Chapter Three
Talkie — No Walkie
It was just like always, the people sitting there in the subdued informal light from the many table lamps, watching the blonde disc-jockey doing her nightly stint as if she weren’t going to die. As if she didn’t know she was going to die...
She kept looking at Don Davis; she couldn’t take her eyes off him. There was something almost hypnotic in the way he sat there alone, a small silver cigarette case twirling nervously in his hands, the gaze of his clear brown eyes doing something to the pit of her stomach. Why was he staring like that?
Her chit-chat into the mike was a mechanical thing. She hardly knew what she was saying. Suddenly, she looked down, her eyes tired. Where had the people gone? Where had everybody gone?
She half started to her feet. There was a dull throbbing pain in her head. She saw Don then, saw only Don. Don looking at her, staring at her... She knew suddenly that there was something she should remember.
We’re meant for each other, he had told her once. You and me, Kay. There will never he anybody else for you, never. I won’t let there be...
She stood up slowly, her long limbs fledgling things, untried, the marrow oozing out in a steady stream. Not Don — not him! Don’t let it be him!
She took two steps toward the edge of the platform, her hands fluttering like a bird with a broken wing. A roar of sibilant sounds came at her from below. They were whispering, everybody was whispering. Then she heard a sharp voice at her shoulder. It belonged to Charlie Walp, the program producer.
“What’s wrong, doll? You don’t look so good.”
“Play some records,” she managed to say. “Please, please, I feel sick.”
He started to protest but her white face cut him short.
“Sure, baby. Take it easy for a while, huh?”
She saw him signal something over his shoulder as he moved away. He helped her down those two steps, and there were many anxious faces. See, they loved her, they all loved her. All of them — except one.
Nat Peters was jabbering at her and so was Sue, but it was Don’s strong arm around her waist. The way he was looking at her, she was sure he couldn’t hurt her. He just couldn’t!
“What is it, hon?” said her manager. “What’s the matter? Tell Sue.”
She buzzed around, her red mouth tumbling out words and her white hands stroking nervously at Kay’s pale face.
“Get her to the dressing room,” said Sue, pointing to the rear of the lounge. “I’ve got something to do.” And then she was gone, making furious signs at Charlie Walp up on the platform.
Nat Peters went back to the table and sat down. There was a curious smile on his lips and a row of confused lines around his deep-set eyes. He hardly noticed Don Davis, his arm still tightly around Kay’s soft waist, helping her through the door in the rear of the lounge that was reserved for Kay’s own private dressing room.
Sue didn’t notice either. She was too busy talking earnestly with young Jack Cummings, radio’s newest crooning sensation. Of course he would fill in for Kay. Why not? Didn’t she plug his records?
That accomplished, Sue stood for a moment listening to the singer explain into the mike that it was a pleasure to take over a while for the beautiful blonde disc-jockey. Sue thought of everything.
She kept glancing over her shoulder; there was no sign of Don and it annoyed her. Why hadn’t he come out? She got up and hurried across the lounge. When she opened the door and walked in, Don still had his arm around Kay and he was kissing her. There was tender happiness in her lovely face.
“Excuse me!” There was deep sarcasm in Sue’s brittle voice. “Don’t tell me you fluffed off just for that!”
“Sue!” Kay sounded shocked.
“How do you feel, now?” the redheaded manager asked, and it was only with an effort that she kept her tone even.
“Sue, darling,” Kay breathed. “We’re going to be married. At last, we’re going to be married!”
Don grinned and hugged her to him. “Yeah, you’ll have to find yourself someone else to manage, Sue. Kay is quitting.”
The piece of ice inside Sue broke off into sharp-pointed splinters. She wanted to cry out in protest but she couldn’t. How could she tell Kay Winters that she mustn’t marry him, that she wouldn’t let her marry him? Kay would never understand.
She went over and took Kay by the hand, slowly drawing her away from Don over to the couch. As they sat down she began to talk about the peculiar expression on Kay’s face out there in the lounge, out there at the microphone, and finally she asked directly, “What were you afraid of, Kay? What happened?”
There was no answer but Kay’s stricken face brought terror back into that small, stuffy room.
“What were you afraid of?” Sue kept insisting. “Tell me, hon, I want to help you. I’ve always helped you.”
“Oh. Sue, I want to forget it!” Kay said. “I had almost forgotten it — here with Don.” She turned to him, beseechingly, “Who would want to kill me? Why would anyone want to kill me?”
Don crossed the room and his strong hands took the blonde firmly by the shoulders. “What’s this all about, Kay?” he asked with tense gruffness. He felt her move nervously in his grip and his voice softened caressingly. “Tell me, Kay. You can trust me.”
“Can she? Can she really trust you?” said Sue.
Don straightened up quickly, the red anger glowing in his cheeks like two hot coals. Slowly his hands knotted into tight fists. “Just what do you mean by that, Sue?” he demanded.
“As if you didn’t know!” she shot back at him. “As if—”
“Oh, stop it — stop it, both of you!” Kay broke in frantically. “This is a nightmare. It’s crazy — I’m crazy — to let myself go to pieces this way over a... a... note.” She spoke the word with obvious effort, and having said it she covered her eyes with her hand and sobbed quietly.
Sue was beside her instantly, making soft clucking noises. But it was the assistant District Attorney’s voice she obeyed when she showed them the note — a crumpled piece of paper she took from her purse.
It was a crude thing, the letters cut out from a newspaper and carefully pasted together. It read:
YOUR LAST BROADCAST-TONIGHT YOU DIE!
Don held it in front of him, his hand running over the texture of the paper. He acted as if it were something very valuable and at the same time very dangerous.
“When did you get this?” he snapped. “And why didn’t you report it to the police?”
Kay started to answer his question but there was an interruption. Sue was laughing softly.
“What’s so funny!” Don barked
“It’s a gag,” Sue cried. “Don’t you see?” She turned to Kay, her arms extended in emphasis. “One of the boys is playing a joke on you.”
Her voice was tinged with relief but her eyes bore a worried expression. The tip of Don’s tongue darted in and out over his lips.
Kay had stopped sobbing by then, and was staring with wide red-rimmed eyes at her manager, her mouth open in shocked surprise.
“But who would do that to me, Sue? Who?”
“Yes,” Don echoed. “Who?”
The only answer was a vague shrug of Sue’s lovely shoulders.
“What I want to know is why a gag?” Don asked pointedly. “What makes you think this note is a joke? Obviously Kay doesn’t. Why do you?”
“But it must be,” she told him. “Who would want to kill—?” She left it hanging.