Chapter 16
IT was nearly noon before I awoke Monday. When I saw what time it was, I jumped out of bed, swearing, and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom. A few minutes later I was dressed.
Outside, I found the weather clear and cold. The wind whipped around the corners of the building, slamming me in the face, and I decided that Judith Call had gotten more than slightly chilly when she'd gone out the night before without a coat. But, then, she'd had my twenty dollars and this would have supplied her with more than enough with which to catch a cab, or rent a room, or, for that matter, to have returned to her home in New Rockford. On the other hand, it was quite possible that she had gone back to the brownstone on Tenth Avenue, in which case I would be forced to move very quickly and carefully.
While I waited for my eggs in the restaurant I phoned Dr. Call. But, from the way he spoke, I knew that she had not arrived at home. I assured him, before I hung up, that I was doing everything in my power to break the ring which held his daughter. I did not, of course, mention that I had seen her, since I felt that this would only confuse the issue and could be of little solace to him. He pleaded with me for prompt action, saying that he would turn to the police if he continued to lose confidence in me.
"Don't do anything until the end of the week," I cautioned him. "You'll have some definite news from me by that time."
"I hope so, Mr. Morgan."
As soon as I had finished my breakfast, I took a long, unsteady breath and dialed the number at Eudora Channing's house. If anything had gone wrong, if they had been suspicious of Mary or if Judith's disappearance had been at all unusual, it seemed to me that she wouldn't hesitate to tell me about it. There was no reason why she shouldn't. If she felt I was out of line in any respect she could threaten me with the photos that had been taken at the brownstone.
"Oh, Bill, darling!" she breathed when she found out who it was. "I've been waiting for your ring."
"Sorry, but I just got up."
Her laugh was low, intimate.
"Big night Saturday night?"
"You ought to know," I said cheerfully. "I couldn't keep up with you."
"Bill, listen." Her voice was business-like now, short and clipped. "Miller liked you, I think. And so did the others. But this is a producing business, Bill. We have to have-you know-stock. You get ten percent of what your girls do, no matter what. But we have to have a fresh supply. They become old hat to the customers and, not only that, they disappear. We lost one the other night, the girl who made the tape."
For the first time since the party I began to feel secure. Apparently the incidents had been accepted as a matter of course. Nobody cared. Only human lives were involved. And what did that mean when there were so many others who could be used for the same purpose?
"I'm going out of town for a few days," I told her. "To get the girl I spoke about. But I don't want her on my hands after I return to the city. How would Friday night be, at your place?"
"Say, at eight?"
"Yes, eight would be good."
There was a long silence during which I visualized the look of anticipation in Eudora Channing's eyes as she contemplated the fun they would be able to have with a real live innocent. It was almost enough to make me puke.
"A thing like that is worth a fortune," she breathed. "Really, Bill, it is."
"I know," I agreed. "Why else would I spend all week running her down?"
She told me it made her unhappy to think that I would be gone for so long. I don't know whether she was lying or not. But I had made up my mind that I wouldn't touch her again even if it meant my life. I was glad when she finally blew a noisy kiss into my ear and I was able to hang up.
Another dime connected me with the offices of Federson and Federson. Lucy Miller said she was delighted that I had phoned her. She consented, readily, to my suggestion that we meet at a nearby bar and discuss her future. She told me that she would get there shortly after five but that she would wait for me if I was late.
City Hospital is in the north end of the city and by the time I reached there, riding the subway, it was almost two o'clock. After several unsuccessful attempts, I eventually learned the floor upon which Diana Sanderson was being held and, somewhat later, I was ushered into the office of the consulting psychiatrist.
"Dr. Frank," he said, rising from behind his desk and extending his hand. "May I assist you?"
I told him who I was but, naturally, it meant absolutely nothing to him. I said that I was interested in Diana Sanderson and that I wished to talk to him about her.
Dr. Frank was an extremely restless individual, very tall and thin, and when he spoke it seemed to be with a great deal of effort. He asked me if I was a friend and I told him I was. After he had confirmed this through a series of intercom communications, he became more friendly and talkative.
"I talked with the girl this morning," he said. "She seems perfectly normal, nothing out of the ordinary." He smiled, obviously considering what he had just told me. "Oh, I grant you that normal people seldom run around setting fire to their places of employment, but-well, as I say, I think she is all right. I believe she was compelled to do what she did for some desperate reason but, so far, she has been unwilling to tell us about it. Perhaps she will. I don't know. I'll have to talk with her again."
I asked him if it were possible for me to see her for a few moments but he said this would be a violation of the rules since she was confined for having committed a crime.
"Would you give her a message for me?"
"I might. It depends on what it is."
"Just tell her Bill Morgan said for her not to worry. Tell her everything's going to be all right."
"It sounds a little ridiculous in view of what she has done," Dr. Frank observed. "But I see no harm in it."
I thanked him and left the hospital.
Although I am not the kind of a man who is inclined to drink to excess I felt in need of several quick ones as soon as I entered the dimly lit bar and sat down to wait for Lucy Miller. Head shrinkers, such as the doctor I had met at City Hospital, will tell you that people drink for a variety of reasons. I can't tell you just why I drank so much that afternoon any more than I can explain why the stuff didn't make me drunk. I just know that I needed it and that the bartender seemed surprised that I didn't fall off the bar stool.
"Oh, Mr. Gordon! How are you?"
Lucy Miller sat down beside me.
"Hi," I said. "Drink?"
"Just a teeny one. Mother phoned the office a few minutes ago. We're having company for dinner and I have to run."
I ordered a martini, dry, for the girl and told the bartender to make it a single on the rye.
It was easy to set up a Friday-night appointment. Her face was all flushed, her eyes sparkling, and I guess if I'd told her to go out and model bras in the middle of the street she'd have made a try at it. I explained that I was embarking upon a new concept in modeling, that of having my girls show expensive dresses and coats in the privacy of the customer's home rather than in a showroom. Her first job, I told her, would be at a private estate a short distance from the city and I said that I would drive her out there.
"It sounds fascinating, Mr. Gordon." She finished her drink. "And thank you so very much!"
I suggested stopping at her home to pick her up but she said that was no good. She didn't want her mother or father to know about this new work until she got ready to tell them.
"I'll meet you here," she said. "I'll tell them I'm staying down to shop with a friend. They won't think anything about it because I often do that." She slid off the stool and smiled up at me. Warm fingers touched my hand and moved away. "But they'll be surprised when they find out, won't they?"
"Yes," I agreed, watching her go. "They sure will."
I pushed my glass across the bar and waved for another drink. Her old man would be furious. Where, I wondered, would the whole thing end?
I sat there for a long time, drinking and wrestling with my conscience. I could "go to the police, appeal to the top brass in the department but, if I did that, what did I have to offer? Those in the syndicate could go underground at a moment's notice and, even if they didn't, how did I know that Miller's influence didn't go all the way to the top? Forgetting about the local police, there was always the FRI but, according to the law, they could not investigate unless federal statutes had been violated. I felt, without a doubt, that such violations existed but I could not prove it
"Where you putting it all?" the bartender wanted to know, refilling my glass.
"In my gut," I told him.
He left me alone after that and I went back to drinking. Sure, I could try the authorities but I could see little future in it. If I went to them and told them the truth they might even lock me up for procuring which, in a sense, was what I had accomplished when I had hired Mary Sharpe. The glaring truth about what I had done hit me suddenly. Hell, if I kept this up, I'd end up as rotten as the rest of them.
I left the bar and walked aimlessly through the darkness, trying to think, attempting to rationalize my situation. Reluctantly, I acknowledged that I had gone down the sewer a number of. feet since my first visit to New Rockford.
It was still early in the evening and I had no urge to return to the dark and dreary room which I occupied on the South Side. I guess you could say that I was ill, not from what I had been drinking, but sick of all the things I had seen and felt. And sick with fear. I'm not denying it.
I drank a lot more that night. I kept thinking of Sandy, remembering how wonderful it had been with us, but whenever she seemed close, so close that I could almost touch her, I found the face of the minister's daughter there instead. And I saw other faces, too-the twisted, anguished faces of those who lived in the twilight world. Some of these were the faces of clean young girls, fresh out of our schools and our colleges, their eyes dulled by an inner misery as they realized, much too late, that the best part of their lives had been ruined. But some of the faces smiled-the faces of the Millers and the Eudora Channings and all the others like them. They smiled because there was nothing else left for them to do. Tears or regrets were human luxuries which they could no longer afford. "Hey, bud! You sick?"
The bartender's face was an indistinguishable globule of white before my eyes. "Yeah. I guess."
"So long, bud."
I told him something, I'm not sure just what, and staggered out into the street. A cab slid alongside the curb and I got into it, falling across the back seat. The driver cursed, said something about hating to pick up drunks, and asked where I lived. After what seemed to be a long time I remembered the address on Arlington Square. The cab began to roll down the street.
I'm not at all sure just how I got up to my room. Perhaps I paid the driver to help me but, if I did, I don't remember having done so. All I know is that I leaned against the door, trying to unlock it, when the thing opened up suddenly and I fell inside.
"My God," Elsa Lang whispered, bending over me as I lay there on the floor. "Where have you been?"
I managed to sit up without assistance and grinned, I suppose, somewhat foolishly.
"Celebrating," I said. "It's the turn of the century."
The cold air and the cab ride had helped sober me some and the fall to the floor jarred me awake. I could smell her perfume and see the way she had her blonde hair pushed back in sort of a bun. She wore a pair of black slacks, rather tight, and her red sweater looked as though it might be two sizes too small.
I rolled over and got hold of the edge of the bed. I think I got up on it by myself but it may be that she assisted me. I don't know.
"I want to help you," Elsa said. "You have to get a good night's sleep and then we have to figure out what to do with Judith. She's at my place."
"She's at your place," I repeated drunkenly. I sighed. "Well, that's fine."
I pawed at my head, throwing my hat aside.
"Not bad," she observed, kissing me lightly on the cheek. "But I believe I liked the old Bill a whole lot better. What made you change your face?"
I didn't know why she was there in the room with me, or what her motives were, but I was much too tired to defend myself. I lay there in an alcoholic stupor while she stripped the clothes from my body. It wasn't until after she'd turned out the light that some of the fog in my mind began to lift.
"I've missed you, Bill," she said.
Soft, wet lips touched my mouth and I wondered how she could be enthusiastic about kissing a man who had been drinking so much.
"I'll help you, Bill," she promised. "In any way I can. Don't fight me. I want it this way, Bill."
She stayed with me all that night.