Louise's Blunder (18 page)

A Buick sedan with government plates drew up in front of him. A broad man in an Army uniform got out of the car.

Damn it, Royal thought, the Army! He should have realized the military would intrude, with Russians and the OSS involved. This would be yet another case where the Feds would tell him to go find lost dogs instead of solving a cold-blooded murder.

The man ran over to Royal’s car and knocked on his window. Royal rolled it down, letting the man stand in the rain.

‘I’m Major Angus Wicker, OSS Security,’ the man said.

Flip you a dead fish, Royal thought. He dropped his cigarette and shook hands with Wicker. ‘Sergeant Harvey Royal, District Police, homicide.’

‘Can we talk?’

‘If we must.’

Wicker went around the car and slid into the passenger seat, after Royal drew his legs back under the steering wheel.

‘I know the deceased is Clark Leach,’ Wicker said. ‘One of ours. The chief of police telephoned us after you called it in. Do you know who shot him?’

Royal shook his head. ‘No. The woman runs a small café out of her house cooking for the Russian émigré community. She refused to identify the Russian man our victim was eating dinner with. Don’t think we’ll be able to get her to, either.’

‘Wise woman,’ Wicker said. ‘She doesn’t want to get mixed up in whatever is going on.’

Royal wanted to go home and have a couple of stiff bourbons to ease the pain in his knee. But he needed to ask the question.

‘Don’t suppose you’d be willing to help us out here, would you?’ he asked Wicker.

Wicker stared across the street at the Korobkina house.

‘Can I go inside? See the body?’ Wicker asked.

‘Sure. Why not?’

The two men hurried across the street and into the front room of the house. The police photographer was picking up the light bulbs he’d ejected while photographing the body. The fingerprint expert was packing all his little bottles and brushes into a leather case. Wicker stood over the corpse and stared at him.

‘Let’s go back outside,’ Wicker said, abruptly turning away from the dead man. ‘Better yet, let’s get a drink. We can take my car.’

‘Constable,’ Royal said to the policeman. ‘When the crime scene guys are finished you may release the body to the morgue. Ask if you can help Mrs Korobkina in any way. The policewoman will stay with her until her husband arrives home. Then you may release the scene and leave.’

‘Yes sir,’ the policeman said.

Wicker and Royal ran, their trench coats pulled over their heads to protect them from the rain, into a brightly lit pub. The barman gestured them toward the bar, but Royal flashed his badge and he and Wicker took the only empty booth. Both men ordered double bourbons.

‘Clark Leach was a big shot,’ Wicker said, after their bourbons arrived. ‘Far East specialist. Close to General Donovan.’

‘Oh my God,’ Royal said. ‘You don’t happen to know who killed him?’

‘Pretty sure it was Lev Gachev, Russian émigré, a spymaster for the Soviet Union. Runs a couple of small spy rings inside the government. He turned Leach.’

When Royal recovered from his astonishment at Wicker’s confidences he suggested that the District Police could put out an All Points Bulletin on Gachev.

‘No, he’s long gone. Abandoned his cover – a little shop, I just came from there. He’s either tucked up at the Soviet Embassy or in another safe house.’

‘So is that it?’ Royal asked. ‘You guys are planning to cover this up too, I suppose.’

Wicker paused, staring at Royal as if sizing him up, then said ‘We believe Gachev murdered Paul Hughes too. Hughes was a member of the same ring that Leach ran. We think that Hughes had just met with Gachev. They must have had a disagreement. The Tidal Basin is just a few blocks from what was Gachev’s shop.’

‘Sounds reasonable.’

Royal gestured the bartender for another double bourbon. Wicker declined with a shake of his head.

‘Who sent the telegram from Hughes’ “mother”?’ Royal said, sipping instead of gulping his second drink.

‘We assume Gachev,’ Wicker said. ‘His shop’s address was recorded at the local Western Union office. Incredible he would make such an error.’

‘So both cases are solved,’ Royal said. Louise would be glad to know this, he thought.

He hoped her job was safe.

‘Not exactly. We have a very loose end to tie up,’ Wicker said.

‘What?’ Royal asked.

‘Do you know the whereabouts of Mrs Louise Pearlie? We’ve lost track of her.’

Get enough size variations in [ … ] uniforms that each girl can have a proper fit. This point can’t be stressed too strongly as a means of keeping women happy.

‘1943 Guide to Hiring Women’,
Mass Transportation
magazine, July 1943
.

R
oyal sipped his bourbon to buy a few seconds to think.

‘Louise who?’ he asked.

‘Louise Pearlie,’ Wicker said. ‘You don’t need to dissemble. We know you’ve met with her regarding the Hughes murder.’

‘Yes,’ Royal said. He sucked on his cigarette again, stalling, not knowing what to tell Wicker. He’d promised not to inform on Louise to OSS, but he didn’t know what to make of this situation.

‘Let me begin,’ Wicker said. ‘Mrs Pearlie is a file clerk, but she’s done some commendable fieldwork in the past, so we asked for her help in resolving some small issues in the Hughes case. Apparently you approached her too?’

‘Yes,’ Royal said, giving in to his concern about Louise. ‘She gave her real name to Hughes’ landlady, Mrs Nighy. Once you people put the kibosh on my investigation of Hughes’ murder, I used her mistake to get her to work for me. You see, my superiors had closed the Hughes’ case, but I was sure he was murdered.’

‘She investigated for us at the same time,’ Wicker said. ‘Playing both ends against the middle. She’s a smart woman.’

‘Mrs Pearlie never told me anything I couldn’t have found out myself if I’d been authorized to investigate the case.’

‘Forget about all that,’ Wicker said. ‘We have more than that to worry about. The last time Mrs Pearlie was seen she was with Clark Leach.’

‘No!’ Royal said. He felt his throat constrict.

Wicker leaned forward. ‘This is complicated, so I’m just going to hit the high spots. While all this commotion over the Hughes murder was going on, a woman at OSS approached Mrs Pearlie, under the guise of offering her friendship. She introduced her to a group of friends, including Clark Leach. Paul Hughes was a member of the circle before he died. Another friend is the wife of yet another big shot at OSS. The group met every week for drinks at the apartment of two of the women. They went out to a nightclub. Leach took Mrs Pearlie to a movie.’

‘How did you know this?’

‘We’ve suspected Leach for some time. We’ve had a tail on him for weeks. Mrs Pearlie has a sterling record so we allowed the ring’s attempt to recruit her to continue.’

‘I don’t suppose you had the grace to tell her.’

‘No, strategically we felt the operation would work better if she wasn’t briefed.’

‘And all this intertwines with the Hughes murder?’ Royal asked.

‘Yes. Figuring it all out is like trying to untie a fisherman’s knot with one hand,’ Wicker said.

Royal put his hands flat on the table and pushed hard to relieve the tension in his back and neck.

‘If Louise is in danger we’re wasting time! When were she and Leach last seen?’ he asked.

‘Leaving a residential hotel near Hughes’ rooming house a couple of hours ago,’ Wicker said. ‘We think the ring kept a safe room there. Louise and Leach arrived together, our man on Leach’s tail. Two of the women arrived separately earlier. And our man saw Gachev enter through a side door a minute after Leach and Louise went in the main entrance. I think this is when the group tried to recruit Louise. Later they all came out separately, except for Louise and Leach. The two of them left together, and our man said Leach was gripping Louise’s arm in an unfriendly way, you might say.’

‘So where did they go!’

‘Our man lost them. Instead of using Leach’s car the two of them went around the corner and up a couple of blocks to a taxi stand. Our man ran after them and arrived at the taxi stand just as their taxi drove off.’

‘License plate?’

‘No. And a couple of hours later Leach is murdered.’

‘Damn!’ Royal exploded. ‘We’ve got to do something!’

‘I’m afraid to hope she might still be alive.’

‘We need to assume she is. Do you know these girls who made friends with Louise?’

‘Yes, but I can’t tell you their names.’

‘For Christ’s sake! You and your goddamn secrecy! Look, find the girls, ask them if they can think of any place that Leach might have taken Louise. Beat it out of them with a chair if you have to!’

‘What about you?’ Wicker said, standing up.

‘I’m familiar with that taxi cab stand. I’m going to find the driver who picked up Louise and Leach. Take me back to my car; let’s go!’

‘How can we keep in touch?’

‘Do you have a radio in your car?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ll give you the police frequency.’

The tiny sailboat tossed violently, straining its anchor line like a leashed dog trying to chase a squirrel. I’d already tied myself to a rung of the ladder steps to keep from being thrown around the cabin. Now I heaved. My head pounded. Although I’d spent a lot of time around boats, the wood creaking, the grating sound that the anchor rope made in its socket and the cracks of lightning that lit up the square of sky that showed in the portholes terrified me. I tried to calm myself as best I could. I wouldn’t be any safer above deck, would I? I’d have to tie myself to the main mast to keep from being tossed overboard and I’d be sopping wet to boot. That was all well and good, but I was locked below deck. If the ship was damaged I’d have no chance at all of living. I’d go right down with it. Fear took total hold of me for a few minutes. I screamed wildly and I felt urine dribble down my legs. I had such a bad headache from the low barometer I thought my skull would split open.

One of the port lights went mystifyingly dark. How I regained control of myself I don’t remember. But I untied myself and struggled over to the port light and peered out into the night.

Clouds cleared, briefly revealing the moon, and in its light I saw the enormous anvil shape of the storm, lightning threading through it, looming over me.

This was a damn big storm. It could spawn a waterspout.

I made my way to the head, but not before being thrown up against the stove, so hard it left my left arm almost numb. Inside the head I relieved myself, heaving into the tiny sink at the same time. I felt safer inside the head than out in the cabin, so there I stayed as I took mental inventory of the tiny cabin. For the life of me I could not imagine any possible way I could escape.

Thunder boomed almost directly overhead, or so it seemed, and I could feel the ship shudder, trying desperately to pull free from its anchor, almost bucking. I opened the door to the head in time to see a glimpse through a port light of a wave rearing up and pouring over the boat, which tilted sharply before righting itself.

I wished I hadn’t stopped going to church. I wondered if it would count against me. After all, I’d gone to the Baptist church three days a week until moving to Washington, more than even the Catholics in Wilmington. For some reason the Navy hymn came to mind and I began to hum it to myself as loudly as I could. Its staid melody calmed me and helped me to feel hopeful. If God listened to the prayers of ‘those in peril on the sea’, surely I qualified!

Major Wicker pulled up in front of Rose and Sadie’s apartment house.

‘What is this?’ he said to his driver, looking out the window at the raging storm outside. ‘The end of days?’

Hail pummeled the sidewalk. When Wicker exited his car the wind almost knocked him down. He held on tight to his hat as he ran for the apartment house, icy ping-pong ball sized hail falling from the sky.

‘God damn,’ Wicker said to himself, once inside the lobby. ‘This is all we need.’

He removed his hat and raincoat and headed to the elevator.

‘So,’ he said to the Army private who guarded Rose’s door. ‘How are they doing?’

‘All I can hear is crying,’ the constable said. ‘And that WAAC girl trying to calm them down.’

‘That WAAC’s name is Private Godfrey,’ Wicker said.

Inside on the sofa Rose and Sadie weren’t crying anymore, but they were scrunched together on the sofa holding on to each other for dear life. The WAAC sat nearby, but stood to attention when Major Wicker came in the door.

‘At ease,’ Wicker said to Private Godfrey.

‘Have you found Louise?’ Rose asked. ‘Is she all right?’

‘What is going to happen to us?’ Sadie asked. ‘We are so sorry! We just didn’t think!’

‘We don’t have time for that now.’ He remained standing, a psychological ploy to make the women feel his authority and understand that time was short. ‘We have not found Mrs Pearlie. She could be in terrible danger. We need your help.’

‘Anything,’ Rose said. ‘We’ll do anything!’

‘When was the last time you saw Mrs Pearlie?’ Wicker asked.

‘When she left the safe room with Clark,’ Rose said. ‘After she refused to join our ring.’

‘Under what circumstances?’ Wicker asked.

The two women turned and looked at each other. Wicker saw from their eyes that agreement passed between them.

‘Gachev gave Clark twelve hours to convince Louise to join us,’ Rose said.

‘It hasn’t been twelve hours!’ Sadie said. ‘So Louise must still be alive!’

Wicker didn’t mince words. ‘Clark Leach is dead. Murdered by Gachev in the middle of a café a couple of hours ago. Shot right between the eyes. Louise wasn’t with them.’

Sadie made a wounded noise in her throat, then burst into tears. Rose shook her hard.

‘Stop that!’ Rose said. ‘We both need to think straight!’

Sadie just cried harder, until she was almost shrieking. Wicker ordered Private Godfrey to take her into the bedroom and shut the door.

‘Listen to me,’ Wicker said to Rose, who was dry-eyed but trembling. ‘Has Leach ever mentioned some place, other than his apartment, that he has access to, where he might have taken Louise while he dickered with Gachev? Someplace she couldn’t escape from?’

‘No,’ Rose said. ‘No. Nothing like that!’

‘Think,’ Wicker said. ‘I’m not being dramatic when I say that Louise’s life is at stake.’

Rose bit her lip and twisted her hands. Then a spark lit up her eyes. ‘Clark told us about a little sailboat he could borrow that belonged to a friend. He said we could picnic there this summer. Sunbathe and listen to the radio.’

‘Where?’ Wicker said.

‘It’s moored on the Virginia side of the Potomac,’ she said. ‘South of the railroad bridge.’

God, Wicker thought. In this storm!

At first I thought I was dreaming. It seemed to me that the storm was abating. The rocking of the boat was less violent. Several times the line to the anchor slacked. Maybe the storm had passed through and I wasn’t going to drown after all. I should have sung the Navy hymn to myself much earlier in this ordeal and included all the verses. Thunder still cracked and lightning flashed, but the thunder wasn’t as loud and the lightning bolts struck further to the south. Perhaps I wasn’t going to drown after all. I glanced at my watch. It was two o’clock in the morning, six hours since Clark had imprisoned me here, another six to go until he returned – if he returned. I was not counting on it.

I pushed my way out of the head and peered out one of the port lights. I hadn’t been dreaming. It was still storming but the worst of it had passed on by.

The kerosene lantern had gone out, so I relit it. Its warm glow was so comforting it brought tears to my eyes. I lay down on the bunk and let tension ease out of my body.

After a few minutes’ rest I got up and climbed the short ladder to the hatch door. I threw my shoulder into the door until it throbbed with pain, then switched to the other shoulder. The door didn’t give even an inch, God damn it! In frustration I kicked the hatch hard, lost my balance and tumbled down the steps. If I lived through this I’d be covered with bruises.

Next I searched the cabin looking for something, anything, that might help me break through the door. Behind a compartment door I found a rivet gun. It was a heavy tool that looked like a wrench except for an added mechanism in the head that delivered the rivets.

Back at the hatch door I slammed the head of the rivet gun against the door over to the hasp screws as hard as I could, over and over. I scarred up the door, but that was all. If the padlock had been placed on the cabin side I might have been able to knock it loose, but from this side budging it was impossible. In frustration I flung the rivet gun across the length of the cabin. It bounced off the wall and landed on the propane stove with a clang.

Perhaps in the morning, when it was light, I would be able to think more clearly. I lay back down on the bunk and tried to rest.

A sound like a pine log dropping from a crane on to a truck bed woke me out of a thin sleep. I felt the boat tremble. It was an impact, a severe one. Something had struck the sailboat. I felt the cabin begin to list to one side. The ship was taking on water.

I jumped up and grasped the ring on the hatch to the hold and pulled it up. Holding the lantern over the square hole in the floor, I peered in and saw that without doubt the water was rising. I could hear the sound of water rushing into the hold but couldn’t see the section of the hull where the damage was. My best guess was that the limb of a tree had rammed the ship right at the water line.

The ship was sinking.

Sergeant Royal pulled up to the taxi stand a couple of blocks away from the Worth Residential Hotel. He’d already found Leach’s car still parked out in front of the hotel. Since Leach and Louise had left by taxi, Royal figured that Leach must have dropped her off somewhere, then taken another taxi to the Russian café to meet Gachev. Leach died before he could get back to his car.

The taxi cab stop was unofficial, with just a few cabs out in front of a small diner where the drivers could drink coffee and listen to baseball games on the radio while waiting for a fare. Royal parked out front, behind the row of taxis, and got out, sliding over slick lumps of hail on his way to the diner. He spotted the drivers right away crowded into a booth near the radio mounted on the back wall. He removed his badge from his pocket as he made his way over to the cab drivers. As soon as he got to their table he flashed it.

‘DC Metropolitan Police,’ Royal said. ‘And I ain’t got any time to waste.’