James Chase - This Way for a Shroud

FERRARI pushed open the door and came into Seigel’s office. He walked over to the desk, sat down in the armchair and wriggled himself into it.

“Is he dead?” Gollowitz asked in a strangled voice.

Ferrari stared at him.

“Does the sun shine? Is the grass green? Why do you waste time on the obvious? Of course he’s dead. When I say I’ll do a thing. I do it.”

Gollowitz sank beck in his chair. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.

“And they’ll think it’s an accident?”

“Yes, they will think it’s an accident,” Ferrari said. “It went just as it was planned.” He folded his claw-like hands across his flat stomach, and looked at Gollowitz with eyes that were as lifeless and as still as the eyes of a doll. “If you make a proper plan, you must succeed. He is dead, and now we must think about the girl.”

“I’m glad I sent for you,” Gollowitz said, and at the moment he meant what he said. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible to have done the job so easily.”

“It was only easy because I have had years of experience,” Ferrari said. “With no experience and no plan, it wouldn’t have been possible.”

“Now about the girl,” Seigel put in. “How are you going to take care of her?”

“Another accident?” Ferrari asked, looking at Gollowitz.

“Yes; that’s essential. We may have to wait a week. If she died immediately after Weiner it would look bad, wouldn’t it?”

“If we have the time, a week would be better,” Ferrari agreed.

At this moment the telephone bell rang, and Seigel picked up the receiver. He listened for a moment, then the other two saw his face tighten. He handed the

receiver to Gollowitz.

“McCann,” he said. “Sounds as if he’s blowing his top.”

Gollowitz said into the mouthpiece, “Yes, captain?”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were going to take Weiner?” McCann snarled, his voice blurred on the humming line. “You’ve really started something this time. Listen, that girl’s talked!”

Gollowitz raised his eyebrows. With Ferrari sitting close by, he felt comfortably safe.

“Let her talk, Captain,” he said. “I don’t care. Why should you?”

There was a slight pause, then McCann said viciously, “You crazy? I tell you she’s talked! She actually saw Maurer kill that woman. She’s ready to go on the stand and swear to it!”

“Let her go on the stand. It’s her word against Maurer’s. She’s got no corroboration. Why should we worry?”

“She doesn’t need corroboration,” McCann snarled. “She’s got proof!”

Gollowitz stiffened.

“What do you mean?”

“I tell you she’s got proof! She says Maurer pulled out a handkerchief after he had killed June Arnot. A gold pencil fell out of his pocket and dropped on his bloodstained shoe. Then it rolled across the floor and went down a drain. Maurer tried to retrieve it, but he couldn’t reach it. The crazy bastard left it there! The girl saw it happen! The D.A.’s only got to get the pencil and Maurer’s sunk. It has his initials on it and his fingerprints and June Arnot’s blood. There was no blood in the changing room, so the blood must have come from him. It’s proof a jury would love. Do you still want me to stop worrying?”

Gollowitz’s face suddenly turned a greenish hue.

“Is this true?”

“How the hell do I know? It’s what she’s just told Forest. They’ll soon find out

it it’s true or not!”

Gollowitz’s brain was working fast. If this was true then Maurer was as good as in the chair.

“Where is this drain?” he asked.

“In the changing room at Dead End: the changing room to the swimmingpool.”

“What’s the D.A. doing about it?”

“Conrad and O’Brien with a photographer are going out there now.”

“Are they on their way?”

“They will be in five minutes.”

“Thanks, Captain. I’ll take care of it,” Gollowitz said, and hung up. He looked at Seigel. “Maurer dropped a gold pencil down a drain in the changing room of the swimming-pool at June Arnot’s place. It might tie him into Arnot’s murder if it is found. Three cops are going out there to get it. I want that pencil. Go and get it!”

This was something Seigel could understand. He had been worried by his failure to kill Weiner, and still more worried that Gollowitz had called in Ferrari. He felt now that he could reinstate himself by succeeding in this job.

“I’ll fix it,” he said, and went quickly from the room.

Ferrari wriggled out of the armchair and stretched his thin, short arms.

“I think I’ll go to bed,” he said. “I think better in bed.” He paused to run his finger down his bony nose. “Did Maurer kill this woman?”

Gollowitz shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know. It’s not my business anyway.”

Ferrari moved about the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

“The Syndicate doesn’t like private killings.”

Gollowitz didn’t say anything.

“The Syndicate isn’t too pleased with Maurer anyway,” Ferrari said softly. “He’s getting a little too independent.”

Gollowitz felt a cold chill run up his spine, but he still didn’t say anything.

“Well, never mind,” Ferrari went on. “All that can be taken care of.” He looked sharply at Gollowitz. “Is Seigel a good man to have in this outfit?”

“He’s all right,” Gollowitz said carefully. “He slipped up on Weiner, but I’ve never had any trouble with him before.”

Ferrari nodded.

“One slip would ruin even a very good man where I come from,” he said, and walked slowly over to the door. “Still, it’s your affair.”

He went out and along the passage to the bar. He felt like a drink. He seldom drank, but after a successful killing he usually allowed himself one small whisky.

As he entered the bar he saw Dolores come in through the opposite entrance. He paused for a moment, his sunken eyes taking in her lithe, sensual beauty, then he crossed over and joined her.

She was leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender, and she didn’t notice Ferrari as he came up behind her. But his presence was like the presence of a snake, and she sensed him, as one senses danger, and she looked quickly round.

As she looked into the still, lifeless eyes, a chill of fear went through her.

“What are you drinking?” Ferrari asked, his head just appearing over the top of the bar. “Let me join you. Beautiful women should never be alone.”

She not only sensed the danger in him, but she also sensed his power. With any other man of his appearance she would have crushed him, but she knew at once this man couldn’t be crushed.

“I want a martini,” she said, looking away from him. “You are a stranger here, aren’t you?”

“I am Vito Ferrari.”

He watched her lose colour, and he smiled, pleased to see that she knew who he was.

“You have heard of me?”

“Yes, I have heard of you,” she returned, knowing now why she was frightened of him.

“Good.” He rapped on the bar, and the bartender, turning to glare at him quickly changed his expression and jumped forward to give service.

Ferrari climbed up on a stool, and Dolores didn’t feel quite so ridiculous now the little man was perched up so that at least his shoulders were above the bar.

Ferrari waved his glass in her direction and sipped, then he set down the glass, took out a cigarette-case and offered it to her.

She reached for the cigarette, then her hand paused as she stared down at the case. She had never seen anything like it before, and its ornate beauty fascinated her.

It was solid gold. The inside of the case was one mass of glittering diamonds, slightly larger than a pin’s head and set so closely together they formed a white mosaic of fire. Seeing her look at the case, he closed it and handed it to her. In the centre of the case was a big ruby the size of her thumb nail, and on the back of the case were his initials in emeralds.