Stab in the Dark (13 page)

Knox drove more slowly now, not wanting to risk being stopped. When he reached the waterfront, he slowed even more, glancing at the pier where Toll’s fishing smack was moored. The whole area was dark except for the faint street light and the dull neon announcing Maroney’s bar. One street over there were many lights. Knox kept away from that area, slipping down the street that ran before the piers and backing to the one he wanted.

Climbing out, he made a quick survey. Toll’s boat looked tenantless. A hasty check showed him that he was right and he hurried back to the truck.

As small a man as Auffer had been, he still was no lightweight. And he made an awkward bundle as Knox carried him onto the deck. Laying the body aside, he attacked the door to the companionway with his set of keys. It yielded after a small argument and he went into close, musty darkness, a pencil flashlight in his hand. The ship was definitely empty. Returning, he carried the body down, laid it beneath a pile of gear in a forward locker, and returned the way he had come.

He drove away humming. If this worked out as he planned, there would be an interesting situation. A very interesting situation. His next job was to play the part of the anonymous telephone voice when he tipped off the Treasury department that a certain converted fishing smack was carrying smuggled goods. But that was for the morning. Right now, he had to finish tonight’s work.

The panel truck returned, he had a taxi take him to where Nat should be waiting. Her car was gone. He ordered the taxi on to the hotel. He walked quickly to the bar, surveyed it, and then stood foolishly staring at the half filled room.

She was not there either.

K
NOX
telephoned the penthouse from the lobby. He was a little surprised when Tinsley answered. He sounded quite normal, hardly under the influence of a mickey. He also sounded irritated at being disturbed and Knox could not help wondering if Cora’s mickey in this case wouldn’t be something a little more subtle than chloral hydrate.

Knox hitched his voice up an octave. “Miss Tinsley, please.”

She wasn’t there. The telephone banged. Knox lifted his eyebrows. Cora had never affected him that way, not even when she was playing her own quite handsome self. But then tastes differed, he realized. Tinsley might like bulges.

Knox looked in the coffee shop, in the grill, in the dining room, and a second time in the bar. He tried the room clerk and drew a blank. Miss Tinsley had not been in. He saw McEwen coming toward him. It was too late to duck away.

“How’s everything going, Paul?”

“Slow,” Knox said.

McEwen licked his heavy lips. “I see you’re making time with the Tinsley babe.”

“Blame me?” Knox matched his leer. He wanted to test the resiliency of McEwen’s paunch.

“Not my type. Not enough meat.” He coughed. “You need any more help, Paul—get in trouble or anything, you know where to call.”

“I’ll remember,” Knox said. At fifty dollars a throw, he added to himself, McEwen would be a real help. He started off, bothered more than usual by McEwen. The man seemed sly tonight. As a rule McEwen couldn’t be sly. He was too obviously greedy for that. Knox dismissed it, knowing that he was under pressure, and that to yield to the temptation to smear McEwen’s cigar on his face wouldn’t help at all.

He was on his second round when a bellhop paged him to the telephone. It was Maddy Keehan. “Paul? I got a dame down here that says she’s working for you.”

Knox said, “What kind of dame?”

“Expensive. Skinny type with dark hair.”

“Name of Natalie Tinsley?”

“Says her name is Matty O’Harry. What kind of monicker is that?”

“Blarney Irish,” Knox said. “Ask her again.”

There was a moment of silence and then Keehan’s gravelly voice, “Name’s Tinsley.”

Knox said with a lot of satisfaction. “She’s the one that lives in the hotel penthouse, Maddy.”

Keehan’s friendliness slipped away. He sounded savagely happy. Knox guessed that Beeker wasn’t around. “And she’s working for you? Since when do society dames work for private peepers?”

“She’s working for me tonight,” Knox said. Keehan’s tone of voice wasn’t helping the temper McEwen had ruffled. And he was irked with Nat. He didn’t know what she had done to get herself at the station but it was throwing his schedule off. If he hadn’t needed her, he would have left her there for a while.

He said, “What did she do, for God’s sake?”

“She tailed Mousy, that’s what. And he couldn’t duck her.”

Knox had to laugh. “Maybe that’s why I hired her, Maddy. No amateur could do that well.” It was funny; it was also something to think about. “Maybe you’d better hire her; you could use a few good shadows.”

“I don’t like the way you work,” Keehan said. “I don’t like your smart cracks. I don’t like you, Paul. Not since you came back.”

“Mutual,” Knox said. “What’s this leading up to?”

“You do your job and I’ll do mine,” Keehan told him. “I mean stay out of this case. Find your missing dame and go away.”

“Am I in your case?” Knox asked in surprise. “Because Mac and I found that body?”

“Look,” Keehan said savagely, “your lady friend tailed Mousy from Jock Dylan’s place. What was she doing there.”

“Not looking for Jock,” Knox said. He was getting impatient. “Send her over here, Maddy. Tell me your troubles tomorrow.”

It was no way to talk to a man you wanted a favor from, he knew. But he was getting fed up. And then he didn’t think Keehan would dare hold Natalie Tinsley. He had the idea that she could talk her own way out if she wanted to.

“I hope I get the chance to do more to you than tell you something,” Keehan said. He slammed down the receiver, making Knox’s ear ache.

Knox was working on a lemonade in the bar when a bellhop came and told him that Miss Tinsley was outside in her car and would he join her, please. He paid for the information and went out. He got in the car beside her without a word. She drew away from the curb.

They rode in silence. Then Knox lit a cigaret and turned, putting it between her lips. She said in a small voice, “Which way?”

Knox burst out laughing, not just because she looked so crest-fallen but because of her costume. Somewhere she had got hold of a dark turtle-necked sweater and dark slacks. She had a bulky jacket over the sweater and rubber-soled shoes that looked too big on her slender feet.

“Where did you get those?”

“I had them in the car. I changed while I waited at that place.”

“And even in this outfit Keehan could tell you were expensive.” Knox grinned. “He has better taste than I thought. Why?”

“Why the clothes or why did I get arrested?”

“Both.” He lit a cigaret for himself. “Keep going north and angle toward the waterfront.”

She said, “Well, a dinner dress seemed a silly sort of thing to go detecting in so I put these in the car in case I should need them. As for getting arrested, how did I know that little man I was following was a policeman and that the alley he led me to was behind the police station?”

“Did he lead you or try to shake you?”

“He tried to dodge me at first but my car is faster. Then I think he deliberately led me there.”

Knox laughed aloud. He saw that he had hurt her feelings and he said hastily, “I’m sorry, Nat, but you followed the cleverest shadow in the department. They were a little peeved at your ability.”

“I did that?” She sounded pleased in a simple way. “Then you should hire me more often.”

“I should,” he agreed. He lapsed into silence, thinking about her ability at shadowing. It was not usually something that came to a person without training.

Nat said, “By the way, that man I followed was the only person I saw.”

Knox understood then. Mousy had seen her watching and had deliberately gone to Jock’s house as a test. He had probably led her enough to get her licence number and then had tried to shake her. Not being able to do that, he had drawn her in to be picked up.

“And what did you do?” she wanted to know.

“I reconnoitered,” Knox said. “We have a couple of calls to make. Can you stand a tough place?”

“If you’re with me.”

“I will be. Do you shock easily?”

“Not that I know of. You can-swear at me if my getting arrested caused any trouble.”

“Not that,” Knox said. “It’s not that personal.”

“Gee, boss, dis is mysterious an’ excitin'.”

“It could be,” Knox agreed without smiling.

“I can manage,” she said. Knox glanced sideways at her. The competence in her tone was pronounced. He watched her as she drove. As if catching seriousness from his tone, she had dropped her girlishness. He was sure that she was right, she could manage and manage very well. The more he saw of Nat Tinsley, the more he liked her, and the more he liked her, the unhappier he became.

He had her park around the corner from Maroney’s tavern. He watched her now as he had watched her when they went to Jock’s. If she knew anything of what was going on, if she had any connection with this place, none of it showed in her expression. She looked around as if she had never seen a place quite like it. Once more she was slipping into her naive role.

Maroney’s was primarily a tavern for fishermen. Not the kind for rich sports but one for commercial fishermen who make their living the hard way, on the cold waters of the Sound and in Alaska.

Nat said out of the side of her mouth, “Is dis de tough jernt, boss?”

Knox took her elbow and steered her toward the rear. “This is it,” he assured her. There was a telephone booth at the back. The booth beside it was occupied. Knox installed Nat in the one next to that. He was interested in the occupants of the last booth. He had only a quick glimpse of a scarred, somewhat battered face before it dipped into a mug of beer. But he had seen enough to recognize Eddie Pillow. He was not surprised to hear the thin voice of Binks coming from the other seat.

“Beer or fortified wine,” Knox asked Nat.

“Beer, please.”

Knox ordered; then he rose, excused himself, and started for the telephone booth. He did not look around but he was conscious of eyes on him—those of the bartender and the aproned waiter who had taken their order. He tugged at the closed door of the booth. It refused to give.

The bartender called, “Sorry, bud, that’s out of order.”

Knox saw no point in arguing about it. Turning, he walked back to his booth. He stared squarely at Binks. Binks stared back. Knox said, “I’ll see you around when I’m not so busy.”

“Pleasure,” Binks said. Eddie Pillow did not even look up from contemplating the foam on his beer.

Back in the booth, Knox lifted his beer glass. “To the brewery. May it have kept this long enough to ripen it.”

It was drinkable. Nat half emptied her glass, set it down, and removed a delicate line of foam mustache from her upper lip. “What are we here for, Paul?”

“Just checking. I don’t think there’s anything here for us, but let’s hang around long enough for another beer and see.

He signalled the waiter. He came forward and leaned on the table with both ham-sized hands. “Look, mister, the lady here makes some of the guys self-conscious. Sorta restricts ‘em, if you get what I mean.”

Nat pushed out her chest. Under the loose, heavy turtle-neck sweater there was little effect. “Well! This is the first time I ever been run out of a joint for bein’ a lady.”

Knox had a slight fit of coughing. When he recovered, he rose, indicating that she should go with him. The bartender looked slightly bewildered but clung to his argument.

“They just ain’t sure, that’s all. Please, lady. Our beer ain’t no different from anybody else’s around here.”

They went. Outside, Knox said, “That was one of the sweetest heave ho’s I ever had.”

Nat said, “What’s the matter with me? Didn’t I do it right?”

Knox surveyed her. “Sure, you did just fine. You look all of fifteen in that rig, and about as tough as sweet Sally Simple.”

“I can be tough.” She sounded too indignant for it to be real.

Knox said earnestly, “I’m sure you can.”

“And now what, Paul? Do we prowl now?”

Knox looked at his watch. “It’s too early.” It was just a little after eleven. He wanted the tavern closed before he returned to the fishing boat.

“Right now,” he said, “I think well take in that show.”

T
HEY WEREN’T
far from the address on the card Knox had got from Carl. When Nat was within a half block, on a dark sidestreet, Knox had Nat pull up to the curb.

“This is as far as we go,” he said. “And you’d better change back to your dinner dress. I think it will get us in easier.”

Nat looked around at what was obviously a warehouse district, dark and empty at this hour of the night. “What kind of a show goes on in a neighborhood like this?”

“Detecting has all sorts of angles,” Knox told her casually. Opening the car door, he slipped out and stood with his back to Nat.

“Detectives in books would be panting after me in the back seat,” Nat said. He heard the car door slam and then the rear door open and close. Her voice came again, but muffled, so that he knew she was pulling the sweater off over her head.

Still muffled, her voice came loudly enough for him to understand. “Don’t be such a damned gentleman. I’m stuck in this thing.”

She was, Knox discovered. Pulling off a turtle neck sweater in the limited head room offered by the rear of a low slung sport car was obviously quite different from putting it on in the same space. Nat had somehow got the sweater to a point where the smallest part of the neck was across her mouth and nose, her arms half out of the sleeves, and her body bent nearly double with her back against the top.

Knox surveyed the situation, then opened the door, and catching where he judged her armpits to be, pulled and steered her until she stood on the sidewalk. He located the hem of the sweater and pulled. Nat said, “Yurp,” and when the sweater came off put one hand to her nose and the other to her right ear.

“You nearly took me apart.”

Knox said hastily. “Get back in there. Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have anything on under that?”

As he turned away, she popped back into the car and slammed the door. “I forgot, Paul. Honest I did. You see, my dress doesn’t allow for anything under it sort of.” There was more wriggling, grunts, and then she stood beside him, once more in the dress.

“You can look now.”

“I didn’t mind looking before,” Knox said honestly. “But there’s a time and place for everything.” He went to the car and began locking the doors.

“Wait, I want my bag. I have to comb my hair.”

They were finally ready to go and started down the street. Nat walked sedately with her hand on Knox’s arm, her high-heeled shoes making pleasant music echoing from the empty-windowed buildings about them. Knox liked her alongside. She was neither tall nor short; just a comfortable height. He liked her faint perfume and the light touch of her hand on his arm. He reminded himself that this was strictly business, that there were a number of factors that he could not ignore, factors that might well make Natalie Tinsley accessory, at least, in murder. But he found his shell of objectivity threatening to crack. He could not forget her pleasantly different kiss. Nor could he forget the brief glimpse he had had of her slender, lovely figure.

He walked along in silence, arguing with himself, until, by the time they reached the corner and a small, dilapidated looking tavern, he felt a little better, a little more secure.

The address of the tavern matched that on the card. Knox ushered Nat inside. It was a quiet place, as grubby on the inside as on the outside. Only a few customers were seated at the bar. There was a doorway at the end with the sign “Booths for Ladies” over it. The door was closed. Knox headed that way, his card in his hand.

A man wearing a dirty apron moved forward out of darkness. “This part’s closed.” He was big, with an ugly bigness of feature, and a good deal of his weight in a barrel around his middle.

Knox handed him the card and stood waiting. Beside him, he could hear Nat’s breathing. It was rapid as if she were frightened and making an effort to hold herself in.

“Yeh?”

Knox followed the card with some money. The man turned aside to peer at the bills. He put them away and opened the door. “Straight ahead,” he said. He sounded grudging.

They went straight ahead, past two rows of empty booths, through a door marked “Private,” and down a flight of steps to a cement-floored corridor that turned left for some distance and ended before a doorway curtained off by black velvet. Beyond they could hear the scratchy sounds of a bad movie soundtrack. There was occasional deep laughter from the audience.

“Paul …?”

“Easy, Nat,” he whispered. His fingers found her wrist and squeezed. “It’ll be okay.”

Knox pushed the curtain aside and eased open the door that was behind it, at the same time letting the curtain drop into place behind them so that none of the dim light from the corridor would fall into the room. Since it had been quite dim in the hallway, it took only a short while for their eyes to accustom to the flickering gloom of the room they were now in.

It was small, built like an amateur theater, the rows of seats each slightly elevated by risers from the row before it. The screen showed back a sixteen millimeter film.

Nat was staring, her fingers tight over Knox’s. Then, abruptly, she drew her hand away. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

“Shuddup!”

Knox said, “Let’s get out of here.” The bad sound track was spewing forth language more commonly found on toilet walls. He had no desire to see any more of the picture and he was sure that Nat wanted no further part of it. Knox had not lived the most sheltered of lives. At one time during late adolescence, he had had normal curiosity, had taken in his share of burlesque, and had even made the rounds in Paris while at college. He had contacted vulgarity and obscenity during his life as a policeman, but he could never remember anything as vicious, as degrading, as sickening as what he heard and saw here so briefly. And he doubted if the concern had stopped with this. Some of the stuff they handled probably made this look gentle.

They backed hastily into the hallway. Steps sounded on the inside of the door before they could get more than a few feet away. Knox put Nat ahead of him. “Start walking, keep walking.”

“Paul …?”

“Later,” Knox said. The door opened, the curtain was lifted, dropped back into place. A man said, “Wait a minute,” and Knox turned to look into the barrel of a thirty-eight. He stopped. Nat stopped too.

The man was tall and thin, his complexion pasty, his eyes too bright in his lean, lined face. Knox thought, now I have a hophead on my hands.

“The lady didn’t like it,” Knox said. “We’re going out for air.”

“How’d you get in here?” He came a step closer, not letting the gun waver from the direction of Knox’s midriff.

“With a card and fifty bucks.”

“Where’d you get the card?”

“The guy that gave it to me marked his sign on it,” Knox said. “What’s the difference?”

“You don’t look like the kind that comes here. I don’t like it.” The man was breathing shallowly but hoarsely. “Lift your mitts, friend, and let’s see who you are.”

Nat said, “Paul …?” again.

“Get out of the way,” he murmured to her. “This guy might play rough.”

The man came another step forward. “Turn around.”

Knox turned, his hands out slightly and halfway up. He was looking for the opening, waiting for the moment when the man got close enough and just the slightest bit careless. From the corner of his eye, Knox saw Nat take a backward step and then go sideways. She had one hand in her purse and when the hand came out, it was holding a little twenty-five.

Knox dropped to the floor, letting himself fold up like a loose sack. He rolled when he hit, ready to tackle the man. He heard the spat of Nat’s twenty-five and then there was no need for him to do any tackling.

The man swore viciously. The sound of the shot and of his voice were drowned by the burst of laughter from the audience. His gun went out of his hand, clattering against the cement wall of the corridor. He looked stupidly down at his fingers. They were growing redder as blood ran from his wrist down over them.

Knox went for the thirty-eight, got it, and was on his feet. “You’re too nosy,” he said. “Now you turn around.”

The man swallowed, opened his mouth as if to yell, and then sullenly presented his back to Knox. Knox cracked the barrel of the gun deftly behind his ear and watched him slide to the floor. Then he grinned at Nat. “Thanks. That was neat work.”

“There may be some more of it to do,” she said. “Someone’s coming from up front.”

Her voice was quiet, cold and hard with no trace of fear. Knox could not help a surprised glance. She sounded angry, bitter. He noticed how steady she was, how competently she handled the little gun. She had her profile to his as she stared up the corridor. She was leaning slightly forward with her weight distributed so that she could shift easily and quickly in any direction. She looked like someone who had done this sort of thing before.

The footsteps grew louder and soon the bruiser who had collected the cards and money appeared. He saw them standing, holding the guns, the thin, pasty man on his face of the floor. He said, “What is this …?” and stopped, lifting his hands in the air. “A stick-up?”

“Kidnapping,” Knox said cheerfully. “Come down here and come easily. Hands out from your sides.”

He came. Knox circled him, moved in when he was directly in front of Nat and her gun. With quick pats, Knox found a gun. He removed it. He found a knife, too, and took that. He said, “Now hoist skinny over there and let’s get going.”

Nat looked at Knox. “Paul, do you think it’s wise?”

“Necessary,” Knox answered. “If you don’t want in on this part, you can check out.” He saw the wary look in her eyes. “I won’t think any the less of you for it. This could be messy.”

She glanced down at the gun in her hand. “It seems to me that I’m already in on it. And it couldn’t get much messier—after what I saw in there. It’s your show, Paul.”

Knox accepted that. He directed the bruiser to carry the skinny man ahead of them along the corridor. “And what’s the best way out of here?” he asked. He punctuated the question with a gentle nudge from the nose of the thirty-eight.

“The way you came in,” the man said.

Knox poked him a little harder. “You wouldn’t want me to ask that question again, would you?”

“All right,” the man said. Instead of going up the stairs, he went left through another door, along an equally dimly lighted hallway, and out into an alley that Knox guessed was behind the warehouse.

By turning left they came onto the street where Nat had parked her car. There Knox had the bruiser roll the skinny man in the back seat and climb after him. Knox got in front with Nat. She put her twenty-five away in her purse and he turned, holding the thirty-eight so that the man in the back was aware of it.

“Head for where we started,” Knox said. “Stop right in front of the pier. Keep your motor running.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” She gave him a sideways look and a faint grin. He noticed the brightness of her eyes, the color in her cheeks. She looked like an excited boy despite the fancy dress she wore.

At the pier, Knox motioned the men out. The lean one was awake by now and he staggered under his own power. Both men acted as if they wanted to convince Knox of their desire for complete cooperation. Knox marched them ahead of himself, down the now fog-enshrouded pier.

He said, “Right here. Just step on board and …”

“On board what?” the bruiser asked.

Knox felt the pit of his stomach go down fast. There was nothing at the moorage but inky, motionless water.