I'll Get You For This (18 page)

  We stopped outside a steel grill. Four or five guards paced up and down on the other side of the grill. Each carried a rifle. One of them opened up for us.

  "Okay, Maxison," he said. "Go ahead. The doc's just finished."

  I released the clutch and drove past the guard. I didn't look at him.

  We were in.

  The white-tiled post-mortem room was clean and cool. A strong smell of antiseptics hung in the air. The body of a woman lay on the porcelain table, partially covered by a coarse bleached sheet. Her shaved head rested in the hollow of a small wooden block. She didn't look human, but like a realistic waxwork in an exhibition of horrors.

  The doctor, a small, pudgy man, clear-skinned and tanned, was washing his hands in the deep sink. Steam from the hot water dimmed his glasses.

  "She's all yours," he said, glancing round. "The poor devil killed herself by swallowing powdered glass. I'd like to know where she got it from."

  Somewhere in the jail a woman began to utter clear, high-pitched peals of mirthless laughter as though she were being tortured by having her feet tickled. The sound set my teeth on edge; it was shrill, like a pencil squeaking on a slate.

  The doctor scowled, came towards us drying his hands.

  "I'm going to report that woman," he said, irritably. "She shouldn't be here."

  Neither Maxison nor I said anything. We stood around, looking at the doctor, then at the dead woman. I felt spooked.

  "It's time Edna Robbins was kicked out of here," the doctor went on. "She's a sadist. I'm not saying she drove that woman crazy, but she couldn't have helped her."

  He was addressing me, so I said, "Who's Edna Robbins?"

  "The Head Wardress," he said, tossing the towel into a white enamelled receptable. "You're new here, aren't you?" He shook his head. "She's a bad lot. Well, I can't stay gossiping," he went on. "I'll let you have the death certificate. You can pick-it up at my office on your way back."

  Maxison said he'd do that.

  The doctor was crossing the room when the door opened and a woman came in. She was small, square-shouldered, and her blonde hair shone like brass. It was swept up to the top of her head, a tiny blue velvet bow holding it in place. She wore a black, smartly tailored dress relieved by white collars and cuffs.

"Finished ?" she said to the doctor. Her voice made me think of shiny steel rods.

He grunted, went away without looking at her.

She stared after him, chewing her thin under-lip, then nodded to Maxison.

"Get that body out as quickly as you can," she said. "I want Mitchell to clean up here."

"All right, Miss Robbins," Maxison said, giving her a scared look.

He hoisted the coffin on to the trestles he had already set up.

  The woman sauntered over to the body on the table and stared down at it. There was something about her small, sharp face that gave me goose pimples. Her nose was small, her mouth almost lipless, and her eyes ice-blue. Her straight eyebrows shot up to her high forehead and gave her a devilish look.

  She lifted the sheet and examined the doctor's large stitches

  with interest. I couldn't take my eyes off her, and she looked up abruptly. Her eyes probed me. It was an odd feeling, as if she could see beyond my clothes.

  "You're new here, aren't you?" she asked abruptly.

  I nodded, "Sure," I said, and went on unpacking Maxison's bag. I took out his tool kit, took it over to rum.

  "What's the matter with your mouth?" she said suddenly. "It looks swollen."

  My tongue automatically touched the rubber pads, and I had a bad moment.

  "A bee kissed me," I said, turning away from her. "I didn't think it showed."

  I felt her eyes on me, then she walked across the room to the door.

  "Make haste," she said to Maxison and went out.

  I had been watching her as she crossed the room. She had narrow hips, and her legs were good. When the door closed behind her I straightened up, wiped off my face with my handkerchief.

"A nice little thing," I said, under my breath. "She knows how to use her eyes."

Maxison was also sweating. "She's dangerous," he said.

  "I'll say," I agreed, and stepped over to the door. I opened it, peered into the passage. There was no one about. "Well, here goes," I went on, closing the door. I took off the long black overcoat and shoved it in the receptacle under the towel the doctor had used. I took off my spectacles and removed the rubber pads in my mouth. "You know what to do," I said to Maxison. "Get the false bottom out and hide it under the box. Take your time about preparing the body, but be ready to finish quick when I get back."

  He nodded, his eyes popping.

  "Watch your step, Maxison," I went on. "No funny business."

  The mad woman upstairs began to laugh again, hysterical and unhurried. The sound gave me a chill down my spine.

  I went to the door and peered into the passage again.

  Mitchell was out there, waiting. He nodded to me.

  "Okay?" I said.

  "So far," he returned. His eyes were bright with excitement and fright. "For Gawd's sake be careful."

  "I'll be careful," I said.

  "The stairs are around the corner. The morning inspection's through. You've got a clear hour before they go around again. Look out for Robbins. She's the one to watch."

  I nodded. "I'll watch her. You know what to do?"

  "Yeah; but I hope I don't have to do it."

  "So do I," I said, and walked quickly down the passage.

  At the corner I paused, looked round. No one was about. Voices came from a room near by, but I kept on, crossed the passage to the stairs, went up them.

  The stairs were broad and led directly to the upper floor. I walked on, passed the steel grill that guarded the circular gallery housing the cells, and mounted to the second floor. Halfway up I had to pass a convict who was on hands and knees, scrubbing the stairs. He shifted as he saw me so I could pass. I felt his eyes on me and I guessed he was wondering who I was. I kept on until I reached the top floor.

  I knew then that I was only a few yards from Miss Wonderly. The thought gave me a queer feeling of panic and exhilaration. As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw the grill gate facing me. That didn't worry me. Mitchell had supplied me with a duplicate pass-key.

  As I crossed the passage and reached the .grill, the mad woman suddenly gave a high-pitched scream. It rose, swelled, and hung in the air like a shriek of a damned soul. It was so loud, so close, so unexpected, that it froze me. For a moment I was ready to run blindly down the stairs, but I recovered my nerve, started forward again. As I was about to take the pass-key from my pocket, I paused.

  I felt someone watching me. I turned.

  Edna Robbins was standing in a doorway half-way down the passage. Her hard little face was expressionless, her slim, square-shouldered body without movement.

  I felt my heart lurch, but I kept still. We stood there for a long moment looking at each other. She was suspicious, but she wasn't alarmed. The guard's uniform reassured her, but I knew I couldn't give her time to think. I walked slowly towards her.

  She waited, her eyes searching my face.

  "Any trouble up here?" I asked, when I was within six feet of her.

  Her face remained expressionless. "What makes you think there is?" she asked.

  "I heard that scream. I was on the next floor, so I came up," I said, looking her over.

  "A real conscientious screw," she sneered, but I could see my look had registered. "You've no business up here. Beat it!"

  "Okay," I said, shrugging. "You don't have to be mad at me." I let my eyes drift up and down her body. "I wouldn't like anything to happen to a cute trick like you."

"Wouldn't you?" she said. "Come inside and tell me why."

  I hesitated, then walked past her into a small room fitted as an office. It was as hard and clean and masculine as she was.

  She leaned her hips against the edge of the desk and folded her arms.

  "Haven't seen you before," she said.

  "I'm one of the new guards from Station Headquarters," I explained, and sat on the edge of the desk beside her. We were close; my shoulder touched her shoulder. She had to turn her head to look at me.

  "I've seen you somewhere before," she said, a puzzled, curious look in her eyes.

  "I saw you yesterday," I lied glibly, "I was manning the barricade when you passed."

  Her eyes narrowed. "You look like that new mortician in the P.M. room," she said.

  I grinned. "He's my brother. We're often mistaken for each other. He's fatter in the face than I am, and he hasn't a way with women."

  "You have?" The sneer in her voice was pronounced.

  I winked at her. "I go for women in a big way. They go for me, too."

  "Maybe that's why you came sneaking up to the women's quarters," she said.

  "The dame's scream scared me. I thought she'd got hold of you."

  A thin wolfish expression lit her face. "They don't get hold of me," she said quietly. "They know better."

  "Tough, eh?" I said, admiring her. I leaned closer to her. "I could go for you in a big way."

  She stood up and walked to the door. "Dust," she said, "and don't come up here again. If you hear any more screams forget it. There's nothing on this floor I can't handle."

  "I can believe it," I said, walking to the door. "Well, so long, lady; if there's anything I can do for you, you'll find me on the next floor."

"Scram," she said impatiently.

  She came to the head of the stairs to watch me go. I went down and along the passage of B floor. I waited a moment, listening. I heard her go back to her office. The door clicked shut.

  I gave her a moment, then moving quickly, I ran up the stairs again, crossed the landing, whipped out the pass-key and unlocked the grill. I moved with urgent haste. My mouth was dry, my heart pounded. I slid back the grill. It moved easily, without sound.

  I stepped through and slid the grill into place, locked it.

  Then I walked down the narrow gallery towards Miss Wonderly's cell.

  The first three cells were empty. There was a smell of disinfectant and unwashed bodies in the air. I made no sound on the rubber flooring, but I walked on my toes down the narrow gangway, one side of which was the row of cells, and on the other side the high wire screen guarding the sheer drop into the main hall of the prison below. The mesh of the wire screen was so fine that it was not possible to see through it into the lower galleries.

  There was movement in the fourth cell. I paused, peered in. A fat old woman, raddled, decaying, grinned toothlessly at me.

  "Hello, pretty boy," she said, waddling to the bars. She grasped the bars with raw hands. "Ain't seen a man for ten years. Coming to see me, precious?"

  My face was stiff with fright. I shook my head, edged past her, my back scraping along the wire screen.

  "After the young 'un, are you?" she leered. "You'll like her. But watch Bugsey. She's in the next cell. She hates screws."

  I edged on, staring at the old woman fascinated. As I came to the sixth cell an arm shot through the bars, a thin, sinewy hand gripped my wrist.

  I started back, trying to drag myself free. The grip bit into my flesh. The bloodless fingers were terribly strong.

  My face was damp with sweat. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

  I allowed the hand to pull me to the bars so that my face was against the cold steel of the door. I found myself face to face with a young blonde whose mad burning eyes glared ferociously at me. She hissed at me through clenched teeth. Little flecks of foam bubbled on her lips. My hair moved on the back of my neck, my heart skipped a beat. Her other hand whipped through the bars and caught my coat collar.

  My heart began to pound again. I was scared.

  "Hello, copper," she said. "I've been waiting for you." She closed one eyelid in a gruesome wink. "I'm going to kill you," she went on, in a stage whisper.

  "No, you're not," I said, bracing my feet against the bars. "I'm going to get you out of here."

  She sounded off with her crazy, high-pitched laugh. It sent spiders' legs up and down my back.

  "They won't let me out," she said. Her smile was sad and cunning. "They know what I'll do to them. I'm going to do it to you." Her face tightened, her eyes narrowed. "I'm going to tear your throat out."

  I got my feet against the bars, and suddenly heaved back-backwards. I broke her hold and I fell against the wire screen, slid to the floor.

  She glared at me, beating her hands against the bars. As I struggled to sit up, she flopped down on her knees, grabbed my ankle. I kicked at her with my free foot, but I couldn't reach her because of the bars. She held my ankle between her two hands and hauled. I choked back a yell of fright as I felt myself sliding across the rubber floor. I grabbed at the wire screen, but she jerked, breaking my hold. She hauled me towards her like a landed fish.

  I kicked and twisted, but I couldn't get my leg free. The raddled old woman was watching, giggling with excitement.

  "She'll cut your heart out," she whispered to me.

  Sweat ran down my face, and I struggled and writhed in blind panic. There was something about the mad woman's face and the way she laughed and muttered to herself that scared me silly.

  I was now against the bars. She released my leg and grabbed my coat again. Our faces were

close. I could smell her sour breath. She turned me sick with horror.

  "What's the matter with you?" I panted. "I'm going to get you out of here. You and the kid next door."