Chapter 19
In Cantor's Delicatessen, Trask continued the talk about the case with Bishop.
"Mike, I'm sure we'll get all the loose ends out later. When we get a fuller report from Penny. We couldn't talk to her very long yesterday. You saw the state she was in. The important thing is she did identify Swaller as the prowler. That's the main thing, isn't it?"
Bishop continued to chew his cigar silently.
"Tell you what, Mike," the Irishman said good-naturedly. "The Dodgers got Drysdale on the mound tomorrow. I'd like to see him cop his twentieth and watch Willie Mays clout a few. He's hit twenty homers so far. What do you say we go to the ball park?"
"Yeah, yeah," Bishop said absently. "Why not?"
Trask threw up his hands. Bishop was nuts about the Dodgers. He could talk hitting and pitching records for hours. But he completely forgot baseball when a case bugged him.
"Okay," Trask said resignedly. "Let's kick it around some more. I know when I'm licked. What else is eating you?"
"I keep thinking of the way Penny stared at Swaller the first time we asked her to check him. We thought she was giving him a careful once-over. I don't think it was that at all now. She was just thrown off balance completely. This guy wasn't just another jerk-either a stranger or even just some guy in her class. It was a guy she knew, damn it. Knew well. I could feel it in my bones. She was gawking at him because she was astonished to see him there. He was the last guy in the world she expected to see right there."
"Okay, so where do we go from there?" Trask asked.
"Penny went to the back door first when the prowler came a few days back, remember? So did Swaller now. She left the door unlocked. Swaller knew it was unlocked. He didn't even try the door. He walked in. Another thing. You ever walk into an alley like that-with several doors staring you in the face? Would you make a beeline for the right one without once taking your bearings?"
"No," Trask said pensively. "But he might have cased the joint before."
"Sure," Bishop said triumphantly. "That's what I mean. He had cased it. And the house, too. When he entered the house, he knew exactly where he was going. Like a man who's been there several times before. Like a guy who almost lives there. Do you get me? She was waiting for the guy, Al. I know it."
Trask shook his head. "I don't know, Mike," he said without conviction. "In that case, what the hell did she say he was the prowler for?"
"She also said that he wasn't a few days ago. I don't buy that crap about his disguise. Her story just doesn't convince me."
"Then why does she insist it was Swaller now?"
"Because we caught the bastard in bed with her, damn it. We caught her in a flagrant act of adultery. She was there in bed naked and ready for him. We had killed the guy. He was dead. Now it was up to her to save her reputation. She had her husband to think about now. Don't you see that? What was she going to do at a time like that? Admit she was having an affair with Swaller? Bring everything down on her own head? The easiest way out was to call the guy the prowler. It solved everything."
Sy Brendt smiled at the girl's consternation.
"I thought you'd be surprised." He lit a cigarette and puffed it a moment. "Now would you mind putting on those black lace panties again for me?" he said affably.
She put a hand to her thoat and tried to scream. No sound issued from her mouth.
"We've got plenty of time," he said in a matter-of-fact voice. "The police won't bother us. Neither will your husband. Shall we go into your bedroom?"
She stared at him speechlessly. For a long moment she tried to get words out but her terror blocked them. Finally she was able to speak hoarsely.
"Please don't kill me," she begged. "I'll do anything you want. But please don't kill me. I won't give you away. They think it was Swaller. They won't look for you."
He considered this for a moment. Then he came closer and ran his hand over her breasts. "That's right, isn't it? They do think it's Swaller. Well, we'll see. Right now I'd like to see you in those black beauties."
He marched her ahead of him into the bedroom, taking the bottle with him. Silently he regarded her as she pulled the dress over her head and undid her white brassiere and panties. "Come here," he said suddenly. "Over here."
She hesitated, frightened by the look in his eyes.
"I said come here!" His voice had a dangerous edge to it. She moved closer to him. He smacked her bare backside with a resounding slap that left the white flesh red. "That's for the upstaging you gave me all those nights at the Acme Art Center when I tried to be nice to you. Or offered to drive you home."
He bent her over his knee and applied his palm several times, spanking her with obvious gusto. "That one's for sniffing at me as if I were a bum or a wino! And that's for telling Swaller that I was the funniest thing you ever saw. And that's for telling him you knew I'd love to get into your pants, but you'd sooner do it with a gorilla. Oh, he told me all about it. He was a great boy for telling tales, Tom. Would you like me to tell you all the clinical details about your love affair?"
The girl's cries of pain stopped him.
"Careful now, we don't want the neighbors to hear, do we?" He laughed as a thought occurred to him. "You know, it just came to me. It would suit you fine if I just made love to you and took off. Wouldn't it? Everybody'd think the case was closed and your husband wouldn't know a thing. All it would cost you is a little sex. And you're used to that."
He laughed again and gave the girl on his knees a whack. "That's for being so contemptuous when I said I might be the prowler. I could see it in your eyes. Imagine a funny little jerk with a head like a billiard ball going around attacking grown women, huh?" He gave her another resounding whack. "And that's for asking Pucci to get rid of me because I was a smelly creep who gave the girls the shivers. I'll show you what a creep I am. Come here." He pulled the girl upright, crushed her in his arms and pressed his wet mouth hard against her own.
In the delicatessen, Trask shook his head doubtfully at Bishop's last remark. "You're so absolutely sure of this you're willing to accuse her of lying to us? Of committing adultery?"
"No, damn it. I'm not absolutely sure. I'm just sure enough of my doubts to want to talk to her again. If I were certain that she had lied to us, I would have called her hours ago. This thing's been eating me since we left the place."
The Irishman rubbed his waistline and sighed. "I need another beer like a hole in the head, but I'm going to have it." He waved toward the waitress. "You're taking on a big order, Mike. If you're wrong, you're making a lulu of a mistake. You'll also smash the poor kid's marriage."
"I'll tell you something else I might smash if I don't do it. I might smash her life. This guy is a psychotic, damn you. Don't you understand? If he's still floating around, he'll come back for her. He's already promised to get her."
The Irishman's face lost its bland expression. "Jesus. I never thought of that." He looked at Bishop. "Well, are you going to call her or not?"
Bishop sighed. "I guess I have to, Al. There's no other way. She's going to explode when I tell her I think she's been sleeping with her classmate. But I'd rather have her explode than see her strangled."
He rose and walked over to the cashier's counter. He dialed Penny's number slowly and waited. The phone rang several times. He was about to hang up when her voice came over the line. It was so faint he could barely make out what she was saying.
"Hello," she said in a weak voice.
"Penny. Lieutenant Bishop here. I'd like to ask you a few more questions. Can I come over?"
"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number," she replied in a neutral tone.
"Look, this is Bishop. Lieutenant Bishop."
"What number are you calling please?" she asked.
"I'm calling Hollywood 7-86-" He stopped as he realized what her words meant. "Listen, Penny," Bishop said crisply. "I think I understand what you're saying. But I want to make sure. If the prowler, the real prowler, is there, tell me this is not a Granite number. Quickly."
"This is not a Granite number," she said slowly.
"Okay, hang up and don't get him angry. We'll be right over." He hung up and bounded to the booth. "Come on," Bishop yelled. "We just got an SOS. She's got the bastard with her now!"
Brendt put his arms around Penny and squeezed as hard as he could. He was annoyed by the girl's stiffness and refusal to put up any fight. He dug his fingers into the flesh of her upper arm.
"You're hurting me," Penny said. "Please don't hurt me."
"You surprise me. I thought you like rough lovers. At least that's what Swaller told me. Nothing Pollyanna about you in the hay."
He slapped her face. "You want me not to hurt you? Don't make faces as if I smell, you bitch. Or do you still think you're too good for me?"
The naked girl began sobbing as he embraced her again and let his lips move down her throat. She groaned as his nails scratched at the flesh of her arms.
Don't scream, she told herself. Don't scream. Don't try to fight or he'll strangle you. The crazed light in his eyes made shivers run down her spine. Whatever he was doing, or thinking now-he was too far out to listen to mere words. His face resembled a hungry wolf's. She forced herself to make no move that would enrage him.
"I suppose I really ought to kill you," he said slowly. "It wouldn't surprise me if you gave me away in that phone call." He slapped her again.
"No, I didn't, I swear," she wailed. "It was a wrong number."
"Why not?" he growled. "You did last time. Every time I come, you have a little phone call, don't you? Why didn't you just hang up if it was a wrong number?"
"I don't know," she sobbed. "He asked me a question."
"Why didn't you just say wrong number and hang up? No. You had to have a whole conversation. Who were you talking to? The police? Your husband?"
"No one. I don't know who it was."
He shrugged his shoulders. "It doesn't matter. They won't get me; if that's in your stupid little head, get it out. Nobody'll get me." His eyes were amused. "If I do decide to kill you, I have a great gimmick for it," he said conversationally. "It'll look just like suicide. A really weird kind of suicide. It'll make a great story for the newspapers. In fact, I got the idea out of one."
En route to Penny's house, Bishop put out a radio call for assistance. By the time he reached her place, several cars had already pulled up silently and uniformed men were turning back anyone who entered the street. Within minutes several others had drawn up.
Police were staked out in front of and behind the house.
Bishop sprang to the curb and moved to another police vehicle. "Anything happen yet?" he asked the men in the car.
"He's sent us a couple of greeting cards through that window," a burly detective told him. "No sign of him or the girl."
Bishop's face fell. "I was hoping I could save the girl. Maybe we still can. But I don't know. These psychos!" He shook his head at Trask.
"How about tear gas, Mike?" Trask said. "That might get him out."
The Lieutenant scowled. "Where's the microphone?"
The detective handed him a microphone.
"This is Lieutenant Bishop of the Los Angeles police. We've got you completely surrounded. Come out quietly with your hands up. You and the lady. You will not be harmed. I promise you. You will not be harmed."
There was no answer. Bishop repeated his message twice slowly.
As he finished, a bullet smashed the glass and whined past the car in which he was speaking.
Bishop stared at the window. "I'm going in there. You got any vests?"
The policeman nodded. "In the trunk."
"Get one for me, Trask said.
"I'll take him alone," Bishop said. "With that big belly of yours, you're a perfect target, Irish."
"Aw, shut your face," Trask said. "It's not that big."
A moment later they corseted themselves in the bulletproof vests.
"Jesus," Trask groaned as he pulled in his stomach. "I have gotten fatter."
Bishop turned to the other men. "Clear the neighbors out of here. Don't let anyone come out of their houses. This bimbo might come out shooting when he smells the goop. Toss them in as we break in the door. Better warn them on the speaker. I don't want stray bodies on the sidewalk."
A uniformed policeman issued a warning on the loudspeaker as Bishop and Trask moved toward the back door of Penny's house.
Brendt had become suspicious at the sudden cessation of traffic sounds. He was used to the familiar bleat of the fresh fish trucks, the bread trucks, the fruit carts, and the ice cream vendors who moved through Los Angeles neighborhoods all day long. Now he heard nothing.
After a while, his nervousness growing, he left the bedroom and, pushing Penny ahead of him, went to the front window. He warned her to make no move, no outcry.
"What's all that?" he whispered to the girl. "What are all those cars doing near the corner?"
"I don't know," the girl said, frightened.
"If you signaled the police when you were on that phone, I'll kill you," he said bitterly.
He took a gun from the bag near the sofa and cocked the trigger. He crouched near the window out of sight. When he saw two policemen approaching too close to the house, panic filled him, he forgot the loudspeaker warning, and fired twice. The policemen scattered quickly. Fear flooded him as he realized the mistake he'd just made. The police had probably surrounded them by now and his shots had pinpointed him. He turned to scream at the naked, cowering girl.
"You warned them, you bitch, didn't you?"
The girl shook her head and cringed as if she expected him to rain blows on her back.
"You're lying," he screamed at her. "I was thinking of letting you go. But not after this." He moved quickly to his bag and pulled out a plastic bag with drawstrings. He pulled the drawstrings and tightened the mouth of the bag. He giggled as he came closer. There was a tense look in his eyes. "Now we'll see how you look with this on."
"No," she screamed. "No. Don't kill me. Please don't kill me. I won't say anything. I won't do anything. I'll tell them anything you want."
"No!" he shouted. "Put this on."
"Please don't kill me," she pleaded.
"Why not?" he yelled. "Haven't you just killed me? Didn't you just call the police? I wanted to be nice to you. I was going to let you live. All I wanted was to make love to you. Why did you have to tell them? Was I hurting you so badly? I was just doing what your husband does all the time. Or Tom Swaller. Why did you have to betray me?"
Suddenly his face hardened. "I know why. Because you thought I was a funny, bald-headed jerk. Somebody you could laugh at. Somebody who smelled. Not good enough to even spit on. That's what you all thought. You smug, arrogant bitches. Jumping into bed with anyone who would ask you. Anyone but me."
He raised the plastic bag over her head. The terrified girl ran to the other side of the room. As he followed, she sprinted down the corridor, heedless of his gun. He raced after her and seized her arm as she reached for the bathroom door.
"Not this time, Penny," he said grimly. Grabbing her waist with one hand, he hoisted the bag over her head again. She screamed as he tried desperately to pull the bag down. He threw her down on the bed and pummeled her with his fists.
Suddenly the windowpane shattered and something hit the floor with a thud. The room began to fill with a pungent cloud of gas that made them gasp and choke and their eyes smart.
"You bitch!" Brendt screamed in a rage as he fought to breathe. He pulled the girl back away from the mushrooming cloud of gas. As a new thought struck him, he began to laugh hysterically. "Put this on, Penny. It's your gas mask," he told her.
She fought to get away from him but his grip was too strong.
"Don't fight it, baby," he said in a quiet voice that chilled her. "You've got to put your mask on. You can't go on breathing this stuff. It'll kill you. Put it on!"
The room was now becoming so flooded with gas that they could barely breathe. Gasping and coughing, Brendt held the girl securely while he forced the plastic bag over her head. He drew the string taut and began to tie them as another volley of gas shells came through the window. He was startled for a second and turned to look. The girl broke away from his grip and vanished in the dense, swirling fog.
"Come back, Penny!" Brendt screamed as he groped for her through the thick smoke. "Come back and put on your gas mask." He began to cough and retch loudly as he tried blindly to find the girl.
At the same moment, Bishop and Trask smashed the doors in and entered, followed by several officers. Holding handkerchiefs to their noses, they moved quickly through the gas-filled house. As they entered the bedroom, they could see the girl's legs sticking out from under the bed.
Bishop drew the girl out, put a blanket around her and told a uniformed man to take her out to the street. He looked for the prowler. He was not in the room. He pulled open the closet door. It was empty.
He tried the door of the bathroom. It was locked. "Come out of there!" he shouted. "We've got you surrounded. You can't get away. Open the door and toss out your gun."
There was no answer from the bathroom.
"I'll give you a count of ten," Bishop said. "Then we'll shoot the lock on the door and we'll come in shooting. Take your choice. We're not fooling." As the detectives pulled open the windows, he counted slowly to ten. There was still no answer. "Okay, we're coming in. This is your last chance. Come out now with your hands up or we come in shooting. What's your answer?"
The answer was a shot inside the bathroom. No bullet came through the door.
Bishop stared at the men around him and nodded. Someone behind him fired at the lock on the door. A few seconds later, they threw it open. "Wait, I'd better go in first," Bishop said. He could have fired at the ceiling."
Cautiously, sweating in his bulletproof vest, he entered the bathroom. It was empty. Slowly he opened the door of the shower stall. Sy Brendt lay slumped on the tile floor, his gun beside him. He had shot himself in the chest, but he was still alive. The toupee had fallen to the floor and his naked scalp trickled drops escaping from the showerhead. "I thought it might be you," Bishop said softly.
The actor stared at him. A glaze had come over his eyes. "Please make sure they feed my pets," he said. "Only rats. That's all Hamlet and Lollobrigida eat. They're the only things alive that ever gave a damn about me."
A moment later he was dead.
Bishop turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Trask. He stood up.
"The girl's okay, Mike. She was all right as soon as they took her out into the fresh air."
Lieutenant Bishop shook his head, took off his hat and wiped his brow with his hander-chief. He moved closer to the window. "What a town! Los Angeles. Even the murders out here come out like B-movies. All these phony complications. Disguises, plastic bags, all that crap. Where else could it happen but Hollywood? Next week, Fu Manchu."
He examined the body for a moment and then went in to see how Penny was. When he came back, Trask was putting down the phone.
"Come on over to the house tonight, Al. Helen always celebrates the end of a case with a twenty-dollar meal: chicken paprika, Hungarian chocolate cheese cake, and champagne."
Trask flushed deeply. "I'd like to, Mike, but I just offered to take Sally Rosson to dinner. She's still a little shaken."
Bishop eyed him carefully. "Bring her over, Al. If she's going to be a cop's wife, she might as well learn how to cook."