Kiss and Kill (11 page)

At the hospital, gray-faced Maynard Barton started to apologize. “I feel it's my fault. If I hadn't yelled that way—”

“Let her go in, Maynard,” said his wife. “He's been asking for you, honey.”

Claire walked into the room. It was a death's head on the pillow. “Johnny?” she wept.

He opened his eyes full and mumbled: “Mona … Mona …”

Then he died.

That's the way it goes, Claire thought later. You love a man, and he dies with another woman's name on his lips.

6

“Nobody could enjoy himself after that,” said Claire. “I was in a daze. We canceled out the visits to Guanajuato and Dolores Hidalgo and came back to the States.”

They were eating in a roadside diner. Barney and Ed had decided to avoid greasy foods—they were both having problems—and Barney was sipping cream of asparagus soup and milk, while Ed made a meal of soda crackers and oyster stew. Claire, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying a steak and French fries, as if, having tossed her destiny into Barney's lap, she had thrown off all her worries, too. The thought weighted him down a little. Ed and Claire were like two orphans abandoned on his doorstep.

“Are you sure he mentionned a girl's name?” asked Barney. “Mona?”

“His voice was very faint, but I heard it.”

“
Mona
means a female monkey in Spanish. ‘
La mona, aunque se veste de seda, mona se queda
.'”

“What does that mean?”

“‘The monkey, although she dresses in silk, remains a monkey.'” Barney smiled. “He couldn't have had very good taste. Don't take that personally,” he said quickly. “I meant where this Mona was concerned.”

Her delicate face turned pink, and Barney decided he liked that. That bastard Talbot had been a lucky man until that bus clipped him. Hurray for Mexican bus drivers.

“Anyway,” Claire said, “Johnny could barely say ‘hello' in Spanish. So it couldn't have meant that.”

Barney shrugged. “We'll probably never know. The tour director arranged for Talbot's burial, I take it?”

Claire nodded. “But I asked for his things, and got them.”

“Oh? What were they?”

“Nothing unusual. Watch, wallet—” She stopped. “There was something unusual. There were no photographs, no snapshots, none of those little notes and business cards which tend to accumulate. His wallet was almost bare.”

“Money?”

“Very little. Less than a hundred dollars Mexican.”

“Suitcase?”

“Wasn't found. The man who hauled him from Tula to San Juan del Rio said he'd come to the taxi empty-handed.”

“But he had it in Tula?”

“I couldn't be sure, you know. I was sort of distracted by my own scene.” She pushed away her plate in a gesture of distaste. “I was panting like a puma. I couldn't evaluate Johnny's stupid death except in personal terms. I've decided I'm not psychologically suited for love.”

But, baby, Barney thought as he watched her touch the napkin to her lips, you're sure built for it.

Ed drove now. Barney mulled over Claire's story. It opened out in so many directions that he could not decide which one to follow.

“His talk of getting a lot of money,” Barney said to Claire. “Did you get the impression he really had a big deal cooking?”

She shook her head. “I didn't get any kind of impression. He was always joking. I thought that was a joke, too.”

“And his disappearances?”

“Well, he did take me to a seafood restaurant after he disappeared in Cuernavaca. And he did bring back that statuette in Tula. So I assumed he'd told the truth, that he just wanted to be alone for a while, as he claimed. He always told me what he'd done when he was gone—watched the people, rambled around a market, had a couple of drinks, and so on. I talked myself into believing him—until after he was dead.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we got back to the States, I went to his home in Los Angeles to notify his relatives—the tour director'd had no luck, you know. I suppose I wanted to wrap up the mystery of Johnny Talbot and then try to forget it. But the address was a phony, and nobody in the neighborhood knew anything about him. Of course, I had no photo to show them. I found no evidence that he had ever existed.”

“Nor a girl named Mona?”

“I wasn't looking for her.”

“Did you go through any police files for a picture of Talbot?”

“No.”

Barney shook his head. “You had reason to believe he'd done time. Obviously his mug and prints would be on file somewhere.”

“Don't scold me. I'm not a detective.”

“You wanted to believe he was Mr. Clean.”

She stiffened. “Suppose I did?” Then she laughed. “I do believe you're jealous.”

“Of a dead man?” Barney jeered. “I'm not built that way, chicken. I could easily forget him, but I think he's the key to what we've been running into. He went to Mexico to pull something shady. Using the tour group as a cover.”

She seemed startled. “You really think that?”

Barney merely looked at her.

“And … using me?”

“Maybe. But you must have got to him in a way he hadn't figured. And he told you more than he should have.” Barney pulled his nose. “I'd try to get a line on him in L.A.; there are loopholes neither you nor that fat little tour director didn't stick your noses into. And you could check the rogue's gallery.”

“Then why don't we?”

“Time. Even if we identified Johnny, we'd have to learn whom he was working with. Even with luck, that would take days. Meanwhile, they've got Mrs. Tollman.”

Ed stirred in the driver's seat. He said: “Claire, did Liz say why he came to her room that last night?”

“He wanted her to tell me there was nothing between them. Liz said it was foolish, because, if I didn't believe Johnny, I wouldn't believe her. The only way two people can get along, she said, is to trust each other.”

“She's a sensible girl,” Ed said softly.

His patent devotion was too much for Claire. In spite of herself, she found herself snapping, “Liz wasn't involved, so it was easy for her to talk.” Then she felt ashamed. “I'm sorry, Ed. That was a nasty thing to say.”

“It's all right,” said Ed. “You've been through a lot.”

“Did she tell you anything else?” Barney asked.

“She said she came to my room afterward but couldn't wake me up—I'd taken those sleeping pills. She told Johnny she'd see me in the morning and pass along his message, and then she went to bed.”

“That's it!” said Barney.

“What's it?” asked Ed.

“The reason they kidnaped Liz! Johnny was working a big deal, something that would bring him a hundred thousand dollars. Figure a four-way split, that's close to half a million bucks. But the loot—jewels, bank loot, secret formula, whatever it was—got lost, stolen, or hidden, and Johnny's death blew the whole deal. His partners somehow learned that Liz was the last one he talked to, so they figured she must know where the stuff is.”

“But she doesn't!” cried Ed.

“As long as they believe she does, she's safe. Stop at this gas station; I'll see if my boys have turned up anything.”

From the outdoor phone booth, Barney called the two operatives he had hired to cover Liz's friends and hometown acquaintances. They had found nothing to indicate that Liz had got in touch with anybody. Barney told them to drop the case and send in their bills. He phoned the Chicago police and drew another blank. The missing-persons list had grown by a score of names during their absence; Liz's name had been shunted into the nonurgent file.

Barney also wired the Los Angeles police, requesting information on anyone using the name, real or assumed, of John Torrance Talbot. He asked them to wirephoto any photographs of suspected persons, hoping to avoid a time-consuming trip to the West Coast.

He returned moodily to the car. Bureaucratic wheels turned slowly, and he saw no means of lighting a fire under the police without placing Liz's life in danger. He had Ed drive them to the Tollman apartment house, expecting to find nothing.

But when Ed unlocked the apartment door, and Barney sniffed the faintly musty air and started in, Ed gripped his arm convulsively.

“Someone's been here,” he whispered.

“How do you know?”

Ed indicated a wall switch. “That sets the automatic door opener so it'll work when the grid is stepped on. I always turn it off when I leave the apartment. It's on now.”

“Out,” snapped Barney. “Shut the door easy.”

They joined Claire in the foyer.

“Who has a key to the apartment?”

“Liz, and the landlady.”

“Go see if she's the one who went in.”

While Ed sped upstairs, Barney surveyed the street and nearby alleys. Finding nothing suspicious, he returned to find Ed waiting at the apartment door.

“It wasn't the landlady. She hasn't seen anyone go in, either. But you can see that the entrance is hidden from the rest of the building. She wouldn't spot anyone unless she happened to be in the foyer.”

“Is there a back entrance?”

“Through the furnace room.”

“Stay right here. Claire, lend Ed your gun.”

She put her hand in her purse, then stopped. “I can shoot a gun.”

“Give it to him; he'll use it without hesitation. You go to the car; if anyone runs out, watch where he goes. Don't try to stop him, hear?”

Silently she handed Ed Tollman the .32 and went outside. Barney walked around the building, crossed a littered backyard, and went down the cellar steps. He passed a coal bin and a furnace.

He used his steel blade on the Tollman lock and softly pushed open the rear door, his gun ready.

The kitchen looked just as they had left it; their coffee cups were still on the table. Quickly he searched the rest of the apartment. Finding nothing, he opened the front door and stared into the muzzle of a gun.

“Put it away, Ed. There's nobody here.”

Ed dropped Claire's .32 into his pocket. “Were they, do you think?”

“I can't tell. Can you? Look around.”

Ed surveyed the room hungrily. Abruptly he strode to his drawing board and went through his papers. “Somebody's been here, all right I stacked these drawings in order: first the overall projection, then the detailed diagrams, one, two and three. Now they're mixed up.”

“Is anything missing?”

“Not here.”

While Ed searched further, Barney studied the door-opener switch. It was at least two feet from the door, so it could not have been flicked accidentally by someone passing through. Besides, it was an up-down toggle, impossible to trip by brushing against it. Could someone have mistaken it for a light switch? Unlikely, since the light switch was prominently placed beside the door jamb.

“I think,” he said to Ed, “that your wife was here.”

Ed straightened with a jerk. “What! Why?”

“The door opener was deliberately turned on. She wanted you to know she'd been here.”

Ed's face turned the color of death. “If I'd only stayed!”

“It's your luck you didn't, Ed. Why didn't she leave a note?”

“They were with her?”

“And if you'd been here, they'd have killed you. Or tortured you to make her talk. Anything missing?”

“Not yet.” Ed bent over Liz's worktable. “She never kept anything in order.…”

Barney found himself staring at the chess set.

“Look here, Ed.”

Ed came over and studied the board. “It couldn't be played that way.”

“That's right. Here's where the white queen was when we left.” Barney pointed to a dustfree patch on the board. “Where she is now she's threatened by a rook. She can't make a move without leaving the king in check. You know how Liz's mind works; what does it mean?”

Ed thought a minute. “She's telling me she's a prisoner. She used to leave me messages in acrostics. I represent the king, I think. She can't move without putting me in danger.” He turned to Barney. “They must have lied to her. She thinks they're holding me somewhere; that's why she's cooperating.”

“She's not completely convinced, though,” said Barney. “Otherwise she wouldn't have left this message for you. Later she must have seen a chance to put the door switch on. Hell, she probably shuffled through your papers, too, trying to cover all bets. Keep looking, Ed. They had a reason for bringing her here.”

Suddenly he remembered Claire in the car. He went out and fetched her; Ed met them at the door.

“Liz's papers are missing.”

“What papers?”

“Birth certificate, international health certificate, and the dog's inoculation record.”

“Those are the things she'd need to get out of the country,” said Barney.

“Mexico!” said Claire.

“I'll call the F.B.I.” Ed started toward the phone.

“Hold it,” said Barney. “Let's think about this. Make some coffee.”

“Think? For God's sake, Barney, they're taking her to Mexico! We can't operate down there. It's an international case now.”

“That's why we have to think. Go make the coffee.”

Savagely Ed filled the percolator and plugged it in.

Barney said: “You're straight on one thing, Ed: we can't expect help from the Mexican authorities. We'll have to go in as ordinary tourists, the way they're going. If it comes to shooting, it'll be a private war.”

“Then why not the F.B.I.? We have enough evidence to indicate kidnaping.”

“They'd have to check our stories before stepping in. That would take two, three days. Of course, they could shut down the borders immediately.”

“Well?”

“But suppose these hoods got into a jam at the border? Put yourself in their place, Ed. They've already committed murder in four states.”