The savage salome (14 page)

Margot was drinking coffee, a morose look on her face.

"How about my protection?" she asked icily.

"Lock the door after I'm gone," I said. "Don't open it to anyone—I've got a key."

"Your trouble is you don't have a soul," she said in a brooding voice. "What's wrong with calories?"

Helen Mills opened the door of the Towers suite a half-hour later and her eyes frosted over when she saw me.

"Miss Alberta can see no one today," she said in her prim, schoolmarmish voice. "She's still prostrate with nervous shock. I would have thought that even you, Mr. Boyd, would have shown some feeling after the dreadful thing that happened to her last night!"

"Did it happen after she got back here?" I asked with keen interest. "Or in the cab maybe?"

Her mouth was suddenly ugly as she pushed the door shut—I leaned my shoulder against it and pushed it open again.

"It's you I want to see, Helen," I told her. "It's about time we had a confidential chat."

"I've nothing to say to you!" she said wildly. "If you don't go away I'll—"

I walked past her into the living room and sat down on the couch. She fumbled uselessly with the doorknob for a few moments, then shut the door quietly and came toward me with an uncertain look in her magnified eyes.

"If this is some excuse to try and see Donna—after your bestial behavior the last time—I'll—"

"Sit down and relax," I said harshly. "I'm visiting with you, Helen!"

"Ssh!" She held a finger against her lips warningly. "Not so loud—Donna's resting now and I don't want her disturbed."

"O.K." I said softly. "Maybe Lieutenant Chase didn't tell you last night, but he narrowed down the suspects to three—all the others had unshakable alibis for the time of Rex Tybolt's death."

"No," she whispered. "He didn't."

"Earl Harvey, Kasplin, and yourself," I added.

"Me?" Her sallow cheeks flushed faintly. "But that's ridiculous, I was in Donna's dressing room the whole time —I told him so."

"Alone," I said. "He's only got your word for it."

She shrugged her shoulders under the large collar of the sensible, modest overblouse of her tweedy suit.

"Two murders," I said apologetically. "So much happening so fast, I'd almost forgotten the dog."

"Little Niki," she whispered with a faint sigh of regret in back of her voice.

"It shows how stupid I can get," I went on in a pleasant, low-pitched monotone. "Just because I had no reason to think you could possibly have a motive for inflicting pain on Donna Alberta, I didn't even question that wild story you told about how the dog was stolen!"

She sank slowly to the edge of the nearest chair, her body bent toward me, and her hands held neatly in her lap with the fingers interlocked.

"I don't understand you, Mr. Boyd," she whispered nervously. "What do you mean?"

"You must remember it," I chuckled. "All that way-

out jazz about the guy calling you—^for Miss Alberta and from the theater—she wanted Niki down there right away and they'd send a messenger over to collect him. The messenger bit was even better—some man in a uniform—you didn't remember the company or what kind of uniform. You didn't even remember what the guy looked like, if he was tall, short, thin, fat, old, young —^because he never existed outside your own imagination!"

"It was the truth," she said in a ragged voice. "What are you trying to do to me, Mr. Boyd?"

"I didn't know then what kind of a woman Donna Alberta really is," I said coldly. "She's a temperamental sadist—the savage Salome who wants everybody's head on a silver platter! She knew the way you felt about her and she delighted in having you around her the whole time—close but still a million light years away from the relationship you desired. My guess is she'd taunt you with continual stories of her love affairs—the men in her life. Donna had you hopping crazy, and when she couldn't resist taking Paul Kendall away from Margot Lynn, it was the last straw. You couldn't take it any more. You had to stop her before Kendall was visiting with her in the afternoons and you were banished from the suite—and afterwards you'd have to listen to her graphic detailed description of their love-making."

"Stop it!" she said hysterically. "I won't listen! I won't hear any more of your foul, filthy—" She pressed the palms of her hands against her burning cheeks and shook her head in a frenzied denial.

"You have to listen, Helen," I said easily, "because it's the truth."

"Lies," she sobbed. "Nothing but filthy lies. I won't listen—you can't make me—I won't, I won't, I won't!"

"All right," I agreed. "If you won't listen—maybe Donna Alberta will."

She lifted her head suddenly and stared at me fixedly, the naked terror in her eyes rubbed to a shining brightness.

"Tell Donna that I—" The apple in her throat leaped convulsively. "You couldn't do that, Mr. Boyd. You wouldn't—for my sake?"

The tweedy skirt murmured impatiently as she sank

slowly to her knees in front of me. I saw the look in her eyes and heard the infinite horror in back of her softly pleading voice—I felt like a monster, a child-eater, a parricide. Her hands moved in quick, darting gestures, pleading more eloquently than her voice.

"I don't have to tell Donna Alberta anything," I said desperately, "if you'll tell me the truth."

Her hands dropped slowly to her side, then she lifted herself painfully back onto the edge of the chair.

"All right," she said dully. "I made up the story— all of it. There was no phone call and no messenger. But I didn't know he was going to harm little Niki—^you must believe that! I swear it's the truth, he said he'd just keep him for a few days until Donna lost interest in Paul Kendall, then he'd return the dog."

"He?" I queried.

"Rex Tybolt." She made a painful grimace. "I guess that's almost funny in a way—^both of us had the same problem—we both loved Donna and she knew it. So she enjoyed tormenting Rex almost as much as she enjoyed tormenting me!"

"What happened after the dead dog was returned?"

She shook her head wearily. "I thought I'd go out of my mind! Rex deliberately wouldn't come near me for the first two days—he ran whenever he saw me coming. Then I finally cornered him at a rehearsal and he swore he hadn't killed Niki—^it was someone else. I didn't believe him, naturally, and I got a little hysterical about it. So then he told me to keep my mouth shut because I was just as deeply involved as he was—he was right, there was nothing I could do!"

There was a harsh, rattling sound from somewhere in back of me. Helen's face was a tight mask of fear as her pupils dilated rapidly. Her lips moved slowly framing the one word over and over again—"No, no, no—" in a soundless prayer beyond hope.

I stood up quickly and turned around, my nerve ends prickling for a moment while I wondered what in hell was making that rattling sound.

Donna Alberta was halfway across the room, walking with a slow, deliberate tread. The silver-blonde hair hung down below her shoulders, and she wore a white satin

bra that looked ridiculous in its attempt to confine the massive swell of her breasts—almost as ridiculous as the delicately woven panties in their pathetic attempt to gird her Junoesque loins.

Her eyes were wide open in a fixed, trancelike stare, and she seemed unconscious of the gurgling, rattling sounds she made in her throat. A dog leash of finely plaited leather, with a nickel buckle at the end, dangled loosely from her right hand. I didn't need to be psychic to figure out it once belonged to Niki.

"She knows!" Helen Mills's voice came back to her in a squeaking treble. "She was listening the whole time—she'll km me!"

"Donna!" I said sharply as she drew level with me. "Donna—listen!"

She brushed past without giving any sign she'd heard my voice—or even seen me. Helen Mills got up from her chair as the prima donna got close to her, then bowed her shoulders submissively.

"You filth!" Donna Alberta spat the word at her thickly, then her right arm lifted and the leash flailed through the air.

I figured it was a situation beyond tact, one that called for direct action. My old man always told me never hit a lady—leastwise while she's looking. Once in a long time he made sense; I slammed my fist down onto the nape of her neck and for a moment nothing happened.

Her right arm continued through its arc so the plaited leather made a sharp, explosive noise as it curled around Helen's shoulders. Her face twisted with the pain while her lips shaped a mute scream. I raised my fist again, then stopped it in mid-air.

The leash dropped from Donna's hand as she swayed on her feet for a moment before she toppled slowly forward onto the carpet, and lay motionless in an untidy arrangement of gleaming planes and wanton spheres.

Helen stared down at her for a long moment, then lifted her head inquiringly.

"She'll be O.K.," I said briskly. "You'd better get out of here before she wakes up."

"I'll get my things," she whispered. "Go to another hotel."

"Sure," I said. "You're all right for money?"

"Oh, yes," she nodded vaguely. "Plenty."

"Then start moving!" I rasped.

It took her a couple of minutes to pack a bag, then I walked with her to the door.

"I'll send for the rest of my things," she said in a dutiful voice. "I've got enough with me to last a few days."

"Sure," I said, then let her out the door first real polite, taking a last look at Donna before I shut the door tight.

I caught up with Helen Mills at the elevator. Her eyes were mildly reproachful under the heavy lenses when she saw me beside her again.

"I didn't know you were leaving now, Mr. Boyd. Are you sure Donna will be all right?"

"I'm sure," I said tersely. "She's got the stamina of a water buffalo—a team of water buffalo yet!"

"I don't mean to be rude," she said plaintively, "but I hoped you'd wait until she woke up—^just to be sure."

"You're kidding," I said, gaping at her. "She'd tear me into little pieces!"

The elevator door opened smoothly and I followed Helen inside. She smiled politely at the operator as we dropped toward the first floor, her fingers absently tweaking the large collar of her overblouse into its proper shape. She walked out of the elevator two paces ahead of me and kept the same distance between us aU the way to the Fiftieth Street exit. Then she stopped and turned around, holding out her hand politely.

"Goodbye, Mr. Boyd," she said in a formal voice. "I don't expect we'll see one another again."

"You sure you're O.K.?" I asked limply.

"Oh, perfectly!" She smiled tolerantly. "I can look after myself, I assure you, Mr. Boyd." Then the smile faded slowly as she spoke almost to herself. "Somehow it always seems to end up the same way, but it's a pity, a great pity!"

"Sure," I muttered.

"Donna will miss me, you know?" The smile flashed back on her face. "She's such a baby in so many things.

But there—I always said no good comes of keeping an animal in an apartment." She leaned forward suddenly, her lips close to my ear.

"It's unhygenic!" she confided in a modest whisper.

Chapter Twelve

"you can have five minutes, MR. BOYD,"

the nurse said with professional briskness. "Miss Harvey isn't really up to visitors at all, but we made an exception in your case because of the urgent need. Your secretary explained the legal complications involved."

"She's a very intelligent girl," I said truthfully.

"I'm sure," the nurse smiled politely. "You can go straight in, but don't forget—^five minutes is the absolute limit!"

"I'll remember," I said dutifully.

I pushed the door open and walked into the room. The faint, sterile odor that permeates all hospitals felt like it had clogged my nose and I'd never be rid of it again.

Marge looked lost in the snow-white, mountainous bed, her head hardly denting the massive pillow. Her bitter eyes watched me intently as I came up to the bed.

"WeU," she said faintly, "look who's here!" Her lips twisted into a mocking smile. "No jflowers?"

"I've got five minutes. Marge," I said, "so I have to talk fast—and you have to listen real good."

"Give me one good reason," she said contemptuously.

"Maybe you can stop Earl facing a double murder rap," I said.

Her eyes raked my face suspiciously. "Since when did you get so concerned for Earl?"

I told her the way Chase had it figured—only three suspects and Earl was one of them. Then I told her how I'd changed my mind since Tybolt's murder and some of the reasons.

"Big deal!" she snapped when I finished. "What do you want from me?"

"Margot Lynn gave me a signed statement detailing how Earl blackmailed her into working for him," I lied soberly. "If I hand it over to the cops, Earl is a dead pigeon. Knowing he's innocent won't keep me awake nights —^for me, he's got it coming anyway!"

"So you've got an angle," Marge said drily. "You wouldn't be here now if you didn't want to trade—so what's the pitch?"

"My guess is the proof of the killer's identity is somewhere in the blackmail material Earl's holding on the three of them," I said. "I know you won't mind me mentioning it, but Earl's so goddamn stupid when he falls in up to his neck, that he won't be able to see it!"

"So you want to take a look instead?" She turned her head away from me. "Why don't you get out of here, Boyd?"

"If I do, I head straight for headquarters and Lieutenant Chase," I said bleakly. "Chances are the cops wiU find the material anyway, after Earl's indictment. But they won't be looking for a killer then—just additional evidence to put your brother into the chair!"

She turned her head back slowly and stared at me silently for what seemed a long time.

"How do I know you're on the level, Boyd?" she asked suddenly.

"You don't. Marge," I told her. "But why the hell would I be wasting my time here if I wasn't?"

There was the uncomfortable silence again, while she chewed her lower lip uncertainly.

"All right," she said finally. "I'll deal—but if this is some kind of frame, Boyd, I'll cut your heart out once I'm out of here!"