Nothing to Lose But My Life (10 page)

I didn’t even want to hint to her about Hoop. I said, “Not unless it was my face.”

Humor didn’t go over well. “Perhaps I should come and get her.”

The last thing I wanted was Sofia Conklin finding out about Enid’s pathetic little hideaway, let alone about Hoop. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said hastily. “If she isn’t going to do anything more …”

“She won’t. She should fall asleep soon. Just let her sleep until she wakens. And, Mr. Curtis, if I can repay you for your trouble …”

On top of everything else that made me even madder. It was so typical of the type of mind the Sofia Conklins of this world have. I said stiffly, “I’ll find out what the local rates for sanitarium nurses is and let you know.” I hung up.

I tiptoed back to the door and looked in. Enid was asleep, relaxed now, asprawl on the bed. I went up to her and covered her and turned off the light. Leaving, I closed the bedroom door. For the first time I had a chance to think of other things and I turned my mind to the problem of the Colonel.

The logical thing to do was call the police. But I neither wanted to give away Enid’s retreat nor make a public proclamation of the return of Malcolm Lowry. Rising, I went into the spare room to look at Hoop as if that might help me think of something to do.

He was no prettier in death than he had been in life. His flaccidity showed. His nakedness was gross, hairy, loosely fat. The hole was between his navel and where the line of chest hair stopped. There had not been much bleeding. It was just a hole.

He had been knifed neatly and cleanly, in such a way that there would have been little blood. From the feel of his skin, I judged he had not been dead too many hours. He was cold but not stiff. There was no sign of a fight. He had not been hit on the head before he was stabbed. His features were relaxed, without sign of fear or pain or any emotion. He might have composed himself for sleep and invited the stiletto. Or he might have done it to himself.

Only Hoop was hardly the suicide type. Nor could a suicide have gotten so thoroughly rid of the knife. That was one solution I threw completely away.

I went to the chair where his clothes lay and looked them over. He had been wearing evening dress. There was no hole in his white shirtfront. There was no sign he had been wearing these clothes when it happened. That was both curious and interesting. It presented a number of possibilities: someone had changed the Colonel’s clothes after he was killed; his shirt had been removed to give the killer better aim.

I was beginning to feel absurd. The obvious answer was that he had been in bed with a woman. A stiletto was supposedly a woman’s weapon.

Reluctantly, my mind recalled the pictures of Tanya I had seen—Tanya bent over the dead man’s body, her hand on the knife thrust into him. I didn’t like thinking it but I couldn’t help myself. Who was in a better position to go to bed with the Colonel than Tanya, his fiancée? And she knew where Enid lived; she could have brought the body.

It was damningly circumstantial but I refused to accept it. That was pure prejudice, of course. I couldn’t see Tanya going to bed with Hoop because I didn’t want to see it. I couldn’t accept her using a knife, either—despite the pictures. She just wasn’t that kind of woman. A gun, yes. A blunt instrument, certainly. But a knife, no. There was something sneaky about a knife.

I was being about as objective as a sixteen-year-old in love. I pushed the whole problem aside and began an examination of Hoop’s pockets. There was nothing a man in his possession wouldn’t carry normally: identity cards, a few hundred dollars in various sized bills, keys, the usual. The wallet had no secret compartment. It was a straightforward note case. I wiped my prints from it and returned it to his pocket.

I went back and looked at Hoop some more. I could think of only one answer, and it was a poor solution at best. To keep the heat from Enid, and thus from myself, I would have to put the body somewhere else, let someone else “discover” it. And, I thought, maybe that way I could keep attention from Tanya too.

Laying Hoop’s clothing alongside him, I rolled the bedspread around everything, making a bundle, picked up the works and staggered into the living room. I laid him behind the divan, went back and straightened the bed, putting on a fresh spread I found in the closet, and then returned to the living room and the divan.

I couldn’t seem to think clearly sitting down. Restlessly, I wandered into the kitchen and made myself a pot of coffee. That reminded me of the steak Enid and I were to have had. I wished now we’d taken the time; it might be quite a while before I got a good meal.

With the coffee, I went back to the living room. Now I couldn’t think standing up. I sat. Hoop was behind the divan, at my back; I could feel him there as much as if he were alive. I sipped the coffee and tried to think of a good place to put him.

My mind moved aimlessly, slipping finally from that problem to another. Who besides Tanya could have killed him?

If I could answer that, I’d know where to drop the body.

How many people hated Hoop? How many had he come close to ruining, how many had he ruined, when five years ago he had claimed to be nearly bankrupt?

I could definitely name one among many—myself. The more I thought about it, the more I felt myself getting angry. I had been cheated. Hoop had hardly had time to do any sweating. He had died without, apparently, even being aware of what was happening to him.

And that laid another problem right in my lap. Because I remembered back five years, to Malcolm Lowry asking Hoop for his money and being refused. And another memory—Lowry crazy drunk because his wife had died, drunk and cursing Hoop in public, hitting at him wildly, making threats.

How many people knew that Lowry Curtis was Malcolm Lowry? Which one of them might have tried to frame me? I snorted. If the frame was against me, why had the body been put here?

Another question: Who knew that I visited Enid here? I heard her voice: “Only three people besides us know about this place, Lowry. Charles and Tanya—and Nikke.”

Who had warned me to get out of town? Nikke.

Who would have an advantage if I was framed for this? Nikke.

Nikke knew Enid had this place. By Enid’s testimony, Nikke had told her to work on me. Nikke knew that she brought me here. Nikke more than anyone knew how much I hated Hoop.

I swore harshly, aloud. There was only one answer now—my old friend Nikke.

• • •

A noise from behind me stopped my swearing. Enid stood in the bedroom doorway, her clothing rumpled, her face puffy from sleep. I looked first at her eyes, wanting to know what her condition was.

I could see them more clearly as she came toward the divan. They were as they had been before her “spell,” and when she began to talk I knew that she was back to normal. “Lowry, I went off?”

“You had quite a shock,” I admitted.

She sat beside me. Her face was drawn as if she had expended a good deal of energy that she couldn’t spare. She brushed back some loose strands of dark hair with a hand that shook slightly. “Thanks for staying, Lowry. What did I do?”

I wondered how much I should tell her. I couldn’t stand the mute, almost fearful questioning in her opaque eyes, and I said gently, “Nothing much. I couldn’t understand you most of the time.”

“I’m sorry, Lowry. It was the shock, I guess.” Her eyes widened as she seemed to remember about Hoop.

I said quickly, “I’ve taken care of it, Enid.” Not quite the truth but not quite a lie, either. I did have an idea.

Like a very tired child, she leaned her head on my shoulder. “Thanks, Lowry.” Her voice dropped so low that I almost didn’t hear her. “I’m afraid.”

I put my arm around her. “It would be safer for us if I knew who did it. I might find out if I knew more what was going on.”

It was taking advantage of her but I was in no position to be too squeamish. I could feel her twitch, an involuntary stiffening of her muscles.

“More about what, Lowry?”

“First,” I said, “I’d like to know why Tanya and your brother-in-law don’t get along.”

“I suppose because Charles wants her to marry the Colonel right away. And she—” She stopped. “Lowry, you don’t think she—”

“She’s free, white, and well over twenty-one,” I pointed out. “Assuming she doesn’t want to marry Hoop, killing is a little strong as a way of showing it.” She hadn’t answered the question in my mind. I said, “What business is it of Conklin’s whether or not she marries Hoop?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I really don’t. Unless it’s because Charles and the Colonel are partners.”

I couldn’t see Tanya Mace’s money—if she had any—affecting the financial status of the brokerage business one way or another. I said, “For that matter, why get engaged to Hoop if she didn’t love him?”

“Maybe she fell in love with someone else afterward,” Enid said. Her tone made it plain that there was no “maybe” about it.

“Who?”

She yawned. She was growing sleepy. Her head grew heavier. I thought for a minute she was going to drop off before answering me, but as she finished a second yawn, I heard her murmur, “Nikke. She’s crazy about him.”

I could feel by the way that her muscles all relaxed that she was genuinely asleep. The shock had evidently taken a lot out of her. With an effort that made my side hurt, I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. There I decided she might sleep better if she were properly dressed for it and I started to work off her dress.

It was not my line of work and I was about to give up when an amused voice said lightly from the doorway, “Can I help?”

It was Tanya. She had on pale-cream silk pajamas, almost the color of her hair. Like everything else I had seen her wear, they were sheathe-tight. Her hair hung down in two long braids. She looked magnificent.

“God, yes,” I said with relief.

She did it very efficiently, getting off Enid’s dress and slip and hose in practically no time at all. Together we rolled her under the covers. She slept as though she were completely exhausted, and with a strained expression as though she was working hard at the job.

Tanya straightened up. “Can I have some of your coffee, Lowry?”

I said, “Sure,” and tried to steer her through the doorway in such a way that she couldn’t see what lay behind the divan. She went easily and I got her seated, facing the fire. I shut the bedroom door and went for the coffee. I brought two fresh cups.

“She had what Sofia calls a ‘spell’, Lowry?”

“Yes. She just came out of it a little while ago.”

“I know. I came in on her opening line.” She smiled at me. “How you do get around, Lowry. How did you know I was angry with Charles?”

I let that ride for the moment. “Why did you come down here?”

“Maybe I got tired of waiting. I didn’t expect your business to last all night.”

“Neither did I,” I confessed. I could see that she was waiting for an answer to her question. I countered her with one of my own.

“I still can’t see why Conklin would get angry enough to slap you,” I said. “Why did he?”

“My, you have big eyes.” She was fencing with me. “How much did you see, for heaven’s sake?”

I told her. She said only, “Charles wasn’t mad. He seldom gets mad. He’s like a machine. I think he was just trying to show me where I stood with him.”

“Why?”

“No answer.”

She set down her cup and put a hand out, covering mine. “You’re afraid, aren’t you, Lowry? Afraid of what I might have done?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” I admitted.

“Do one thing for me,” she said softly. “Trust me for a while.”

Looking at me as she was, touching me, she could have turned on the heat from those eyes and I would have said “yes” without hesitation. She could do that to me. But she didn’t try anything. Her glance, the weight of her hand were almost impersonal. Even so, I couldn’t trust her.

“Sorry,” I said. “I haven’t the time. I need to know a few things too badly.”

“About me?”

“About you and Nikke.”

She shook her head. “Nikke isn’t in this. If you’re thinking about what Enid said—that I want to marry him instead of the Colonel—it isn’t true.”

“Why should she say it then? Doesn’t she like you two?”

“Maybe she said it because she does like us and wants it to be that way. Enid hasn’t the most stable mind in town, you know.”

It was a hell of an answer. I asked, “Why should she like you and Nikke?”

“You are full of questions,” Tanya murmured. “Maybe she likes us because we pay attention to her. So does Charles. I helped her find this place and watch over her when she’s here. Charles furnished it and pays the bills. Sofia isn’t supposed to know.”

“And what does Conklin get for his money?”

“You have a nasty mind, Lowry, but what would you do married to a woman like Sofia?”

“Just what I’d expect him to do with a sister-in-law like Enid,” I said bluntly. Knowing this made it easier to understand part of what Enid had said during her “spell.”

Tanya smiled understandingly at me. “I’d say you were right. But it doesn’t stop Charles from loving his wife. It’s just that there are times when he has to come down out of the rarified air of loving her and get warm.”

I said, “If you and Conklin and Nikke are the three that she likes because you helped her, where does Nikke come in?”

“He gave her a job. She isn’t much use—she only shows up when she feels like it and leaves when the whim hits her. But Nikke pays her salary out of his own pocket and lets her think she’s important. I think that’s helped her trouble more than anything else.”

“Big-hearted Nikke,” I said, but I kept it to myself. Tanya acted about him like Enid did about Charles Conklin.

“The last I heard,” I said, “Enid wanted to quit only Nikke wouldn’t let her. She was afraid she’d be killed because she knows too much.”

Tanya said softly, “You know Nikke, Lowry. Is he that kind?”

“He wasn’t,” I said. “But Nikke’s changed in five years. He’s changed a lot.”

“Not that much,” she said. She sounded very positive.

“The Syndicate then,” I said. “Maybe Enid meant them.”