Стюарт Стерлинг - Collection of Stories

The boy stuck his head around the corner of the glass case. Teccard stepped quickly between him and the body.

“Is he sick?” the youngster began.

“Yair. You go home, tell your father the ivy will be over later.”

“O.K., mister. Gee, I’m sorry—”

“Wait a minute, son. You seen Stefan Kalvak around tonight?”

The boy made a face. “Naw. Steve ain’t never around, except with girls. I don’t like him, anyways—”

“You know where he lives?”

He jerked a thumb toward the ceiling. “I guess he lives right up over the flower store, here.”

Teccard was startled. “That so?” Maybe the kid didn’t know about the sister tossing Stefan out on his ear...

The boy ran. When he’d gone, the lieutenant felt in the pockets of the dead man, without disturbing the position of the body. There was a leather container, with four Yale keys. He took them.

One of the keys fitted the front door. He used it, from the street. Then he stepped into the entrance-way to the second floor stairs.

There was only one mailbox, a big brass one with a mother-of-pearl push button and a neatly-engraved card: Vanya Kalvak, Floriculturist.

He went up the stairs, noiselessly.

There were two doors opening off the second-floor hall. The one nearest the front of the building had another of the engraved cards tacked to it.

He heard voices. They came from the room behind the door at the head of the stairs.

The tones of the girl who’d asked Agousti to deliver the wreaths were very distinct.

“Why do you come here, anyway, Miss Yulett?”

“Your brother brought me here,” Helen answered. “He said it was all right.”

Teccard’s heart skipped a couple of beats. What was Helen doing, talking? She must have been startled out of her wits by this other woman and been caught off guard. He put his ear to the panel.

“I’m very sorry for you, Miss Yulett.”

“I don’t understand! Why should you be?” The sergeant was still playing her part. “Peter said he would be back in a moment. He’ll explain.”

“Peter!” The girl’s tone was one of disgust.

“His name is Stefan. Stefan Kalvak.”

“It all seems very queer. I can’t imagine why he lied to me about his name. But you ought to know, since you’re his sister.”

The girl laughed harshly. “You stupid idiot! He is my husband.”

“What!” The sergeant didn’t have to fake that exclamation, Teccard thought.

“It is the truth. I am his wife, God forbid.” The girl spat out the words. “I know what he told you. The same as he told those others.”

“You’re just trying to drive me away from him.”

Teccard decided they were in the kitchen of the apartment. One of them kept moving about restlessly — probably Mrs. Kalvak.

“I’m trying to save your life. You don’t know Stefan. He’s a fiend, absolutely. After he’s taken your money — have you already given it to him?”

“No,” Helen answered. “Tomorrow after we get the license, we will talk over buying the business.”

“Tomorrow, you will be dead — if you do not let me help you get away.”

“I should think you’d — hate me, Mrs. Kalvak. But honestly, I didn’t know Peter — Stefan — was married.”

“I don’t care about you one way or the other. The reason I’m praying to God for you to get away quickly is that I don’t want him caught.”

“No...”

“I know what would happen to him, if the police got him. My eyes haven’t been closed all these months. Stefan hasn’t earned the money he’s been spending. Nevertheless—” she hesitated — “nevertheless, I love him.”

A phone bell jangled in the front room. Mrs. Kalvak stalked away to answer it. Teccard waited until he heard her answering in monosyllables, then he tried the door. It was locked.

“Helen,” he whispered as loudly as he dared. “Helen!”

The sergeant didn’t hear him.

Mrs. Kalvak was storming back into the kitchen. “ You talk of lying!” she cried. “You... trickster!” Mrs. Kalvak’s voice rose in anger. “That was Stefan on the phone.”

“He’s coming back, then?”

“Sooner than you like, my fine deaf lady!”

“Wait—”

“You’re no country innocent, Miss Yulett. I know who you are. You’re a detective — trying to trap my man. And all the time I was sorry for you, thinking you were caught in his net!”

Helen screamed, once. Teccard heard a thud. He lunged at the panel. “Helen! Get the door open!”

There was no answer.

He pointed the muzzle of Meyer’s automatic an inch from the edge of the jamb, at the lock.

Before he could pull the trigger he felt something, like the end of a piece of pipe, jab painfully into the small of his back. A suave voice murmured: “Use my key! It will be easier.”

The lieutenant held the pose. A hand came around his side and relieved him of the .45.

“Come on, Vanya! Open up!”

The door swung wide.

The girl stared, white-faced. “I didn’t know you were out here, Stefan. I heard him — trying to get in.” She held a heavy, cast-iron skillet at her side.

“I came upstairs while he was bellowing like a bull.” Kalvak prodded Teccard between the shoulder-blades with the muzzle of the automatic. “Get inside, there.”

Helen sprawled on the floor beside the refrigerator. Her hat lay on the floor beside her, the wide brim crushed by the fall. The sergeant’s head rested on a brown-paper shopping bag, her hair over her forehead.

Kalvak whistled, softly. “You killed her, Vanya!”

“She’s only stunned.” The girl lifted the skillet. “When I found she was a detective, I could have killed her.”

“We’ve enough trouble, without having a cop-murder to worry about. Did you search her?”

Vanya kicked the sergeant sullenly. “There’s no gun on her. What are you going to... do with them?”

Kalvak snarled at her. “I’ll take care of them.” He dug a spool of adhesive out his pocket. “Sit down in that chair. Grab the back with your hands. Close your eyes.”

“Hell! You’re not going to tape us, are you?”

“You think I want you to follow us, you—!”

Teccard saw a peculiar bulge inside the lining of Miss Yulett’s hat. He couldn’t be certain what it was — but it might be worth a gamble. “If you don’t want to fret about a cop-murder, you better call a doc for her.”

“She’ll snap out of it, all right.”

“Damn it! I tell you she’s dying!” Slowly and deliberately, so Kalvak couldn’t mistake his intention, Teccard moved a step closer to Helen — dropped down on one knee beside her.

The weapon in Kalvak’s hand swiveled around to follow the lieutenant’s movement. “Leave her alone.”

Teccard rested his weight on one hand, close to the hat brim. The other he put on Helen’s forehead. “She’s like ice — if you don’t get her to a doctor, fast—” His hand touched cold metal under the loose lining of the big hat.

Kalvak sensed something wrong. “Keep away from that hat!”

Teccard fired without drawing the stubby-barreled .32 out from under the hat-lining where Helen had hidden it. It was an angle shot and risky as hell — but the lieutenant knew the risk he and Helen were running, if he didn’t shoot. The bullet hit Kalvak about three inches below his belt buckle. It doubled him over and spoiled his aim with that automatic. But the heavy slug ripped across the lieutenant’s hip. It felt as if molten metal had been spilled all along the thigh. He lifted the .32 — hat and all — emptied three more chambers. The first bullet missed its mark. The second one caught Kalvak under the V-cleft in his chin. The third wasn’t needed.