Bring Back Her Body Page 4

  When Lisa got around to answering his question, she said, “I’m what you might call the King’s Costumer. My shop is in the same building as Toby’s so-called Art Gallery. I always furnish the costumes for his parties.”

  “What’s it to be tonight,” Cain asked, “nymphs and satyrs?”

  “He’s done that one to death,” she said. “Tonight it’s chain mail and helmets.”

  Cain turned his deep-set eyes on her. “Chain mail?”

  “For the ladies, yes. It isn’t real, of course. Just a kind of fiber stuff. I think the idea is they’re supposed to make it tougher for the men to get at the women — if they catch them. I imagine it’s going to be one of Toby’s ‘chase’ parties. And the helmets supposedly keep the women from being identified.”

  “Childish,” Cain said.

  “Not the way Toby does it,” she told him. “Vicious is a better word.”

  “Is that why you go to his parties, because he’s a customer?”

  “Sure. I want to keep an eye on my costumes.”

  Cain tried a different tack. “My error back there. I didn’t realize you were married.”

  “Let’s forget Mr. Simms. I have.”

  There was another silence. Then Lisa said, “I’m not doing this for you or Honor or Paula, Cain. I’m doing it because I hate Toby Patton.” Her face lost its beauty for the moment. “And if you think he needs killing, tell me. I’ll be glad to help you.”

  • • •

  They ran inshore without lights, Lisa lying in the bow and steering Cain to the dock by her voice. When they were tied up, she put on her shoes again. Cain said, “Now what?”

  “The best bet is to go up the beach and cut inland,” she said. “There are two or three clearings in the forest and Toby usually has his ‘prize’ in one of them. That way, if they’re ahead of us, we can meet them coming in this direction.”

  Cain got out his pencil flashlight. “Besides annoying Toby, what do you get out of this?”

  Lisa tugged down the crotch of her overalls. “If he has anything to do with Paula’s disappearance, I’d like to know it so I could help mess up his plans. I meant what I said back there.”

  Cain didn’t doubt her. “Why should Toby want Paula to disappear?”

  “Why does Toby do any of the things he does? Who knows?”

  It wasn’t an answer to satisfy Cain. He said, “I’ve heard that Toby is Munger’s man. Maybe he’s doing something on Munger’s orders.”

  She was abrupt. “Could be.” She started off down the beach.

  Cain caught up with her and tried again. “What does Toby do besides shill for Munger?”

  “He runs an art gallery of sorts. It’s really a place to display his and his friends’ work — such as it is — and to sell pornography under the guise of art.”

  Cain remembered something. He said, “Paula dabbles in sculpture.”

  “That’s how they met,” Lisa said. “They both model in clay and wax a good deal. She’s much better than he.”

  “And he sells his stuff?”

  “Now and then. But he operates strictly by appointment.” She was limping in the tight shoes. “Mostly he fills orders for people. Curtin is his legman for that. He travels all over for Toby. And through their obscenities — antiques, of course — Toby makes a lot of contacts for Munger.”

  He must, Cain thought. To live in the style Toby affected would require a large income. Cain said, “Is this a producing farm he has here?”

  “Farm is a misnomer. There’s a house and an old barn. He just uses the place for parties. There is a caretaker and his wife. They do his cleaning up. And most of the time they aren’t around.”

  “Nice, working for Toby.”

  “Nothing connected with Toby is nice,” she said in an ugly voice.

  They walked in silence a few moments, the beach on their right, the thick stand of timber on their left. Cain used the silence to think over a few of the things he had heard tonight. He was a deliberate man and most of this had come too fast for his taste. He knew he could not judge logically under pressure. He was glad for the respite afforded by Lisa’s silence and slow pace.

  Questions piled in on Cain: Why did Honor seem to dislike Lisa so? What was Lisa’s stake in all of this? She claimed she hated Toby enough to kill him, yet she tagged along with him and his crowd. And above all, Cain could not help wondering why Toby would lay himself open by publicly stating that he was going hunting for Paula Ryerson’s body if he had actually done harm to her.

  Cain had a few more questions to ask himself but Lisa made a sudden turn inland and he found himself busily fighting underbrush and tree branches.

  Her arm came out, stopping him. “Listen.”

  He listened. Somewhere ahead of them there was a crashing as though a person or a large animal were blundering through the forest in the dark. The noise grew. Then there was a shout. “I found it! There it is!” It was a woman’s voice, oddly muffled.

  “They beat us,” Lisa said. “Let’s go.” She increased her pace despite the tight shoes that now had her limping badly. She guided herself with the two-celled flashlight she had in the runabout. Cain trotted behind her, and they burst into a clearing. Lisa swung her light up, outlining someone on the far side.

  Cain stopped dead. “My God!” He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it. As he watched, a woman wearing an evening gown and high-heeled slippers was running toward an oblong wooden box placed in the center of the clearing. From neck to waist she was encased in “chain mail” and over her head was a knight’s helmet, the visor down. One hand clutched a good-sized flask.

  Behind her ran a man. He carried a flashlight in one hand and a flask in the other. It was Curtin and he was very drunk.

  Lisa snapped off her light. Neither the man nor the woman had seemed to notice it. The woman shouted, “See, there it is!”

  There were other sounds now. A couple appeared arm in arm. Cain recognized Smathers, the lawyer, and assumed that the costumed woman with him was his wife. Then the doctor came staggering out of the trees, tripped over a root, and fell headlong. He lay where he had fallen, hiccoughing gently. Each of the men carried a flashlight.

  The first woman had reached the oblong box by now. She lifted her skirt and clambered to the top and started kicking at Curtin as he tried to join her. He backed off and took a long drink from his flask. The woman took advantage of the respite to pull off her helmet. It was Anne, the redhead. She busied herself with her flask.

  “Congratulations,” a voice said, and Toby Patton came into view. He walked as if he were quite sober, swinging his light negligently.

  Lisa said to Cain, “Let’s angle to the left. We can get a little closer to his damned ‘prize’ that way.”

  They worked around the edge of the clearing until they were some distance closer to the oblong box. There Lisa stopped. She said to Cain, “Toby tried to get Robin Hood costumes for the men but I didn’t have time to order them. This is supposed to be Sherwood Forest, I think.”

  “Where’s Maid Marian?” Cain asked.

  Toby was talking again and Cain left his question hanging to listen. Toby called, “Where’s Norene?”

  “Here!” She came giggling from the timber, weaving badly as she walked. She carried her helmet in one hand, her flask in the other. “I hid!”

  “Ah,” Toby said. “Now for the unveiling!” He reached out and caught Anne by the ankle and pulled so that she had to jump from the box. She fell onto Curtin and they went down together. Toby laughed, took a small key from his pocket, and opened the small padlock on the side of the box. He threw back the lid with a gesture.

  “Voilà”

  By now everyone but the doctor had managed to crowd around. Lights swung up and into the box. Cain heard the redhead scream. Smathers’ swearing was definitely not of the legal variety. Cain said, “What the hell?” and darted forward.

  He and Lisa reached the box at the same time. Curtin was in Cain’s w
ay and he snatched the man up and flung him to one side. He heard Toby’s exclamation of surprise and then he looked into the box.

  Cain felt Lisa beside him, felt her stiffen in horror. Then he turned and made a grab. He caught Toby Patton by the coat lapels. Cain swung on Toby with everything he had in his long arm and fist, enjoying the feel of the contact, enjoying the sight of Toby lifting up and arching over the box to land on his back on the other side. Snarling, Cain went after him.

  Even in his satisfaction of hitting Toby Patton, Cain could not get out of his mind what he had just seen: Stretched out in the coffin, clad in a shroud, was the still, pale form of Paula Ryerson.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “MY GOD!” Lisa said hoarsely. “I’m glad Honor wasn’t with us. What a disgusting brute. I’ve never known Toby to be that bad before.”

  They were back in Cain’s coupe and almost to Cain’s apartment. Lisa was in her evening gown again but she had her shoes off. When Cain glanced at her, he saw that she was troubled by more than aching feet. She was nearly worn out.

  He said, “Maybe we’d better not bother with something to eat, Lisa. I’ll take you home and give you one of your pills.”

  “I don’t need a pill to make me sleep,” Lisa said. “I might have nightmares, though, at that.” She fumbled for his cigarettes. “But I’m okay, really. Some food will fix me up, I think. Stop at your place and get some coffee — I’m out — and we can eat at my house. I don’t want to face a lot of people right now.”

  “Can do,” Cain said, and swung left up the hill.

  Lisa handed him a lighted cigarette. “That fight did me a lot of good,” she said. “It was a genuine pleasure.” She laughed a little. “I think you really enjoy hitting people, Cain.”

  “People like that I do,” he admitted. He pulled into the curb across from his apartment and started to get out. He stopped, one foot on the pavement. “Did I leave a light on?”

  “I turned them off,” Lisa said. “You were carrying Honor and I flipped the switch. I remember it distinctly.”

  Cain said, “I’ll be right back,” in a thoughtful voice. He flipped away his cigarette as he reached the building and took the stairs two at a time. He paused at the door, one hand reaching for the knob. The door was ajar about an inch and he could see marks by the lock as if someone had used an instrument to pry it open.

  He pushed the door suddenly, stepped in fast, and stopped as quickly. There were three men on his couch. The man in the middle was the tweedy, masculine type, complete with sandy mustache and pipe. He sat relaxed with his heavy, handmade brogans thrust carelessly in front of him. He had a rugged, intelligent-looking face with sandy eyebrows and hair to match the mustache. His eyes were wide and gray and smiling — and a little vacant. On either side of him were men who could almost have passed for twins.

  One was the slender man Cain had thrown at Anse earlier. The other was equally smooth faced, equally over-dressed. Both were of medium height, thin faced, dark eyed, their hair slicked back with grease, their pale hands restless. Cain could see the bulges made by their shoulder holsters even though their coats were made to conceal them.

  He said, “Hello, Munger.”

  “I figured you’d be back.”

  Cain stood where he had stopped, not nervous, not even irritated at the moment. He was only surprised that Munger had included himself in this visit. He usually called for people, not on them.

  “I came to turn out the light,” Cain said. “When you go, I’ll do it.”

  “Sit down, Cain. There’s plenty of time.”

  “Not for me. Check out.”

  Munger said to his men, “He wants to be rude.”

  “Smoky said, “Yeh.”

  The other one said, “Yeh.”

  Cain said, “Nuts. Let’s go home before I call the police and have you thrown out.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Cain. I came for a friendly chat.”

  “Like the one I had with your monkey here earlier tonight?”

  Munger smiled around his pipe. “Smoky isn’t very subtle; sorry.” He removed the pipe and stared at the bit. “Let’s put it this way, Cain. We can remove you with no one the wiser. Or work you over or …”

  “Or you can go to hell,” Cain finished for him. “You don’t dare, Munger, or you would have a long time ago.”

  “There’ll come a time,” Munger said.

  Cain moved across the room toward the telephone. Smoky lifted a hand toward his coat lapels. Cain said, “You do and I’ll slap your ugly teeth down your gullet with it.”

  Smoky snarled. Cain put a hand on the telephone. “Did you ever notice, Munger, that the intelligence level of the lower echelon hoodlum is barely above a moron? That goes for dope peddlers, pimps, prostitutes, and most persistent juvenile delinquents. It especially fits the little tough boys who play cops and robbers with their two-bit hardware. They’re animals with gifts of limited speech, that’s all. Doesn’t it bother you to have them around?”

  “They’re useful,” Munger said. His eyes were on Cain’s hand. “Don’t lift that phone, Cain. I won’t like it.”

  “All right,” Cain said amiably. “What do you like?”

  “You. I wish you were on my side.”

  “I don’t like your pets,” Cain said. “I don’t like their hairs all over my sofa. Next time you pay a social call, leave them in the kennels.”

  The other one snarled this time. Smoky licked his lips and looked hopefully at Munger. He said, “I came for a purpose.”

  “Tell me in ten seconds and then get out. I can’t wait all night.”

  “Tough guy, Rhumba,” Smoky said.

  “Yeh,” Rhumba said and spat on the carpet.

  Cain left the telephone and took two long strides, put out a hand and got a fistful of Rhumba’s coat front. Rhumba tried to reach past Cain’s fist for his gun and Cain slapped his hand down. He pulled and Rhumba came up swinging. Cain let loose of the coat and grabbed an arm and moved it into a hammerlock. Rhumba began to curse in a shrill voice. Munger lifted a hand, holding Smoky back. His gray eyes were interested.

  Rhumba’s curses turned to gasps as the pain of the hammerlock forced him to his knees. He fought against the pressure, sweat coming out on his forehead, but slowly his knees bent and he was driven down until he was kneeling. Cain’s big hands and long arms applied more leverage, making Rhumba’s trunk arch. Finally it gave and he slumped. Cain took one hand and put it to the back of Rhumba’s head and pushed.

  “Wipe it up!”

  Rhumba’s neck was stiff, the cords standing out rigidly, but he couldn’t hold his position and his face went down to the spot where the spittle lay on the rug. Cain moved his head back and forth as if it were a rag. Then he released Rhumba and stood up.

  “You should housebreak them better, Munger.”

  Rhumba got to his feet, holding his arm. Foam flecked the corners of his mouth. Munger said, “A gentleman doesn’t spit on his host’s rug.” Rhumba cursed vividly and Munger lifted a heavy shoe, driving it lightly into his groin. He doubled up, gasping.

  “We don’t do that either,” Munger said. “Sit down.”

  Rhumba sat. Cain returned to the telephone. He waited, looking at Munger and then at his watch. Munger relit his pipe. “I came to suggest you forget about Paula Ryerson, Cain.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to.”

  “Is the job worth that much?”

  “How much is that?” Cain asked. “Maybe I just want her to do what she tried two years ago. Maybe my bed is cold.”

  “I can give you a better hot water bottle,” Munger said. “Free, as long as you want to use it. Now give me an answer.”

  Cain bowed mockingly. “I like the job. I’ll keep it.”

  “How much?”

  “Expenses.”

  “Cain and his ethics.”

  “And a chance to annoy you,” Cain added.

  Munger smiled. “A compliment, that. Someday you’ll push me too far, Cain.”


  “I like to push certain people,” Cain said. “Like your friend Toby Patton. I beat Toby up twice tonight. The second time I got in a few licks at some of his friends. I enjoyed it.”

  “Where is Toby now, Cain?”

  “In his coffin,” Cain said.

  Munger shifted his position. “Let’s talk about Paula Ryerson, Cain. How much do you want to lay off?”

  Cain looked as if he were considering it. He said, “Your viscera on a silver tray, Munger. Pickled.”

  Munger got to his feet, his amiability gone. He took a deep breath and jerked his head toward the door. Smoky and Rhumba stood up and walked toward it. Rhumba hobbled a little. His face was pale and nasty looking. Munger followed slowly, herding them. Cain thought he heard a noise on the other side of the door and shifted his weight, wondering if Munger had more like this pair.

  “Someday,” Munger said, “I’ll turn my friends loose on you, Cain.”

  “Your privilege,” Cain said.

  “I’ll see you again,” Munger told him. “You know what I want. I don’t intend to say it over again.”

  “Yes, God,” Cain said. He held the telephone until the door shut behind them. He heard their footsteps go down the hall, down the stairs. He crossed to the window, saw them leave the building, enter a big car, and drive off. He turned from the window and discovered he was drenched with sweat and shaking all over.

  A noise at the door swung him around. It was Lisa. She carried the handle to his car jack in her hand. He sat on the sofa. His legs were shaking too hard to hold him up.

  “That looked like Munger.”

  “It was Munger.”

  “Are you so afraid of him?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Don’t you know Munger?”

  “I’ve seen him. I don’t know him.” She said it so quickly that Cain thought she was lying. He didn’t know why nor did he care at the moment.

  “Did he see you?”

  “I ducked to the dark end of the hall,” she said.