Look at the Birdie (8 page)

“Go ahead,” said the voice. It chuckled ruefully.

“Do you know Ed Luby?” said Harve.

“You mean do I know who he is?” said the voice. “Who doesn’t? You mean is he a friend of mine? If he was, you think I’d be locked up down here? I’d be out at Ed’s club, eating a two-inch steak on the house, and the cop who brought me in would have had his brains beat out.”

“Ed Luby’s that important?” said Harve.

“Important?” said the voice. “Ed Luby? You never heard the story about the psychiatrist who went to Heaven?”

“What?” said Harve.

The voice told an old, old story—with a local variation. “This psychiatrist died and went to Heaven, see? And Saint Peter was tickled to death to see him. Seems God was having mental troubles, needed treatment bad. The psychiatrist asked Saint Peter what God’s symptoms were. And Saint Peter whispered in his ear, ‘God thinks He’s Ed Luby.’”

The heels of the businesslike woman clacked across the floor above again. A telephone rang.

“Why should one man be so important?” said Harve.

“Ed Luby’s all there is in Ilium,” said the voice. “That answer your question? Ed came back here during the Depression.
He had all the dough he’d made in bootlegging in Chicago. Everything in Ilium was closed down, for sale. Ed Luby bought.”

“I see,” said Harve, beginning to understand how scared he’d better be.

“Funny thing,” said the voice, “people who get along with Ed, do what Ed says, say what Ed likes to hear—they have a pretty nice time in old Ilium. You take the chief of police now—salary’s eight thousand a year. Been chief for five years now. He’s managed his salary so well he’s got a seventy-thousand-dollar house all paid for, three cars, a summer place on Cape Cod, and a thirty-foot cabin cruiser. Of course, he isn’t doing near as good as Luby’s brother.”

“The captain?” said Harve.

“Of course, the captain earns everything he gets,” said the voice. “He’s the one who really runs the Police Department. He owns the Ilium Hotel now—and the cab company. Also Radio Station WKLL, the friendly voice of Ilium.

“Some other people doing pretty well in Ilium, too,” said the voice. “Old Judge Wampler and the mayor—”

“I got the idea,” said Harve tautly.

“Doesn’t take long,” said the voice.

“Isn’t there anybody against Luby?” said Harve.

“Dead,” said the voice. “Let’s get some sleep, eh?”

Ten minutes later, Harve was taken upstairs again. He wasn’t hustled along this time, though he was in the care of the same sergeant who had locked him up. The sergeant was gentle now—even a little apologetic.

At the head of the iron stairs, they were met by Captain Luby, whose manners were changed for the better, too. The
captain encouraged Harve to think of him as a prankish boy with a heart of gold.

Captain Luby put his hand on Harve’s arm, and he smiled, and he said, “We’ve been rough on you, Mr. Elliot, and we know it. I’m sorry, but you’ve got to understand that police have to get rough sometimes—especially in a murder investigation.”

“That’s fine,” said Harve, “except you’re getting rough with the wrong people.”

Captain Luby shrugged philosophically. “Maybe—maybe not,” he said. “That’s for a court to decide.”

“If it has to come to that,” said Harve.

“I think you’d better talk to a lawyer as soon as possible,” said the captain.

“I think so, too,” said Harve.

“There’s one in the station house now, if you want to ask him,” said the captain.

“Another one of Ed Luby’s brothers?” said Harve.

Captain Luby looked surprised, and then he decided to laugh. He laughed very hard. “I don’t blame you for saying that,” he said. “I can imagine how things look to you.”

“You can?” said Harve.

“You get in a jam in a strange town,” said the captain, “and all of a sudden it looks to you like everybody’s named Luby.” He laughed again. “There’s just me and my brother—just the two Lubys—that’s all. This lawyer out front—not only isn’t he any relative, he hates my guts and Ed’s, too. That make you feel any better?”

“Maybe,” said Harve carefully.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said the captain. “You want him or not?”

“I’ll let you know after I’ve talked to him,” said Harve.

“Go tell Lemming we maybe got a client for him,” said the captain to the sergeant.

“I want my wife here, too,” said Harve.

“Naturally,” said the captain. “No argument there. She’ll be right down.”

The lawyer, whose name was Frank Lemming, was brought in to Harve long before Claire was. Lemming carried a battered black briefcase that seemed to have very little in it. He was a small, pear-shaped man.

Lemming’s name was stamped on the side of his briefcase in big letters. He was shabby, puffy, short-winded. The only outward sign that he might have a little style, a little courage, was an outsize mustache.

When he opened his mouth, he let out a voice that was deep, majestic, unafraid. He demanded to know if Harve had been threatened or hurt in any way. He talked to Captain Luby and the sergeant as though they were the ones in trouble.

Harve began to feel a good deal better.

“Would you gentlemen kindly leave,” said Lemming, calling the police
gentlemen
with grand irony. “I want to talk to my client alone.”

The police left meekly.

“You’re certainly a breath of fresh air,” said Harve. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been called that,” said Lemming.

“I was beginning to think I was in the middle of Nazi Germany,” said Harve.

“You sound like a man who’s never been arrested before,” said Lemming.

“I never have been,” said Harve.

“There’s always got to be a first time,” said Lemming pleasantly. “What’s the charge?”

“They didn’t tell you?” said Harve.

“They just told me they had somebody back here who wanted a lawyer,” said Lemming. “I was here on another case.” He sat down, put his limp briefcase against the leg of his chair. “So what’s the charge?”

“They—they’ve been talking about murder,” said Harve.

This news fazed Lemming only briefly. “These morons they call the Ilium Police Force,” he said, “everything’s murder to them. What did you do it with?”

“I didn’t,” said Harve.

“What did they
say
you did it with?” said Lemming. “My fist,” said Harve.

“You hit a man in a fight—and he died?” said Lemming. “I didn’t hit anybody!” said Harve.

“All right, all right, all right,” said Lemming calmingly.

“Are you in with these guys, too?” said Harve. “Are you part of the nightmare, too?”

Lemming cocked his head. “Maybe you better explain that?” he said.

“Everybody in Ilium works for Ed Luby, I hear,” said Harve. “I guess you do, too.”

“Me?” said Lemming. “Are you kidding? You heard how I talk to Luby’s brother. I’d talk to Ed Luby the same way. They don’t scare me.”

“Maybe—” said Harve, watching Lemming closely, wanting with all his heart to trust him.

“I’m hired?” said Lemming.

“How much will it cost?” said Harve.

“Fifty dollars to start,” said Lemming.

“You mean right now?” said Harve.

“The class of people I do business with,” said Lemming, “I get paid right away, or I never get paid.”

“All I’ve got with me is twenty,” said Harve.

“That’ll do nicely for the moment,” said Lemming. He held out his hand.

As Lemming was putting the money into his billfold, a policewoman with clacking heels brought Claire Elliot in.

Claire was snow-white. She wouldn’t speak until the policewoman was gone. When she did speak, her voice was ragged, barely under control.

Harve embraced her, encouraged her. “We’ve got a lawyer now,” he said. “We’ll be all right now. He knows what to do.”

“I don’t trust him. I don’t trust
anybody
around here!” said Claire. She was wild-eyed. “Harve! I’ve got to talk to you alone!”

“I’ll be right outside,” said Lemming. “Call me when you want me.” He left his briefcase where it was.

“Has anybody threatened you?” Claire said to Harve, when Lemming was gone.

“There’s been some pretty rough talk,” said Harve.

“Has anybody threatened to kill you?” she said.

“No,” said Harve.

Claire whispered now. “Somebody’s threatened to kill me, and you—” Here she broke down. “And the children,” she whispered brokenly.

Harve exploded. “Who?” he said at the top of his lungs. “Who threatened that?” he replied.

Claire put her hand over his mouth, begged him to be quiet.

Harve took her hand away. “Who?” he said.

Claire didn’t even whisper her answer. She just moved her lips. “The captain,” her lips said. She clung to him. “Please,” she whispered, “keep your voice down. We’ve got to be calm. We’ve got to think. We’ve got to make up a new story.”

“About what?” said Harve.

“About what happened,” she said. She shook her head. “We mustn’t ever tell what really happened again.”

“My God,” said Harve, “is this America?”

“I don’t know what it is,” said Claire. “I just know we’ve got to make up a new story—or—or something terrible will happen.”

“Something terrible already has happened,” said Harve.

“Worse things can still happen,” said Claire.

Harve thought hard, the heels of his hands in his eye sockets. “If they’re trying that hard to scare us,” he said, “then they must be plenty scared, too. There must be plenty of harm we could do them.”

“How?” said Claire.

“By sticking to the truth,” said Harve. “That’s pretty plain, isn’t it? That’s what they want to make us stop doing.”

“I don’t want to do anybody any harm,” said Claire. “I just want to get out of here. I just want to go home.”

“All right,” said Harve. “We’ve got a lawyer now. That’s a start.”

Harve called to Lemming, who came in rubbing his hands. “Secret conference over?” he said cheerfully. “Yes,” said Harve.

“Well, secrets are all very fine in their place,” said
Lemming, “but I recommend strongly that you don’t keep any from your lawyer.”

“Harve—” said Claire warningly.

“He’s right,” said Harve. “Don’t you understand—he’s right.”

“She’s in favor of holding a little something back?” said Lemming.

“She’s been threatened. That’s the reason,” said Harve.

“By whom?” said Lemming.

“Don’t tell him,” said Claire beseechingly.

“We’ll save that for a little while,” said Harve. “The thing is, Mr. Lemming, I didn’t commit this murder they say I did. But my wife and I saw who really did it, and we’ve been threatened with all kinds of things, if we tell what we saw.”

“Don’t tell,” said Claire. “Harve—don’t.”

“I give you my word of honor, Mrs. Elliot,” said Lemming, “nothing you or your husband tells me will go any farther.” He was proud of his word of honor, was a very appealing person when he gave it. “Now tell me who really did this killing.”

“Ed Luby,” said Harve.

“I beg your pardon?” said Lemming blankly. “Ed Luby,” said Harve.

Lemming sat back, suddenly drained and old. “I see,” he said. His voice wasn’t deep now. It was like wind in the treetops.

“He’s a powerful man around here,” said Harve, “I hear.”

Lemming nodded. “You heard that right,” he said.

Harve started to tell about how Luby had killed the girl. Lemming stopped him.

“What’s—what’s the matter?” said Harve.

Lemming gave him a wan smile. “That’s a very good question,” he said. “That’s—that’s a very
complicated
question.”

“You work for him, after all?” said Harve.

“Maybe I do—after all,” said Lemming.

“You see?” Claire said to Harve.

Lemming took out his billfold, handed the twenty dollars back to Harve.

“You quit?” said Harve.

“Let’s say,” said Lemming sadly, “that any advice you get from me from now on is free. I’m not the lawyer for this case—and any advice I have to give doesn’t have much to do with the law.” He spread his hands. “I’m a legal hack, friends. That must be obvious. If what you say is true—”

“It
is
true!” said Harve.

“Then you need a lawyer who can fight a whole town,” said Lemming, “because Ed Luby
is
this town. I’ve won a lot of cases in Ilium, but they were all cases Ed Luby didn’t care about.” He stood. “If what you say is true, this isn’t a case—it’s a war.”

“What am I going to do?” said Harve.

“My advice to you,” said Lemming, “is to be as scared as your wife is, Mr. Elliot.”

Lemming nodded, and then he scuttled away.

Seconds later, the sergeant came in for Harve and Claire, marched them through a door and into a room where a floodlight blinded them. Whispers came from the darkness beyond.

“What’s this?” said Harve, his arm around Claire.

“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to,” said the voice of Captain Luby.

“I want a lawyer,” said Harve.

“You had one,” said the captain. “What happened to Lemming?”

“He quit,” said Harve.

Somebody snickered.

“That’s funny?” said Harve bitterly.

“Shut up,” said Captain Luby.

“This is funny?” Harve said to the whispering blackness. “A man and a woman up here who never broke a law in their whole lives—accused of killing a woman they tried to save—”

Captain Luby emerged from the blackness. He showed Harve what he had in his right hand. It was a slab of rubber about four inches wide, eight inches long, and half an inch thick.

“This is what I call Captain Luby’s wise-guy-wiser-upper,” he said. He put the piece of rubber against Harve’s cheek caressingly. “You can’t imagine how much pain one slap from this thing causes,” he said. “I’m surprised all over again, every time I use it. Now stand apart, stand straight, keep your mouths shut, and face the witnesses.”

Harve’s determination to break jail was born when the clammy rubber touched his cheek.

By the time the captain had returned to the whispering darkness, Harve’s determination had become an obsession. No other plan would do.

Out in the darkness, a man now said in a clear, proud voice that he had seen Harve hit the girl. He identified himself as the mayor of Ilium.