Believed Violent (8 page)

He let Drena stare at the bills for several seconds, then he zipped the case shut.

“Tell me,” she said, her breathing fast. “Short of murder, I’m right with you, you gorgeous, beautiful man.”

Keegan told her.

The Harrison Wentworth Sanatorium is situated on the far left arm of Paradise Bay with views over the sea and the distant yacht harbour: a massive building standing in some three acres of immaculately kept lawns. It is surrounded by high walls and there is a lodge at the entrance gates where an elderly guard checks in visitors with old-world charm.

The security regulations are strict. Each patient is double locked in his room and each corridor is watched over by a qualified male nurse. The rooms are air conditioned, the windows of armoured glass and they don’t open. There is no hint that this mansion is a prison, and it is on record that no patient has ever escaped once consigned to a room.

The Sanatorium is the most expensive and most exclusive criminal asylum for the insane in the world. It provides accommodation for two hundred patients, and at this period there were one hundred and twenty-two patients: all people of importance, some young, most of them old, at least fifty of them highly dangerous but all with wealth.

Apart from Dr. Max Hertz who owned the asylum, two resident doctors and a Matron, the staff consisted of ten male nurses. Each one of these male nurses had been secretly investigated by Lindsey’s Detective Agency. From their reports, Lindsey had finally decided that Fred Lewis was the most likely of them all to work on.

Lindsey discovered from the report that Lewis was young, besotted by a dance hostess, urgently in need of money and dissatisfied with his work.

Lindsey knew the approach would have to be made through this dance hostess. He was sure she could handle Lewis and persuade him to co-operate so long as she was satisfied her reward would be impressive. That was why he had given Keegan $10,000 in cash with which to dazzle her. With that incentive, a woman of her record could achieve a miracle.

Fred Lewis, a small, slimly built young man in his late twenties with a crewcut of black hair, a sun-tanned, rather chubby face, signed off duty at eight p.m.

Dr. Max Hertz, a big, balding man with a genial fleshy face, leaned back in his desk chair to ask, “All under control up there, Fred? No trouble?”

“No, sir. Mr. Massingham is a little restless. I told Jack. He is giving him a sedative. The rest of them are behaving beautifully.” He signed off, replacing the pen in Hertz’s pen rack.

“Then see you tomorrow,” Hertz said.

“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”

Lewis left the mansion and walked around to the car park. He got into his shabby, second-hand Buick. He drove down to the gates. The guard, Harry Edwards, came out of the lodge to open up. Edwards was a rotund man in his late sixties. He had been gate-man now for the past thirty years.

“Hi, Fred,” he said, unlocking the gates. “How’s that little doll you’re chasing?”

Fred forced a grin.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Don’t do anything I shouldn’t hear about,” Edwards said. He envied Lewis his youth. “But if you do, confide in me.”

Again Fred forced a grin, then drove out on to the beach road that curved around the Bay and led to the centre of the City.

His grin quickly faded once he was out of sight of Edwards. He now regretted boasting to Edwards about his association with Drena French. But he had had to confide in someone. At least, Edwards didn’t kid him as Lewis knew the rest of the staff would have kidded him. He had known Drena French now for three months. One night, suddenly sick of his tiny airless apartment, he had wandered into the Go-Go Club. It had been an off-night. No warships were in the bay and Drena was glad to have a dancing partner. She found this rather serious, decent young man an enormous change from her usual brash, pawing nautical clients. He held her as if she was a precious piece of china. She could see the look of bewildered worship growing in his eyes as the evening moved along. This was something that hadn’t ever happened to her. Slightly intrigued, she had impulsively invited him back to her room when the Club shut down. She imagined it would be an experience to have such a man in her bed. But Fred Lewis didn’t attempt to make love to her. He sat on the edge of a chair and talked and adored her with his eyes. He drank one small whisky, then around three o’clock in the morning, he got to his feet and said it was time for him to go home. Drena very nearly spoilt the atmosphere he had created by inviting him to share her bed. Something warned her not to do so, and she saw him to the door. He kissed her hand and this completely threw her. No man had ever done that before. Usually they slapped her behind and tried to get their hands down the front of her bra.

From then on, Lewis was continually at the Club during his nights off: dancing with her, spending more money than he could afford, and dreaming about her.

Later, some two months after they had first met, he proposed.

“Look, Drena, we could get married,” he said, his hands squeezing his knees, his face anxious and tense. “I don’t earn a lot, but we could manage. I love you. I want to get you out of this Club. What do you say?”

Drena had never had a proposal of marriage before. She was a little emotional about it, but not for long. Lewis had become a habit. She liked his adoration, but the idea of living with him in a poky, airless apartment, doing the shopping, preparing his meals was just one hell of a joke.

“I’m not ready yet to get married, Fred,” she had returned. “Maybe later, but not yet.”

Lewis accepted this. At least she hadn’t turned him down. But as the weeks passed, his longing for her increased. He would have to leave his job, he kept telling himself. He would have to find something that paid better. But what? This depressed him. He knew his nursing training fitted him for nothing else. Maybe, if he studied at night, he might become a doctor. He discussed this with Drena who was slightly intrigued. She said she wouldn’t mind being married to a doctor, but she pointed out he couldn’t expect to do his work at the Sanatorium and work nights. When would she ever see him?

Lewis was thinking about this as he parked his car before the dreary brown-stone building where he lived. He walked up the three flights of stairs and let himself into his small, drab apartment. He turned on the light and then went into the kitchenette and looked into the refrigerator. There was some cold spaghetti and a slice of rather dry ham he had put aside for his supper. It was while he was eating this that the telephone bell rang. Surprised, he answered.

“Freddy? Drena.” He felt a rush of blood up his spine at the sound of her voice. “I want to talk to you. I’m on my way.”

“Now?” Lewis was startled. “It’s after nine! Don’t you have to be at the Club?”

“In a pig’s ear!” Drena said. “I’m on my way,” and she hung up.

Bewildered and excited, Lewis wolfed down the remains of his supper, then wondering if Drena had eaten, he checked his savings and found a $20 bill tucked away in one of his drawers. He sighed with relief. If she wanted to be taken out, he had the money.

But Drena didn’t want to be taken out. She arrived looking overwhelming in a tight fitting blue shirt and a mini-skirt. She brought with her a bottle of Scotch and a big packet of Club sandwiches.

As soon as they were settled on the divan, eating the sandwiches, she said, “We could get married, Freddy, or have you changed your mind?”

Lewis gaped at her, his eyes unbelieving, his half eaten sandwich hovering before his mouth. Then he put down the sandwich and turned to face her.

“Changed my mind? Drena! How could you even suggest such a thing! I don’t understand.”

“We could be married as soon as you can get the licence,” Drena said calmly. “Next week . . . something’s come up.”

Lewis timidly touched her hand.

“You’re not kidding? You really mean we ― we could get married next week?”

“That’s what the girl said.”

“Oh, God! Yes! But I don’t understand. What do you mean . . . something’s come up?”

“There’s a crummy seafood restaurant right opposite Watson’s jetty. In case you don’t know, the jetty is always used by the sailors coming off their ships, anchored in the bay. The restaurant is owned by Jeff Hawkins ― an old buddy of mine. The trouble with him is he has a sour-puss wife so his waitresses are old, fat and gruesome. He doesn’t get the sailor trade.” Drena paused to take a bite at her sandwich, then went on, her mouth full. “He wants out. If you and I bought this restaurant we could turn it into a gold mine. The cook would stay on and he knows his stuff. We could get three of the girls from the Club as waitresses and with me behind the cash desk and you running the place, we would be a riot. Moe Linsky who is the best and toughest bouncer at the Go-Go would join us to keep order. Freddy! We really are on to something!” She put her hand on his, her eyes sparkling. “We can’t go wrong. There’s accommodation above the restaurant . . . a bedroom, a decent sitting-room. The whole place would have to be given a lick of paint, but that wouldn’t cost much. I would want a juke-box. How do you like the idea?”

Lewis regarded her blankly.

“But where’s the money coming from? How much does this friend of yours want for the restaurant?”

“I’ve already talked to him. He’ll take seven thousand dollars spot cash,” Drena said. “It’s a knock down price. Don’t think I didn’t have to haggle . . . God! How I haggled! We can get it for seven thousand! Think of it! You and me married! Owning a restaurant that can’t go wrong! In a few years we could open another restaurant. In another few years we will have a Cadillac and me a mink coat!”

Lewis said quietly, “Look, Drena, what’s the matter with you tonight? Or are we playing a game of let’s pretend?”

“Pretend? Nothing! We can swing this, Freddy!”

“Can we? Where’s the seven thousand coming from?”

She laughed.

“Ah . . . that’s the big question. It’s coming from you.”

Lewis moved uneasily.

“But you know, Drena, I haven’t that kind of money.”

“You will have. I met a guy last night who is ready to pay you ten thousand dollars,” Drena said, smiling at him. “Ten thousand gorgeous, beautiful dollars in cash! We buy the restaurant for seven and we have three to spend on the place. After that, we are in business. What do you say?”

Lewis stared. He was wondering if she were drunk or had gone crazy.

Who is he? Drena! What are you saying?”

Drena knew she was approaching the tricky part of this proposition. She had laid the bait, but now the fish had to rise.

“This is a chance in a lifetime, Freddy,” she said, her fingers stroking his hand. “This guy will pay us all that money if you will co-operate. All I’m asking you to do is to co-operate. If you do, we get married next week, we buy the restaurant and we’re set. For this money, this guy wants a patient out of the asylum. You can tell him how to do it. That’s all there is to it. Do that, and we get the money.”

Lewis sat motionless, his eyes suddenly scared.

“I don’t understand,” he said finally. “A patient out of the asylum? Drena! What are you talking about?”

“Would it be so difficult to get a patient out?” she asked. “I shouldn’t have thought so. If you can’t do it, we don’t get the restaurant and we don’t get married. I’ll have to stay at the Club, getting pawed every night, growing older until I get thrown out. And then what will I do? I’m telling you right now, Freddy, if you don’t co-operate, you will lose me. I can’t live on your level. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. We now have a chance of a real breakthrough. If you won’t take it, then it’s goodb37e.”

Lewis studied her, then realized she meant just what she said.

“I’m not losing you, Drena,” he said quietly. “That’s for real. Life without you would mean nothing to me. All right, what do I have to do?”

Drena drew in a long, slow breath. She had been fairly sure of success, but she hadn’t imagined it would be this easy.

CHAPTER THREE

The Women’s House of Correction, Paradise City, is reached by a two mile long, lonely road that branches off State Highway 4A to Greater Miami.

At eight o’clock on a bright sunny morning, the gates opened and five girls came out into the hot sunshine. One of them was Nona Jacey. The other four were about her age, and they had completed much longer sentences. They regarded Nona as the baby of the family. All of them considered it rough luck that she had been picked up at the Self-Service store. They had been kind to her during her week’s stay behind bars, kidding her along, advising her next time to watch out for the store’s dick.

Still stunned, still scarcely believing this had happened to her, Nona had listened to their chatter, knowing it would be useless to try to convince these girls that she hadn’t stolen anything, and for reasons, she just couldn’t understand, she had been framed.

There was a shabby, dusty bus waiting to take the girls to the centre of the City. Also parked nearby was a Buick car. As the girls moved towards the bus, two men slid out of the Buick and came towards them.

Lu-Lu Dodge, a hardbitten blonde who had served a three-year stretch for sticking a knife into her pimp, studied the two men as they approached.

She said, “Ah-ha . . . cops! Now who’s in trouble?”

The two men converged on the group of girls, and to Nona’s alarm, came to rest before her.

“Nona Jacey?” one of the men said. He towered above her like a mountain of granite.

“Yes.”

The other girls hurried towards the bus, but Lu-Lu stayed, glaring at the two men.

The man flashed a badge.

“Police. You’re wanted at headquarters. We have a car. Come on.”

“Hey!” Lu-Lu exclaimed, pushing her way between the two men and Nona. “Dig a lake, copper, then jump into it.” She put her hand on Nona’s arm. “You stick right with me, honey. If these creeps have business with you, they can do it in the City.”

The second man, bulky, with a red, freckled face, moved forward. His shoulder slammed against Lu-Lu, sending her reeling, then he shoved her towards the bus.