“Ordinary nurses are permitted no visitors while on duty. When they go off, they are no concern of mine. I refuse to be a — an eavesdropper for you. Now I have an operation to prepare for. If you must come here again, please remember that I am on duty from four until midnight or after. I am ordinarily not available during those hours for it sets a bad example to the others.”
She stalked out of there on her skinny legs but boy, she had bearing in her shoulders. If the nurses had a nickname for her, it couldn’t be anything else but Old Ramrod.
I had things to do and they wouldn’t brook any delay. I got myself over to the vicinity of the Doane’s apartment as fast as possible and took up a position across the street. I had a feeling that Lila wouldn’t let much time elapse before she went to Freddie.
Chapter Six
Hideout
While I stood there, I shook down my memory for all the facts which were part of this case. There weren’t very many and predominant among them was the idea that whoever was behind this happened to be a past master at the art of the frame. I had few doubts but that the cards had been stacked against Freddie when he was convicted of manslaughter. It was all part of an unpretty pattern that spread over a period of years. The murderer was patient and cautious. Let a killer with average intelligence plot a crime and he leaves few, if any, clues. The best advantage cops have is that most murders are committed in a moment of intense hatred — by people who lose their heads and, consequently their lives or liberty. My killer wasn’t that type.
At nine-twenty, Lila emerged from the building. She didn’t look around, just walked as fast as possible to the nearest corner. I was tempted to go after her, but I figured if anyone wanted to get on her trail, the place to do it was from the starting point right here.
Sure enough, within the next three minutes a familiar person hurried out and went in the same direction that Lila had taken. Paul Manning, and he wasn’t smooth and subservient. There was a look on his face akin to murder.
I tailed Paul Manning because where Lila went, he’d also go and I’d be right back of both. That was what I thought. Paul suddenly made himself scarce down an alley and I had to duck for the cover of a pole — a light pole at that, but not much of me could be seen, I hoped.
I knew why Paul had moved fast, too. There was a garage on this side street and down the ramp slid a yellow coupe with Lila at the wheel. As she pulled away, Paul raced for the garage too, while I frantically hunted a cab without much luck.
I saw Paul drive out in a limousine which I took to be Ernest Doane’s. Then they were both gone and I was left chewing my nails. I yapped senseless curses at all the taxi drivers in New York until it suddenly dawned on me that I had no reason to tail them. I knew where they were going. Two years in stir seemed to have done things to my so-called thinking apparatus.
But getting me a car was another matter. That particular garage gave me a cold eye and a sharp “No” when I asked to rent one. They must have thought I was on the lam for something. I started walking and tried another garage six blocks north. They didn’t like me either, but the night manager had compassion enough to tell me where I might hire one.
Now, at long last, a cab wheeled by and I stopped it with a whistle loud enough to grace the Queen Mary. I had the driver take me to the third garage. There I was rented a car. All I had to do was leave twice what the car was worth, a pint of blood and slip the manager twenty bucks under the table.
But I had a car of sorts. I didn’t look at the make and there was nothing on the dash to indicate it. I figured the manufacturer never had the courage to baptize the wobbly, weaving old crate.
It made more noise than a B-29 and had the speed of a tractor. If I never turned that car back, the garage was in money. My foot got tired being held flat against the floor board so I pulled out the dash gas control all the way, settled back and let her tear along at top speed. Something around thirty-two.
Curses didn’t help. I was a whipped man the instant I got behind the wheel and once I realized it, things got better. The miles ticked off somehow. She kept going, I’ll say that much — without further comment on how she went.
I figured about an hour had elapsed before I hit the Ridgefield Road and then I found out the speedometer didn’t work. Not the one that registered tenths of a mile, so I had to go by the big one and when it passed the allotted mileage according to Horseface’s orders, I held her at thirty and counted off three-tenths of a mile. I made a turn, bumped over a deeply rutted road and heard the shots some distance away.
My estimation of time and distance was lousy. I’d taken the wrong road. I backed up, finally made a turn and streaked for the highway. Streaked, that is, like a tortoise. There’d been three or four shots. Fast ones, as if an inexperienced hand was around the butt of the gun. It sounded like an automatic.
I kept listening for more shots or the sound of another car, but my own Stanley Steamer made more racket than a roller coaster so I gave up. I found the right road at last. I spotted the little house Horseface had described. I saw the yellow coupe and the black limousine and — somebody lying face down in the path leading to the house.
I yelled to Freddie because if he’d done this, he might still have an itchy finger. Freddie recognized my voice and popped out of the house fast. When he reached me, I was turning over what was left of Paul Manning. I lit a match, cupped it and grimaced at the two wounds directly over his heart. And I’d thought the shooting had been done by an amateur.
“Is he... is he... dead?” Freddie asked.
“He won’t say ‘yes sir’ to Lila’s father again. What happened? Where’s Lila?”
“In the... the house. Rick, I killed him. I had to. I thought he was a cop.”
“Killed him with what?” I demanded.
“A... a gun I found in the house...”
“Stop it, Freddie.” I grabbed him by both lapels and shook him until his teeth chattered. “Horseface wouldn’t allow a rod in any place he or a relative owned. He’s on parole too.”
Lila came out then, striding along like a man, her hair loose and wind slashed from the fast drive. She didn’t make any bones about it.
“Rick, I’m glad you came. I killed Paul Manning. He followed me. I didn’t know who it was. Dad kept a gun in the coupe. I went back for it...”
“Went back?” I asked her quickly.
“Yes, Rick. You see, I thought it might be Anna or my half sister, June. Both of them hate me like poison. I thought all along they were behind this. I could handle both of them. I know I could, but when the driver of the big car got out, it was a man. I thought he had a gun too. I ran back to the coupe and got Dad’s automatic.”
“Where did you find it? In its usual place?”
“Why... no, Rick. No, it was on the seat. Had been there all the time, I suppose.”
“People don’t carry rods on car seats, Lila. Think... was it there during your ride here or wasn’t it?”
“I... don’t know. Maybe I unconsciously took it out of the glove compartment because I was scared. I don’t know. Everything was hazy. I fired, I don’t know how many times. Then I... I saw him lying there and I ran into the house.”
“Lila,” I said in as kindly a voice as I could possibly summon, “if you’re pinched for this, don’t get on the witness stand. You’ll strap yourself into the electric chair as sure as little bullets killed Paul Manning. Now let’s go into the house. I doubt anyone heard the shots. Horseface wasn’t kidding when he said this place was isolated.”
“Horseface,” Freddie said very unnecessarily, “is a friend of ours, Lila.”