“I think she has fever,” Sylvia said.
I put the revolver in the pocket of my topcoat and sat on the bed and held Fredl’s wrist. I could feel her pulse and it was slow but steady enough. Her face was pale and her blond hair was spread out on the pillow.
“Are you all right?” I asked Sylvia.
“Yes,” she said, but her voice didn’t sound convincing.
“It’s over now,” I said.
“Not quite, McCorkle.” It was Magda talking to me from across the room. I turned and looked at her. She stood by the door with the automatic in her hand. It looked like a Beretta. She held it steadily; there was no tremor in her hand.
“We’re going to stay here for two more hours — you, me, your wife and Miss Underhill. You’ll send the others away.”
I just kept sitting on the bed. “You’ll notice my gun is not aimed at you,” she said. “It’s aimed at your wife. If you try anything, I’ll shoot her. And if you’re still moving, I’ll shoot you in the kneecap which is quite painful, but most effective.”
“In two hours, Van Zandt will be dead, right?”
“Right.”
“You teamed with Dymec,” I said. I made it a statement, not an accusation.
“There was so much money involved.”
“Why shoot the guy downstairs?”
“He didn’t know who I was. Why should he?”
“Now what?”
“Now you walk carefully over to that door. Open it and call down to your friends. Tell them that you’ll take care of your wife and the Underhill child. Tell them to leave and to take the unwounded man with them. And to keep him safe.”
“Anything else?”
“If they ask about you, tell them that the girl and I are helping to dress your wife. We’ll take her in the Cadillac when she’s dressed.”
I continued to sit on the bed.
“Move,” she said. The automatic didn’t waver. I got up and walked over to the door and opened it. Magda backed so that she had me in full view. I was in front of her, Fredl was to her left. Sylvia was to her left and slightly behind.
“Hardman,” I called.
“Yo!”
“They’re getting Fredl dressed.”
“She O.K.?”
“She’s O.K. You four take off. Take the guy that’s not hurt with you. Leave the others. I’ll meet you at Betty’s. You got it?”
“What you want me to do with him?”
“Keep him someplace safe.”
“You need any help with Fredl?”
“No.”
“We’re leavin then.”
Magda nodded. “Keep the door open,” she said. “I want to hear them leave.”
I kept it open until she could hear the front door downstairs close.
“Now you may go over and sit in the corner, McCorkle, like a good boy.”
“Which corner?”
“The one just behind you. But first, you have a revolver in your coat pocket. I want you to take it out very slowly and put in on the floor.”
“Gee, Magda you think of everything,” I said. I took the .38 out and put it on the floor.
“Now kick it gently towards me,” she said.
I kicked it gently towards her.
“What happens after two hours? You just walk out into the street and call a taxi?”
“Something like that.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think in two hours you’ll leave, all right, but the three of us will be dead. That’s your assignment from Dymec, isn’t it?”
“You have two entire hours to worry about it.”
“How much was the payoff?”
“So much money, McCorkle. So very much lovely money.”
“Enough to retire?”
“Quite enough.”
“I always favored early retirement — especially after an active life.”
“You chatter too much.”
“I’m nervous”
Sylvia Under hill, slightly behind Magda, pulled up her skirt as if to adjust her hose. When her hands came up she held a nickel-plated .25 automatic in them. Her eyes were wide and she held the automatic with both hands, but it still shook. Her eyes asked me the question and I nodded my head just slightly and Sylvia Underhill shot Magda Shadid twice in the back. She held the small automatic in both hands and jerked the trigger. The first time, her eyes were closed. The second time she pulled the trigger, they were open. She looked as if she were going to cry.
Magda stumbled forward, caught herself and turned. “You little bitch,” she said and tried to get her gun up so that she could shoot Sylvia Underhill or Fredl McCorkle. I don’t think she cared which. I was across the room by then, the switchblade was open in my right hand, and it went into her back and the blade scraped her spine.
She fell then with the knife still in her back. I reached down and pulled it out and wiped it on the bedspread. Sylvia was crying. She sat in the chair, bent forward, the small automatic still in her hands, and cried.
“Let’s go,” I said.
She looked up at me. There was a lot of revulsion in her face. “I killed her,” she said.
“I helped.”
“I’ve never killed anything before, not even animals. Not even a bird.”
I picked Fredl up from the bed. She didn’t seem to weigh very much.
“Let’s go,” I said to Sylvia.
She rose, the automatic still dangling in her hand. “Put that in my pocket,” I said. “The one on the floor, too.”
She walked around the bed and picked up the .38 that I had kicked towards Magda and put it into my right coat pocket. She dropped hers into the other pocket where it clicked against the knife. I walked over to the door and turned. Sylvia was standing in the center of the room, staring down at the lifeless body.
“You’ll have to open the door,” I said. “I have my hands full.”
“I didn’t want to kill you,” she said to the body on the floor.
Twenty-Five
It was a long, difficult drive to Betty’s. I went fast, unconscious of the speed limits, crossing the Anacostia River on the Eleventh Street Bridge and turning right on Potomac Avenue. I cut left on Pennsylvania Avenue and followed it to the Library of Congress, turned right on First Street, sped past the Supreme Court and the Senate Office Building, wound around the maze in front of Union Station, got on to North Capitol Street until I hit Florida Avenue, then caught Georgia Avenue at the old Griffith Stadium site and drove past Howard University until I came to Fairmont.
Sylvia Underhill held Fredl in her arms while I drove. Neither of us said anything. I tried the car’s telephone once to see if the conference call was still working, but it was dead. I parked in the no parking zone in front of Betty’s apartment house, went around the car, and helped Sylvia out. She needed help. A reaction seemed to have set in and she was trembling.
“Hold on a few more minutes,” I said. I picked Fredl up and we walked up a flight of steps and into the building. I had Sylvia ring the doorbell. Betty answered it.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Bring her into the bedroom. I’ll get hold of Doctor Lambert. He’s spectin to be called.”
I didn’t take off my shoes as I walked across the white carpet and into the room with the big oval bed. I put Fredl down on it gently.
“She’s very pretty,” Sylvia said from behind me.
“Yes, she is, isn’t she.”
Betty came into the bedroom. “She sick or hurt?”
“Doped.”
She nodded as if it happened every day in her house. Maybe it did. “Doctor’s on his way.” She turned to Sylvia. “Who’s this?”
“This is Sylvia. She helped us find my wife.”
Betty looked at the girl carefully. “Look like Sylvia needs a drink. She’s shaking.”
“So am I.”