I went up to him. "Harry Pearch?"

  He swung around on the stool to look at me. "Yeah. You'd be Barrow?"

  I nodded and sat down beside him, ordered black coffee from the kid behind the counter.

  "Hope you don't mind meeting me out here," Pearch said. "My wife. I don't want her getting nervous all over again. She hears me even talking about Nardy Coates, she'll hit the roof."

  I looked at his arm in the sling. "Nardy do that?"

  "Uh-huh. Him and those two hoods of his. And this." He touched his bent nose. "And my insides bleeding so bad I was in the hospital for a week. Be smart. Give his wife back her money and forget it."

  "When did this happen? The beat-up job?"

  "Couple months ago." His eyes got a frightened look, just remembering. He squeezed them shut for a second.

  I turned away and paid the kid for my coffee, drank some of it. "What'd Nardy's wife hire you for?" I asked Pearch.

  "Same as you, I guess. She wants to sue Nardy for divorce and collect big alimony. Only she needs proof of his infidelity for that, of course. So that's what she hired me to get for her."

  "Did you find out anything, before they-"

  "Sure. It wasn't hard. I just tailed him for a week, to make sure. Nardy's got a mistress stashed away in a swank apartment over on the East Side. But before I could rig the proof-photos, witnesses, all that stuff you know about-Nardy caught me at it. Him and those two hoods… They got me in an alley. Beat me like… I thought they were gonna kill me… I was crazy to tackle a girly like Nardy Coates in the first place. Even for the dough his wife was putting out for it. Just plain crazy. Listen to me, Barrow. I'll tell you like you're my brother. Leave Nardy alone."

  I sipped some more of my hot coffee. "This mistress of Nardy's. What's her name?"

  "Ellie Masters," Pearch told me, reluctantly.

  It could still be Fran Ford. She'd changed her name before.

  "You know what she looks like?"

  "Yeah… Tiny little thing. Real pretty."

  I sat up straighten "Blonde?"

  "No. Black hair."

  Tiny and pretty fitted. She could have dyed her hair.

  "Where's this apartment Nardy keeps her in?"

  Pearch looked at me, shook his head sadly. "You're going ahead with it?"

  I nodded.

  He sighed. "Well, it's your funeral. I warned you all I could."

  He told me the address of Nardy's mistress. I finished my coffee, told him thanks, and headed out.

  It was a tall, new apartment building overlooking the East River. I looked over the mailslot tabs in the entrance till I found the one for Ellie Masters. Apartment Twelve-A.

  The inner door to the lobby was locked. I pushed several of the apartment buttons. A few seconds later, the inner door began clicking. I opened it and went into the lobby. There were two elevators across the lobby, both self-service, and beside them was a stairway leading up.

  I got into one of the elevators, started to press the button for the twelfth floor, stopped myself before I touched it. Twinges in my bruised lips and swollen ear reminded me of what had happened to Harry Pearch, and to me in Hoboken.

  I pressed Eleven, instead.

  When the elevator reached the eleventh floor, I got out and pressed the button for twelve. I hurried to the stairs, went up them as fast as I could without making any sound. The elevator and I reached the twelfth floor at the same time. I peeked around the corner of the stairway, into a short, well-lighted hall. There was no one there.

  It didn't do much to relax the tightness in my gut. There were only two apartment doors, one at each end of the short hall. I found the one marked 12-A, stood in front of it a moment, slipping my right hand in my coat pocket and snicking off the Magnum's safety. I pushed the button beside the door. Chimes sounded inside the apartment. I waited.

  The door was opened part way by a girl in black satin pajamas.

  She was short enough. And her hair could have been dyed black.

  But her figure was too plumply rounded, her eyes too dark, her face too exotic.

  She wasn't Fran Ford.

  "Ellie Masters?" I said.

  "Yeah?"

  "You alone at the moment?"

  "Uh-huh. What do you want?"

  "I'd like to talk to you a minute. About Nardy."

  Her exotic face got wary. "What do you want?" she repeated.

  I started to move in. She started to close the door in my face. I put my leg against the door and shoved, ripping it out of her hand. It swung back and slammed the wall.

  Ellie backed away, her dark eyes going wide. I stepped inside after her.

  "Take it easy," I soothed her. "I only want-"

  Then I noticed that her lipstick was smeared.

  I took a fast long step that brought me close to her, grabbed her wrist with my left hand.

  To my left, just inside a doorway of the living room, Nardy Coates stood in striped blue-and-white pajamas, his hand in the open drawer of a sofa-side table. His grim face went grimmer when he saw who I was. His hand came out of the drawer with a little automatic in it.

  I tightened my grip on Ellie's wrist and threw her across the room at Nardy.

  Nardy tried to catch her and at the same time move aside for a clear shot at me. He didn't quite manage either. Ellie bowled into him and he went down with her, losing the gun as he fell.

  I had the Magnum out of my pocket when I caught a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye. I spun towards it. The ape-faced hulk they called Tank came lunging out of a doorway to my right at me.

  He didn't have a gun in the massive hands that were reaching for me. And I wasn't mad enough at him to shoot him. I slugged the Magnum against his forehead as he reached me. He grunted and his head snapped back. He went down, grabbing the front of my coat and dragging me down to my knees with him.

  His tiny eyes were glazed from the blow to his head, but his thick fingers reached for my throat and got it. His thumbs were sinking in deep, strangling me, when I slammed the Magnum across the bridge of his nose, feeling the bone disintegrate under it. Tame let out a gargling scream, let go of my throat and clapped his hands to his face. I lunged to my feet and put all my strength behind a slam to the back of his head that drove Tank all the way down.

  Nardy had the little automatic back in his hand and was coming to his feet when I spun toward him.

  The little gun made a little cracking sound as he squeezed the trigger. The slug that ripped through the side of my coat was little, too. But it still scared hell out of me. I shot him before he could throw another of those little slugs at me.

  There's nothing little about a .357 Magnum slug. It hit him high in the right shoulder, knocked the little automatic out of his hand, spun him around completely and bounced him off the wall.

  Beside my shoes, Tank was groggily trying to lift his head off the floor. I kicked him behind the ear. His head bounded, fell back on the floor, and didn't move.

  Nardy sat slumped against the wall, squeezing his bleeding shoulder with his left hand, his face contorted with pain. Ellie Masters was on the floor leaning sideways against the sofa, frozen with shock, her eyes livid with terror. I picked up the little automatic and threw it to the other side of the room.

  "Okay, Nardy" I snapped. "Where's the other one? The two-gun stocky boy?"

  "Left him in Hoboken," Nardy gasped through his clenched teeth. "He didn't feel so good."

  I grinned at the memory of the dent the stocky guy's head had left in the wall.

  "Ellie," Nardy moaned, "get Doc Hill on the phone."

  "The cops-" I started to remind him.

  Nardy looked at me. "You want the cops?"

  "Not me."

  "This doc won't call 'em. I-"

  "Your neighbors might," I said. "They'll have heard the shooting."

  "I can hush it," he gasped. "Accidental… For crissake, Ellie, call Doc Hill before I bleed to…

  "Hold it, Ellie," I snapped. "Nardy, you're going to tell me something about one of your other girl friends first. You'll keep bleeding till you do."

  Nardy squeezed his eyes shut. "Who?"

  "Fran Ford."

  His eyes snapped open, staring up at me. "Huh? Fran? She's no girlfriend… Fran's my wife."

  I gaped at him, taking a couple seconds to absorb it. "Yeah," Nardy whispered tightly. "My wife." His voice was bitter. "I paid my first wife a bundle for a divorce so I could marry Fran. What a sucker. She got her hooks in me, fooled me good… Then she turns out to be a lousy lush and… For God's sake, Barrow! I'll bleed to death!"

  "Call the doctor," I told Ellie, and then ran out.

  I'd just realized. I had a date with Fran Ford.

  SIXTEEN

  It hadn't mattered to me, before, if I kept Nardy Coates' wife waiting. But knowing that Mrs. Coates was Fran Ford changed that. It changed a lot of things. Including the way I approached my office.

  I decided against going up in the elevator. Instead, I went around to the narrow, dark alley behind my building. There was just enough light filtering into it from over the buildings on Broadway for me to see by when my eyes adjusted to it. I found an empty trash barrel, upended it under the fire-escape ladder. By standing on the barrel, I was able to reach up and grasp the rusted lower rung of the ladder. I hauled myself up and began climbing the fire-escape, slowly and silently, till I was outside one of the windows of my inner office. The window with the latch busted by whoever had broken in and stolen the case-file on Fran Ford-Julia Hiller.

  There was no light on in my office. But there was in my tiny reception room. Enough of it came through the frosted glass of the closed door between to show me that my office was empty.

  Opening the window quietly, I climbed over the sill, let myself down inside, behind my desk. I took the Magnum out of my pocket, made sure the safety was off. With the gun ready in my hand, I crossed the office, reaching the door to my reception room without a sound.

  I dragged in a deep breath and held it. With a single swift movement, I unlocked the door and yanked it wide open.

  A small blonde in a green tailored suit sat in one of the chairs facing the closed corridor door, with a big open handbag on her lap.

  I said, "Hello, Mrs. Coates."

  She jerked to her feet, clutching the handbag. Her vivid blue eyes fastened on the gun I was pointing at her. Her mouth popped open, and she let out a gasping scream.

  It surprised me a little. She didn't look like a screamer.

  She was Fran Ford, all right. But she'd changed since that magazine nude had been taken of her two years back, changed even more from the photo in her high school yearbook. Her cheeks had a sunken look, as though ravaged by some inner disease. Even her temples were gaunt, the way an alcoholics get. The whites of her eyes had a yellowish tinge, and the flesh around the lids was loose and smudged-looking. There was a tight, bitter set to the corners of her mouth that wasn't just a passing expression.

  She stared at the Magnum, wet her lips with her tongue, and said nervously, "I-I've been waiting for you, Mr. Barrow. We made an appointment, remember? I-"

  And all the while her hand crept slowly over her handbag to its open top.

  "Uh-huh," I warned her, and snatched the handbag from her, glancing in it.

  Inside the handbag was a gun, with a silencer fitted to its muzzle.

  I snapped on the light for my inner office and motioned to her with the Magnum. "Let's go in, Fran… The name is Fran?"

  She nodded and whispered, "Yes." She walked slowly, stiffly, past me into the office. I started to follow her in.

  Behind me, the door to the corridor opened, and a man's hoarse voice blurted to my back: "I've got a gun! Don't move!"

  I recognized the voice. Remembering the jumpy nerves of the man it belonged to made me stand very still.

  In front of me, Fran Ford turned with a twisted smile that was like a grimace of pain, showing her teeth.

  "Drop your gun," she said softly.

  "Drop it!" the hoarse voice whispered nervously behind me.

  I dropped the Magnum. It thudded on the rug. Fran Ford kicked it away, into a corner of the office, and took her handbag from me. She took out the gun with the silencer on it and aimed it at me, backing further into the office.

  "Come in here," she ordered.

  I followed her in.

  "Not too close!" she snapped. "Stay right there."

  I stayed right there. The guy behind me came into the office. I heard him close and lock the door to the reception room. He came around me in a wide circle, stopped near Fran Ford, facing me. It was Doak Nevers, the junky horn-player she once lived with. The one she'd been so crazy about that she'd become a souse when he got hooked again and was sent away for a cure.

  Doak Nevers looked sicker than the last time I'd met him, in The Grave. He hardly seemed to be aware of the .38 in his trembling hand. And his dulled eyes wouldn't meet mine.

  But Fran Ford was plenty aware of the gun in her hand, and her hand was not trembling. The gun with its silencer was aimed squarely at my stomach. And I was cursing myself for not guessing that she might have somebody else with her, stashed away out in the corridor outside; that she'd screamed at the sight of me only to warn him that something was wrong.

  "Let's get this over with," Nevers mumbled nervously to her. "Get it over and get out of here!"

  "It can wait a minute," she told him coldly. She moved to the side of my desk, put her handbag on it, and took a folded sheet of paper out of it. She opened the paper on top of the desk and glanced at it. It was my case-sheet on Julia Hiller-otherwise known as Fran Ford.

  "You're the one who stole that from here?" I asked. There was something on her mind, besides killing me. I wanted to encourage it till- I looked at Doak Nevers. He was out of reach, and backed away another step when I looked at him.

  The girl's gun and the cold steadiness of her eyes told me that if I jumped, I wouldn't reach her alive.

  "No," she said. "Wally Morlan had it."

  That explained Morlan wanting to put off coming to see me till the next day-and the office phone ringing but no one answering at the other end when I picked it up. Morlan must have kept calling till I didn't answer, then come over, broken in to get the case-file that would tell him what I'd found out.

  "I guess Morlan's dead?"

  "This paper of yours told him about me leaving Florida with Nardy," she said tonelessly. "So Wally came out to our house to talk to Nardy. Find out from Nardy where I was. Only Nardy wasn't home. And I was."

  "When they find his body…"

  "Were right on the water," she informed me softly. "We have a sea-skiff at our dock. I took Wally a long way out. Maybe someday his body'll drift ashore somewhere. But nobody'll recognize it after-"

  "Fran!" Doak Nevers begged. "I can't stand this much longer! Get it over with if you're gonna do it!"

  "In a minute," she told him, soothingly. She looked at me and patted the sheet of paper on the desk with her left hand. "I'm interested in part of this, Barrow. It says you saw Charlie Wolkman, just earlier today, or yesterday, now… and Cathy Long…" Her face got a dreamy, eager look. "What did they say about me? Did they figure I was doing all right, like I said I would when…"

  "You killed Chris Spinner, too," I said, stalling her. "Out there in my reception room. Right?"

  She gave a jerky little nod. "That's right. When Doak phoned that you were asking around, trying to find me, I came here and watched your office. To find out who you were working for. And I had this." She raised the gun with the silencer a half-inch. "When Spinner showed up, I figured it was him. I didn't know Wally was in it too, then."

  I nodded. "And with Spinner out of the way, you hired a killer named Pete Stanley to stop me from investigating you any further. The thing I don't get, is why you had to murder Martha DeFalco to get those pictures she took of you."

  "I didn't!" she snapped. She glanced at Doak Nevers, then quickly back at me before I could do anything about it. "It was an accident," she said with something like genuine regret. "I should have gone myself…

  Her face suddenly tightened again. "But I asked you a question, Barrow! About Charlie and Cathy… How do they think I've done?"

  I tried drifting a step towards the side of the desk, while saying, "They figure you must be doing all right, or you'd have had to come back to Smithsport by now." It pleased her. "Yes," she murmured. "They would think that way… How about Alice, that girl Charlie married? Did you meet her?"

  "Uh-huh." I drifted a little closer to the desk.

  "Is she still pretty? Do they have any kids?"

  "No," I drawled. "If you'll look here where I typed-" I'd reached the side of the desk, making an act of pointing out something in the case-sheet.

  But Fran Ford caught on before I could push it any further.

  She jumped back a step, away from the desk, then quickly took two more steps backwards, well out of reach. The, gun with the silencer was still aimed at my stomach. "Stay away from me!" she warned. "Or-"

  "I wasn't trying to grab you," I said. "I only wanted to show you where it says here…"

  "You don't have to show me. You can tell-"

  "Fran!" Doak Nevers blurted. "Please! If you're gonna shoot-"

  I nudged the toe of my shoe against the button on the leg of my desk. The one that unlocked the inner door from the reception room.

  The sudden shock of the loud buzzing-clicking from the door behind Fran Ford whirled them both around toward the sound.

  I dove headlong at Doak Nevers, counting on his burned-out nerves and on Fran Ford hesitating to shoot for fear of hitting him. I slammed shoulder-first into his chest, drove him back against the wall and grabbed for his gun. The .38 roared before I got my hand on it, as he squeezed the trigger out of nervous shock, not aiming.

  Then I was ripping the gun out of his fingers. It wasn't hard. His hand was limp, and he was staring unbelievingly past me across the room.

  I spun around with the .38 towards Fran Ford. She was already crumpling toward the floor, the gun with the silencer slipping from her nerveless fingers. Red blood was staining the green jacket of her suit where the bullet from Nevers' gun had gone into her.

 

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