The Lime Pit (23 page)

"You were telling me about a party?"

"Yes. In Louisville. It was a fund-raiser of
sorts. A lot of powerful men were invited. You probably wouldn't
believe some of the names."

He mentioned two a state senator and a local
politician with a national reputation.

"It's an open secret," Leach said with a
touch of contempt in his mild voice. "That politicians go for
the rough trade. They like to be bullied, those strong men. They like
to be dominated by their women. And the more powerful they are, the
more they love it. It makes them feel powerless, for once. Gives them
a taste of mortality that they don't get in their everyday lives."

He was enjoying it, breaking what, I suppose, he
thought were my idols. A wicked smile played upon his cruel mouth. "I
could tell you stories that would make your skin crawl, about those
big, strong, red-blooded American men."

"Why don't you tell me what happened to
Preston?"

"I'm getting to it," he said with a nasty
laugh. "I just want you to pay a little for your illusions,
first. The fund-raiser was early in the evening. About twelve the
real party began. Preston never could hold his liquor. He was a lousy
drunk, sick and sick-making and, eventually, passed out by the end of
an evening. That Monday was no different. He drank and joked and
pretended to be one of the guys."

Tray laughed forlornly. "You know I think that's
all he ever really wanted.

"About two, the Jellicoes brought the girls and
boys on. Preston told me they had them dressed up and their faces
made up. They paraded them on a little band box under a reflecting
ball, with the room lights down and blue light reflections playing on
their faces. He said it was very beautiful in an eerie way, like it
was snowing a melancholy blue snow on those beautiful children. Cindy
Ann was among them. Did you ever see her?"

I shook my head.

"I did, once. She was an extraordinary thing.
Hair the color of licked red candy and skin the white of lace. Made
up with rouge spots and black eye liner and dressed in a gold
chemise, she was like some dada-esque creature. An expressionist
child. And there was a mischief in her eyes, a wildness. It was
really quite stunning. Of course, she was ignorant as mud. And sharp
with her tongue. She could curse like a sailor. But she could also be
kind and loving in a remarkably adult way. She had a certain
tolerance for weakness that was quite endearing. I just saw her that
once. At Preston's house. But I think I fell a little bit in love
with her, too. Like Preston.

"In any event, she was at the party. And she
spent some time with Preston in one of the rooms they'd set up. But
Preston got drunk and sick and someone came in and took Cindy Ann out
with him. Preston said he couldn't remember who. It was very dark and
there were all of those straight-laced types. County and state
officials out for a kinky evening. Then they started with the
Polaroids and the eight millimeters, like they always did. And some
of the children were posing in the white camera lights. Some of them
were being used and being photographed.

"Then Preston blundered into another private
room and there were movie lights inside and lots of people standing
around. He could hear someone moaning from the bed. He couldn't see
her face, but they were masturbating her with dildoes. He watched for
a while and then went out and drank some more and passed out."

"That's it?" I said. "That's all of
it?"

"Not quite. Something happened while he was out.
Something terrible. Laurie woke him up by throwing water in his face.
The room was empty when he woke and he could see some dawn light
through the drapes. Laurie poured coffee into him and told him that
he had to get out of there--that something awful had happened to one
of the girls. When he asked her what, she looked at him strangely, as
if he were playing a game with her. You see, they wanted to make him
think that he'd been involved, and he was impressionable enough to
take the hint.

"He came to me that Tuesday morning, in tears.
And I made him sober up and clean up. Then I made him tell me the
whole story, just as I'm telling it to you. I kept asking him what
had happened to the girl. And he kept saying, 'I can't remember,
Tray. I was in that room and then I was passed out and then Laurie
came along with the water.' He was very frightened. He was afraid he
might have killed the girl while he was drunk. Poor Preston. He would
repeat anything that anyone told him, and after a time, he'd forget
who had told him and think he'd made it up himself I'm telling you he
was incapable of killing another human being. He just didn't have it
in him."

"What's on the paper?" I asked him.

"A confession. I made him write up the story,
just as he told it to me. I meant it as a joke, to show him how
foolish all his fears were when he discovered the truth. But ... it
didn't work out that way."

"May I see it?"

He handed the paper to me. I read it through quickly.
The hand was childlike--a neat block-print--the hand of a penitent
little boy. It stated very simply the same story that Tray had told
me. And it was signed at the bottom, Preston LaForge.

I gave the confession back to him and he put it back
in the chiffonier.

"You know that'll never stand up as evidence,"
I told him. "It doesn't prove that Preston didn't kill Cindy
Ann."

"And chop her up and drop her in the Ohio,"
Leach said sarcastically. "And then go back to the party and
fall down drunk?"

"He could have been lying, Tray. He could have
been using you to salve his conscience."

Leach stared at me with savage contempt. "I made
him swear to me that he was telling the truth. I made him swear it on
the Bible. And I'm telling you that he didn't lie to me. I'm not an
idiot. I knew Preston well enough to figure out when he was playing
games and when he wasn't. What I told you is the truth."

I took a deep breath and stared at the black bunting
on the walls. "All right, I believe you."

"Good," he said. "Now what are we
going to do about it?"

I stood up and started pacing the carpetless floor in
front of the settee. "Someone must have convinced Preston that
he'd killed Cindy Ann. Probably because she was murdered and I was
asking embarrassing questions and they needed a patsy to take the
fall for her death."

"That's what I think, too. And I know who set
him up and who planted those disgusting pictures."

"Laurie?"

"It's her kind of fun," Tray said.

"All right. So, let's say Laurie dropped by
Preston's apartment some time before I was scheduled to arrive. She
brings the pictures with her and tells Preston he killed Cindy Ann in
a drunken rage. Would that be enough to drive him to suicide? You
knew the man. What do you say?"

"I don't think so," Leach said. "He
was impressionable, certainly. And he was easily manipulated and
impulsive. But, I don't think that mere words would have driven him
to shoot himself. She must have shown him something
terrible--something that broke his spirit. Because when he left here
on Sunday night, he was ready to cooperate with you. When he left
here, he really thought he was going to get Cindy Ann back. He was
very happy. Like a boy."

"So Laurie shows up and, instead of Cindy Ann,
she's brought something--a picture, a slide, something--that makes
Preston think he's killed Cindy Ann."

"She must be dead," Leach said.

"Seems likely, although it could have been
faked."

"Look," Leach said suddenly. "Would
you please sit down! You're driving me crazy pacing around like
that."

"Sorry." I plopped down into a creaky Queen
Anne chair and Tray's face collapsed with pain.

"That's a valuable antique!" he groaned.

I put my right hand on the armrest, dangled my left,
and tried to think of ways to prove that Cindy Ann had not been
killed by Preston LaForge. It would have been nice if I could have
asked her what had happened to her on that bleary festive night. But
how can you ask a dead girl how she died? You can't, I thought, but
it gave me an idea.

"When's the last time you did business with the
Jellicoes?" I said to Leach.

"Three weeks before that party. Over a month,
now."

"Are you still on their preferred list?" He
shrugged. "As far as I know."

I studied his old man-young man face. It was grim and
abstracted. I knew the look. I'd had it on my own face the night
before. He'd lost someone he'd loved, and he was meditating revenge.

"How badly do you want to strike back at the
Jellicoes?" I said.

"Badly enough."

"Enough to take a chance?"

"What's on your mind?"

"Give them a call. They're still in business. At
least, they were as of last night. Place an order for this evening.
Take delivery and ... well, you do what you have to do."

"That's all?"

"That's enough. Remember they're going to be
very cautious now. Especially with you, since you were so close to
LaForge."

"And where do you fit in?"

"Not in. Out." I pointed through the black
bunting to the street. "Right out there. Someone has to deliver
the child and someone has to pick him up. And when that someone picks
him up, he'll have to take him back to wherever they keep the rest of
the children."

Tray Leach's face brightened. "I see. You'll
follow him."

"That's it. If Cindy Ann is dead, there will be
other children there who knew her and who were at that party. Maybe
they know what became of her. The only problem is getting in and
getting to talk to one of them."

"That may not be easy, given the current
situation."

"Leave that to me," I said. "If I get
there, I'll get in. Your job is to make sure that the Jellicoes make
delivery. And remember, Tray. If they do get wise to us, whoever
comes tonight will be coming to kill you."
 
 

23

IT WAS almost five o'clock when I got back to the
Delores. Jo was up and sitting, Indian-style, in a patch of sunlight
on the living room floor, sorting papers into neat stacks. She had a
terry robe cinched around her and, in the sunlight, with her black
hair dishevelled and the white swell of her breast just visible
through the folds of her robe, she looked like a teenage girl
dreaming over a pile of letters.

"How old are you?" I said to her from the
door.

She looked up and squinted in the sunlight. "That's
a helluva question to ask a person. I'm twenty-eight. How old are
you?"

"Thirty-six."

"It'll never work," she said and looked
back down at the stack of papers.

"Find anything interesting?" I walked into
the kitchenette and took the bottle of Scotch and two tumblers from
the top of the refrigerator.

"You mean aside from the brass knuckles, the
blackjack, the machine gun, and the carton of grenades?"

"Did you find my pistols?" I said, walking
back into the living room.

She pointed distastefully at the desk top. A
snub-nosed .38 and a .357 magnum with a checked walnut stock and
vented barrel gleamed dully in the sun.

I poured two drinks, handed her one, and plopped down
on the couch.

"Anything new?" I said, sipping the drink.

"Hugo called."

I sighed heavily. "That's not new. When?"

"Around four." She looked up and squinted
again. "He's back in town, Harry. He wants you to come see him."

"What!" I almost spilled the drink as I
slammed it down on the table in front of me. "That stupid old
man," I said as I walked to the phone.

"He didn't sound well to me," Jo said. "I'm
worried about him, Harry. He said his head had hurt him all the way
back from Dayton."

"That's just an act," I said.

"I don't think so. He had me so worked up that I
almost called a cab and went over there myself. But I thought I'd
better wait for you."

"If this turns out to be one of his cons ..."

Jo looked at me disdainfully.

"All right. We'll take a look."

While Jo was dressing in the bedroom, I fished
through the junk on the floor and located two holsters--a shoulder
model and a quick release belt-holster made for a .38. 1 clipped the
belt holster on and glanced at the pistols. Both were relatively
clean and fully loaded. I tucked the snub-nosed Police Special at my
waist and put the heavier and more lethal magnum in the shoulder
holster. Then I stripped off my coat and gingerly worked the harness
up over my weak arm and across my back.

"Let's get going," Jo said as she walked
back into the room. When she saw me standing there with the harness
half-on, her mouth dropped open and she said, "My God."

"Can't be too careful these days," I said
with an attempt at a smile.

She wasn't having any of it.