Drawn to Evil Page 6

  “I don’t know. How about young Marlowe? He seems to own you. Something he knows about you, Tina? Or is it that you’re crazy about the way he musses up his blond curls?”

  Her face was bright. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Marlowe orders you around, Tina.”

  “I work here. I take orders.”

  “You jump when he speaks. A real master is what he looks like. Tell me, is that because you’re crazy about him and are afraid you’ll displease him?”

  Her face was taut. “I work for him.”

  “Do you? I thought you worked for the Flynns.”

  “I do. But Mr. Jerry runs the household. Mr. George was always too busy — and Mrs. Flynn — ” Her voice trailed off.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Flynn doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about household details.”

  “But Mr. Jerry does? Just as he liked office work downtown with his uncle?”

  She flushed again. “I think he clerked for his uncle.”

  “I think he did, too. Really getting ready to take over, wasn’t he?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I only work here.”

  “Is that all? Why did you tell the police that you heard young Marlowe come in at four A.M. the morning his uncle was killed?”

  “Because I did hear him. In a taxi.”

  “Why were you awake? How could you hear him back here? How would you know it was Marlowe?”

  “I — I wasn’t back here.”

  “You were in the front house, waiting for him?”

  She flushed again, the color creeping up from her jaw line to the roots of her hair. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

  “So it’s young Marlowe, is it? Handsome and rich. You couldn’t do better, could you?”

  “The way I feel about Jerry has nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with murder. It is my personal business.”

  “Maybe it is. Maybe not. It makes your alibi for him pretty worthless.”

  “A taxi driver also said he brought Mr. Marlowe home at four A.M.”

  “All right. So Jerry bought two of you. One with money, and one with a roll in his bed — ”

  She leaped from the chair, her hands ready to claw me. “That isn’t true! You’re trying to accuse Jerry of murder. He isn’t guilty!”

  “Where was he? Or did he bother to tell you?”

  “He — was gambling — ”

  “Okay. I know. The Spanish-America Club.”

  “Then why do you ask me?”

  “Because somebody killed George Flynn. I don’t like Jerry Marlowe’s alibi. It’s too pat. Too foolproof. Suppose I find out at the Spanish-America Club that he wasn’t there all that time after midnight, you know what can happen to you?”

  “You can’t frighten me!”

  “I’m not trying to frighten you. I’m telling you the truth. Accessory. Did you ever hear of that word? Some nice long jail sentences go with it.”

  “I’m not hiding anything. What do you want to know? Do I love Jerry? Yes. I do. I heard him come in. That’s all I know.”

  I looked her over, my eyes hard. “You better be damn sure it is, baby.”

  • • •

  I offered her a cigarette and she took it. When she reached for it, her hands were trembling. I held out a match. She almost choked on the first puff.

  “Somebody telephoned Liza Flynn at the Lyons’ party,” I told Tina. “I think it was Jerry Marlowe.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why? Don’t you know, Tina, that Jerry is crazy about Liza? Think what they can do now with George’s money — ”

  “You are the one who is crazy, mister! Jerry does not love that one!”

  “What makes you so sure? Because he has said he doesn’t? You’ll find out, Tina, that guys like Jerry play around with girls like you with one thing in mind while they court gals like Liza with entirely different intentions.”

  Her eyes were blazing. She kept her voice cold. “You’re trying to make me mad. I won’t let you!”

  “You’re burning up right now, Tina, and you know it. What I’m saying is true.”

  She shrieked at me. “You lie!”

  I laughed. “All right, I lie. If you know better you tell me. And if you want to help your dear boy friend, you better tell me. Who is this man that Liza has been seeing on the side?”

  She stared at me. She swallowed hard. Her face got very pale. At last she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s his name, Tina?”

  “I don’t know his name.”

  All the blood in my veins turned to ice water and splashed downward in my body. “But there is a man? Not Jerry? Somebody else? You’re sure of it?”

  Her tongue darted across her lips. I know how dry her mouth was. I know how dry my mouth was. She nodded.

  I was too sick to talk any more. There is one word I learned never to doubt. The word of a maid about her mistress. There’s some kind of loyalty there even when it’s diluted with hatred, as it was here. But that loyalty will keep a maid silent for a long time. When she speaks, it’s usually the truth.

  So now I could not doubt it any more. The beautiful Liza. The faithless babe. She had been playing around. I had a new suspect now. The lover.

  I had a thirteen-year-old record with the cops. And no matter what else was true about me, I had a good record. I was a cop. First. Last. And even when I was slapped in the face with a truth like this.

  I just motioned Tina out of there with a nod of my head. “Okay, Tina. Get back to work. And keep your mouth shut.”

  • • •

  I went out a rear door of the garage and started back across the garden.

  I had my head down. I was feeling low. Low-down. All I could think was of Liza.

  The garden was as neat as a new haircut I was almost to the rear hedge when I saw a place in the carefully trimmed garden that stood out like a wart on a neck.

  Don’t ask why I was drawn to it. When you’ve been a cop as long as I have, you get a feeling for things. Maybe it’s not a feeling you like. It draws you to evil. But that can explain why a cop will just happen to question the man who later turns out to be a murderer. It certainly explains why I stepped off the path and pushed through a cropped clump of evergreens.

  I looked back toward the house. I was screened from the big place or from the servant quarters by a hedge of Brazilian pepper.

  I hunkered down over the place where the ground was broken and carelessly covered. Somebody had been digging here. And they’d been working with more haste than good sense.

  The hole was shallow. My hands were black with the rich earth and my fingernails were full. But what I found brought the murder of George Flynn close to home. It ruled out the syndicate, and it ruled out a hopped-up bookie named Greek Alonzo. But it sure as hell pointed straight at that big white house beyond the pepper hedge — and an unknown lover.

  It was a crudely made sap. The end of a kid’s baseball bat that had been leaded until it weighed plenty. A blow with that thing would break your skull. But whoever had used it on George Flynn had kept on hitting a long time after he no longer needed to.

  The sap was blood-covered. I knew I should head in for headquarters and turn the thing over to the lab. But what I did was wrap it up in some sacking in the back of my car. Then I hid it under the front seat and drove slowly around the block and parked in the driveway of the home of the widow of State Senator George Flynn. The lovely Liza.

  Chapter 10

  TINA turned pale when she saw me walk through the front door. I shook my head at her and told her I wanted to see Mrs. Flynn. She started to give me a song and dance. I knew what it was. Marlowe’s orders. Nobody was to see Mrs. Flynn unless he okayed it. But something in my face stopped her.

  “I’ll see if she is well enough to talk to you,” Tina said. She remembered to tell me to sit in the sun parlor at the right of the foyer. Then she went away up the stairs.

&nb
sp; In a moment she came back and wondered if I would mind following her upstairs. I told her I didn’t mind. I followed her across the foyer. The stairs glistened. It was a long way up those steps. A long, long way.

  Tina knocked on a door and I heard Liza’s voice. “Come in.”

  It sounded like the chimes of angels. An angel’s voice. And yet I knew that she had been a faithless wife.

  The woman I still wanted.

  She was sitting in a chair at the window when I came into the room. She was wearing a lime green negligee that was so sheer the color of it was almost lost against the sheen of her flesh.

  I knew this was the last place in the world that I should be. But the only thing I can do is tell the truth about how lovely Liza was, how she was like something out of this world to a guy like me. A guy who had everything else in the world. Everything except a woman like this.

  “Marty,” she said. “I’ve been hoping you’d come.” She spoke and the angel chimes sounded again.

  I closed the door sharply behind me. She frowned slightly. It was so quickly gone that I hardly saw it. But I knew. Things weren’t breaking right for her. Liza was on edge.

  “It won’t do you any good,” I said. “I thought you were crying the other morning for your dead husband. I know better now. You were weeping because you were having to face the police alone. Who was the man, Liza? Who was the lover who killed your husband?”

  She stood up and stared at me. The muscles in her face were rigid. Her face was pale, whiter than death, colder. “Somebody called you at the Lyons’ party the other night, Liza. Who was it?”

  “There was no call.”

  “Don’t lie, Liza. It’s too late now. Everybody knows there was a call. Mrs. Lyons has told me. She has told the police. They’re trying to find out who called. Tell me. Was it Jerry? Is that who called you, Liza?”

  She shook her head.

  My voice hardened. “It was Jerry, wasn’t it? He called you. You and George argued. George left. You followed. You met Jerry. He stopped George on the way home. He killed him. Jerry went then to the Spanish-America Club. You came home. That’s the way it was, wasn’t it, Liza?”

  Again she shook her head.

  “Jerry called you. What about, Liza?”

  She waited a long time. At last she shrugged. “He had been gambling. He had lost a great deal of money. The club insisted that he pay his losses. He was trying to raise the money. I — I asked George to help him. But George had warned Jerry to stop gambling. He was furious. He not only refused to help Jerry, he left the party. I was worried. I got a cab and came home. I didn’t see George again — not alive. That’s the truth, Marty!”

  I was sicker than ever. It was the sort of story I would have fallen for, the kind I would have wanted to hear — except that I had found the leaded sap out in the garden. I knew better. It had to be someone she knew, someone she loved — secretly.

  Her story was perfect. Just good enough that the police would credit it. Somebody had spent a lot of time figuring it out.

  “It’s no good,” I said. I was miserable. My voice cracked. “I’ve been out in the garden, Liza. I found where it was planted. The sap. The bludgeon that was used on George Flynn.”

  “No!”

  For a moment I thought she was going to faint. She managed to hang on. I didn’t let up.

  “It wasn’t even a good job of planting, Liza. Somebody was scared. Somebody was in a hurry. In a carefully tended garden somebody left a mound of dirt that was an eyesore. Somebody was not very smart, Liza. And whoever that somebody is, you’re letting him carry you with him right to the electric chair.”

  She sobbed. But she didn’t answer.

  “Who did it for you, Liza? The whole thing is over now. But you can save yourself a lot by telling me who did it. Who was he?”

  She took the few steps that separated us. I looked at her. The upthrust of her breasts beckoned me like paradise on earth. She was the loveliest thing I had ever seen. Even now, when I was on the scent of a murderer — when nothing usually distracted me — I couldn’t help finding the spot in her throat where my lips longed to be, the strong curves of her where my hands ached to rest.

  “Marty, please help me. Anything in the world you want, Marty. If you’ll just help me.”

  “I can’t help you. Nobody can help you. I told you once not to lie to me. I told you if there was somebody in it with you to tell me his name. I thought there was some guy who had killed George in an argument over you. I was going to keep you out of it. But you lied to me. You said there was no other man. Now I know better. Not only was there another man, but you planned this with him! You put him up to killing George!”

  “No, Marty! No! You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Why should I believe you? You haven’t told me anything to believe yet.”

  “Jerry called. It was about gambling. George and I argued. I came home alone. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  I shrugged. “All right. Let Hilligan get you then. Your husband was a very popular man, Liza. They’re going to hate you in the morning. All the people who loved your husband.”

  “Listen to me, Marty. I’m afraid, and I’m alone. I’ve always been alone. Do you think I was ever happy with George? Never. Never even for a moment. He didn’t need me. He didn’t know how badly I needed love. I grew up in a poor family. They never had time to love me. I’ve never been loved, Marty. And that’s what I need. Maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe I was unfaithful to George. But, don’t you see? I was looking for love, Marty. Not murder. I didn’t have anything to do with this murder. I swear it! I swear it! I swear it!”

  I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “It’s going to take a hell of a lot more swearing than that to save you, Liza. Don’t you see? The sap. Found out in your garden. You left the party. They’ll find the hackie. He’ll tell them where he took you. And then they’ll say that you met someone there, and that the two of you met George and killed him.”

  “You can save me, Marty.”

  “Nobody can save you. I wanted to, when I first began to doubt you. But you lied to me, just like you’re lying to me now when it’s too late.”

  That got through to her. The words “too late.” They were like blows across her face. She staggered under them.

  “Marty! I didn’t plan it! I didn’t help! I swear it. I wouldn’t lie to you, Marty. I know. I know you could find out the truth. I know you will find out. And then you can have me, Marty. We’ll go away. You can have anything you want. Only save me!”

  “Don’t you understand? Even if I wanted to save you, I couldn’t. It’s too late. There’s just one thing I want from you — the name of the guy who killed George Flynn.”

  She sank to the divan, sat rigidly there. “No, Marty. No one.”

  “Okay. I hope that he’ll protect you the way you’re protecting him, baby. Because there’s one thing I can tell you. I’ll find out who he is. Whether you help me or not, I’ll find out.”

  “Marty! Save me!”

  “I wish you’d get it in your mind. I can’t save you. But I could make it easier for you. Tell me who he is!”

  She just looked at me. “No, Marty. No one.”

  • • •

  I stopped in the first bar I came to and had a drink. I came out, got in the car and drove the rest of the way to town. After I crossed the Hillsborough on the Lafayette Street bridge, I found a parking place and hit the first tavern I could spot.

  There shouldn’t have been any problem at all. I was a cop, wasn’t I?”

  Liza had lied to me. I doubted that anything she told me was the truth. She was as treacherous as she was lovely. And she was shielding some guy. Jealousy ate at me as much as anything else.

  Because one thing I knew. The big thrill I had always sought was inside Liza Flynn. I took three rapid drinks and maybe my mind fogged up, but one truth remained. It was Liza Flynn I wanted more than anything else in the world. Accomplice or not Shielding s
ome other guy. Liar. Wanton. Worse. It didn’t matter. The rest of my life was going to be empty without her.

  I was unsteady on my feet when I crossed the sidewalk and got in my car. I drove on home and got there without an accident. Which proves that God watches out for drunks and fools. And I was both.

  Gale was waiting for me when I opened the door. “Darling!” She jumped up and threw her arms around me. I pulled her arms down from my neck.

  She looked as if she were going to cry. “What’s the matter, Marty?”

  I snarled at her. “Nothing is the matter. It’s all right. You can get put of here now. Greek Alonzo had nothing to do with killing your boss. You can go back home. You can get out.”

  “Marty, you sound so different. So terrible. You don’t sound like you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, baby. Now I really sound like me. This is me. You’re not what I want. You understand that?”

  “Didn’t you like — loving me, Marty?”

  “It didn’t burn down the building, baby.”

  “Oh.”

  I sank to the side of the bed. I was miserable. How could I care how she felt?

  “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. A guy can’t help being what he is. And what I am is no good, kid. The things I want you wouldn’t even understand.”

  “No, Marty. I know. I just don’t interest you. I’m just — no good, am I?”

  “You’re all right. You’re fine. Find some decent guy and latch onto him. You’ll never find another guy like me in all your life, and you don’t know how lucky you are.”

  • • •

  When she was gone, leaving the corridor door standing open, I toppled across the bed. I pulled a pillow over my head, pressing it down against my eyes. My aching eyes. My burning eyes. No matter how hard I pressed, I could see the bloody mask that they’d left George Flynn. His two-timing wife and her killer boy friend.

  The woman nobody could save. The woman I wanted.

  I knew what it was going to be after Liza was gone. There would be no sense in looking for excitement in a manhunt. I’d find no thrill in any woman. I had had too many. I knew what they were like.