A Song In The Dark (26 page)

“I'll be by tomorrow, then,” he said.

“Come just after opening, and I'll get you there.”

“Why not earlier?”

“Because it's what the doctor ordered.” That lie came easy.

Kroun picked his hat up along with Mitchell's gun and walked out. It was only after he'd gone that I realized he'd made no comment at all about the Caine murders, and the papers were still on the desk, big as life with headlines and pictures. I thought Kroun had come over in the first place to talk about them. Mitchell's behavior could have knocked that out of his head, seeing's how it was closer to home. But Kroun might have turned up to see my reaction to Mitchell's threat and Hoyle's shooting.

Damn it all, I should have tried hypnosis no matter what it did to me. Too late now.

Lady Crymsyn's second show was nearly over by the time I worked up enough spirit to leave the office. I was drawn out by the sound of Bobbi's glad voice. She was back onstage, confidence firmly restored along with her smile as she belted her closing song. She was amazing. Not one sign of what she'd gone through showed. It was as though it had never happened, and that was unsettling.

I watched from the entry, just out of sight from the patrons in the main room, not wanting to distract her. The damage was covered up, I thought, and covered very well, but still there under the surface. Escott would say to be patient and let time do the healing, but I'd hurt her and would continue to hurt her. No way out of that.

Some small commotion in the lobby got my attention for a moment. By now the front entry was closed to new customers, but someone wanted in, banging on the door. I heard Escott's muffled voice and the doorman's response. I went back down the passage in time to see Escott hurry across the lobby toward the stairs, his arm around a huddled-over female in a too-large coat.

The female was Evie Montana.

E
VEN
after all this time, when I should have been used to it, Escott still had the ability to make my jaw drop. How he could have left with four of Gordy's goons and returned with Betty Boop I could not imagine.

He glanced over his shoulder as I dogged him to the office. “Oh, good,” was all he said, and continued on. Evie wore her dancing shoes and spangled stockings from last night's show. Her long overcoat seemed several sizes too big until I realized it was a man's coat. Not only that, it was a tan-colored vicuna, and had belonged to Alan Caine.

Jeez, what now?

Escott guided her to the couch, made her sit, then went to the liquor cabinet, poured her something, and made her drink. I kicked the office door shut and stood in front of it.

“What gives?” I asked.

“She said she saw the murder.”

“I didn't see! I
heard
it!” she choked out, then fell into tears.

I'd had enough of those for one night and left Escott to deal with the deluge. My only help was to go to the washroom across the hall and bring back a roll of toilet paper. She traded her drink for the roll and began pulling off yards at a time, blowing her nose between bouts of howling.

It took a while before she settled down enough to answer questions. Escott filled in things up to a point. Evie left the Nightcrawler Club in a hurry, rented a flop someplace, and hid there, trying to think what to do. Eventually she remembered Escott had been a nice man. She'd been hanging around outside Lady Crymsyn for hours hoping to spot him. When he'd returned from driving the muscle to the doctor's, she made her move.

“Poor child's half-frozen,” he added. “I doubt she's had anything to eat, either.”

“We'll get her an eight-course dinner with music if she'll just tell what happened.”

Evie did more carrying on, but I figured out she was enjoying the attention and barked her name, loudly. That hauled her up short.

“What?” she asked, sounding hurt.

“You tell us. What did you see?”

“I didn't
see
. I
heard.
”

“Okay, what did you hear?”

It came tumbling out almost too fast to follow. She'd gone with Alan Caine to his dressing room as she usually did between shows. They liked to spend time together . . . talking. They were shy about people knowing anything, though, so when someone knocked at the door, Caine bundled Evie into the closet. That always made her giggle, but
she was real quiet when he called his visitor in. Caine pretended to be alone; it was their secret.

Caine said, “Hello, you. Come back for more? I think I can—”

Then he stopped talking and made a funny sound. Then there were some vague, thrashing noises. None went on for long, but they were odd. Evie couldn't see any of it since the closet was fast shut, and she knew how mad Caine would be if she left before he said so.

The dressing-room door opened and closed, so it was plain that the visitor was gone. Caine didn't call to her, though. Finally, after a long, long time, maybe a couple minutes, she ventured to peek out.

She didn't like what she saw. Nearly fainted from it. Survival instinct overcame her fond feelings for Caine, and she knew she'd have to leave and quick. Not knowing who had done the deed, she could trust no one. She didn't dare go back for her own coat, and lit out wearing Caine's instead, using the stage door and running as fast as she could in her dancing heels.

“Did you see anything in the alley?” I asked. “Anyone?”

“No.”

“What about Jewel Caine?”

Evie seized on the name. “That
witch!
She did it. I know she did!”

“She didn't,” I said.

“You don't
know
her! She
hates
him.”

“She didn't do it.”

“She
did!
I'll make her tell!”

“Fine, we'll go talk to her. Where does she live?”

“I don't know. You go do that, call the cops, I don't care, I just wanna get out of town and go home!”

Unless Evie was a remarkable natural actress, she truly was ignorant about Jewel. Escott signed to me to step into the hall for a conference.

“There's only one way to remove all doubt here,” he said. “Will the drink she had unduly interfere with your work? I wasn't thinking when I gave that to her.”

I quelled a sudden flare of nausea. “I . . . uh . . . I can't.”

“What?”

“You heard. No hypnosis.” Damnation. I'd hoped to somehow avoid having to say anything about this to him.

“Why ever not?”

I worked very hard not to yell. “Because I just can't. It hurts.”

He paused, at a loss. “But . . . it's always hurt you to a greater or lesser degree.”

“Not like this. Something's changed, gone wrong. I think if I tried again . . . it could kill me. The last time I tried, I thought my head would explode.”

“You're serious.” He seemed flabbergasted.

“Yeah, and it keeps getting
worse
. Maybe building up to—I don't know. But I don't dare try. It might even damage Evie.” I was more worried about damaging myself, though. “I'm deadly serious, Charles. I can't help you.”

“Well,” he finally said. “That is a bundle of news. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.” It got quiet, and I thought he might ask more questions than I wanted to hear, but he held off. I motioned toward the office. “What d'ya want to do with her?”

“Keep her out of sight, for one thing. Here should be safe enough until I can arrange for other digs. We can get her out before dawn.”

“Why hide her if the killer doesn't know she was in the room?”

“Because you have half the city looking for whoever took that vicuna coat. The killer knows Evie's the only other person besides himself who had any close dealings with Caine. Even Ruzzo might work it out. She could be murdered for no more reason than that.”

“Okay. But we get her safe, then what? I may personally think it was Hoyle, but there's no guarantee he's going to be found. And if I turn out to be wrong, then who knows if we'll ever find out who did it?”

“According to you all we need do is check the hands of anyone involved and look for scratches. Admittedly it's not too practical, and time will certainly heal the damage, but if—”

“I know. I've got Strome and Derner checking that angle. Everyone who went out the Nightcrawler's doors last night had to show their hands. They didn't know why, but it cleared them. I managed to keep from tipping Kroun off about that detail just in case his boy Mitchell was the one. He's missing, but he can be more missing if Kroun arranges it.”

“Did he ever come in tonight?”

“Oh, yeah.” I told about the deal I had with Kroun. “Damn, if I hadn't been wound so tight about what he did to Bobbi I could have had a look at Mitchell's hands then. Might have avoided some friction. Kroun's real touchy about his territory. If Mitchell pulled that hit on his own, I think Kroun might send him over, but I can't be sure. He could just as well send him back to New York.”

“It would be a mistake on Kroun's part to keep a viper so close.”

“People get stupid.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I'm hungry!” Evie wailed.

“Oh, my God.” He didn't quite roll his eyes. “There are
few things more inconvenient than a witness who's not seen anything.”

Actually I could think of worse stuff, but volunteered to remedy the food situation if he'd baby-sit.

“Only if I may avail myself of your alcoholic stores.”

“Avail away.”

Downstairs I gave the doorman five bucks and asked him to run over to an all-night diner that everyone usually went to after work. I told him to bring back a half dozen sandwiches, a dozen donuts, some milk, and he could keep the change. His eyes popped at the windfall, and he hurried off.

Not inclined to hear more of Evie's tiny little voice, I filled in for him as customers finished their last drinks and sauntered out.

In the main room the band began “Goodnight, Sweetheart,” and the trickle became an exodus. Too many of the regulars wanted to stop and chat with the friendly owner, and there wasn't anything to do but get through it until they said their piece and left. I used to enjoy that kind of stuff.

Going to the lighting panel, I switched off the outside sign and the canopy light. Lady Crymsyn was officially closed.

The main room was empty of customers, the band breaking up and packing away their instruments. The waiters were yanking tablecloths and flipping chairs onto the tables, in a hurry to leave. Stale cigarette smoke hung thick in the air along with the pungent cleaner stink. The bartender had already divided up the tips for them and handed me the till and clipboard. The liquor was locked away and the last glass wiped clean and stored. I wished a general good night to all.

Wilton was closed out; I collected his till and clipboard and carried them upstairs, putting them on the desk over the papers. Escott sat on the couch next to Evie, patting her hand in what I hoped was a big-brotherly way.

“I sent out for food. Should be here soon,” I said.

“Excellent. Evie's remembered something more.”

I waited. So did he. She looked bewildered.

“The smell?” he prompted.

“Oh!” She seemed surprised. “Cigarettes. He smoked. Alan doesn't smoke, says it's bad for his voice. Whoever was there, it was all over his clothes.”

“It was a man? I thought you were after Jewel for this. She smokes.”

“She coulda
made
a man do it for her. It was a man. There was sweat, too.”

“Sweat?”

“I smelled sweat, and it was a man's sweat.”

“Don't women sweat?”

“Not the same. The smell's different.”

“Uh-huh.”

Escott patted her hand again. “He's just getting used to the idea. Jack, I'm inclined to trust her senses on this one.”

I read between the lines. Evie wasn't an intellectual giant, but knew how to survive and get on in the world. Her edge was more to do with intuition than anything else. Some part of that would be geared to knowing the difference between male and female sweat. “Okay.”

“Am I gonna stay here?” she asked.

“For a few hours,” Escott said. “You may nap right here on this nice comfy couch if you like. We'll watch over you.” He sounded like he was addressing a ten-year-old, and Evie didn't seem to mind.

I was glad he limited it to a few hours. When it got past
dawn, I would be hard to explain. Sure I had a bolt-hole under the tiers of seating, lockable and light-proofed, but I liked the couch for myself, dammit.

The doorman brought his delivery upstairs. I had the till money counted, ledgers updated, and everything sealed in the safe, so the desk was cleared for a feast.

“I can't eat all that!” Evie declared, eyes big.

No, but she'd likely pack away at least half of it. I knew dancers. “Charles will help you, won't you, Charles?” It was a long-running battle for me to make sure he ate if not well, then at least at regular intervals. He said he would be delighted to join her for dinner. I told him I needed to take Bobbi home and could I borrow his car?

“Of course,” he said, handing over the keys to his Nash.

“What about a hiding place for Evie?”

“You've a phone and a phone book. I'll get on very well indeed finding something.”

She cocked her head. “You're English, aren't you, just like in England?”

I had a moment of déjà vu. She'd said exactly the same thing in the same way the other night. Escott obviously recalled it, too, and shot me a thin smile. It was going to be a long night for him.

Wilton and the hatcheck girl left together. Usually he or the doorman would walk her to the El. Coat and hat on, I made a sweep through the main room. All was quiet, the bartender and waiters having departed by the backstage exit. I yelled down into the basement, rousting out a lagging horn player before dousing the light and locking that door.

All the dressing rooms but number three were closed and dark. I hesitated before knocking, unsure of my reception. Until that night Bobbi and I had never had any real fight.
Not that that'd been a fight. It was more that I'd let her down in a big way and couldn't make it up to her.

But I still had to take her home. I tapped softly.

Bobbi welcomed me in, nearly finished with her change to ordinary clothes. She greeted me a little too brightly, acting as if that all was well again between us. It was, so far as the business with Mitchell was concerned, but not the business with me.

“Are my seams straight?” she asked. She twisted around, trying to check them in a long mirror, the skirt of her dress raised high.

“Uhh—they look Jim Dandy to me.”

“Yes, but are they straight?”

“I could get a ruler to make sure.”

“You men . . .”

“Oh? You ask other guys for help with your stockings?”

“All the time.”

The banter was there, but with an artificial note to it. I thought I should talk to her about things, but this just wasn't the time. “We're closed up, but Charles is staying on for a while. We've got a case going. I'll take you home, then have to come back here.”

“What case?”

“It's to do with the Caine murders.”

“I saw the papers. Poor Jewel. Are the stories true?”

“They're totally wrong in a big way. It's murder-murder, not murder-suicide.”

“Does it have to do with Gordy?”

“I don't think so, but with Alan Caine having been employed at the Nightcrawler, I have to be around to keep the boat from rocking. That's why I had to leave earlier and . . . and I'm sorry about that.”

“Okay.” She looked like she might have more to say, but
turned to straighten stuff on her dressing table. There seemed to be a lot of unsaids growing between us.