Fallen Sparrow (16 page)

Her hair was piled on top of her head, the silvery black of her gown clung to her as if it were frescoed on. She looked sad but her skin was brightly tanned by winter sun and wind, and she hadn’t been crying. Her voice was throaty, “Kit, I’m glad you could come. I needed you. You know of Ab’s death?”

“Yes.” He took her hands; he wanted to take her closer to him but he couldn’t. She had faded away from him in four years.

She said, “Come.” He followed her fragrance to the library. He stopped, bristling. Otto Skaas was at ease by the fireplace.

Kit nodded. He drew another chair to the fire. Why had she called him. He asked it, “Why did you call me?”

“Ab.” The firelight laid color on the curve of her cheek. “What are we going to do, Kit?”

“About what?”

Her clear gray eyes searched his rigidity. “About Ab, Kit. He didn’t kill himself.”

He was startled that she had remembered. But he couldn’t speak freely before the other man. Why had she also called Skaas? The stale perfume scent from a meagre room was here, or was Kit mistaken in that? Was it faint spice from nearness to Barby? What had he interrupted? But he had been bidden. Otto might have been present when she phoned, perhaps suggested the call? To find out what Kit suspected. He’d find out. Only an offense was practical now. But he must move with diplomacy, not cautiously but wisely.

He said, “You thought of that?”

“What else would I think of?” She clasped her long fingers about her silken knees: “We’ve all known that for years.”

Otto said, “Barby has told me of his—peculiarity.”

But not soon enough. Kit’s sardonic smile was secret.

Barby whispered, “He was murdered, Kit. Murdered.”

“Yes.”

“Father called from Washington tonight. He flew down the moment he heard. Mother had already left for Florida. Father went straight to your cousin, Sidney Dantone. Sidney is convinced it was suicide. The Washington police believe that. They’ve even persuaded Father.”

Kit said, “I’ve just come from Inspector Tobin. He’s been in Washington too. He says it must be suicide.”

“But it isn’t, Kit. We know it isn’t.”

She cared, her father cared, Dantone, Tobin—it mattered to everyone that Ab not be left unavenged. Who had cared about an Italian cop?

He said openly, “Louie was murdered, too.”

The dark lashes fringed her wide eyes. Otto tilted forward. She said, “You mean your friend—the one on the police force? Lieutenant Lepetino?”

“He was murdered, too.”

She looked at Otto and he at her; they both turned their eyes again to Kit but the man’s were guarded.

She said, “But there couldn’t be any connection between the two, could there?”

Kit said, “It’s possible. The pattern is familiar. Louie’s was accepted as suicide, or accident. Ab’s would be the same; if we didn’t know what we know, what the murderer did not know.” He spoke firmly, “It’s a damn thin thread, but what else is there to go on?”

Barby leaned her head against the wine red asters of the chair. “I thought it was simple, Kit. Ab’s been working for the government. I thought he must have decoded some message that meant danger to secret agents. They found out and had him murdered.” She had an eager nervousness. “I thought you could make inquiries, Kit; find out what he’d been working on. Sidney Dantone being your cousin.”

“Geoffrey’s.”

“Being in the Wilhite family. He’d trust you and help you all he could.”

She hadn’t thought of this alone; it had been implanted by subtle suggestion.

“Otto has offered to assist you in any way that he can.”

Skaas said, “I know German. If you should find any messages—”

“You believe that the answer to Ab’s death lies in Berlin?” He spoke directly to the man.

“I don’t know.” Skaas spoke without hesitation but he wasn’t particularly sure of himself. “Barby might have the answer. She says he had no personal enemies. If it isn’t suicide, with the kind of work he was doing, it could be foreign agents.”

“What about Louie Lepetino?” Kit demanded.

“I know nothing of that.” Otto was armored.

Kit said, “Both of you were at Det’s the night he was killed.”

Skaas said quickly, “I wasn’t on the floor at the time. A fool waiter had spilled wine on my shirt. I went to change it.”

“Where were you, Barby?”

“I didn’t leave the drawing-room all evening.”

“Did you notice Louie leave it?”

“No.”

“Or that he was missing?”

She said, “There was a terrific crush, too many for the size of the room. It was impossible to watch any person even if you had known they were in danger.”

“You didn’t see Toni Donne leave the room?”

She wasn’t very interested. “It so happens I did. She had to edge by me to reach the library. She said, ‘I beg your pardon,’ as she passed. It was just before Content’s encore.” She added, “I don’t see how you can forge a link there, Kit, even if it were not suicide. How could Louie Lepetino have been in danger from secret agents?”

Kit was bland. “Didn’t you know, darling? It was Louie who effected my escape from Spain.” He watched Skaas carefully but the fellow was nerveless.

Barby’s voice was husky. “I didn’t know.” From deep within her, was there an ember of feeling that she might once have held? Something warmed her crystal eyes, left a disturbing ash there. “Kit, you too might be in danger. You might be the next.”

“I might be. I don’t intend to be. There’s the sun and moon and stars, darling—who would wish to die?” He was as insolent as if he too belonged to a new world order. “I plan to take good care of myself.” He couldn’t remain here longer, his nose repelling that stale perfume. “Thanks for offering to help, Skaas. I’ll probably take you up on that. I’ll run down to Washington as soon as I can get away. Perhaps Monday. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Barby alone accompanied him to the foyer. Her hand posed against his arm. “I’ve missed you, Kit.”

Looking at her did things to his vitals. The dull jade framing the mirror was a better focus. “You and Ab were engaged, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” Her wrist turned and her fingers felt the cloth of his coat. The silken points of her breasts were moving nearer. “It hadn’t been announced. He didn’t want to hold me to it—after your return. I had to pretend; I couldn’t hurt him again.”

If he hadn’t kept his eyes on the mirror he wouldn’t have seen Skaas watching the farce. Belly laugh on his ugly mouth. Suddenly, with violence, Kit discovered her. The fragrance of her body wasn’t heady; it cloyed. He wouldn’t have been the dupe Ab was; she couldn’t weekend with other men and hold him. She’d known Ab was the better man for her to clench.

She must have smelled the chemical change in him, her fingers drooped away. She asked with narrow amusement, “Who told you of Ab and me? Content? He didn’t want you to know. It was Content.”

He could look at her with full faculties now. “Yes, it was Content.”

Her lips curled. “She was ridiculously jealous about it. She didn’t want anyone else to have Ab. Although she and that Spanish boy—her father had to forbid him the house—”

He did flee. He didn’t know if there were any honesty in either of these two women. He had a sickening hunger for the cleanness of Toni. She might be forced to engage in treachery but she wasn’t feline.

He fled directly to the other one. Content opened one blue eye. She had no business being in that other bed. There were plenty of unoccupied rooms in the apartment. She had no business being in the apartment; she should be at Number 50.

“Jake sent me home. He’d already brought in a substitute.” She asked sleepily, “What did Barby offer?”

He was curt. “There was little chance for open discussion. Otto Skaas was also present. But she knows it was murder. She wants me to run it down. He’s going to help me.”

She leaned on one elbow. Her night dress had rosebuds sprinkled on it. “Don’t trust him, Kit.”

He replied, “I don’t trust anyone.” He had to get some sleep tonight if he were going to take oft early, unannounced, for Washington. He said, “You’d better move into my mother’s room. I forgot to suggest it before—”

She sat up straight. “Please let me stay here.” She was truly frightened. “I won’t bother you. Please, Kit.”

“It won’t look right—”

“I don’t care. Please, Kit. I want to be with you. I’m afraid to be alone. I’m afraid.”

He couldn’t take hysterics. Nor was Content normally the hysterical kind. He didn’t wonder she was terrified now. He said, “Calm down. I don’t mind. Stay as long as you like. But you’d better think up a good one for Lotte.” He’d be damned if he’d continue to use the bath as dressing-room. If she wanted to play roommates she’d have to get accustomed to him. And if it were true what Barby had maliciously suggested, she wouldn’t object. Again he thought of Toni.

He locked the door. Bed was better than women. In the darkness, he asked, “What’s between you and the Spaniard?”

He heard her lift her head quickly. “Nothing. Why?”

“Barby said your father kicked him out of the house. Is that why you moved out too?”

“The bitch.” Her voice was trembling. “That’s like her mind.”

“José didn’t approve of your moving up here.”

She spoke coldly, “There is nothing between us but business. I don’t care whether you believe me or not, that’s the truth.” She hesitated. “It wasn’t Father, it was Ab who forbade him the house.”

“Why?”

“Ab caught him going through his papers. José said he was looking for a manuscript he’d mislaid. But he couldn’t have killed Ab, Kit. He was with me at the club.”

“He couldn’t have killed Louie. He was playing your accompaniment. Otto couldn’t have killed Ab. He was at Franconia Notch with Barby. He couldn’t have killed Louie; he wasn’t even in the apartment. Dr. Skaas couldn’t have killed Louie; he was in his wheel chair in front of you. I don’t doubt that on Friday night, we’ll find he went to the movies with Det. And Prince Felix never leaves the nest.” He laughed shortly. “Maybe the boys committed suicide.”

“No, Kit.” Her voice held pain. “You’ll find out.”

“I’ll find out.” He laughed again. “While my lady friends serve up alibis to make it easy.”

Her words trembled. “Kit. I haven’t lied to you. You must believe me.” He heard the rush of her feet and his bed sank where she perched on it. “Kit, you don’t think I’m in this, on the wrong side? You don’t believe that, do you? Barby didn’t make you believe that?”

He said dryly. “Go back to bed. I only believe what I know. The rest doesn’t bother me.”

“Kit—”

He was too sleepy to argue. “If I thought you were a danger do you think I’d have you locked in here with me? Now will you go back to bed?”

She said, “Yes.” She went.

I
T WAS NEARER EIGHT-THIRTY
than eight. He’d overslept. Only a froth of yellow hair was visible above the blankets on the other bed.

He showered, dressed rapidly. He was knotting his tie when she spoke.

“Where are you going?” Her eyes were sleep-clouded.

“Out.”

She said, “Oh,” burrowed under the covers.

He put the gun into his right hand pocket. “Does Jake live over the club?”

“Yes. He doesn’t get up so early.”

He closed the door, went down the corridor. He wasn’t consciously moving softly but the carpeting was plushy and he had learned to travel with care. Elise didn’t hear him. Her face was bent over the small table; she sorted the first mail. Without reason, he watched. He saw her lift one envelope, examine it; she raised her head furtively as she thrust it into her apron pocket. Her eyes scuttled as they met his but her fingers retained their thrust on the letter.

He moved to her deliberately. He demanded, “Give me that.”

“It’s mine.”

“Give it to me.”

“No.”

His fingers clutched her wrist but she resisted with desperate strength. Her breath was short. “You can’t take my mail.”

If he were wrong, recitation of the incident wouldn’t favor him. He didn’t know what reprisals an agency could take. Nor was he certain she was spying on him; his mother’s letter to Lotte could have been genuine, Bea Wilhite had her erratic moments. He had to take the chance. If the letter were to him, as his hunch directed, she had been told to watch for it. He had no intention of having the Wobblefoot censor his mail.

Without warning he relaxed his grip. She rubbed the mark but she didn’t remove her pocket hand from the letter.

He said, “We’ll let Lotte decide.” He nodded her to the kitchen door; he’d take no risk of this being mislaid conveniently. “She’s in there, isn’t she?”

The maid’s trapped face saw no escape. As if doomed, she preceded him. Lotte turned from the stove; seeing Kit, she frowned her suspicion of Elise as well as her scorn.

He spoke pleasantly, “I wish you to settle a small misunderstanding, Lotte. Elise claims the letter in her pocket. I believe it is mine. If it is hers I have no wish to see it.” He ordered the girl, “Hand the letter to Lotte.”

She had no choice. They were too strong for her. Her mouth worked; she could not will her fingers to release the prize.

He might have pitied the unbearable strain under which she was laboring; Lotte had no pity. For small things, yes; for a child or a young furry beast, but not for a weak man or woman. You must be strong enough to stand up to life no matter how it bludgeoned you; it had bludgeoned the old cook but it had not disquieted her creed. She commanded now, “Gif it to me, Miss.”

The girl’s sigh quivered through her to her heels. She complied.

Lotte took one angry glance and thrust it at Kit. “Yours.” She left the room. The rest was up to him.

It was from the Wardman Park, Ab Hamilton’s name in the corner. He understood Elise cleaving to it. It could be vastly important. He demanded, “Who sent you here?”

She didn’t answer, and she cringed when he raised his repeating voice, “Who sent you here?”

Yet she was silent. He was furious at her, thwarting him, wasting his time. He took a step towards her and saw the sick fear of remembered physical violence contort her face.

She gasped, “I had references. I was formerly a housemaid in Prince Felix Andrassy’s home in Paris.”