Murder for Two (25 page)

It doesn't take long to slam home a couple of hooks and Nossek couldn't be blamed if he hadn't been able to help. He'd felt the gun torn from his grasp and then Harry and Mugsie were in his way and now, a second later, they were on the floor.

Casey stepped over Mugsie and moved in close. “All right,” he grunted, jabbing with his left. “Let's see who's tough and who ain't.”

Nossek took the jab and moved back. His pale eyes were still ugly but they had changed too. They weren't gloating any more. They were wary and a little afraid as he set himself and swung his right.

It was a Sunday punch and Casey, still moving, stepped inside and threw another left. Nossek's head went back and he swung wildly and Casey took the punch on the side of his head, lowered his shoulders, and ripped a right and left wrist-deep into Nossek's stomach.

Nossek said, “Whoosh,” and gagged and bent over.

Casey hit him on the chin. That put Nossek out but Casey didn't know it and he was still so mad he couldn't think. And that was a mistake. He reached for Nossek to hold him up and someone yelled:

“Casey!”

The voice was high and there was fear and urgency and despair in it and Casey clung to Nossek and turned his head, his spine an icy column and his scalp tight.

All he could see was Harry, and now he knew how stupid he had been, how unthinking his rage. For Harry was sit ting up, his brows a black twisted line above his nose, and he had that automatic almost level.

Casey had a lot of muscle packing his big frame and he used it all in one last, instinctive effort, desperation taking the place of his anger. Still with that good hold on Nossek, he pivoted. With the last fiber of his strength he pulled the man across him and grabbed with the other hand to hold him there.

He was still moving when the gun hammered at his ears. Nossek's torso jerked. There was a quick, sharp shock, as though Casey himself had been hit, and as the jolt passed, Nossek was still. Then, as Casey tried to hold that dead weight in front of him, a second report slammed through the room and the smell of powder was in the back of his throat and he wondered why he felt nothing, why there had been no second jolt.

He felt the man slip from his sweaty hands and tried to hoist him again. He heard something thud to the floor. Someone cursed softly and it was Harry and he had tipped over sideways and was trying to reach for his fallen gun with his left hand.

Casey dropped Nossek and jumped. He knocked Harry sideways and scooped up the gun; then, straightening and trying to get his breath, he saw John Perry. Flat on his stomach, his elbows braced, the gun that Casey had kicked away from Nossek in his bound hands. He was still watching Harry.

Casey looked down at the gun he had and now his fingers were trembling as reaction hit him. He tried to speak and had to swallow to clear his throat. He was still breathing hard and his shirt was soaked and clinging to his back and only now did he begin to feel scared, to see what a fool he had been. Karen Harding's voice, crying out from the bedroom, pulled his thoughts back to the moment.

“John. John!”

There was terror in that voice and a note of panic. Casey looked at Perry and Perry looked at him and his face was white and sick. He tried to speak but no words came.

“Answer me, John!
Flash—”

“He's all right,” Casey called. “We're both all right.”

“Oh,” the girl said. “Oh—”

“Be with you in a minute.” Casey put the gun in his pocket. “Thanks,” he said to John Perry. “I guess this is my lucky day.”

“He would have killed you,” Perry said, the sickness still upon his face.

“Yeah,” Casey said. “He sure as hell would.” He stepped to Harry, who was sitting up now, glowering and holding his upper arm with his left hand.

“You bastard!” he said. “You lucky bastard!”

“That's what everybody says,” Casey said, and reached down and pulled the envelope from inside the man's coat.

He put it in his pocket and went to John Perry. It took but seconds to get the belt off his feet, another half minute to release the hands. He was going to tell the other to go get the girl and then he thought it would be better if he did it himself. He glanced about, saw that Mugsie was pushing himself to a sitting position.

“Watch them,” he told Perry, “and don't be scared to pull that trigger again.”

Karen Harding, fully dressed except for shoes, lay flat on the bed. Her ankles had been bound by a towel, her wrists were tightly taped, and a length of rope had been passed around and under the bed, crossing just below her shoulders so that she could not sit up or lift her arms.

Casey made himself grin. He pretended he didn't see the frightened eyes, the strained, white mouth.

“Hi, chicken,” he said. “Everything's okay. If I let you up, will you behave?”

That approach helped. “Oh, Flash,” she said. “Is John—”

“John is very busy,” Casey said and got out his pocket knife.

He cut the rope first and it fell off and she sat up. He untied the towel and when he took it off she was going after the tape on her wrists with her teeth. When he saw that she had already started an inch or so of the bandage he asked her if she wanted him to cut it off or unwind it.

“Unwind it,” she said, and Casey did, freeing the last few inches with one good jerk. “There.—Now wait a minute,” he added when she started to stand up. “Hadn't you better go in the bathroom and fix yourself up a little?”

“But—” She looked at him uncertainly and he kept grinning.

“John'll be in here just as soon as I phone the lieutenant. You can't go out there now and he can't come in until I relieve him, so you might just as well—”

She had started for the doorway to the living-room and he put out his hand and stopped her. “Not now,” he said. “We had a little trouble.”

She watched him, a frown sliding over her young face, and erasing some of her concern. When she saw he wasn't going to let her out, she turned toward the bath.

“All right,” she said.

Casey leaned toward the bedside table and picked up the telephone.

“Where are you?” Logan asked a few seconds later.

Casey told him. He said that Logan had better bring a couple of men and an extra car, and not to forget the ambulance.

Chapter Twenty-Two

J
UST
B
ECAUSE
I
T'S
E
ASY

L
IEUTENANT
L
OGAN
didn't ask for many details until after he had taken care of the more pressing matters. Harry, whose arm wound was not serious, had been hustled off to the receiving-station under police guard; Nossek, with Harry's slug in his back, had been rushed to City Hospital in a serious condition. Mugsie, a little stunned by the whole thing but none the worse for wear, waited outside in a police car, and now Logan got the complete story from Casey and Karen Harding.

“What did I tell you?” he said finally.

“You told me lots of things,” Casey said.

“With that luck of yours I could sneak into Germany and take Hitler single-handed.”

Casey grinned at him. “You're jealous.”

“You can say that again too.”

“Just because I figured this thing out—”

“You figured it back there at Perry's place, yes. And you did all right too. Only when you have a guy on each arm and one of the toughest thugs in Jersey in front of you with a gun in his hand—”

“I was mad,” Casey said. “Nossek made me sore.”

Logan shook his head sadly. He looked at Perry and Karen Harding and spread his hands.

“I ask you,” he said. “They made him mad.”

“Well, they did.”

“That was a mistake,” Logan said. “That I admit. It was a tactical error. But if it hadn't been for that fool luck, if it hadn't been for Perry here, you'd be right where Nossek is—or maybe in the morgue.—Well, there's no use going into that. Let's see what's in the envelope.”

Perry passed it over. He was sitting on the arm of Karen Harding's chair, one arm lightly on her shoulder and her hand in his. He didn't look tired any more, nor defeated nor hopeless. He didn't even look pale.

“Casey isn't the only one who was lucky,” he said. “Byrkman saved just about everything.”

Casey sat down on the davenport beside Logan. Perry had told him what was in the envelope but he hadn't actually seen the proof. Now he saw that there was a two-page typewritten letter with Byrkman's signature on the bottom of the second page, and an agreement signed by Matt Lawson and John Perry and dated nearly sixteen months ago. The agreement made the whole thing pretty clear, for in this contract it was stated that John Perry was to receive fifty percent of all royalties on his
Everflow
formula.

The letter itself rounded out the picture. Casey skipped the introductory paragraph and got to the part that interested him.

… Mr. Lawson promised to pay me three hundred a month if I would make out the two sets of contracts with different terms and help switch them on Mr. Perry. But knowing Mr. Lawson, it seemed best to be sure he carried out his promise and so while he was saying good-by to Mr. Perry I took the contracts into my office and put the one Mr. Perry thought he was signing into my desk, telling Mr. Lawson that I had destroyed it.… Mr. Perry should never have gone to prison. It was Mr. Lawson who made the assault. He said he'd break every bone in Mr. Perry's body if he ever made trouble, and when Mr. Perry wouldn't leave Mr. Lawson knocked him down twice and kicked him
…

“So,” Logan said and glanced over at Perry. “That assault business
was
the way you said it was.”

“And he'll get a pardon?” Karen Harding said.

“I don't know about that,” Logan said, “but if you want my guess, I'd say he would.”

“Turn the page,” Casey said.

“Have patience, my son,” Logan said and turned to the second page of the statement.

About a month after I had left Mr. Lawson certain things happened that made me realize that I should take steps to protect myself and that is the reason for this letter. I intend to go to Morris Loeb, the lawyer who has drawn up my will, and give him an envelope containing the copy of the contract and this statement. I will tell him that it is to be kept in his safe and delivered immediately upon my death, regardless of the cause
.

I realize that this is a bad way of righting the wrong I am guilty of. There's no backing out now and this is merely my protection. The next time Mr. Lawson threatens I shall tell him of this envelope. Should he be responsible for my death or disappearance, he will be exposed
…

Logan folded the papers and put them back in the envelope. “I'll keep this a few days. This is evidence.”

“I wish you would,” John Perry said.

“And how do you stand with Lawson now?” Casey wanted to know.

Logan rose, pocketing the envelope. He rubbed his hands and tipped his head slightly, looking down his nose at Casey.

“One thing about this business, when the breaks begin to come we sometimes get them good. I told you about the bellboy that had seen Lawson go into the hotel and leave a few minutes later. Well, Mr. Lawson came back after that.”

“Oh,” Casey said.

“Yep. There's a little old guy that pushes a truck around the kitchen and through the back hall and out into the alley. He pushes whatever they put on the truck, laundry, garbage cans, groceries, anything. And he saw Mr. Lawson come in the back way. We haven't got the time exact but as near as we can figure it this was about fifteen to twenty minutes after the bellboy had seen him go out.”

“The guy is sure?”

“He's an Irishman,” Logan said. “And he's old. He took a look at that picture of Lawson you took and he says yes. And when a guy like that once makes up his mind—or maybe you don't know Irishmen.”

Casey thought it over. It was at things like that that the police excelled. Logan's men had spent hours and hours on routine investigation and now he had something.

“Figure it for me.”

“You're sure it won't bore you?”

Casey grinned. Logan was feeling pretty good, wasn't he? He looked at Perry and the girl and they were smiling too.

“Sure it'll bore me. Go ahead.”

“Lawson sent Nossek and Harry to move Byrkman to the Walters Hotel because he was afraid he might crack. The next noon he went there to have it out with Byrkman. He didn't go there to kill or he wouldn't have taken a chance of going the front way. He went up to talk, to see just how tough it was. And I think Byrkman made the mistake of telling Lawson about us and what we knew. He may have made it clear that if he got in a jam he was going to make a deal to protect himself.

“Whatever Byrkman said then was too much. Lawson went out. He was gone twenty minutes—long enough to get the gun that had killed Rosalind Taylor from the two guys that did it. Don't ask me why he didn't send them. That can be figured. Maybe he had another job for them—he knew about the envelope, didn't he?—and he knew he had to have it, and they could get it better than he could. Anyway, I say that can be figured. He goes up the back way, does the job. It's a small caliber gun remember, and trains are running every few minutes out front. He goes through Byrkman's bags.”

Logan leaned back against the table, his words taking on new emphasis. “Now I say a guy like Byrkman, alone and without friends, would have something either on him or in his effects that would give his lawyer's name. We found nothing at all and that means Lawson got it. And the only thing that saved us”—he glanced at John Perry—“and you too, is that when his two gunmen got to Loeb, the guy was out of town.”

“It's a good start, anyway,” Casey said.