The Bamboo Blonde (20 page)

"What are you trying to say?" Pembrooke demanded. No one else breathed.

"Other hand nobody to check you in and out when you're not in a hotel. Not too easy in an apartment; somebody might hear you taking your car out. Could be done. Park the car on the street; who's to notice if you go in or out?" Dare's lips emitted smoke. Griselda waited. "Easier in a house of your own. Nobody to check."

Kathie cried it softly, 'What are you trying to say? What happened? You must tell us what happened!"

"I'm going to tell you what happened." He took his time, putting his fingertips neatly together, clearing his throat, as if he didn't have the right words.

"Fellow that sweeps out the Village found Mr. Vironova in there this morning. Shot and killed. Know about the Village?"

Visit the Village.
Signs everywhere. Under the ground. Subway walk beneath Ocean Boulevard. Curio booths, fortune tellers, street artists, gawkers, hodgepodge.

Kathie whispered,
"I've
always been nervous about the Village. I don't like it. I've always been afraid of it."

Captain Thusby waited. "Not much of a walk from either hotel to the Village, is it? Is kind of scary when it's deserted. I went through it once that way. Heard every step I took twice as loud as it should be. Echoes." His eves hardened. "There wasn't any gun there. Any of you keep guns?" The chairs rustled faintly. "Never mind getting anxious. Your rooms are all being searched while you're here."

Albert George's eyes gave his fury away. But he was silent.

"Search warrants all signed," Thusby snapped. "Not that I expect to find the gun that killed Vironova to be setting out in
the
open marked
with
fingerprints. Not unless somebody planted it. Too easy to get rid of a gun. Kick it under the board walk. We're scavenging. But not so easy to dreen the ocean. The tide'll bring it in some day." His voice roared as he brought his fist down with a startling thump on the paper-ridden desk. "But we aren't going to wait that long to find who did it. Because it's going to be easy now. The man or woman who's running around killing people in Long Beach"—he spoke as if it were treason to pick his town—"made a big mistake when he killed Mr. Vironova. I'll tell you why." He became confidential. "Mostly when murders happen in a little place it's hard to get to the bottom of them. It's not like New York where there's all kinds of big experts, laboratories, and money." He stressed the latter. "And that's where the murderer made a mistake." He chortled. "Because I got the money now. I got 'unlimited funds.' That's it. 'Unlimited funds.'"

Major Pembrooke consulted his watch. "This is all very interesting. Captain Thusby. but I—"

He was ignored. Thusby said, "Mr. Oppensterner —Jacob Oppensterner himself—told me on the telephone this morning that he'd foot the bills to crack this case, just so long as I cracked it and cracked it fast."

Griselda began to titter deep within her. She could just hear Oppy offering everything, sun, moon, and stars. Any finger laid on a member of his staff was personal to him. He'd be certain that he was next on the list. Poor Oppy, always with the jumps. He'd be frog-green with fear now.

Thusby demanded, "What's so funny, Mrs. Satterlee?"

She hadn't realized her mirth was visible but at his question she let it ripple aloud. "I was just thinking about Oppy. how scared he must be." She laughed and then choked it quickly. The eyes were turned in suspicion on her. She angered. "Never mind. It isn't funny to anyone but me. One thing certain. You can't blame Con for this. He's out of it now." She glowed with triumph as she flung the challenge in all of their stupid faces.

The chief's eyebrows moved up into white bushy points. His voice was gentle but beneath the gentleness was rock-hardness, "Con Satterlee escaped last night."'

She'd never had the breath knocked out of her but she knew this was. how it must feel. She caught her lip tight with her teeth and then all at once she began to shiver as if it were she being hunted. She turned pathetically to Kew. He was unreadable. She looked around the room. None of them had known of this.

Dare was sitting upright, her pretensions gone. And she cried it, "He couldn't have escaped!"

"That's what I thought." Thusby was complacent.

"It's absurd." She was certain of herself. "That doesn't happen today. It isn't necessary. All you need is a lawyer."

"Maybe," the chief allowed. "He's gone. He was gone by midnight."

"You didn't tell me." Her green eyes slitted.

"Didn't tell nobody. Thought maybe I’d made a mistake and he'd be around somewhere. But he was gone all right. I'm telling you now because it'll be in the papers by the time you leave here. I gave it to the reporters after you folks arrived."

Griselda shook her head. "There's some mistake." Piteously she asked him, all of them, to believe her. "He'll be back. I know he will."

Dare said briskly, "He's probably gone to get someone to help him out of this mess. He has influential friends, Captain Thusby."

"That so?" He tweaked his nose.

"Yes, that's so."

She mustn't mention Barjon Garth. Garth had betrayed Con. She didn't. She said, "The broadcasting company isn't without influence."

Captain Thusby complained, "He could have told me what he had in mind. Doesn't look well to have a prisoner escaping from you."

Griselda pushed back her hair. The room was suffocating. Why didn't Thusby say what he must be thinking? Con's flip line about hacksaws and files. The police would be certain she had effected the escape. She had to get out before the room began to swirl; it was already teetering. Thusby and Dare went on talking like end-men in
a
minstrel show.

She felt Kew's hand on her arm and she steadied. He interrupted the dialogue. "I have a Washington call coming at two, Captain Thusby. And I presume the women must be feeling rather faint without lunch. Do you need us longer?"

Thusby looked to Kew, then Griselda. She probably appeared as moon-yellow as she felt. "You can go. I guess." he said. "Leave your fingerprints in the outer office." He scotched the major's borning protest. "If you're innocent as you all make out, you won't mind doing that. And don't any of you leave town."

Major Pembrooke did protest now. "I must return."

Griselda didn't wait. She was first in line to press her fingers on the pad, and she was brusque in refusal of Kew's offer to drive her home. She didn't want to see or hear of him or any of them again.

* * *

Con would come. She was certain of it. He would come and explain all this pother about escape and murder. The headlines—
MURDER
SUSPECT
ESCAPES
FROM
LONG
BEACH
J
AIL
—wouldn't scare him away. The actual story of the break was scant as it Captain Thusby weren't quite certain as yet that his prisoner wasn't still playing hide-and-seek about the building.
The
box with description didn't sound much like Con. Any tall, thin, youngish man in a nondescript dark suit would fit. You couldn't describe Con with much accuracy. He didn't have a black beard
or
cauliflower ear or wart on the nose. He was remarkably average unless you knew him.

The trouble was that other persons would come here too. All of them wanted to reach Con. In particular. Major Pembrooke would come. If he didn't find Con, he might try to make her tell him what Con had learned. She shunted that thought quickly. She'd read too much of Axis methods of persuasion.

She should really put up a sign with her hours on it. The line would form outside the door. But she wasn't prepared for the first entry. Not for Kathie. Yet there she was in her sleazy red dress.
"I
thought Kew would be here," she said. She looked around as if he might be hiding.

Griselda said coldly, "I came home alone. Did you try his hotel?" She wished there were some way to tell this girl that she was welcome to Kew, that his heart didn't repose here.

Kathie shrank into the big chair. She didn't answer. She was pulling on her handkerchief as if it were made of elastic. She whispered suddenly, "I'm afraid. Mrs. Satterlee. I'm afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Somebody killed Mr. Vironova." Her eyes were startled. "Why was he killed? Who's going to be next?"

Griselda herself had no strength; she couldn't reassure another. She'd be hard put to it to protect herself until Con came. But there might be some infinitesimal piece of information to garner from the frightened girl. "Did Shelley say anything to you about who—she-might fear? Why she was carrying a gun?"

Kathie's eyes widened. "Did she have a gun? I didn't know that. I went back to the apartment with her after lunch. She didn't say anything about being afraid." Her nose wrinkled.
"I
didn't like her really. I didn't stay long. She was awfully common, wasn't she?"

Griselda repeated as before,
"I
didn't know her."

"Well, she was. Bleached hair and lying around with not a stitch under her negligee and swearing into the phone."

"Swearing?" Griselda feigned polite interest, hiding her avidity. "To whom was she talking?"

"Some man. He called her up. At least I suppose it was a man. I don't think she would have talked that way to a woman. Cursing and swearing like a streetwalker."

Griselda had greater interest. "Why was she so annoyed?"

"Well, it sounded as if some man were trying to break an engagement. She was saying if he didn't take her out to dinner that night he'd never have another date in his life."

Griselda's eyes widened. This was important although Kathie didn't know. "How did it come out?"

"Well, I really don't know. She finally said with a lot of swear words that she'd wait for him at the Bamboo Bar and if he didn't come she'd go gunning for him."

"She said that?" Griselda stared. It was so plain now; find the man who had called Shelley, the man who didn't keep his appointment at the Bamboo Bar. There was the murderer delivered unto you.

"Yes, she did. I heard her say it. But I didn't know she really had a gun."

"You didn't tell the police?"

She shook her head. "I told them about lunch. They didn't ask about anything else. You don't think that phone call was important, do you?"

Griselda stated clearly, "I think Shelley Huffaker was talking then to her murderer. I think if we could find out who made that
call—"

It was essential. It couldn't be traced, not this late, but it would be possible to find out where each man had been during the afternoon. All that was needed was investigators and Captain Thusby could afford as many as he liked with Oppy supplying the unlimited resources. She'd telephone to him after she'd rid herself of her guest.

But Kathie lingered. She was talkative now. "Do you think she might have been talking to Mannie? She was always chasing after him. He couldn't stand her. He didn't like blondes." On and on nervously. She seemed frightened to leave, .as if there were safety here of all places. Wearily. Griselda manipulated her eventual departure.

Why was Kathie suddenly afraid? She hadn't seemed to be before. It must be because of Vironova. Did she believe that the murderer would think she knew something about Shelley's death, because she'd had a drink with the little Russian the night before?

Griselda's laughter was hysterical, there alone in the creaking cottage. Kathie need not fear. It wasn't Kathie who was endangered. It was she. She was next in line. She had been doing what Sergei had done, seeking the killer. She put her hands together about her throat to stop that dreadful sound. She didn't even know from whom to run. She was without defense, but it was better to go on. There was always the outside chance she could discover the killer in time to tell the police, before he killed her too.

She locked, the door. Shelley Huffaker. Sergei Vironova. They were linked as tightly in death as in life. In one of their histories was motive. She couldn't sit idly; she had to further the action. And Si Burke knew everything about everyone. She put in another call to Malibu. He'd still be there. He had a gift for prolonging story conferences when a guest house and cabana and Oppy's slice of the Pacific were thrown in.

Kew came before the call was completed. Worry ate in his face but she hushed him, spoke into the phone, "Ask Mr. Burke to call back when he comes in."

Kew didn't wait for the receiver to be cradled. He began. "I must see Con. It's of the greatest importance."

She looked at him. She didn't trust him now. He had burned the letter that would have protected Con.

"It's important." Kew was pacing again. She wondered how many furlongs he'd walked since the case was begun. "Griselda, why would he be such a fool as to run out this way?"

She said furiously, "Doubtless he saw he was being framed. He got out before it was too late to prove someone else did it. That's what I'd do. You'd do it. You wouldn't sit there waiting for them to sentence you for something you didn't do."

"But it won't work. My God, Griselda, he can't make it work. Everyone will be tracking him. the police, the murderer, and all the honest citizenry of Southern California. He can't stay escaped, This makes him sign his guilt to everyone but the few of us who know him. If I could only talk lo him."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why is it important you talk to him? Does the major want you to?" Without caution, she demanded, "What did you report to Pembrooke last night?"

"I? Report to Pembrooke?" The amazement on his face couldn't be simulated. She'd made a bad guess in her weary fear. Relief flooded her, weakened her, and she caught at the chair before she fell.

Kew came to her. "What is the matter, Griselda?"

She touched his hand. "I'm sorry, Kew." Her voice was hysterical. "I'm sorry—"

He said, "Take it easy, darling." She was babbling, trying to explain, "But you went from me to the Hilton and joined him and—"

He said, "I went to the Hilton to make sure that Kathie was safe. I knew he was stopping there last night and I was afraid that he might have thought up some plausible scheme to get her back on
The Falcon—
alone. I needn't have worried. Walker was there with the Admiral. And Pembrooke was immersed in Vironova."