Strictly For Cash Part 5
At least my hat fitted me now, and didn't bother me.
Ahead I could see the waterfront and the harbour, the shops and cafs and saloons.
As I walked along the congested sidewalk I kept my eyes open for a patrolman, but I needn't have bothered. No patrolman could have spotted me in that teeming crowd.
A few minutesa walking brought me to an hotel. It seemed the kind of place I was looking for. It was dingy and quiet, and looking through the double swing-doors I saw the lounge was deserted.
I pushed open the doors and walked in.
Ahead of me was the reception desk. A little guy in a black alpaca coat was propping himself up against the desk. He was bald and wrinkled, and his deep-set eyes were bored.
aI'd like a room,a I said.
aTen bucks deposit,a he said briefly. aFor how long?a aA couple of days, if I like it, maybe a week.a He scratched the top of his head with one finger.
aDon't see your baggage.a aIt's at the station.a aWe like baggage, mister. We could collect it for you.a I fished out two tens and dropped them on the desk.
aI'll get it in the morning. Let's have a room.a He reached for a key from the rack behind him, shoved the register at me and a pen.
I wrote John Crosby on the line he indicated with a dirty finger. My slight hesitation didn't fool him.
aAny relation to Bing?a he asked with a small sneer.
aWhy, yes,a I said. aI'm his sister. Where do I find the room?a He gave me a cold, hostile look, stuck his thumb into a bell push and turned his back on me.
After a while a middle-aged bellhop materialized and took the key. He was a rat-faced guy with close-set eyes and a thin, hard mouth. His blue uniform and pillbox hat shone like a nickel plate.
aSecond floor,a he said. aNo baggage?a aNo baggage,a I said.
I tramped up the stairs after him. Eventually we came to a door which he unlocked and pushed open. He reached inside and turned on the light.
aThe bathroom's at the end of the corridor. Don't use the shower. It don't work.a I went past him into a box of a room with a bed, a table, a chest of drawers and a strip of worn carpet.
aJust like Buckingham Palace,a I said.
aA little more roomy, if anything.a He put the key on the chest of drawers and looked me over expectantly. I gave him a dollar. He nearly dropped in his tracks.
aAnything you want, mister?a he said eagerly. aHow about a little company? I have a list of telephone numbers as long as my arm.a aDust,a I said.
aIf you change your mind, call the desk and ask for me. My name's Maddux.a aBeat it!a When he had gone I sat on the bed and took off my hat. I was so tired I could scarcely keep my eyes open. The bed felt as if it had been stuffed with golf-b.a.l.l.s, but that didn't worry me. I could have slept right then on a bed of nails.
I sat there, yawning and turning the hat around in my hand, my mind empty. As far back as I could remember I had kept a ten-dollar bill behind the sweatband of any hat I happened to own. I'd stick it there and forget about it. Then when I was broke I had something to fall back on. I wondered idly if the owner of this hat had the same idea. I turned down the sweatband and looked inside.
My fingers hooked out a thin ribbon of paper, and as I un-folded it I realized I wasn't surprised to find it there. It was almost as if I had known it would be there before I looked for it.
I smoothed it out. It was a left-luggage receipt, and written in pencil across the top were the words: John Farrar Seaboard Air-Line Railway, Greater Miami Under the heading, Description of Articles, was written One suitcase.
I was fully awake now, the longing for sleep washed right out of my mind. Then this hat, and obviously the clothes, did belong to me! I looked for the date on the receipt. There it was: September 6th! The time the suitcase was handed in was also there: 6.5 p.m.
For some minutes I sat staring down at the threadbare carpet. I felt like a sceptic in a haunted house who suddenly sees a horrifying apparition. There could be no doubt now. I must have lost my memory for forty-five days, and during that time, if I was to believe Ricca, I had murdered two men and a woman.
Ricca might be lying. If I were to remain sane I'd have to find out what had happened during those forty-five days. It started with the smash, five miles outside Pelotta. I would go to the scene of the accident and with any luck I might be able to trace my movements from there. I had been thrown out of the Bentley and had injured my head. From that moment until I had recovered consciousness in the hospital I had been going around with a blacked-out mind.
I flicked the receipt with my fingernail. Maybe this suitcase contained the key to those missing forty-five days. According to the receipt the suitcase belonged to me, and I must have checked it in. I had no idea where the Seaboard Air-Line Railway was, but I had to get the suitcase tonight. I wouldn't sleep or rest until I had it.
I reached for the telephone.
aSend Maddux up here,a I said to the reception clerk. aI want a packet of cigarettes. Tell him to hurry.a As he began to grumble, I hung up.
A couple of minutes later Maddux came in, panting, as if he had run up the two flights of stairs, his ratty face bright with expectation.
aChanged your mind?a he asked, closing the door and leaning against it. aWhat do you fancy . . .?a I held out my hand.
aCigarettes ?a He gave me a packet.
aThere's a little blonde . . .a aForget it,a I said, lit a cigarette, then took out two ten-dollar bills. I rustled them between my fingers.
aHow would you like to earn these?a His eyes bugged out and his mouth fell open.
aTry me,a he said.
I handed him the left-luggage receipt.
aGet that case and bring it back here.a aWhat a" now?a aIf you want to make twenty bucks.a He looked at the receipt.
aI thought your name was Crosby,a he said, and gave me a quick, suspicious look.
I didn't say anything. I folded the two bills and slid them into my pocket.
aI didn't say anything,a he said hurriedly. aThat wasn't me talking.a aGet that case and make it snappy.a He went off as if fired from a gun.
While I waited I went over my meagre stock of information.
On the night of September 6th I had been driving a Buick convertible, registered in the name of John Ricca, along a road seventy-five miles from Miami. With me was a girl: whether it had been Della or not I couldn't say. Ricca knew who she was, but Riskin didn't. There had been a smash. Apparently I had lost control of the car, for there was no other car involved. The girl had been killed, and I had been found unconscious five minutes later by a speed-cop. There was some talk about a gun.
It had her fingerprints on it, and for some reason or other Riskin seemed to think the smash had been deliberate, making it murder.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. I had to find out who the girl was and why she had a gun. I had to find out why I had lost control of the car.
Riskin had said I had an apartment on Franklin Boulevard, Lincoln Beach. I remembered Della had said she and her husband were going to Lincoln Beach, and did I want to go with them. It seemed in those forty-five missing days I had not only lived in Lincoln Beach, but I had even set up a home there.
To judge by the suit I was wearing, and the fact I had owned a Buick, I must have got hold of a lot of money. How had I done that in so short a time?
I switched my mind to the fat man, Ricca. He had given me a lot of obscure information. According to him I was engaged to a girl called Ginty. Where had I met her and where was she now?
I recalled what he had said. You're the guy who killed Wertham and Reisner. Who were they? Where have you hidden the money? he had asked. What money? You can walk out of here and do what you d.a.m.n well like. Why should I care? She was the one who cared. Who was she? Why did she care?
I stretched out on the bed and smoked, staring up at the ceiling. There seemed no end to the questions, but how was I to find the answers? I realized I wasn't going to get far unless I had money to help me. At the moment I had only a little over a hundred dollars. I couldn't hope to make a thorough investigation without a substantial sum of money. I was suddenly up against a blank wall. Without money I was sunk. There could be no investigation. All I could do was to sneak out of Miami as soon as my hundred dollars ran out and get somewhere where I could lose myself.
I was still battering my brains out, trying to find a solution, when I heard Maddux coming pounding down the pa.s.sage. I just had time to slap on my hat to cover my shaven head when he came in and dumped a big black pigskin suitcase on the bed.
aThere you are, mister,a he said. aJeepers! That weighs a ton.a I was looking at the suitcase. As far as I knew I had never seen it before. There was a tie-on label hanging from the handle. It had my name on it, and it was written in my handwriting.
I tried the locks, but they didn't budge. They were good, strong locks, and they'd need a lot of breaking open.
aThat's a nice-looking case,a Maddux said, watching me closely.
aYeah, but I've lost the key. Got a screw-driver handy?a I saw his look of suspicion, but I ignored it.
aYou don't want to bust the locks,a he said. aI've got a hicky that'll open it.a aGet it,a I said.
He went off as if he were jet-propelled.
I stood looking at the suitcase, fighting down a feeling of fear and excitement. Would this case contain the key to the missing forty-five days? Had I bought it or had I stolen it?
Maddux returned in six minutes. They seemed like six hours to me.
He bent over the case, screwed a bit of metal into the lock, twisted it and the lock flew up. He did the same to the other lock, then stood back.
aEasy, once you know how,a he said.
I gave him the twenty I'd promised him.
aSee you tomorrow,a I said, anxious to get rid of him.
He looked longingly at the case, backed to the door, then hesitated.
aWell, if that's all, I guess I'll get downstairs.a aThat's all.a The moment he closed the door I shot the bolt. Then I turned to the bed. I took hold of the lid of the case and threw it open.
I don't know what I expected to see, but certainly not what I did see. The case was crammed with money: thousands and thousands of dollars; more money than I had ever seen in my life.
For a long moment of time I stood staring. Then very carefully and with shaking hands I lifted the fat, neat packages on to the bed until the case was empty. There was nothing else in the case a" just the money. A quarter of a million in hundred dollar bills !
I understood then why Ricca had been so anxious to find the money. A quarter of a million! How did it get into the case? Where had it come from?
I suddenly felt horribly faint, and I put my hand on the bed-rail to steady myself. My knees sagged, and I flopped down on the floor. But not for one moment did I take my eyes off that money.
A quarter of a million dollars!
A motive for murder! Had I really murdered two men and a woman for this? Was that what I had done?
chapter thirteen.
If I hadn't been suspected of murder I wouldn't have touched that money. I would have taken the suitcase to Riskin and let him handle it, but what had I to lose? If I did hand over the suitcase to Riskin I might be banding him the motive he was hunting for to pin the murder rap on me. If I were caught with it, it wouldn't make much difference, if any. I was wanted for murder, nothing else mattered.
I wanted money to make an investigation. Well, I had a quarter of a million dollars and I was going to use it.
Once I had made up my mind to use it, everything became simple. I bought Maddux, and I bought the bald-headed reception clerk. Maddux cost me a hundred bucks. The clerk became cooperative for a mere fifty. Both of them found out who I was when they read the morning papers. The papers gave my name and an accurate description of me.
aThis man is wanted for questioning concerning the murder of an unknown woman,a said the account. aAnyone recognizing him from the description given above should communicate immediately with Lieutenant Bill Riskin of the Homicide Bureau.a But they didn't offer a reward, so the clerk and Maddux weren't interested. They were only interested in my welfare and my dollars.
I remained in the hotel bedroom for two weeks: time for my hair to grow over the scar and for me to raise a moustache. A moustache and a pair of horn spectacles changed my appearance considerably. Only a trained observer like Riskin could have spotted me. I was sure I had nothing to fear from the man in the street who might have read the police description.
I told Maddux I wanted a car and a gun. He got me a second-hand black Plymouth: just the car for the job I had on hand. He produced also a .38 automatic and a .22 in case I wanted something smaller, and a box of slugs to go with both guns. He made a big profit out of the purchases, but I didn't care. I had all the money in the world, and I was buying secrecy.
After sixteen days in the bedroom, I decided the heat had cooled off enough for me to leave. I drove away from the hotel on a moonless night a little after ten o'clock. On the bench seat beside me was the .38. I had the .22 in my hip pocket. I was ready for trouble. If anyone shot at me, I was going to shoot at them. I was in that kind of mood.
I drove along Bay Sh.o.r.e Drive, up the long, crowded Biscayne Boulevard towards the State Highway. I drove carefully, stopping at every red light, taking care no speed-cop could find an excuse to bawl me out. I saw a number of prowl cars and a number of speed-cops, but none of them took any notice of me.
After a six-hour drive I spotted the bright lights of Lincoln Beach. The town was laid out in a semicircle, facing the sea and sheltered by rising ground. It seemed to be a blaze of lights even at three o'clock in the morning. I had no intention of driving through the town. My first call was to be the scene of the accident where the Bentley had crashed. I'd be coming back to Lincoln Beach later on.
I remembered where the car had hit us. There was a hill and palmetto thickets on either side. Fifty miles past Lincoln Beach I reduced speed. Somewhere here, I told myself. There was a hill ahead of me, and I could see the shadowy outlines of the palmetto thickets. I slowed to a crawl. By now it was close on five o'clock, and the sun was coming up reluctantly above the skyline. In another ten minutes it would be daylight.
I switched off the headlights and cruised to a standstill, drawing to the side of the road. I lit a cigarette, aware of the feeling of rising excitement, but I waited. I wanted plenty of light to do what I had come to do.
After a while I decided it was light enough, and I drove on. A mile farther up the road I came to the place. I knew it was the place by the uprooted tree, the torn gra.s.s and the skid marks that even sixty days hadn't yet blotted out.
I kept on driving until I was a quarter of a mile past the scene of the smash, then I ran the car off the road and into the shrubbery. I wasn't taking any risks. A parked car at the actual place of the smash might arouse the curiosity of any pa.s.sing cop.
I walked back, my gun shoved down the waistband of my trousers, my eyes and ears alert for trouble. I saw no one and heard nothing.
After examining the ground for half an hour, I gave up. Apart from the skid marks, the churned-up gra.s.s and the uprooted tree, I found nothing. I knew the police had been here. If there had been anything to find they would have found it. I didn't expect to find anything. I hoped if I returned to the scene of the smash something there might jog my memory to life, but it didn't.
During those sixteen days at the hotel I had groped into the past, trying to push aside the blanket of fog that hid the happenings of those forty-five days. Every now and then I felt I was getting somewhere. I remembered a few things, but they were so disjointed they didn't make sense.
An enormous fat woman with blonde hair floated into my mind, and then before I could concentrate on her she turned into a sleek, ferocious lion that came rushing towards me with a coughing, snarling roar. That mind picture brought me out of an uneasy doze, sweating and scared. Had I been dreaming or had this fat woman and the lion actually played a part in those missing days?
Then later I had a very clear mind picture of myself on the verandah of a beach cabin. I was sitting in an armchair listening to the radio. I could hear the music distinctly, and although I never listened to cla.s.sical music, I somehow knew this was a symphony concert, and it was by Beethoven. There was a blonde girl in a yellow swimsuit in the room. She kept coming on to the verandah, wanting me to turn off the radio, but I wouldn't let her. She said if the music stopped she would take off her swimsuit. Wouldn't I like that better than the music, and I said no. She got angry and slapped my face. This picture appeared again and again in my mind, but it didn't mean anything to me.
I sat down on the uprooted tree and lit a cigarette. I tried to concentrate while I absorbed the atmosphere of the thicket. I remembered the other car coming at us like a bat out of h.e.l.l. I remembered Della's scream and the smash. I remembered grabbing hold of the dashboard as the Bentley began to turn over. I closed my eyes. There had been a blinding white light, and then darkness.
After a while I remembered a small wooden cabin, facing the sea. I could see it clearly in my mind. It had a tin roof, and the front window was cracked. There was a split panel in the front door.
This was new. This had happened after the smash! I was sure of that. Excited by this discovery, I jumped to my feet and looked around. There was a path through the palmettos, leading to the beach. I set off, walking quickly, aware that the path seemed vaguely familiar. I was pretty sure I had been this way before.
I came out of the thicket on to the sand dunes. The sea was in front of me. I stood looking to right and left. There was no sign of any cabin. I was turning to walk to the right when I changed my mind and walked instead to the left. I was like a blind man in a familiar room. All I had to do was to obey my instincts, and I knew I should arrive at the cabin.
I walked for ten minutes along the beach before I saw it. It was exactly as I had pictured it in my mind, with its tin roof and cracked window-pane.
There was an elderly man in the doorway, smoking. He had on a pair of dirty dungarees and he was looking in my direction. There was a stiff alertness about him that told me I had startled him.
aMorning,a I said as I drew near. aA lonely spot you've got here.a He stared at me, his lined, weather-beaten face uneasy. aWhere did you spring from, mister?a aI've been driving all night. I wanted to stretch my legs. Could I buy a cup of coffee off you?a aYou can have a cup of coffee. I've just made some. I'll bring it to you.a I sat down on a wooden box and waited. I had an idea I had seen him before.