James Chase - This Way for a Shroud

“And you’re responsible! What are you doing about it? What the hell are you doing here, making excuses? Get after her! Wipe her out! I don’t care how you do it, but do it!”

“The D.A.’s got her,” Seigel said. “We can’t get at her. That’s the one place we can’t get into.”

Gollowitz struggled to control his rage and fear. He realized he wasn’t behaving as the boss. Maurer wouldn’t act this way; yelling, swearing and raving. He would have a plan ready to rectify the mistake. He pulled himself together with an effort and walked unsteadily to an arm-chair and sat down.

“If she saw Jack at that Arnot woman’s house, we’re finished.” he said, as if talking to himself. “Everything will go. The organization will be wiped out. But did she see anything? Can we afford to gamble on what she saw or didn’t see?”

“Of course we can’t,” Seigel said. “We’ve got to stop her talking. Maybe McCann can handle it for us.”

Gollowitz grimaced.

“McCann? He only thinks of himself. No. We’ve got to handle this ourselves. Where is she exactly, do you know?”

“They took her to the D.A.’s office. She’s somewhere in the building.”

Gollowitz thought for a long moment. Then he looked up sharply.

“You said Gleb was killed. What happened to Weiner?”

Seigel shrugged.

“I don’t know. He disappeared.”

Gollowitz felt the blood drain out of his face.

“You don’t know?” he repeated, starting out of his chair.

Seigel stared at him.

“He’ll turn up. I’ll kick hell out of the punk when I do catch up with him!”

“You goddamn fool!” Gollowitz shouted, his face twitching. “That girl will give a description of him. A blind man could find the punk with that stain on his face. The police will pick him up quick enough, and if he talks we are really sunk. Don’t you see that? All the girl needs to hang the lot of us is corroboration, and to save his skin Weiner will corroborate till he is black in the face. He got his orders from you, didn’t he? Well, they’ll slap an attempted murder charge on you if Weiner talks! And he will talk, make no mistake about that!” He waved his fat fists in the Mr. “Get after him! Find and silence him! Leave the girl to me! I’ll handle her, but get after Weiner. Put every man you’ve got after him. Go yourself!”

Seigel stood rooted, gaping at the screaming, gesticulating figure, then he realized Gollowitz was talking sense.

“I’ll get him!” he said, and snatched open a drawer in his desk. He took out a .45 automatic and shoved it in his hip pocket. “I’ll get him — I’ll get him myself,” and he went out of the room at a run.

Conrad had never seen the D.A. look so excited as he listened to Conrad’s story of the killing of Moe and the finding of Frances Coleman.

“Where’s the girl now?” Forest asked when Conrad had completed his tale.

“On the tenth floor, sir. Miss Fielding and a nurse are with her. Jackson and Norris are guarding the door. There are three police officers taking care of the elevator and the stairs. She’s safe enough for the time being.”

“Was she hurt?”

“More scared than hurt. She had a nasty cut on her arm from flying glass, but otherwise, apart from shock she’s all right.”

Forest rubbed his hands.

“When can you talk to her?”

“I’m waiting for the okay from Doc. Holmes. He said as soon as she has had a rest I can see her.”

“Fine. Now how about Weiner?”

“I don’t know how he slipped through the cordon. There was so much excitement cornering Gleb he was unfortunately overlooked. No one seems to have noticed him. Every man on the force is hunting for him now.”

“We’ve got to find him before Maurer’s mob does,” Forest said grimly. “If he talks, Paul, we’ve got that bunch just where we want them, and they know it. His life’s not worth a dime right now.”

Conrad nodded.

“We can’t do more than we’re doing now. It’s a question of time. He can’t get far with that birth-mark. The local radio station is broadcasting a description of him. They are interrupting programmes to ask for all information concerning him to be telephoned to us immediately.”

A buzzer sounded on Forest’s desk. He picked up the interoffice phone, listened, raised his eyebrows, grunted and hung up.

“Seems we have started something,” he said with evident satisfaction. “Maurer’s skipped. His yacht left two hours ago. He’s supposed to be on a fishing trip, destination unknown.”

“Putting himself out of our reach for the time being,” Conrad said. “Well, if we get the evidence we want, we’ll pick him up fast enough. Looks as if we’re on the right track at last, doesn’t it, sir?”

“If only this girl saw him!”

“We’ll know before long.” Conrad was controlling his own impatience with an effort. “Do you want to talk to her yourself?”

“Forest shook his head.

“You handle it, Paul. You have a lighter touch than I have. I don’t know why it is, but I seem to scare the pants off people when I talk to them.”

“Only if they happen to have a guilty conscience.” Conrad got to his feet. “I’ll have a written report for you by this afternoon. I may as well go upstairs and see what’s happening.”

“Let me know as soon as they pick up Weiner.”

“I will, sir.”

Conrad took the elevator to the tenth floor. Jackson and Norris sat on straightbacked chairs either side of a door at the far end of the passage. Both of them nursed Thompson guns. Conrad was leaving nothing to chance. He realized Frances could be a vitally important witness, and Maurer’s mob would stop at nothing to silence her.

“Any news yet?” he asked Jackson.

“Doc’s just gone, sir. All quiet here.”

Conrad rapped on the door which was opened by Madge.

“I was just going to call you. Doc, says you can talk to her now.”

“How is she?”

“A bit jumpy. I don’t wonder at it. She’s had a bad time.”

“Yes.”

“She’s in the far room,” Madge said. “Do you want me?”

“Not right now. If she’s ready to make a statement, I’ll call you.”

As he was speaking the nurse came out of the inner room and nodded to him.

“Don’t let her talk too much. She needs a good sleep.”

“I won’t keep her long,” Conrad said, and aware his heart was beginning to beat unevenly, he walked into the inner room.

Frances lay on a couch with a rug thrown over her. She was very pale, and her big dark eyes looked at Conrad with uneasy anxiety.

He was aware of a sudden tightening of his throat as he looked down at her. Her face in the photograph had fascinated him, and he realized with a sense of shock that he could be in love with her. It was fantastic, of course, as he hadn’t even spoken to her as yet, but the feeling was there, and for a moment he remained still, unable to collect his thoughts or to say anything.

She lay motionless, watching him, and he pulled himself together with an effort.

“I expect Miss Fielding told you I wanted to talk to you,” he said, and his voice was husky. “I’m Paul Conrad, special investigator to the District Attorney’s office. How are you feeling, Miss Coleman?”

“I — I’m all right, thank you,” she said in a small voice. “I want to go home.”

“We’ll fix all that in a little while,” he said soothingly. “There are a few questions I want to ask you first.” He pulled up a chair and sat down near her. “I’m not going to keep you long because the nurse said you should have some sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I just want to go home.”

“Have you any relations, Miss Coleman? Someone you would like me to get into touch with to let them know where you are?”