The Venus Death Read online

  “Nothing,” Newpole said, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “It’s just that you’re such a big man with the women, I didn’t think they’d let you spend even one night alone.”

  Boothbay laughed. “Ah, touché, Lieutenant. Touché. Very good, I must say.”

  Newpole’s nostrils dilated. “So you went to a movie that night. Can you prove it?”

  “I have a ticket stub.”

  “Do you always save your ticket stub?”

  “Always. I’m a fanatical ticket-stub collector.”

  “What time did the movie start, Mr. Boothbay?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Manette Venus was killed about seven-thirty. You’d have time to get to Glen Road before the show started.”

  “To give Miss Levesque moral aid and suasion? Ah, but I had no reason to assist Miss Levesque. Certainly less reason than your own Patrolman Lindsey. And what’s more, I didn’t leave the house until seven forty-five. It was a neighborhood theater. The Oriental.”

  “Did anybody see you leave the house, Mr. Boothbay?”

  “I don’t remember offhand.”

  Newpole puffed on his pipe. He picked up some papers from the desk and shuffled through them. Then he said, “Okay, Mr. Boothbay. I think that’s all for now.” He turned to Captain Walsh. “Unless you have some questions, Captain.”

  “A few,” Walsh said in a flat even voice. “Mr. Boothbay, did you ever see Ralph Lindsey before?”

  “Yesterday, Captain. He came to the factory and asked questions.”

  “You never met him before then?”

  “No, sir, I did not.”

  “Did you ever see Manette Venus with him?”

  “No, Captain. I never bumped into them together. Until yesterday I had no idea what he looked like.”

  “That’s all,” Captain Walsh said tersely. “Thank you.”

  Boothbay stood up. He picked up his topcoat that was draped over the chair. He flipped his hand airily at us and went out.

  Captain Walsh watched him go. He got up and pushed his chair back. He looked at me. “Your shoes need a shine,” he said. “The minute a man gets away from the troop for a day, he gets careless. Shine ’em up, Lindsey.” Then he turned to Newpole. “What do you think of Cole Boothbay, Ed?”

  “Boothbay?” Newpole said. “I think he’s a damn liar.”

  CHAPTER 13

  I was sitting in my hotel room in my shirt sleeves, nibbling at my pencil, bent forward, working on my report. It was eight o’clock at night and I was alone. Lieutenant Chet Granger was in Boston, and Ed Newpole was out working somewhere. I was finishing the report and listening to a girl vocalist on the radio at the same time.

  There was a light tap on my door. I wasn’t sure what it was at first. Then the tap came again. I laid the pencil down and put the report in the desk drawer. The knock came again, a bit sharper. I went over and opened up.

  Helen Toledo stood in the hallway swinging the straps of her handbag. She was wearing a wide-brimmed blue hat, a blue polka dot dress and a pink wool shortcoat. Her shoes were blue sandals with very high cork soles and heels.

  “Hi.” She smiled, opening her brightly painted mouth, but the smile was forced and mechanical. She said nervously, “Can I come in?”

  I stood aside. She came in and closed the door. She tried to smile again, this time provocatively. Again she failed. There was a grotesqueness about her. She was a parody in cheap finery.

  She sat down in the lounge chair. She said, “I was passing by. I thought maybe you could stand some company.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I like company.”

  “You got anything to drink, kid?”

  “No. But I’ll send down for something. What would you like?”

  She smiled archly. “Usually I have myself a couple of gin drinks. But when I’m with a gentleman my tastes run to Scotch.”

  I smiled back at her. We were like two animals stalking each other. I picked up the telephone and called room service.

  Helen Toledo sank back in her chair. “Nice music,” she commented. She smoked a king-size cigarette, taken from a garish, enameled cigarette case. She crossed her legs with deliberate carelessness. “It’s been a warm day,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said. “How’s your friend, Al Yekiti?”

  “How did you know Al’s a friend of mine?”

  “Simple. We asked Al. He told us.”

  “Ah,” she said, staring at me, her face perplexed. She blew smoke from her mouth. “Al’s all right. He’s a big ox and he ain’t too smart, but—” She stopped suddenly and looked over at the desk, seeing the pencil and a sheet of hotel stationery. “You writing letters?” she asked coyly.

  “I’m finished,” I said. “What were you saying about Al?”

  “Nothing. Who wants to talk about Al? You look more of a sport to me. You come to town much?”

  “Often enough.”

  “They put you with the detectives, huh? You must be working on something big and special.”

  “Everything is special, Helen,” I said.

  There was a knock at the door and I went over and opened it. The bellman brought in a tray of drinks. I tipped him, paid the check and sent him away.

  She snuffed out her cigarette in the ash tray. She picked up her glass and said, “Here’s luck.”

  She drank. She put her glass down on the table beside her. “You didn’t touch yours,” she said.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “I enjoy watching somebody else.”

  “You haven’t been a cop long, have you?”

  “Not long.”

  “You look like a sharp kid,” she said. “Too sharp to be a cop.” She sipped on her drink. I waited for her to go on.

  She said, “A real sharp kid can make a buck in this town.”

  “Yes,” I said. “How sharp does he have to be?”

  “He’s got to know his way around.” Her eyelids came down slowly and up again. “A trooper’s pay don’t go far these days. A guy’s got to be interested enough to make a dollar on the outside. He wouldn’t be hurting nobody, either. But, as I say, a guy’s really got to be interested.”

  I picked up my glass and put it down again without drinking.

  “I’m just making conversation, get me?” she said. “But if I find me the right guy, we could make some money together. It would be a safe, sure operation, fast and foolproof. In and out. One job and break clean.”

  “You’re asking if I’m interested, Helen?”

  “I ain’t asking anybody, kid. Like I said, I’m just making small talk.”

  “Who else is in on it?”

  “You interested or curious?”

  “I might be interested. Who else is in on it?”

  “I got friends.”

  “Al Yekiti? Calvaris and Horace?”

  “I said I got friends. I didn’t say who.”

  “I’m still listening,” I said. “I haven’t walked away.”

  She smiled. Her eyes became half-lidded. “Don’t be foolish, kid. Nobody shows their cards until the pot is called. What kind of poker player are you, anyway?”

  “I might want to buy a few chips. I might want to get into the game.”

  “You’d have to show me, kid.”

  “How?”

  “We got ways. They might want to test you first, get your feet wet. But once you’re in, you’re in. You can’t turn around and walk away. Somebody else tried it.” She drew her hand across her throat in a quick gesture. “That person ain’t around any more.”

  “Manette Venus,” I said slowly.

  “Maybe,” she said. “I warned her. I told her what was going to happen to her.”

  “You knew Manette Venus was going to be killed,” I said softly.

  “I didn’t mention Manette Venus,” she said smugly. “You did.” Then she caught the expression on my face. “Say, what’s the matter with you?”

  “Manette Venus,” I said. “The house on Glen Road. Ellen Levesque walked in
to something there. Manette Venus was already tagged.”

  She jumped up, overturning her glass. The liquor splashed onto the table and the glass rolled to the rug. “Hey, look,” she said, alarmed. “I was just kidding. A joke—”

  “No,” I said. “You were in on Manette’s murder.”

  “Are you crazy?” she shouted. “Who gave you such a nutty idea? I’m getting out of this booby hatch.”

  “Where are you going, Helen?”

  “Away from you, Trooper. You got some buttons missing. I was having a little fun with you. But you’ve got a crazy imagination.”

  “We’ll go together,” I said, tightening my tie knot and slipping into my jacket. “You and I. I want you to see what a State Police barracks looks like.”

  “You’re kidding,” she said faintly, dry-mouthed. “Why, the whole thing was a big gag. Can’t you take a joke, kid?”

  “I like jokes,” I said. “I can’t stop from laughing over this one. Maybe you can make the captain laugh, too.”

  “Look, you’re not a bad guy,” she said earnestly. “From the beginning I had you pegged for a sport. I’ve been level with you.”

  “No,” I said. “You’ve lied about Manette Venus. The way you met her, everything. But tonight I was getting some of the truth. Come on, we’re wasting time.”

  “I’m not going with you to no barracks,” she said, heading for the door.

  I moved ahead of her and blocked it. “Then I’ll have to make you go, Helen. I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder.”

  “But you don’t understand,” she said brokenly. “They see me come out with you and they’ll kill me.”

  “There’s somebody waiting outside?”

  “No, no. I’m alone. Look, let me go. Give me a break.”

  “The same break you gave Manette Venus,” I said. I motioned her to the door.

  Her face was pasty and she seemed physically ill now. She went unsteadily to the door, wobbling on her platform sandals. “I’m as good as dead,” she said dully. “Just as good as dead.”

  I opened the door and looked out into the hallway. It was empty. I held the door for her. She came out and we went to the elevators. The elevator came up and the door opened. Helen Toledo was crying softly, the mascara oozing down her cheeks in black wavy lines. The elevator operator tried not to look at her.

  We came down to the lobby. We went through. I walked slightly behind her. Outside, on the sidewalk, I said, “The cruiser is at the corner.”

  She made a quick half-step as though to run. I grabbed her wrist. “It’s foolish,” I said. “Unless you’d rather ride in a Danford patrol wagon.”

  She started to walk to the corner. I was one step behind her, watching so that she would not dart away. I looked around at doorways and at standing people. Then I noticed a black sedan parked across the street. The car showed no lights. There was one man in the front seat, two in the rear. The car had a broken window held together with adhesive tape, and I knew it was Al Yekiti’s.

  “Get back,” I shouted to her. I tried to jump in front of her to mask her body with my own. But I was not nearly fast enough.

  There was a shock of flame from the sedan and six rapid shots. I scrabbled for my gun, twisting in the darkness, bringing it out from the hip holster. I ran forward, over the curb, out into the street. I fired at the sedan. Behind me I heard Helen’s high-pitched scream.

  Now I could see the German machine pistol protruding from the window of the sedan. The machine pistol flashed, burped and rattled again. I felt a hard wrenching blow hit my left arm. It spun me halfway around, numbing the entire side of my body. I lost my balance and fell down in the gutter. The gun dropped from my hand. There was a haze in front of my eyes as I fished for it. I found it. My fingers clutched the butt.

  I got to one knee, then the other. I stood up, my left arm useless and dangling, feeling a warm wetness in it, the pain throbbing through the entire length of it to my very fingertips. I tried to brush the film from my eyes. My throat was parched and arid and I wanted a drink of water very badly. I stumbled in the direction of the car. I lifted the revolver and fired once again, this time trying to squeeze off the shot with a semblance of accuracy. The black car raced its motor and roared away. It turned a corner on screaming tires.

  There was a babble of shrill voices from every direction. I heard the trilling sound of a police whistle, then the high-pitched, keening sound of a siren. I was looking for Helen Toledo.

  I found her. She was down on the sidewalk, limp and shapeless like a large, oversized rag doll, her handbag open, the contents scattered near her. Her big hat was crushed under her head. Wide-eyed whispering bystanders hovered over her. I pushed through them, my dripping arm hanging awkwardly by my side. I bent down and lifted her head. I saw the darkly spreading blot on her pink coat. The crimson smear around her mouth was not lipstick. Her eyes were open. Her mouth was open, the face fixed, rigid, immobile. I eased her head down again. A uniformed Danford cop was prodding me hard with his gun barrel. I brought out my wallet and showed the state badge. Then I stood up because Helen Toledo was dead and there was nothing left to do for her.

  My arm was beginning to pain me badly. The Danford cops were arriving, filtering through the crowd and clearing the street. A street sergeant came through, bawling orders. Police cars stopped with squealing brakes. More cops came, milling around. A uniformed lieutenant came up to me.

  “You the trooper?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. I was suddenly giddy, weak and lightheaded. I sagged into him. He held me up, peered forward and saw my bloody sleeve.

  “You’ve been hit,” he said. He ripped my coat sleeve to the shoulder. “How bad is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said vaguely. “I can’t move it.”

  He was tearing my shirt sleeve. The entire forearm was covered with blood. He took out a handkerchief and began to tie a tourniquet above the elbow. I winced.

  “We’ll get you to the hospital,” he said, waving for the street sergeant.

  “Wait a minute,” I said hoarsely. “It was three men in a black sedan. Al Yekiti and two others.” I gave him the registration number. “Call my barracks and have them get out roadblocks.”

  “Sure,” the lieutenant said. “Sure. They won’t get far.”

  CHAPTER 14

  THEY had me in a private room at the Danford General Hospital. I was sitting in a chair near the screened open window. My left arm was on a board splint, bandaged to the fingertips, and carried in a shoulder sling. I was wearing a striped cotton hospital robe. I stood up and began pacing the floor again as I had done this entire Sunday morning. I stopped at the window. Outside, on the hospital lawn, two aged patients sat in wheel chairs in the bright sun, heatedly discussing the Boston Red Sox.

  Now I heard footsteps in the hallway. I turned around. Coming into the room was my father in his wheel chair, my mother behind it, pushing. My mother released the chair and came up to me a little breathlessly. I bent to kiss her.

  “How do you feel, Ralph?” she asked worriedly. “Do you have pain?”

  “No, I’m fine, Ma,” I said. “Just a little throbbing.”

  “You look pale and thin,” my father said. “You lost some blood, didn’t you?”

  “I’m all right now,” I said. “They operated on me last night. They used a nerve block and froze the arm. It was a clean wound. The bullet tore a muscle and caused a few bone splinters. They sewed me up nicely. I’ll be leaving here tomorrow.”

  “What kind of bullet was it?” my father asked.

  “A nine-millimeter. It came from a Schmeisser machine pistol.”

  “Those hoods got clean away, didn’t they?”

  “So far, yes.”

  “You think I care about any gangsters?” my mother said. “Look at him, Walter, the boy’s as thin as a rail. They probably don’t feed him here. It’s good I brought him some of my own chicken broth and calves’ foot jelly. If I had him home, in one week I could—�
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  “Millie,” my father said softly. “I want to talk to Ralph alone. You understand—”

  Her eyes were moist. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll go speak to his doctor. Make the boy sit down in his chair.”

  She went out. My father wheeled over to the window. His face was haggard, the lines in it deeper than ever before.

  “So,” he said heavily, “it looks like I’ve caused all this. I started it. I let Ellen come to Danford.”

  “It happened,” I said. “How were you to know?”

  “I spoke to the Levesques,” he said thinly. “I offered anything. I spoke to the Commissioner at GHQ. I called the D. A. here. What could they do for me, Ralph? They said the evidence—”

  “Don’t believe all the evidence,” I said. “We’re working on it. There are some new angles—”

  He wasn’t listening to me. He said, “It was my own damn interference. I’ve been like a kid playing with tin soldiers. If I had enough sense I would have known I was through with the troops since 1939. But no. Every time you came home I made you repeat everything you did. I was trying to feed memories, that’s all.” He looked up. “Do you like this life, Ralph? I never asked you before.”

  “I like it,” I said.

  “You might have finished college and become a chemist. This wouldn’t have happened.”

  “No, I like this life, Pa,” I said. “Remember the exams I took to get in? There were twenty-three hundred applicants and only fifty vacancies. I was scared I couldn’t make it.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Because I wanted to do it,” I said. “Then when I was accepted into the training school I was scared I couldn’t make the grade. Then when I graduated, you came to the exercises in your wheel chair. You sat up on the platform with the Governor and Major Carradine and the Commissioner. Seeing you there took away any doubts I had.”

  “I guess it was a proud day for me,” he said. “I kept wiping my eyes. Maybe because when a man sits in a wheel chair all day, he thinks too much. Things are more emotional to him. He’s got no way of letting off steam by physical action. But all the time I worry if I’ve done right.”

  “You’ve done fine by me, Pa,” I said.