanage janitors and just called to her. She knew her uncle Robert and came running over. Then I just walked out right to the train station with her in my arms. We were miles away by the time she was missed.
"I'd hocked or sold everything in the store I could for travel money. I trimmed her hair and dressed her in boy's clothing. At that age it's hard to tell a boy from a girl except by their clothes. She still had bandaging around her throat. The papers said she'd been stabbed, but that was wrong. Helen had drawn the knife across just like she'd done with... with..."
He looked ready to break down again. I refilled his glass.
"It'll make me drunk."
"You need it."
He trembled still, but was better able to hold things in control. This time he merely sipped, then blew his nose. "I covered the bandages with a high-necked sweater, gave her a teddy bear instead of a doll to play with, and no one noticed us."
"Then you came to Chicago?"
"Not at first. I'd taken a train to Buffalo, and posted letters to the orphanage and to my parole officer."
"Why?"
"I thought they might like to know Norrie was safe. I gave them my reasons for taking her, and that we'd be starting a new life, that I would treat her as my own daughter, that she would be all right. Perhaps it was foolish, but I didn't want them thinking she was dead in a ditch somewhere."
"And a Buffalo postmark on the letter might shift their search for you to Canada?"
Tic.. "Yes. The way I wrote and worded the letters hinted at it. I'd planned it all very carefully. It was gratifying to read about it a few days later in the papers. We were in Chicago by then and I had new identities for us-I learned how to do that in prison, false birth certificates, a driver's license. That's when we became the Malones, little Norrie and her recently widowed father. I wore a black armband. People deferred to it, were kind, and out of tact did not ask very many questions."
"Why Chicago?"
"I'd spoken to that Dixon fellow, who was from here. To give him credit, he was as horrified by what she'd done as anyone. He'd had no inkling that she would do what she-he said she sometimes asked him about Chicago, so it seemed as good a place as any to go."
"What'd you do to him?"
Malone-and I still thought of him as Malone-blinked surprise. "Why, nothing. He'd been her motive, but nothing more. He was a small, stupid man, with a small, stupid life. They had much in common for that, but her actions were quite beyond his limits."
"So you went looking for her?'
"Not realistically. I can't explain, but I had an idea, a premonition, a wish, perhaps, that it wasn't over. That she and I would meet again. Every night I prayed for it, even though God must have known what I wanted to do once I caught up with her."
"So you found a job bartending?"
"Not at first. Prohibition was still on, and if there was a raid on the speak, I'd be in danger of arrest, but there just weren't any jobs open elsewhere. I did what work I could, but never for very long. Sooner or later someone would object to me, and I'd get fired. Things got bad enough to take the risk, and I found work at the Ace. I'd been told there would be no raids there, that Nevis had influence with the police. It proved to be true." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And a lucky choice on my part."
"You found Helen was working for him, too."
"It was like God had answered my prayers. I could hardly believe it, nearly fainted on the spot. She'd changed her hair, had grown up a bit, was more sophisticated, more alive, as though she'd turned into a completely different woman. But I still knew her the instant she walked in. I'd not changed that much, so I kept out of sight. She seemed very friendly with Nevis."
"Why did you choose... that method to..."
He sighed. "All I wanted was some isolated place to take her so we could talk. I'd heard the waiters gossiping about Lennet's speak being closed up and likely to remain that way. That had only happened a month earlier. So I checked it out, and it was perfect. No one would hear her in that basement. I went to a hardware store and got an eyebolt and a hand drill, some other things. She'd have to be tied up, you see."
I nodded once.
"I called in sick that night and waited outside for her. She and Rita would often come in together, but leave separately. I didn't know what their business was with Nevis-it didn't seem a good idea to ask. Around midnight she left, heading for the El at the end of the street. I got to her before she could reach it, showed her a knife I had, told her to be quiet. She seemed too dumbfounded to react."
"And she just went along with you?"
"She did after I made her drink what I had in my flask. It kept her quiet, a little woozy, but she was able to walk. I brought her here, brought her to the basement, and tied her up to that eyebolt. After that, it was only a question of waiting until she shook off the morphine. Hours, it turned out. Gave me plenty of time to think. And it occurred to me during those hours that I would have to find a way to conceal her body. If it were found and identified, then the police might begin looking for me again. I was a man with a clear motive, after all."
"You always planned to kill her?" So far, he was leading up to an inarguable case for premeditation, which would put his neck in a noose for certain.
"Yes, I did," he said, pulling the lever to make the trapdoor drop.
I felt heavy inside, my guts all turned to lead.
"I didn't know how I would kill her, though. I had the knife, and though there was a certain justice in cutting her throat, it would be too quick. Then it came to me that all I had to do was keep her right where she was. I found loose bricks throughout the basement, not nearly enough, but they were a start so I could calculate how many more were needed. By the time she fully woke up I had it all worked out."
"What did she say to you?"
"Absolutely nothing. Just stared at me like some ox at the slaughterhouse. It was a different face than the one she showed at the club. Her eyes were... empty, as though her soul had gone, leaving behind only a husk. This was the face of the woman who murdered my nephew. This creature-thing-had killed him. I tried talking with it, wanting to know why. But she wouldn't speak. She wouldn't say one word. I spent half the day trying to-"
Easy enough to see the two of them, the dank basement, the red glitter of her evening gown being picked up by his flashlight or lantern, and him throwing questions at her, his frustration mounting in measure to her silence.
"All I got from her, all I got was-" He had to pause, his control in danger of slipping again. "She wanted to know when I would let her go, so she could go home. That's the only time she spoke." A truly awful grimace distorted his face as he fought more tears and rage. "She didn't seem to be aware of what was happening to her, of her situation. She didn't even seem to be afraid. I was not bloody justice come to exact terrifying retribution; I was merely an inconvenience to her schedule.
"That's what the children had been to her. A problem she had to get rid of because it interfered with her pleasures.
"She could have simply walked away from them, abandoned them. It would have been wrong, but they would have eventually been found and cared for. Instead, she chose to kill them. She chose. I came to see that as I faced her. She wasn't insane, she was evil."
"Did you think of turning her over to the cops?"
"No."
"Why?"
"They'd have just sent her back to that asylum, and she could have escaped again. She wasn't a smart woman, but she was very cunning, like a rat is cunning. She would have found a way out again because being locked away would inconvenience her. Besides, they might have found me and taken Norrie away. I couldn't bear that. So, I made a choice of my own.
"I saw to it she was securely tied down and gagged, then went to buy bricks and mortar. It took a few trips to bring it all in-how my arms ached-but I'd made my decision, and went through with it. Again, I don't think she really understood what I was doing. She just watched, not saying a word, but by then I was able to ignore her the same as the rats in the building ignored us. I built up the courses-Walter had taught me a bit about construction-and they went up very fast.
"If just once, once, she had said she was sorry, said anything, I might have stopped."
"Might?"
"I honestly can't say I would have, but I might if she'd shown any sign of still being human. Nothing was there, not even an animal was left, just this thing. You can feel sorry for an animal; all I felt toward her was fear and disgust, as one fears a disease. To let her go would be to give it a chance to kill again. I shut her away. For forever, I thought."
"Why'd you stay on with Nevis?"
"It was a good job, and it might look odd if I suddenly quit so soon upon his precious Lena's disappearance. He was fair to me, too. He could overlook certain things so long as I showed up on time and did my work well."
"Why did you come here to me? I should think after finding the body you'd have packed and left."
"I had some idea that I should be in a position where I could keep an eye on things. I never dreamed you'd give me a job like this. I actually had a hope I could give Norrie a real home, nothing fancy, but better than she'd known before. Back when I first took her away I told her that I was going to be her daddy, and we'd live happily ever after. She believes I'm her real daddy now, and sometimes I can believe it myself."
There was a world of grief and agony in his eyes. Tears threaded steadily down his cheeks. "Mr. Fleming, I shall never have children. Norrie is the closest I'll ever get to fathering my own. I love her as though she were my own daughter. She is outside of this. What I have done must not touch her. I don't care what you do to me, but for God's sake don't let her pay for it. You're a good man. Could you promise me that you will see she's protected? I've no right to ask for myself, but for her sake... ?"
I'd seen this coming. Had known I'd have to eventually stop listening and start doing. Didn't make it any easier.
And just as I opened my mouth to speak, every light in the place winked out.
A small amount of illumination came through the diamond-shaped windows, enough for me to see, but Malone was quite lost. He stared around, startled and blind.
Lights on. I counted to five.
Off.
Oh, shit.
I didn't know what was wrong, but instinct told me to assume the worst. At the most, I'd only look foolish, but I could live with embarrassment. Quite easily.
"Come on," I muttered. I had presence of mind to gather up the money bag.
"Where? What's going on?"
The lights stayed off. I led him from the booth down to the access door of the tier seating. He stumbled, confused in what to him was absolute blackness. I tried the door, cursing as I remembered it was locked from the inside. I thrust the money bag at him and fumbled out my key ring.
"Mr. Fleming?"
"Shuddup," I whispered fiercely just before vanishing. I could risk it in this murk. Re-forming on the other side, I opened the padlock, yanked on the door, and grabbed Malone, pulling him in.
"What is it?" he hissed, his alarm at my lunatic behavior overcoming everything else.
"Take this key, and use it on the padlock you'll find on the door. I don't know what's wrong, but it could be something serious. You stay locked in here and keep quiet, unless you want your little girl to be an orphan."
That turned the trick, instantly cutting off any further questions or protests. He made only a small worry-noise in his throat. His heartbeat seemed to fill the sheltered space with its drumming.
I closed the door softly behind, and was reassured to hear Malone following orders.
The lights came on. Hard to tell if that was a good sign or not. I hoped I was just overreacting, to find out that it was merely a problem with the fuse box. Some practical joker who'd heard about the house ghost might have come back to scare me, say, one of Gordy's or Coldfield's bodyguards.
Which didn't seem likely. Until I knew better, I'd err on the side of caution.
Floating half-visible over the floor, I was able to approach the front silently. I'd heard the snick of a shutting door there. Maybe it was Bobbi wanting to know why I'd not come over yet.
No such luck. Booth Nevis and Tony Upshaw were in my lobby, having apparently just walked in. I went solid half a second before they spotted me. The all-around surprise was almost comical. I might have laughed but for the knowledge that I'd had locked those doors. Had Myrna the ghost's pranks branched out into a whole new area? Didn't seem likely, either.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, not unreasonably.
"Glad we caught you," said Nevis.
My imagination, I firmly told myself, provided the extra emphasis on the word caught. "What's the problem?" At this hour and under these circumstances, there would always be a problem.
"Nothing we can't settle in a nice, friendly manner," he assured me, achieving the opposite effect intended. "Let's go inside, and if you invite me for a drink, I won't turn you down." He looked amiable. Both were still in their tuxedos; Upshaw sported a walking stick in imitation of Fred Astaire. What had they been talking about during the opening to bring them back to the club?
"It's late, Nevis, just put it on the table."
Nevis clearly wanted something, but I couldn't imagine what, unless this was some sort of shakedown for a percentage of tonight's receipts. If so, then he needed better muscle for the intimidation part.
He crossed the lobby to the bar, motioning for me to come along. I was aware of Upshaw hanging ominously back, but not about to let him get behind me with that stick. Nevis put an arm on the bar, leaning casually, presenting a benign face to me. "It's about that book of Lena's," he began.
"What about it?"
"Not having a club to look after for the moment, I've had plenty of free time to study. I'm pretty good with numbers, you know. Guess I'd have to be with what I do. Well, I added up all of the stuff she skimmed, and it came out to a pretty respectable sum. Just over fifty-two grand as a matter of fact."
"That's respectable, all right," I agreed, finally getting an inkling.
"Now seeing as how you had the book for a while, too, I assume you also did a little addition of your own and came up with the same number."
I gave a noncommittal shrug.
"Which leaves me with the big question of where that money might be."
"She probably spent it."
A slow grin lit his gaunt face. "I don't think so. If Lena spent that much, I'd have noticed."
I nearly suggested she'd paid blackmail, but changed my mind, picking something else that cost a lot, wanting to see where Nevis was going with this. "Gambled it away, then."
"I don't think so. Not when I had her betting on sure things. She could have easily doubled her money, tripled, on the tips she had. That wasn't it."
"Sent it home to family."
"She said she didn't have any."
That I could believe. Nevis, too, apparently.
"No, Fleming, I think she hid it. Was saving it for her old age maybe. When she first disappeared, Rita and I looked all over, searched her things for a clue as to where she'd gone. We found no bank accounts or safety deposit keys, nothing like that. She could have buried it in a hole in the ground, but that's not a wise thing to do in the city, not practical. I think she hid it and in a place Rita would be unlikely to look."
"Go on, I'm interested."
"I'm sure you are. You spent some time with Rita the other week. I'm thinking that once she was asleep you went through her flat. I know you help that Escott bird out with his little detective business; you'd have picked up the habit from him. At that time you were trying to get a handle on Lena, trying to find her killer, and I don't hold it against you."
"I'm glad," I said drily.
"But I hold that you found the money."
"Oh, I did?"
"Hm. In those old books of hers."
I tried to keep my face deadpan, well aware that it might be a futile effort. "What books?"
"The ones in that case Rita uses for a bar. I noticed a couple were missing. They used to be jammed in tight, and suddenly there's spaces between them. I pulled them out and found what you found, minus the money."
"You're saying she hid the money in books? Like between the pages?"
His eyes flickered. Was that doubt? Was I actually going to get away with a real lie for once? "Not quite."
"Then what? Come on, it's late."
The flicker was amusement. "It'll get more late, unless you come across. I know you found the money, that you took it away."
"Me? Why not Shivvey?"
"Because if he'd got hold of that much, he'd have blown town, not tried to make a grab for my club."
"Unless he was greedy and wanted both."
Hesitation. A tiny doubt. Which he squashed. "Maybe, but before I face that calamity, I need to eliminate you from the list."
"I don't have that kind of money. I certainly don't need it."
"Everyone needs it, you especially. The cost of putting this place together must have shoved you in a very deep hole. That amount of cash would float you out of it with plenty to spare. I'm giving you a chance to return it to me."
"Return?"
"It was mine to begin with. She stole it from me. I think you're a basically honest man, Fleming. Do the right thing and give it back."
This farce had gone on too long. Bobbi was waiting for me, and I still had a hellish problem locked under the seating in the main room. I fixed Nevis with a long steady look. "I want you to listen to me..."
Concentration was the key-if he'd not drunk too much, if I didn't give him one of those deadly migraines by pushing too hard. But concentration went both ways when it came to eliminating small distractions. I was aware of Upshaw's close presence; I'd have to get to him next.
But the damned lights went out.
They suddenly came on again, especially the ones inside my head.
Blinding shards of brightness lancing through my closed eyes, burning holes in my brain, shuddering down the length of my body. Something hit me all over. I had the dim idea I'd lain down for a nap on the cold, hard floor.
But I don't sleep now.
"What the hell?" Nevis. "What'd you do?"
"He was acting fishy, I gave him a tap." Upshaw.
"Tap, hell, you broke his skull open."
"He'll be all right. Throw some water on him."
They threw water on me. To no effect. It neither eased the pain nor made it worse. I had a whole world to myself, and it was all pain. Their little activities had nothing to do with me.
Something touched me, a hand at my neck. I couldn't move. Couldn't react to it.
"Tony. You idiot!"
"What?"
"What do you think, asshole? Look at him!"
"Aw, shit... aw, shit... I didn't mean to-"
Sound of a scuffle, a fist on flesh, a cry. Sound of Nevis cursing. "You know what you cost me?"
"I'll make it up, I promise."
More cursing. It took him a long time to wind down. None of it had to do with me, with the white-hot cocoon that held me fast and unmoving at their feet.
"Let's get outta here," Upshaw whined.
"And leave him like this for Gordy to find? Him and Fleming are in each other's suits. Gordy's got brains, and I'll make book Fleming tells him everything. He'll figure this out, and he'll come looking for me. As for you, one look and he'll know whose legs to break to get some talk."
"Then whatta we do? Hey, that plane of yours-you can take him up. You can get rid of him that way."
"No I can't. The guy at the airport won't talk for the cops, but he would for Gordy. I can't take that chance. We gotta bury him... we gotta..." He trailed off to a relieved laugh.
"What? You got something?"
"Get his feet. This will cost you a new tux, but if I hear one complaint I'll put you in the same hole with him."
Upshaw grabbed my feet, Nevis hooked iron hands under my arms and lifted. My head set up a whole new clamor of agony as it lolled back. They grunted and swung me like old laundry. No reverence for the dead here.
Just wait, some tiny voice within said, shouting thin against the pain. Wait it out and then you can-
But I lost the rest as they lurched clumsily down a flight of steps. Nevis nearly dropped me as he struggled to hit the light switch.
"There, all the way to the back," he said.
More grunting, but Upshaw was in good shape from his dancing and Nevis was strong for all his leanness of frame. They made it without mishap.
"Here?" asked Upshaw.
"Yeah. Make sure his arms are over his head. It'll take up less space."
They dropped me. On something unconscionably hard. It opened up whole new frontiers of awfulness. My flaccid arms were stretched overhead like some Inquisition victim on a rack. I'd have been better off with the rack. It wouldn't have hurt so much.
"Now what?"
"Now we go to work. Get your coat off and help me drag this thing over."
"You're kidding. Are you kidding?"
"No. All the stuff we need is right here. He's planning to fill it in anyway, I heard. We just do this and they'll think he jumped the gun on the work. It'll have all weekend to set."
"But the mess-"
"I told you, one complaint and you go in next to him. You cost me fifty-two grand, you little shit, so don't think I won't. You know how much that woulda helped me getting the Ace back up and flying? So you shut up and pitch in like a good boy, and I might not break your legs myself afterward."
They left me alone. I missed their argumentative distraction. It kept me from feeling the terrible cavern of ache inside my skull.
I wandered in it, lost and alone as the two of them clattered around, doing God knows what. It was noisy and involved a lot of cursing and grunts of effort. Water splashed, then some mechanical grinding filled the room. They had to shout to each other.
"More water, another bag!" Nevis bellowed.
The grinding built in level so as to be deafening.
Belatedly, my brain came near to surfacing out of its stunned stupor. It shifted snail-like into an actual train of thought separate from the damage. It set up a number of panicked reactions for my body to go into, but for the fact that my body was inert for an unguessable time.
But that wasn't real panic. The true internal frenzy began when that first ghastly blob of wet cement slapped over my face to forever seal me in pain-suffused darkness.