Night-World (15 page)

“Bruce, for God’s sake—”

“We don’t talk about God in the asylum. We talk about something called the Id and the Ego and the Superego. Father, Son and the Holy Ghost, all equally invisible.” His smile was bitter. “The gospel according to Griswold. According to him there are no accidents. The mind that makes one man a murderer makes another man a victim.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“Of course not.” Bruce sighed. “I’m only trying to tell you what it’s like, tell you how he thinks. I know, because that’s how I felt myself, at first. But Griswold helped me change. The thing is, he couldn’t help
him.”

“Who?”

“The man they’re looking for. The murderer.”

“What’s his name?”

Bruce shook his head. “If you knew his name, he’d come after you. Do you want to be a victim, too?”

“I want to help you.”

“Then give me some money—let me get away before he finds me. That’s all I want.”

“Is it?”

“No.” And then he was holding her, his arms tight, his body close so that she could feel the trembling. “You’re what I want, what I’ve always wanted, I know that now. But it’s too late, after what happened I don’t blame you—”

“I love you. I always have.”

The trembling ceased. Now there was only a tautness. “You didn’t even visit me out there.”

“Griswold asked me not to. He must have told you that.”

“Yes. And I didn’t believe him.”

“I was coming to see you the other night. Griswold said you were probably ready to come home.”

“If I’d only known.” Bruce released her, stepped back.

“You didn’t?”

“Do you think I’d have gone along with Cromer if I had?”

“Cromer—?

“All right.” Bruce took a deep breath. “The man they want is Edmund Cromer. He never really talked about himself, but from what little I heard, he’s the only son of a wealthy family back in New York or New Jersey, I’m not sure which. They committed him about a year ago. In view of what’s happened, I suspect they sent him all the way out here because he might have been involved in something pretty horrible back East.”

“Did you know about his plan to escape?”

“Nobody did, except Rodell. And I don’t think Rodell realized he meant to kill anyone when he made the break. But of course Cromer must have had it all worked out. And after it started, there was no stopping.”

“How did it happen?”

“I’m not sure. I was upstairs in my room after dinner, and so were the others, all but Cromer. He’d gone down to talk to Dr. Griswold. He must have killed him first, in the electrotherapy room, then the night nurse outside. There was no noise. The first time any of us realized something had happened was when we smelled smoke from the burning papers in the fireplace.”

“Wasn’t there an attendant on duty with you upstairs?”

“That’s right—Thomas. He was playing checkers with Tony Rodell in his room. I guess that had all been arranged, just to keep him busy, because Cromer had no trouble finding him when he came in with the knife in his hand—”

Bruce broke off, frowning. “No point going into that,” he said. “Thomas was dead by the time the rest of us came running out of our rooms. The old lady, Mrs. Freeling, took one look at Thomas and keeled over. Cromer said she was dead.”

“You didn’t examine her?”

“No.” Bruce shook his head quickly. “And I didn’t try to stop Cromer either, if that’s what you’re wondering about. None of us did. Because Cromer had come upstairs carrying Dr. Griswold’s gun and he kept us covered. We had no way of knowing it wasn’t loaded—all we did know was that Cromer had committed cold-blooded murder and was perfectly capable of continuing.

“He gave us our choice. Go with him now in Griswold’s car or he’d leave us behind. And he didn’t say anything about leaving us behind alive.

“If we’d had time to think, maybe a couple of us could have gotten together and tried to jump him. But you’ve got to realize what it was like—the panic, the confusion. Edna Drexel was hysterical, Lorch was in a state of shock. Between Rodell and Cromer with his gun, I had no chance of doing anything alone. I guess all any of us could grasp was that we’d better get out of there.

“Cromer promised to take us into town. Before we drove off he gave Rodell the gun and told him to use it if anyone made a move. Then he took the freeway to Sherman Oaks. He left the car, saying he’d be back in a few minutes, and Rodell stayed behind with the gun. That’s when I made my move. I got it away from him, but while we were struggling, the others ran off. After Tony was knocked out, I found the gun was empty, but I had no way of knowing where Cromer had gone, or if he’d really come back. And perhaps, if he did, he’d have another weapon. What I wanted to do, of course, was drive off—but Cromer had taken the car keys.” Bruce’s voice dropped to a whisper. “So I ran.”

“I understand.” Karen put her hand on his arm. “But you don’t have to run anymore.”

Bruce’s smile was bleak. “Meaning you believe me?”

“Of course I do—”

“You’re not the police.”

“Bruce, you’ve got to talk to them. If you’d tell them what you told me—”

“What good would it do? I’m their number one suspect. They aren’t going to take my word for anything unless I can come up with some proof.”

“Then cooperate with them, help the police find this man Cromer. You know what he looks like, you can give them a description.”

“Sure I can.” Bruce shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean they’ll believe me.” He stared at Karen, and the bleak smile turned grim. “Maybe there is no Edmund Cromer. Maybe I made the whole thing up.”

“But you didn’t! I know—and I can prove it.”

“How?”

Quickly, Karen described her experience in the apartment and how she’d discovered the attempt to force open the bathroom window.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “They don’t know about this?”

“I didn’t want them to know. But I can tell them now. And I can show them the marks, where he tried to pry his way in.”

“They could say it was coincidence. Or that you made those marks yourself.”

“You and I know better than that.” Karen’s fingers tightened involuntarily on her husband’s arm. “Don’t you see? Somebody was trying to get at me. And he’s still on the loose. What if he decides to try again? I’ll never be safe unless you help—”

Bruce hesitated, but only for a moment. “All right. What do you want me to do?”

“This detective who’s guarding me—Tom Doyle. You’ve got to talk to him.”

“What about his partner, the one you said is in the hall outside the office?”

“He doesn’t know anything about this, neither of them do. They don’t even know I left.”

“So what do you suppose will happen if he sees you show up from nowhere with some stranger?” Bruce shook his head. “The way things are now, they’re all trigger-happy. I’m not taking that kind of chance.”

“I don’t know the man outside, but Doyle isn’t like that. You can trust him.”

“Then let, him trust me.” Bruce’s voice was strained. “If you want me to talk to Doyle, tell him to come here. And tell him to come alone.”

CHAPTER 20

“T
rust him?” Doyle said. “After the trick you just pulled on me? I don’t trust either one of you.”

Karen faced the detective in the corridor outside the washroom. “I’m sorry. It’s the only way.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m putting in a call right now. In five minutes we’ll have this building surrounded. If anybody goes up to that roof, there’ll be a full squad backstopping him. No more risks.”

“What about the risk to Bruce?” Karen fought to keep her voice steady. “Can’t you understand what he’s been through these past two days? He’s been sick, you know that. There’s no telling what he’ll do if he thinks he’s been betrayed. I gave him my word.”

“I know,” Doyle murmured. “But you said it yourself. There’s no telling what he might do under pressure.”

“There won’t be any pressure, not if you go alone. I did and he didn’t harm me. He hasn’t any weapons.” Karen’s words came quickly. “Look, he’s the only one who can tell you what really happened. He was there, he saw it. He wants to help. But you’ve got to give him a chance.”

Doyle took her arm. “Come with me.”

He led her along the hall, around the corner to the elevator bank. The man with the ginger mustache was still leaning against the wall, his newspaper tucked underneath his arm. Doyle moved towards him.

“Okay, Harry,” he said.

The man looked up.

“Harry, this is Mrs. Raymond. Mrs. Raymond, Harry Forbes.” Doyle didn’t wait for either of them to acknowledge the introduction. “Now listen to me. Something’s come up—”

Forbes listened, nodding several times.

“Right,” he said. “You’re going to the roof. I take Mrs. Raymond back to her office and keep an eye on her there.” He hesitated. “What do we do about holding the fort out in front here?”

“On your way in tell the girl at the reception desk she’s to admit nobody—and I mean just that, nobody at all, under any circumstances—until I give her the word. Anybody shows up, they’ll have to wait. Oh, and one thing more.”

Doyle left Karen’s side and approached Forbes, his voice sinking to a murmur. Again Forbes nodded. “Got it.” He walked over to Karen. “Come with me, please.”

Karen turned to glance at Doyle, but he was already punching the
UP
button beside the elevators. “Please,” she called. “Remember what I told you. He’s very upset—”

“Don’t worry.”

Karen caught the profile of his smile as the elevator door opened. He stepped into the car.

“Let’s go.” Forbes was holding the office door for her. As soon as she entered, he moved past her to Peggy at the reception desk. Showing his badge, he repeated Doyle’s instructions. Peggy nodded, then glanced up over his shoulder towards Karen. She looked as if she were going to say something, but Forbes didn’t give her a chance; taking Karen’s arm, he led her to the door of the corridor.

Once inside, he hastened with her down the hall.

“What’s your hurry?” Karen said.

“Got to place a call.”

And when they reached her cubicle around the corner, he did.

Listening, Karen felt numb realization.
He lied. He double-crossed me.

But Doyle hadn’t lied, because he hadn’t made her any promises. And it wasn’t a double-cross, just a compromise. He’d gone to the roof alone, the way she’d told him. But he’d also given Forbes instructions to phone for a squad.
No more risks.
But if so, why hadn’t he waited until the squad arrived? The answer was self-apparent; he wanted to make sure Bruce didn’t have time to get away.

Forbes turned to her now, phone in hand. “Mrs. Raymond?”

“Yes—”

“I want you to give me a description of your husband. Physical appearance, what he’s wearing.”

Of course. Just in case he
did
try to get away. Karen’s first angry impulse was to tell him to go to hell, but what good would it do? Doyle would be bringing Bruce down, anyway. Besides, she had already given a description to Sergeant Cole at the sanatorium.

So she told Forbes what he wanted to know, and he repeated it, phrase for phrase, into the mouthpiece of the phone.

“Height, six-two. Weight, one-eighty. Eyes, gray. Complexion, fair. Blue jacket, gray trousers. Blue and white striped shirt, no necktie—”

This is the way it ends,
Karen thought.
No bang, not even a whimper. They pick him up, they question him and then
—

And then what?

She’d told Bruce they’d believe him, that his statement would help them track down the murderer. But suppose they were already convinced he was guilty?

There was no answer. If Bruce was innocent, and the police thought otherwise, then she’d betrayed him. And if he really was guilty, her advice was still a betrayal. Either way, she told herself, nothing could be worse.

But she was wrong.

What happened next came very quickly.

Forbes finished his conversation on the phone. He started to turn to Karen, then glanced up past her. Karen followed his gaze to the open doorway.

There was a sudden echo of sound along the hall in the distance; an excited murmuring, the quick clatter of hurrying footsteps.

And now Ed Haskane appeared, eyes wide, mouth moving.

Forbes stared at him. “What is it?”

“You’d better come—”

“Where?”

But Haskane had already turned and started to stumble off.

Forbes rose, beckoning to Karen. Together, they moved into the hall. Haskane had already rounded the corner of the corridor when they caught up with him.

“Tell me what happened,” the detective said.

“I’ll show you.” Haskane’s reply was almost lost in the confusion of sound from beyond the far end of the hall.

“Where?”

“The window—”

The window was in the outer office, on the far wall behind Peggy’s reception desk. It was open, and Peggy stood before it in an excited group of agency employees. All of them were staring down, and when Forbes forced his way through, he and Karen stared down, too.

There was a body lying in the street below.

CHAPTER 21

F
or a moment Karen’s vision blurred. She started to sway; then felt Forbes’s grip on her arm.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Down there? No—I can’t—”

“You’re coming with me.”

She felt the pressure of his fingers as they turned and moved away from the window, and that was real. But leaving the office wasn’t real, and the descent in the elevator was a floating with everything disoriented the way it must be in free fall.

Free fall.
The body pitching from the rooftop, sprawling in the street.
Bruce
—

Traffic was halted, backed up with horns blaring. Crowds circled on the sidewalk, held against the curb by a hastily formed cordon of uniformed officers. Karen was dimly conscious of the sirens screaming in the distance, dully aware that police cars were squealing and screeching through an opening at the intersection beyond, followed by an ambulance. But none of this was real, either. The only reality was what lay spattered against the pavement, lay facedown like a broken doll, its limbs twisted at grotesque angles.