1965 - The Way the Cookie Crumbles (23 page)

‘Can’t be done,’ he said. ‘Thirty-eight and a half minutes if you can keep up with me.’

Nodding, Lepski let the cop go on ahead, then he went after him. The cop opened up with his siren, and as the traffic hurriedly shifted to the right, he twisted the hand throttle.

As Lepski shoved his foot down on the gas pedal, he thought that the Chief would flip his lid if he could see him now, blasting along the highway at 124 miles an hour. The long, straight highway seemed to melt away under the flying wheels. The cars Lepski passed were grey smudges that flinched over the whoosh of air that hit them as he overtook. He crouched a little, holding the steering wheel firmly, his eyes riveted on the patrol officer’s back.

He kept fifty yards behind him, and as the speed moved slowly up to 130 miles an hour, he thought a little fearfully that a front blowout now would win him only a very modest casket and a deep hole in the ground.

Twenty minutes later, they were reaching the end of the highway and the cop raised his hand, signalling to Lepski to reduce speed. They both entered the outskirts of Miami at seventy miles an hour that seemed a crawl after the ferocious speed on the highway.

Sixteen minutes later, they were driving sedately up the carriage way leading to the Graham Co-Ed School.

Lepski pulled up and got out. His legs were a little shaky, but he grinned cheerfully at the patrol officer who grinned back.

‘Nice driving, Tim,’ he said. ‘There’s a repeat performance. I want you to take me back when I’m through here.’

‘Okay,’ the patrol officer said. ‘We’ll clip a few minutes off on the way back. The traffic won’t be so heavy.’

Lepski walked up the steps and rang the bell. Dr. Graham himself opened the door.

‘Morning, Sir,’ Lepski said. ‘Paradise City Police. I think you could help me. Could I come in?’

Graham nodded and stood aside.

‘I hope this won’t take long, officer,’ he said as he led the way into his study. ‘I have an appointment.’

‘Shouldn’t take long, sir,’ Lepski said, taking the chair Graham waved to. ‘I’m making inquiries concerning a pupil of yours: Norena Marsh Devon.’

Graham looked vaguely startled.

‘She’s left us now. She . . .’

‘Yeah, I know that. Tell me, Doctor, she wore spectacles. right?’

‘Yes, she did.’

‘Could she read without them?’

‘Certainly not. She always wore them. I don’t understand. What . . .’

‘Were the frames of her spectacles made of blue plastic?’

Graham stared blankly.

‘Come to think of it, they were blue. I don’t know about being plastic. Could you explain just why you are asking these questions?’

‘We have reason to believe that Norena Devon is the unidentified girl found murdered at Coral Cove,’ Lepski said, gravely.

Graham stiffened, shocked.

‘Good gracious! What makes . . .’

‘I’ll ask the questions, doctor,’ Lepski said firmly. He took from his wallet Algir’s photograph.

‘Seen this man before?’

‘Why, yes. That’s Mr. Tebbel, Norena’s mother’s attorney.’

Lepski drew in a long slow breath. So he had been right!

‘Have you a photograph of Norena Devon?’ he asked.

‘Why, yes, I have. We always have class photographs taken at the end of term,’ Graham said, and getting to his feet he walked over to a filing cabinet. After a moment’s delay, he produced a photograph.

He crossed the room and handed the photograph to Lepski.

CHAPTER TEN

H
alf out of his mind with fear, Edris drove fast along the highway towards Seacombe. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts for his safety that he failed to notice the dusty Ford that tagged along in his rear.

There wasn’t a moment to lose, he told himself. Already the cops might be looking for him. He too had contacts along the Waterfront. His best bet was to get on a boat for Mexico.

But first, he had to take a chance and return to his apartment. He must get his money from Algir. Without money, he was sunk! He would have to kill Algir. If he didn’t, Algir would kill him. He would also have to find where Algir had hidden his own share of the Wanassee take. But before he could kill Algir, he had to get a gun!

Reaching the outskirts of Seacombe, he swung the little car down a narrow road that led to the sea.

Startled, Jess slammed on his brakes, stopping the Ford. He got out of the car and ran to the top of the road. He was in time to see the Mini turn right at the end of the road and disappear. He ran back to the Ford and drove down the road, cautiously and slowly.

Edris parked the Mini, then ran with bouncing hops over to a shabby bar that catered primarily for the crews of the deep sea fishing yachts, moored in the harbour. At this hour, the bar was deserted and Harry Morris, the owner, a big, hairy, scowling man was propping up the bar, reading a racing sheet.

He grinned when he saw Edris.

‘Hi, Ticky!’ He folded the racing sheet and stared down at Edris’ white, sweating face. ‘What’s eating you, pal?’

‘I’m in a jam, Harry,’ Edris said, trying to control his uneven breathing. ‘Don’t ask questions. it’s cop trouble. Can you get me on a boat to Mexico?’

Morris’s eyes widened. For a moment he wondered if Edris was kidding, then again looking at the dwarf’s face, he decided he wasn’t.

‘It could be fixed, Ticky, but it’ll cost. There’s a boat sailing at ten tonight. I could fix it for you, set you back three grand.’

Edris winced.

‘Can’t you do better than that, Harry? I’ll need my money.’

‘I’ll do what I can, but this guy is kind of greedy.’

‘I’ve got a little business to handle and then I’ll be back. Can you keep me under the wraps until the boat sails?’

‘Of course, Ticky. For you, I’ll do anything.’

‘Another thing. I want a gun with a silencer, and I want it right now.’

Morris stared at him.

‘What for?’

‘Don’t ask questions, Harry. I want it now.’

‘Well, okay. Sure you don’t want me to handle it for you?’

Edris grinned wolfishly.

‘I can handle it. Snap it up, Harry, I’m running out of time.’

Morris nodded and walked through a doorway at the back of the bar. He returned in a few minutes, carrying a brown paper parcel. This he handed to Edris.

‘It’s clean, Ticky. I don’t want to see it again. The silencer is good for three shots, no more. You sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘I know,’ Edris said grimly. ‘Thanks, Harry. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,’ and he hurried out of the bar and back to the Mini.

Getting into the car, he unwrapped the parcel and examined the .38 automatic. He screwed the silencer into the barrel and put the gun on the seat beside him. He put his hat over the gun. Then he started the car and drove towards his apartment.

Jess Farr, parked further along the waterfront, went after him.

Arriving outside the apartment block, Edris scooped up his hat and the gun and leaving the ignition key in the lock, he got out of the car. He skipped across the sidewalk and bounced up the steps. Entering the lobby, he got into the elevator and was shot up to the floor of his apartment.

As he paused outside the front door to search for his key, he glanced at his watch. The time was 11.43 hours. He unlocked the door and cautiously entered the lobby.

‘Phil?’

He dropped his hat on a chair and holding the gun behind his back and the newspaper he had bought in his left hand, he moved forward into the lounge.

Algir was standing by the window, Edris’ .25 in his hand, his eyes wary, his face tense. He lifted the gun and pointed it at Edris.

‘Did you get it?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t come any closer!’

‘What’s this all about?’ Edris said, cocking his head on one side. Behind his back, his thumb slid off the safety catch on the gun.

‘I don’t trust you, you stinking freak,’ Algir said. ‘Did you get the money?’

‘Of course I got it, and I got a newspaper too. It has a lovely big photo of you, buddy-boy, right on the front page.’ Edris tossed the newspaper towards Algir. The paper unfolded as it fell at Algir’s feet, front page up.

Off guard, Algir looked down, saw the photograph of himself and began to curse. This was the last sound on this earth that he was to make. Edris lifted his gun and shot him through the head.

Algir’s knees crumpled and he began to slide to the floor. Edris, his lips drawn off his teeth, shot him through the chest.

Algir sprawled on the floor, blood running down the side of his face. He moved his hands feebly and his mouth worked, then his eyes rolled back. He shivered and his jaw dropped.

Edris drew in a long, deep breath. He unscrewed the silencer and put it in his pocket. He put the gun on the table. Without looking at Algir, he went into his bedroom for the canvas hold-all he had already packed.

He then set about searching the apartment for Algir’s share of the money. It took him some ten minutes to find it, tucked behind a reproduction of an early Picasso. He counted the money, muttering to himself when he found Algir had only sixteen thousand dollars left of his share of the take.

Edris stuffed the money into his hip pocket. He then put the envelope containing his share in the inside pocket of his jacket. He paused to look around the apartment, feeling a sudden sadness to be leaving it. He looked down at Algir whose head lay in a halo of blood and whose

expression of terror made Edris grimace, then he picked up his bag and walked slowly to the front door.

It was hard to believe, he thought, he would never see this home again, but at least he had money and a chance to get to Mexico. He would begin a new life for himself. Money unlocked most doors. Without it you were sunk.

He opened the front door, then stopped abruptly.

Gun in hand, Jess Farr stood in the corridor, facing him. The gun pointed at Edris’ face.

Edris closed his eyes and then opened them. The shock of seeing this lanky beatnik with a gun stopped his heart for a brief moment and then sent it racing madly.

‘Back in!’ Jess said viciously, ‘and watch it!’

Sick despair gripping him, Edris slowly moved back into the living room. Jess followed him and kicked the front door shut. He stiffened at the sight of Algir’s dead body. He had never seen death before. A cold coil of fear gripped his guts.

‘Put the bag down, turn around and get your hands up!’ he snapped.

‘Now listen.’ Edris began, forcing a wheedling smile to his ashen face.

‘Do it pig face!’ Jess yelled at him, threatening him with the gun.

Edris caught his breath in a sob. He dropped the bag, turned and as he began to raise his hands, Jess took a quick step forward and slammed the gun barrel down on his head.

* * *

It did Lepski a power of good to watch Terrell’s face as he told his story. Beigler, leaning against the wall, behind Terrell’s desk, was also good to look at.

Lepski couldn’t restrain his grin of triumph as he concluded, ‘And here’s a photograph of Norena Devon, Chief. I got it from her school,’ and with a flourish, he laid the photograph on Terrell’s desk.

Both Terrell and Beigler leaned forward and peered at the group of girls shown in the photograph.

‘She’s the second on the left, back row,’ Lepski said.

‘Nice work, Tom,’ Terrell said after staring at the plain looking girl who wore spectacles. ‘So who’s this girl Devon imagines is his daughter?’

‘Ira Marsh. Muriel’s sister,’ Beigler put in. ‘I’ve just got the New York police report. Ira Marsh left New York on the night of the 16th. She hasn’t been seen since. It jells, Chief.’

‘But why?’ Terrell stared at Beigler, frowning. ‘We’re missing out on something big here. Why did Algir substitute Ira for Norena? He must have had a reason.’

‘She’ll tell us. Let’s pick her up.’

‘We won’t rush it,’ Terrell said. ‘I’ll talk to Devon first.’ He frowned. ‘This dwarf Edris, he must have planted her photo in Muriel’s bedroom. He was the one who sold Algir to Dr. Graham. Get after him, Joe! Get after him fast!’

‘He’s supposed to be in New York,’ Beigler said.

‘Alert the New York police. It may be a bluff. He may still be here. Try his home, Joe.’

Beigler nodded and hurried from the room.

‘Get the airport covered and road blocks set up, Tom,’ Terrell went on. ‘Looking the way he does, he can’t get far, but I’m not taking chances with that little snake.’ He got to his feet and picked up the photograph from his desk.

‘I’ll see Devon.’

Lepski reached for the telephone.

‘If you don’t get promotion for this, old son, old son,’ he said to himself, ‘you’ll never get it.’

* * *

Jess rode down in the elevator. He hadn’t waited to count the money he had taken from Edris’ unconscious body, but he knew it was more money than he had expected to find. He must get out of Florida fast, he told himself. He would leave the rented car at Fernandia and take the train to Atlanta. He would stay there until he knew which way the cat was jumping. With all that money, he hadn’t a care in the world.

In spite of his elation he was still shocked by Algir’s death. It was obvious that Edris who he had left sprawled on the floor, unconscious, had murdered him. As he got into the Ford, he wondered what Edris would do and where he would go.

Serve the little freak right! Jess thought as he trod on the starter. This squared it for the way he had treated Ira. What about Ira? Jess frowned. He was half tempted to try to find her. It would be more fun travelling with her than alone. Then he shook his head. Better not. It wouldn’t be long before the cops got wise to her and then he’d land in real trouble along with her. No, he’d travel alone. There would be time to find a girl when he reached Atlanta.

He drove towards Miami. The midday traffic was heavy and the way out of Seacombe was irritatingly slow. But Jess confined his impatience. It was a sweet set up, he thought, slowing as the traffic built up to yet another jam. Edris wouldn’t dare squeal. Algir was dead. Ira didn’t know he had the money. It was sweet! Talk about the perfect steal!