The Expendable Man (24 page)

Hugh drove into the parking lot at the rear and entered the building by the back door. Edward's office was in the front. There were several patients waiting, idling over the magazines. Hugh had met the young secretary-nurse at the wedding reception, but he identified himself and said, “If it's possible to see the doctor for a half minute, I'll wait.”

“I'll find out, Dr. Densmore.” The patients wouldn't resent a brief conference between doctors. The girl returned almost immediately. “If you'll go into his office, Dr. Densmore, he'll see you when he can. The far door.”

He walked into the inner corridor, passed two closed doors, and entered the private office. He sat down across from the desk and waited. The air conditioning made waiting a pleasure. He was tense with hope. It wasn't long before Edward joined him.

“I'm sorry to barge in during office hours,” Hugh told him. “But I haven't been able to reach you. Were you able to get any more names?”

Edward lighted a cigarette before taking a key ring from his pocket. “Only two and I must have talked to a dozen people.” He fitted the key into the lock of a narrow desk drawer and opened it. He took out a folded prescription blank from his wallet and relocked the drawer. As secretly as if there were other persons in the room, he passed the paper to Hugh.

“The first is a number to call. No name. I had word of it from a nurse, a doctor, and an intern. All professed ignorance of the number; they'd heard of its existence, that was all. I won't tell you which one of them tucked a slip of paper into my hand just as I was leaving the hospital.” He gave a muffled sigh. “Somehow I feel that no one I spoke to believed my cover story. They thought I personally wanted to know how to get in touch with an abortionist. My only solace is that I will be able to tell them the truth later. Or so I hope.”

“I'm sorry.” It didn't help to say it. It didn't relieve Edward's shame or Hugh's own disgust at involving his brother-in-law.

Edward's voice was more muted. “The second is old Doc. Jopher. He lost his medical license years ago, criminal negligence. Operated once too often when drunk. He was a natural to turn to illegal operation. He's served time twice for abortion, but as soon as he got out, he went back to work. No one seems to know if he's in the business currently, there have been no rumors that he is. He's getting pretty old. But somewhere he's finding the money to buy booze. He's usually drunk.” Almost apologetically, Edward said, “I don't think he's your man. The police know all about him. He's always questioned if an abortion case is made public.”

“And swears he's innocent,” Hugh said. “A man like that won't tell the police anything.”

“Do you think he'd tell you?”

Hugh shook his head. “But if he's the one, I'll have to find some way to get him to talk. Where does he live?”

“In a little farmhouse north of Scottsdale.”

“Scottsdale?” Hugh reacted.

“Yes.” Edward was aware of the pertinence. “The directions are on that paper. There's no telephone. But they say he's easy to find, he seldom leaves the place.” He put out the cigarette, ready to resume practice. “What about Mahm Gitty?”

“She's out of it. She's been in the hospital for two weeks. I won't keep you longer. I want to get at these.”

“Don't be disappointed if they lead nowhere. There may be others no one has mentioned. I may get more information.”

“In Phoenix would there be more?”

“There might be dozens.” Edward wasn't optimistic. “Destroy that paper when you've done with it. I wouldn't want it to be seen. Did you get a lawyer?”

He realized he hadn't seen Edward since. “Skye Houston.”

Edward opened the door. “He's the top man here.”

“Ellen's father arranged it.”

Edward stopped in the doorway. “Understand one thing, Hugh. We'll all help on the fee. Your father won't have to shoulder all of it.”

Hugh faced him firmly. “I'm going to pay every penny of that fee. I'll have to borrow the money but not you or my father or anyone else is going to be out one dime. I'm no longer little Hughie, Edward, this is my responsibility.”

Together they walked the corridor, Edward leaving him at the first closed door. Hugh went out through the office, followed by the curiosity of the waiting patients. He'd kept Edward too long from his appointments; it would mean overtime again for an already overworked doctor. Some day he'd make it up to Edward, he didn't know how, but he would.

Again in the car, weighted by the immediate afternoon heat, he took time to reread the information on the prescription blank. Doc Jopher should be the one, but if the police had already questioned him, why should Hugh even dream that he could bring the man to confess? He'd start with the number. If it was so well known in town that three persons had mentioned it to Edward, it would seem the sort of information that Iris' friend could be expected to pick up.

It was not until he'd driven away that it occurred to him to wonder where it might be safe to make this telephone call. Not at his grandmother's or his sister's, they'd be sure to overhear. Not at Ellen's, for she must not know of his activity until it was successfully concluded. He'd have to find a public phone booth, and one where there was no chance of his being observed by either family or friends or police or the unknown man. It eliminated the neighborhoods he knew, and in others he might be intrusive.

He decided to cruise until he spotted a likely booth. He found what he needed at one of the new shopping centers north-east of town. The development was large enough to give him anonymity, but not so large that the phone booth might be in constant demand. Actually there was little reason why the women, darting from one air-conditioned store to another, would need the telephone. They were within a few blocks of their neighborhood homes.

He left the car sandwiched between other cars near the variety store, and went in it, buying a pack of gum to add to the small change in his pocket. Under the arcade he sauntered on to the drugstore, buying a roll of mints, to add more change. Keeping under the arcade, he window-shopped his way to where it ended, and then, as if it were something that had only then entered his head, he walked out into the sun, crossing the sandy expanse to the booth.

There was no one near it. The few cars parked at this end of the area must belong to employers or employees who left the more convenient places for the customers. He closed himself in the booth. It was stifling. He palmed the paper from his pocket, put in his coin, and dialed the number. There was no delay in reaching it.

A metallic recording began without preamble, “If you will leave your telephone number, Mr. Ess will call you. This is a recording. If you will leave your telephone number, Mr. Ess will—”

He hung up. The recording didn't specify how soon the return call might be expected. Minutes? Hours? The sun pouring on the metal roof, the narrow confine devoid of air, made of the booth a dangerous sweat box. Could he remain there safely to await a return call? Did he dare tie up the booth for that long?

He opened the door and stepped outside. There was another possibility. By night Edward's office would be safe from interruption. And Edward knew what he was about. But it would mean giving the doctor's number to the criminal outfit, involving Edward definitely in the dirty business. He had no doubt at all that Mr. Ess would check on a number before he returned the call.

In his frustration and need, it came to Hugh that there could not be a measurable delay in returning the call. Neither party could risk having a third person answer the phone. The area of the booth continued to be avoided. The lady shoppers knew better than to use it when the temperature neared one hundred. Again Hugh entered the box, this time leaving a small aperture for air. Again he dialed the number and reached the metallic voice, but after the repetition of the statement, the recorder stated, “At the beat of five, recite slowly the number to be called,” repeated this instruction. The beats were distinguishable and were followed by silence save for the faint movement of the tape. Hugh covered the mouthpiece with his handkerchief, and after the repetition of the five, read off the number printed on the dial. The silent interval was right for a precise reading. He waited and the record went back to its initial statement, “If you will—”

He hung up. He did not dare step out of the booth, someone just might approach to use it. He did open the door wider, not that the hot heavy air brought any illusion of refreshment but it made it easier to breathe.

And he waited. And waited. The perspiration ran down his cheeks like rain, his shirt was like wet paper against his body. He eyed his watch incessantly, then forced himself not to look at it, trying to measure the passage of time in his mind. When he glanced again, three minutes had evaporated. He sucked a mint and his thirst became acute. Why hadn't he bought a newspaper instead of candy and gum? If he had something to read, the time would pass and the phone would ring. He wiped the sweat from his face with the handkerchief, then hung it again over the mouth-piece. And he waited, stepping into the fastness of the booth whenever an occasional car ran to this end of the lot to make its turn. He was tempted to give up, to believe that the organization would not return a booth call for fear of entrapment. But he waited, just a little longer.

And the phone rang. He caught it on the first jangle, pushing the door shut with his foot. “Hello.”

A male voice which might have been speaking through a hospital mask said, “Mr. Ess is returning a call to—” and gave the telephone number.

“Mr. Ess . . .” Hugh began.

“Mr. Ess speaking.”

It wasn't hard to make the words come haltingly. As they must be spoken by most of those who were forced to deal with this man. “A friend give me your number,” Hugh said.

“Speak up,” the man commanded. “I can't hear you.”

He might be aware that the caller was protecting his voice from identification. But Hugh did not remove the handkerchief. He said louder, “I am speaking up,” and repeated, “A friend give me your number.”

There was silence at the other end of the wire.

“A friend give me your number,” Hugh said again. “You see, I'm kind of in trouble . . . I need some help . . . I got a hundred dollars . . .”

He was interrupted. “The price is five hundred.”

Neither Iris nor any friend of hers would have that amount. Hugh invented quickly. “I got a job. I could pay you a hundred dollars now and—”

Again he was interrupted. Dispassionately. “The price is five hundred. Call again.” The connection was broken.

Thoughtfully Hugh replaced the receiver. He grabbed the soaking handkerchief and in relief stepped outside. Iris had not been put into the merciless hands of Mr. Ess. If by any chance her friend could have raised that kind of money, he would never have wasted it on a girl he wanted only to be rid of.

Hugh walked back to his car and drove away. The stirring breeze cooled him. There was left Doc Jopher. He wouldn't go there by daylight, it was too close to Scottsdale. He might not be watched as closely as he feared, but he wouldn't mock fate by taking his car to the house of a twice-convicted abortionist until he had cover of darkness.

ELLEN WAS PERFUMED
, silken, and inaccessible. For once he was on time, exactly six-thirty as he knocked on her door. Venner's visit and the ordeal of the telephone booth had been washed away from him by leisurely dressing for the evening.

“I thought we'd eat at the airport restaurant,” he told her. “The food's good, the air conditioning is good, and no one will hurry us.” It was also the first fine restaurant in Phoenix to ignore segregation.

She asked, “Would you like to mix a drink while I gather up my things?”

“Not tonight. This is my party. We'll have our cocktails with dinner.”

Her purse and gloves, a furred sweater were at hand. She checked her key, cut the air conditioning, and they moved to the door. He had it opened when the phone rang. Neither of them moved. It rang again, long, demanding.

Ellen put her hand on his arm. “Don't answer it.”

He hesitated while the after-tone of the bell reverberated in his ears. It began again. He said, “I must.” She let out a forlorn sigh as she followed him into the room.

He had a prickle of excitement as he lifted the handset. This could be what he needed. It was still daylight, easy to spot the man if he were using the phone in any of the neighboring places. Hugh gave a tentative “Hello.”

“Dr. Densmore?” It wasn't the voice he awaited.

“Yes?”

“Marshal Hackaberry would like you to come out to his office.”

This time Hugh did venture a protest. “I was just going to dinner. Would it be possible to come later?”

The officer said, “You'd better come now. He's waiting.”

Hugh choked, “All right. I'll come.” He hung up. Disappointment was lead in his mouth. “The marshal wants me.”

She said, “Don't be worried.”

“I'm not worried,” he lied. “I'm hungry.” He spilled out futile anger. “Why does he always have to call me at dinnertime?”

“Possibly because he can't reach you earlier. At any rate, he's still asking you to come in, not sending someone to bring you in.”

Be grateful for small favors. He said, “You'd better not wait to eat dinner. If I can't get back to take you to Skye's—”

She broke in. “For heaven's sake, Hugh, by now you should know that I won't be left behind.”

“No,” he began, but she walked past him, out the door, and into the car. He was in time to close the car door after her. He said, “I don't want them to see you. I don't want them to know about you.”

She waited until he was at the wheel before she answered him. “It's no good. They know about me. This is the second time they've found you at my apartment. I'm not afraid of anything they could say to me. I'm Ellen Hamilton and they can't change that.”