The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [176]
I threw the ball from the scrimmage line before the opposition could break through with any bright remarks. “Rudolph York is dead. Somebody parted his hair with a cleaver up in Miss Grange’s apartment.”
I waited.
Martha gasped. Her husband’s eyes nearly popped out. Junior and Rhoda looked at each other. Arthur choked on his orange juice and William dropped his cigarette. Behind me Alice said, “Tsk, tsk.”
The silence was like an explosion, but before the echo died away Martha Ghent recovered enough to say coldly, “And where was Miss Grange?”
I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” I laid it on the table then. “It’s quite possible that she had nothing to do with it. Could be that someone here did the slaughtering. Before long the police are going to pay us a little visit. It’s kind of late to start fixing up an alibi, but if you haven’t any, you’d better think of one, fast.”
While they swallowed that I turned on my heel and went out to the kitchen. Roxy had the coffee on a tray and I lifted a cup and carried it into Billy’s room. He woke up as soon as I turned the knob.
“Hi, Mike.” He looked at the clock. “What’re you doing up?”
“I haven’t been to bed yet. York’s dead.”
“What!”
“Last night. Got it with a cleaver.”
“Good night! What happens now?”
“The usual routine for a while, I guess. Listen, were you in the sack all this time?”
“Hell, yes. Wait a minute, Mike, you . . .”
“Can you prove it? I mean did anyone see you there?”
“No. I’ve been alone. You don’t think . . .”
“Quit worrying, Billy. Dilwick will be on this case and he’s liable to have it in for you. That skunk will get back at you if he can’t at me. He’s got what little law there is in this town on his side now. What I want to do is establish some way you can prove you were here. Think of any?”
He put his finger to his mouth. “Yeah, I might at that. Twice last night I thought I heard a car go out.”
“That’d be York then me.”
“Right after the first car, someone came downstairs. I heard ’em inside, then there was some funny sound like somebody coughing real softly, then it died out. I couldn’t figure out what it was.”
“That might do it if we can find out who came down. Just forget all about it until you’re asked, understand?”
“Sure, Mike. Geez, why did this have to happen? I’ll be out on my ear now.” His head dropped into his hands. “What’ll I do?”
“We’ll think of something. If you feel okay you’d better get dressed. York’s car is still downtown, and when the cops get done with it you’ll have to drive it back.”
I handed him the coffee and he drank it gratefully. When he finished I took it away and went into the kitchen. Harvey was there drying his eyes on a handkerchief. He saw me and sniffed, “It’s terrible, sir. Miss Malcom just told me. Who could have done such a thing?”
“I don’t know, Harvey. Whoever it was will pay for it. Look, I’m going to climb into bed. When the police come, get me up, will you?”
“Of course, sir. Will you eat first?”
“No thanks, later.”
I skirted the living room and pushed myself up the stairs. The old legs were tired out. The bedclothes were where I had thrown them, in a heap at the foot of the bed. I didn’t even bother to take off my shoes. When I put my head down I didn’t care if the house burned to the ground as long as nobody awakened me.
The police came and went. Their voices came to me through the veil of sleep, only partially coherent. Voices of insistence, voices of protest and indignation. A woman’s voice raised in anger and a meeker man’s voice supporting it. Nobody seemed to care whether I was there or not, so I let the veil swirl into a gray shroud that shut off all sounds and thoughts.
It was the music that woke me. A terrible storm of music that reverberated through the house like a hurricane, shrieking in