This Girl for Hire Page 14

  Rod said grimly, “Either way, I’ve had it.” He reached the doorway. “Now take my advice. Don’t come down that path for at least fifteen minutes. I like life and I don’t plan to give it up for anyone, understand?”

  I nodded half-heartedly, and he was gone. I considered several plans to stop him, but discarded them all. If Rod Caine were the murderer, he wouldn’t hesitate to add me to the score.

  If he weren’t, it didn’t really matter if he escaped. I was certain he’d turn up sooner or later.

  I examined Rod’s portable typewriter, a brand new Royal with a blue chassis. I fed a piece of paper into it. The type was distinctive. I recognized it immediately. It had exactly the same characteristics as the type on the notes found in Rod Caine’s and Max Decker’s coat pockets.

  I entered his bedroom again and checked the closets and bureau drawers. Then I looked under the bed.

  A battered nude body stared sightlessly at me.

  SIXTEEN

  SWEET CHILDLIKE LORI WAS A NIGHTMARE. SHE’D BEEN viciously beaten to death and there were bruises all over her body.

  I pulled her out from under the bed. There were several needle marks in the crook of her arm. I shook my head dismally. Apparently she had been a narcotic addict. Now there’d be no more fixes. No more caps or spoons or needles. Lori Aces had met with the same violent end that had taken five others, including Herb Nelson.

  It made me sick inside just to look at her.

  I walked down the hill to the cave. Rod had taken the small boat. I lowered his cabin cruiser into the swell, climbed into the pilot’s seat, fired up the engines and steered her into the open sea.

  After tying up the cruiser at the yacht’s float, I went aboard Hells Light and down to B Deck. The water tight door leading into the liquor-supply room was open. I walked inside and turned on the light. Above, in the swimming-pool bar, noise, clinking glasses and confusion reigned as usual.

  Several cases of liquor were dumped on their sides and heelmarks indicated that they had been split open from repeated blows of a heavy shoe or boot. Bottles of scotch rolled loosely on the floor of the storeroom.

  I searched through the cardboard debris. Then I found what I was looking for. A small heroin cap. In a still unopened case there were a dozen more caps and two hypodermic kits. Nearby, a handkerchief was caught under one of the broken cases. The piece of silk bore the initials L.A.

  Mark Storm arrived aboard Hell’s Light about an hour after I discovered the heroin cache. He was accompanied by Chief Clements, two Avalon policemen, a Coast Guard commander and three other officers. They escorted a very tired, dusty, ominously silent prisoner in handcuffs. Rod Caine.

  I took Mark aside, showed him the heroin caps and told him about Lori Aces. The big lieutenant rolled with the punch, grimly wiped a hand across his eyes and swore.

  “Honey,” Mark said, “this guy’s a maniac. It’s a wonder he didn’t get you in the bargain.”

  “Where’d you find him?” I asked.

  “A couple of Clements’ men caught him on the hillside near the old Wrigley home.”

  “What was he doing there, Mark?”

  “Burying a metal case full of lab equipment.”

  They took Rod into the yacht’s dining room for questioning. Two other men from the L. A. Sheriff’s office joined the group as Mark began the interrogation. Rod said he had gone into Avalon to search for Swanson.

  “Why?” Mark asked.

  “Swanson’s been trying to swing me for these murders. I had to find him to clear myself.”

  “Did you find him?” Clements demanded.

  “No.”

  “What were you doing up near the Wrigley home?” Rod glowered angrily. “Looking for my stolen gear.” Clements said, “When you were apprehended by two of my officers, they claim you were trying to bury a metal case containing some instruments.”

  “That’s crazy!” Rod said. “I got a tip from one of Danny Marble’s pals that a case with my initials was buried up on the hillside. He drew a map for me and I went to get it.”

  “Where’s the map?” Mark demanded.

  Rod shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess in the excitement of the arrest, I lost it.”

  Mark bent toward the handcuffed man. “You have a great faculty for losing important evidence, haven’t you, Mr. Caine?”

  “No! Anyway, what’s so important about a map? I told you the truth. I was digging up the case, not burying it.”

  “Why?”

  “It substantiated part of my original story,” Rod said. “I used the equipment to analyze the liquid in Sam Aces’ glass. The case and contents were stolen. I wanted to get them back to prove I wasn’t lying.”

  “How did you get to Avalon?” Clements asked. “In a putter. I went as far as the old seaplane airport and then swam ashore. I suppose you found the boat?”

  “Yeah, we did,” Mark said carefully. “When’s the last time you saw Bob Swanson?”

  Rod wiped a nervous hand across his face. “Let’s see. Thursday morning. The day he disappeared. Two days ago.”

  “You’re sure of this?”

  “Absolutely. I wouldn’t have been looking for him last night if I’d seen him since then.”

  Mark lit a cigarette and regarded Rod carefully. “When’s the last time you saw Lori Aces?”

  Rod pursed his lips. “Yesterday afternoon. We had a fight. I walked out and haven’t seen her since.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Of course I am. Did you ever find her?”

  “Yes, we did,” Mark said quietly. “Or rather Miss West found her.”

  “Where?”

  “Where you left her,” Mark continued casually.

  “You mean in her stateroom,” Rod said.

  “No. Under the bed in your island cabin.”

  Rod shot to his feet “Are you crazy? She’s not—dead?”

  “I think you can answer that one.”

  “No!” Rod exclaimed, shaking his head. “No, no, no! Lori can’t be dead! She shouldn’t be dead.”

  Mark said, “You’re right this time. You just kicked a little too hard.”

  Rod slumped back in his chair. “You—you got this all wrong. I hit her, yes, but I never kicked her. I never struck her more than once, believe me.

  “Where was the argument?”

  “Lori’s stateroom.”

  “What time?”

  “Around two o’clock.”

  “Want me to tell you exactly how it happened?” Mark said quickly. “You and she were in this together. You were afraid Lori would crack pretty soon, weren’t you, Caine? You knew she had a monkey on her back and couldn’t be trusted, so you took her to your cabin on the island and beat her up.”

  “No!”

  “You knocked her down and kicked her to death.”

  Rod lashed, “You’re crazy!”

  “Then you stuffed her under your bed until you decided how to dispose of the body.”

  “No! For God’s sake!”

  “We found blood stains on a shirt and a pair of pants that belong to you.

  “That was from me,” Rod said. “She ripped me to pieces. But Lori didn’t bleed. Don’t you understand? Swanson did this. He’s trying to frame me.

  “That alibi won’t work any more,” Mark said tightly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve found him.”

  Rod’s eyes blazed. “Where is he? That dirty, rotten bastard. I’ll kill him!”

  Mark looked at Chief Clements and shook his head un happily. Then he grabbed Caine angrily by the shoulders, lifting him out of his chair. “You’re a card, aren’t you, Caine? Why don’t you spit it out? We found Bob Swan son about a half-hour before you were apprehended. He was lying on the rocks below the chimes tower. He has a bullet smack between his eyes and he’s dead! He’s about as dead as you are, brother, believe me!”

  Rod Caine folded up like a collapsible toy.

  I nearly fainted. Mar
k hadn’t said one word to me about finding Swanson’s body.

  “I’ve had it,” Rod groaned miserably. “Really had it!”

  “You should have pushed harder,” Mark said. “If he’d hit the water, it’s possible he’d never been found. Your story always was pretty thin, but with Swanson missing indefinitely it might have held up.”

  Rod glanced at me, his mouth twisted horribly. “Why’d you do it, Caine?” Mark asked. “Mass murder is serious business.”

  The handcuffed writer was silent for a long moment, his breathing punctuating the air like a rapid-fire shotgun. Then he broke, “I didn’t do it!”

  Mark cocked his hat back on his head. “You said you were being framed. That Swanson was framing you. Swanson was shot hours before Lori Aces was murdered. Now, how did he frame that one?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know how anything could have happened!”

  “You don’t expect us to believe that!”

  “I don’t know what I expect you to believe, but I didn’t do it!”

  Mark demanded, “You did have reason to kill Sam Aces, didn’t you?”

  “Not exactly, no!”

  “He disfigured your face, didn’t he?”

  Rod leaned forward in his chair, cupping his face in his hands. “A little,” he whispered. “But I didn’t want to kill him for it.”

  “Joe Meeler took your job on the Swanson show,” Mark continued to hammer, “isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, but I was glad Joe got the job,” Rod said. “He was my friend.”

  Mark paced around the room for a moment, then he said, “You hated Ann Claypool, didn’t you?”

  “No!”

  Wince Claypool was your friend in college, wasn’t he? You told him to stay away from Ann, but he re fused. He married her while you two were in business together. She destroyed that business, didn’t she?”

  Rod was on the ropes and reeling. He swayed back in his chair. “Yes—yes, in a way she did, but she wasn’t the only reason we folded. Vince drank a lot. He kept digging into the till—”

  “He drank because of Ann, didn’t he?” Mark argued hotly.

  “I guess so.—”

  “You hated her for that!”

  “Yes—No! I didn’t really hate her—I—”

  Mark continued, “You knew what kind of man Max Decker was, didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ruthless, hard, scheming,” Mark drilled. “You said right here, aboard this ship, that Decker would go to almost any lengths to crush someone, didn’t you?”

  “I’ve said that a lot of times.”

  “Did he ever try to crush you?”

  Rod twisted miserably in his chair. “He’s tried to ruin a dozen people.”

  “Did he ever try to ruin you?”

  “Yes!” Rod exclaimed. “But that’s all part of this rotten game. That’s why I got out of it. It’s cut-throat! They’ll shrink your head down to a walnut and crack it if they get half the chance!”

  Mark surveyed the group. Clements shook his head as if to say, This guy’s as loco as they come! The chief asked Rod, “Where’s the .38 you used on Decker and Swanson?”

  “I haven’t got a .38,” Rod said.

  “Did you throw that in the ocean along with Swanson’s body?”

  “No!”

  Clements produced a .32 and handed it to me. “This is your revolver, isn’t it, Miss West?”

  I nodded.

  “Caine was carrying it when my men tagged him on the hillside,” Clements continued. He studied Rod’s hag gard face. “Did you use this weapon on Sam Aces?”

  Rod tried to rise out of his chair. “I never fired that weapon in my life!” He slumped back and looked at me. “Believe me, Honey, I only took the gun because I knew you’d use it to bring me in.”

  Mark got to his feet again. “You faked that message to Decker from Swanson, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know what message you’re talking about,” Rod said.

  ‘The one where Swanson said he’d meet Decker in the chimes tower yesterday at four-thirty.”

  “I didn’t send any such message,” Rod argued. “I got one myself signed by Swanson. That’s why I went into Avalon. Swanson said he was going to kill Honey.”

  Mark leaned over Rod. “Where is this message?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  Mark studied the group for an instant, then turned his eyes on Rod again. “Miss West says you met her up at the chimes tower last night, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Rod said. “I was worried about her. I heard about Decker, went to her cabin and when I found she was gone I went up to the tower.”

  “Or was it this way?” Mark hurled. “After murdering Decker and Swanson, you went to Honey’s cabin to look for your case which, before it was stolen, had contained heroin caps for your confederate, Lori Aces. Honey walked in. You hit her with the butt of your gun and ran. But she managed to scrape your arm with her finger nail; isn’t that nearer to the truth?”

  “No! I told you Lori did this to my arm. If you want further proof, look at this!”

  Rod opened his shirt to reveal the long, hideous marks on his chest.

  “You know what I think?” Mark said. “I think you did that yourself.”

  “Are you crazy? Why would I?”

  “Because you knew Honey would remember inflicting the wound on your arm. You remembered your argument with Lori, so you hauled off with your own fingernails and raked yourself.”

  “Run a test on Lori’s fingernails then!” Rod said hotly. “You’ll find bits of me under every one of them.”

  Mark grinned. “Maybe we will, Caine, but that won’t prove a thing. Naturally, if you beat the hell out of her she was bound to get you a couple of times.

  Rod slumped over in his seat and ran the cool hardness of the handcuffs over his forehead. “Like I said,” he moaned dismally, “I’ve had it! You’ve really got me.”

  “You can say that again!” Mark taunted. “You shot and killed Swanson because you hated his guts for not rein stating you with the show.”

  “He signed me to a contract,” Rod argued. “He wanted me back on the show. The contract must be filed some where in his office at Television Riviera.”

  Mark shook his head. “No such luck, boy. We went over his office with a fine-tooth comb. There’s no contract with your signature on it anywhere.”

  “I—I don’t get this,” Rod stammered. “It all falls into place, I know, but I didn’t do it. Someone’s clever—”

  “You, Caine,” Mark interrupted. “You were the clever one. Up to a point. You made it look like Swanson. You were framing him and saying all along that he was fram ing you. But you made two major mistakes. Pushing Swanson’s dead body off the cliff at low tide was one of them. And the other—you fought too hard with Ann Claypool when you drowned her in the bathtub.”

  “I didn’t drown her!”

  Mark glanced at me. “The coroner’s official verdict was death by drowning, not strangulation.” Then he crossed to Clements. “Chief, could I have those blowups now, please.”

  Clements removed two photographs from a briefcase and handed them to Mark. The lieutenant showed them around the room, finally ending with Rod Caine.

  “These are enlargements of the thumbprints taken from the neck of Ann Claypool,” Mark said. “They match the prints we took from you exactly. Now what do you say, Mr. Caine?”

  “Okay,” Rod murmured, head hung low, unable to look up at the undeniable evidence of the enlarged thumbprints. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

  “It’s about time,” Mark said, surveying the group. He smiled triumphantly at my stunned expression.

  “You’re right,” Rod continued. “Those are my prints, but I didn’t murder Ann Claypool. I—I was in Honey’s cabin. We were talking about Joe Meeler when we heard a sound outside.”

  “What kind of sound?” Mark growled.

  “Somebody running on deck,�
� Rod explained. “It came like a volley of shots. Honey’ll back me up on this. I went out to see who it was. The sound lead me to Ann’s cabin. The door was open a little, so I went in. It had been Ann all right. She was wet and out of breath. I asked her what was going on. She was drunk. She shouted at me to mind my own business. I told her it was my business. She’d tricked me earlier into going to my island cabin on the ruse that Bob Swanson was there waiting to talk to me. I demanded the truth, but she ordered me out. I guess I got excited. She tried to push me out the door and I grabbed her by the throat. Believe me, I didn’t strangle her. She tried to scream and I threw her over the bed and walked out. The next time I saw her she was in the bathtub—dead.”

  Mark said, “I’m surprised, Caine. Being a writer I thought you’d come up with a better story than that.”

  “It’s the truth, believe me,” Rod pleaded.

  “I don’t buy it,” Mark said. “And I don’t think anyone else here does either.” He stared into Rod’s sullen eyes. “You’re the last man standing, Caine. You eliminated every possible suspect except yourself. Maybe you even got Herb Nelson. If you did, that makes seven. And if you could have nailed Honey it would have been eight. A nice round number in any man’s language. Es pecially in the tongue of a psychopathic killer.”

  The lieutenant gestured at one of the men from the sheriff’s office. Together they lifted Rod Caine out of his chair and started him toward the door.

  I went after them, whispering, “Mark, you got the wrong man. I’m sure you have.”

  “Are you kidding?” he said. “Don’t you believe in evidence?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “You’re just sore because you lost your bet.”

  We reached the end of the dining room. Mark opened the door.

  Outside on deck, his face illuminated by starboard rail lights, stood Sam Aces.

  SEVENTEEN

  SAM HELD HIS LEFT HAND BEHIND HIS BACK. THERE was blood on his white shirt and he weaved as he stumbled toward the door, a pained expression around his mouth.

  I rushed to him, slipping his arm around my shoulders.

  “I’m hurt, Honey,” he whispered. “I didn’t think I’d make it.”