The Big Book of Christmas Mysteries Part 40

Kistner said heatedly, "As you know, Lieutenant, I was perfectly willing to cooperate. But you are being high-handed. I demand to know why I was brought down here. I want to know why I can't phone a lawyer. You are exceeding your authority, and I-"

"Siddown!" Connie roared with all the power of his lungs.

Kistner's mouth worked silently. He sat down, shocked by the unexpected roar. A tired young man slouched in, sat at the table, flipped open a notebook, and placed three sharp pencils within easy reach.

Connie motioned Dan and Jane over toward chairs in a shadowed corner of the room. They sat side by side, and Jane held Dan's wrist, her nails sharp against his skin.

"Kistner, tell us again about how you came back to the office," Connie said.

Kistner replied in a tone of excruciating patience, as though talking to children, "I parked my car in my parking s.p.a.ce in the lot behind the building. I used the back way into the lobby. I went up-"

"You went to the cigar counter."

"So I did! I had forgotten that. I went to the cigar counter. I bought three cigars and chatted with Barney. Then I took an elevator up."

"And talked to the elevator boy."

"I usually do. Is there a law?"

"No law, Kistner. Go on."

"And then I opened the Men's Room door with my key, and I was in there perhaps three minutes. And then when I came out, the man I described brushed by me. I went to the office and found the window open. I was shutting it and I heard-"

"All this was at two o'clock, give or take a couple of minutes?"

"That's right, Lieutenant." Talking had restored Kistner's self-a.s.surance.

Connie nodded to Levandowski. The sergeant got up lazily, walked to the door, and opened it. A burly, diffident young man came in. He wore khaki pants and a leather jacket.

"Sit down," Connie said casually. "What's your name?"

"Paul Hilbert, officer."

The tired young man was taking notes.

"What's your occupation?"

"I'm a plumber, officer. Central Plumbing, Incorporated."

"Did you get a call today from the a.s.sociated Bank Building?"

"Well, I didn't get the call, but I was sent out on the job. I talked to the super, and he sent me up to the seventeenth floor. Sink drain clogged in the Men's Room."

"What time did you get there?"

"That's on my report, officer. Quarter after one."

"How long did it take you to finish the job?"

"About three o'clock."

"Did you leave the Men's Room at any time during that period?"

"No, I didn't."

"I suppose people tried to come in there?"

"Three or four. But I had all the water connections turned off, so I told them to go down to sixteen. The super had the door unlocked down there."

"Did you get a look at everybody who came in?"

"Sure, officer."

"You said three or four. Is one of them at this table?"

The shy young man looked around. He shook his head. "No, sir."

"Thanks, Hilbert. Wait outside. We'll want you to sign the statement when it's typed up."

Hilbert's footsteps sounded loud as he walked to the door. Everyone was watching Kistner. His face was still, and he seemed to be looking into a remote and alien future, as cold as the back of the moon.

Kistner said in a husky, barely audible voice, "A bad break. A stupid thing. Ten seconds it would have taken me to look in there. I had to establish the time. I talked to Barney. And to the elevator boy. They'd know when she fell. But I had to be some place else. Not in the office.

"You don't know how it was. She kept wanting more money. She wouldn't have anything to do with me, except when there was money. And I didn't have any more, finally.

"I guess I was crazy. I started to milk the accounts. That wasn't hard; the clients trust me. Take a little here and a little there. She found out. She wanted more and more. And that gave her a new angle. Give me more, or I'll tell.

"I thought it over. I kept thinking about her being a witness. All I had to do was make it look like she was killed to keep her from testifying. I don't care what you do to me. Now it's over, and I feel glad."

He gave Connie a long, wondering look. "Is that crazy? To feel glad it's over? Do other people feel that way?"

Connie asked Dan and Jane to wait in the small office. He came in ten minutes later; he looked tired. The plumber came in with him.

Connie said, "Me, I hate this business. I'm after him, and I bust him, and then I start bleeding for him. What the h.e.l.l? Anyway, you get your badge, Miss Raymer."

"But wouldn't you have found out about the plumber anyway?" Jane asked.

Connie grinned ruefully at her. He jerked a thumb toward the plumber. "Meet Patrolman Hilbert. Doesn't know a pipe wrench from a faucet. We just took the chance that Kistner was too eager to toss the girl out the window-so eager he didn't make a quick check of the Men's Room. If he had, he could have laughed us under the table. As it is, I can get my Christmas shopping done tomorrow. Or is it today?"

Dan and Jane left headquarters. They walked down the street, arm in arm. There was holly, and a big tree in front of the courthouse, and a car went by with a lot of people in it singing about We Three Kings of Orient Are. Kistner was a stain, fading slowly.

They walked until it was entirely Christmas Eve, and they were entirely alone in the snow that began to fall again, making tiny, perfect stars of lace that lingered in her dark hair.

CRIME'S CHRISTMAS CAROL.

Norvell Page.

ALREADY A PROLIFIC WRITER for such pulp magazines as Black Mask, Dime Mystery, and others, Norvell Page began to write novels for the hero pulp The Spider, under the house name Grant Stockbridge, in 1933. Created to compete with The Shadow, the first two issues of the magazine were written by R. T. M. Scott, then turned over to the twenty-nine-year-old Page, who gave the ruthless and fearless vigilante a mask and a disguise (as a fang-toothed hunchback named Richard Wentworth). A series of horrific villains were hunted down and killed by Wentworth, who then branded his prey on the forehead with a seal of a spider. At his most prolific, Page wrote more than one hundred thousand words a month, half for the Spider novels and the rest for a wide range of fiction. "Crime's Christmas Carol" was first published in the May 1939 issue of Detective Tales.

Crime's Christmas Carol.

NORVELL PAGE.

ANNA HELPED TOM PUT ON HIS COAT and, as always, the thread-bare lightness of it twisted something inside of her. The wind rattling the windows had such a hungry, thin sound. It surged in around the loose frames in spite of all the newspaper stuffing; it made the little red bows she had pinned up in place of Christmas wreaths whirl and dance.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Mr. Mann," Anna said.

Tom twisted his young thin face around and winked. "And what wouldn't you do, Mrs. Mann, seeing as how it's Christmas Eve?"

"Well," Anna made it cheerful, "I wouldn't rob a bank. I don't think I would."

"Sure?"

"Certain sure, Mr. Mann. Why, we're practically rolling in money. I've got ninety-seven cents!"

"Let me see all this wealth, woman." Tom stared down at the handful of silver and coppers, poked doubtfully at a slick-faced nickel. "I might be able to use that in a subway turnstile-if I went through a subway turnstile."

Anna said firmly, "Mr. Osterschmidt is going to take that lead nickel back. He gave it to me."

Tom stared at her and made his eyes open wide. "Don't tell me that we're going to have meat for Christmas, Mrs. Mann!"

Anna tried to keep her smile. Tom's lips were stretched tight; maybe they were smiling. He began to swear in a thin, faltering voice. He turned sharply away and slammed out of the room. Anna ran after him into the drafty hall.

"Tom," she cried. "Tom, you didn't kiss me good-bye!"

That would always stop him. But this time ... he didn't stop. His feet kept thumping down the three flights of rickety stairs, getting fainter and fainter. The front door banged. It made empty echoes clatter through the cold ancient house.

"Oh, Tom," Anna whispered. "Tom, don't do anything ... anything foolish. Please, G.o.d, he mustn't!" She took a deep breath then, and smiled a little to herself. Of course, Tom wouldn't. He was just trying for a job, any job now that the shop where he'd been working part-time was closed down. It would open again, maybe, in February.... Anna's hand knotted about her ninety-seven cents....

Anna scoured their little room and closet kitchenette until the shabby furniture shone, and three hours were gone. She spent an hour stuffing more paper around those rattling windows. And there wasn't another thing to do-except think. Anna stared about her with frightened eyes. Hours before she could expect Tom home again; hours ...

At last she dragged on her thin coat and ran down the steps. The bitter wind of the street was welcome. Tom was out in this somewhere, wasn't he? Why should anybody be warm and comfortable when Tom was cold? People had such silly smiles on their faces, arms full of packages, yelling at one another, "Merry Christmas!"

The cold pavements, the slush of the streets came through the thinness of Anna's soles. She had forgotten to line them with newspaper. Thinking of that, her eyes brightened. She could lose some time doing that; maybe as much as a half hour! She turned toward home, loitering. After that ... but she would not think of their troubles; or think of anything else.

Anna knew now that she and Tom had been foolish in their careless bravery, marrying in the face of times like these, in defiance of what her father had said.

"You can come home whenever you're ready, Anna," she could hear the sharp practical accents of his voice so clearly. "But I'm not prepared to support an indigent son-in-law. You're a couple of inexperienced fools."

Tom had been so earnest, so ... young. "You see, sir, we love each other, and I'm not afraid of work. It may be tough-but not so tough a man can't provide for his wife, sir!"

Anna could even remember how his voice had softened when he said "wife." It was so new to her ears, so sweet.... Maybe Tom was already home! Maybe he had the promise of some work after Christmas! Anna began to run along the wind-gutted streets, a tiny thing whose dark eyes seemed too big for the thinness of her face....

Tom wasn't home, and after she had lined her shoes, it didn't seem worthwhile going out again. Anna sat by the window with her hands limp in her lap and watched the grey day gather into dusk, watched the silly people hurrying along with their silly smiles....

"Please, Tom," she whispered. "Not anything foolish ..."

It was after dark when Anna realized she was s.h.i.+vering with cold-and she couldn't see the street any more except where lights made swaying, cold white puddles on the walk. She had to do her shopping. She had already calculated every penny of her purchases. Hamburger was twenty-three cents a pound, so that in buying only a half-pound, you had to pay that extra half cent. Clever, weren't they, getting that extra half cent! She'd fool them this time. She ... she would buy a whole pound of hamburger for Christmas dinner! Anna's cheeks flushed a little. She held her money tightly in her hand and went down the steps rapidly-before she should change her mind.

The wind made her cheeks ache, gnawed at her knees. It was colder, and the slush was frozen again into rough hummocks of ice. If she fell and hurt herself, would her father relent, she wondered? A broken leg ... Tom would notify her father to make sure she received proper care. He had been urging her to go home....

"Why should you put up with a failure like me?" he pleaded sometimes when the money just wouldn't stretch; when he couldn't find a job. "Why should you suffer ..."

Anna wondered if a broken leg hurt much. She ran recklessly across the icy street and a car skittered to a halt just in time.

"Look out, kid," the driver shouted. "It won't be a Merry Christmas in the hospital."

Anna ran on. She was glad now she hadn't been hit. Tom would only blame himself, and ... and she might be hurt even worse. She might be killed! Tom would be left alone.... There were tears stinging her eyes. She whispered, "Oh, thank you, G.o.d. I-I didn't really mean it!"

She turned the corner with her head down and somebody b.u.mped into her and muttered, " 'Scuse me, lady." It was a delivery boy with a box of groceries on his shoulder, and there at the curb was the delivery truck from Osterschmidt's, heaped up with piles of food. Big boxes safely tucked away behind a locked iron grill. They might at least have solid doors, so people couldn't see....

Anna moved closer. Just inside the grating was the biggest box of all, the biggest turkey ... The wind s.n.a.t.c.hed at Anna's coat, blundered against the truck and, with a rasping creak, the iron grating swung open. Why, it wasn't locked at all! The boy must have forgotten.... The biggest turkey of all, and the gate open so invitingly ...

There was a weary drag to the way Tom Mann moved in his polished, shabby shoes. His shoulders ached from consciously bracing them all day long as he went futilely from shop to shop hunting even a promise of work. The Christmas rush was over and the proprietors only shrugged, "Maybe by February ...." How in h.e.l.l did they expect a man and his wife to live until then? How ... for all his efforts. Tom's shoulders sagged. It was not other peoples' responsibility. It was his ... and he had failed.

Tom slipped, stepping down from a curb, and caught himself frantically. Now, that would be a swell Christmas present for Anne, wouldn't it, breaking a leg! Or maybe it would be the best present of all! She'd have to go home to her father then. Tom stood on the curb and stared out across the icy street and his young, thin face was suddenly old-looking.... Reluctantly, he turned toward home. The sole of his right shoe had come loose a little, and his feet made small scuffing sounds that kept time to his thoughts. Failure, failure, failure ...

Ahead of him, Tom saw a mail-man, bowed under a heavily loaded bag, turn up the steps of a house. Tom's eyes clung in fascination to the grey-uniformed man. Lucky people, getting Christmas presents; maybe even money! Yes, it was money, a registered letter. They were signing for it at the door.

"Merry Christmas," the lucky woman said, and closed the door.

Tom smothered a laugh that was bitter in his throat. If he had any guts, he'd make this a Merry Christmas for Anna! There was money within reach, a dozen registered letters in the postman's hand as he stumped down the steps-and it was dark here between the street lights.... Tom shook his head. Anna wouldn't want it that way.

"Merry Christmas," he called to the descending postman.

The man grinned. "Nuts to you. I still got five hours' work."

Tom thought, "But you've got work." He didn't say it, and the postman stepped down to the pavement ... and slipped. His arms flew wide in an effort to catch his balance. Letters scattered from his hands-and Tom caught him just as he was falling. The wrench almost yanked Tom off his feet. He hadn't realized he was so weak.

He said, panting, "You almost got out of that five hours' work."

The postman swore and began to pick up letters. "Thanks, buddy," he said. "Now I got an extra hour re-sorting this d.a.m.ned stuff...."

Tom began to pick up letters and hand them to the postman. It was an accident that he noticed the extra postage and "Registered" stamp on a letter half-hidden in the shadow beside the steps. It was almost an accident that he covered it with his foot....

Tom stood there until he saw the postman turn into a lunch-room to re-sort the mail. The carrier would miss this registered letter in a few moments, probably, and the law would be after Tom at once. He was a fool to think he could get away with this. By tomorrow morning they'd trace him. Christmas morning. Better to take the letter to the postman and explain he had found it later in the dark. Tom picked it up, and the envelope was thick between his cold fingers. It made a faint, crackling sound.... Tom's hands trembled.

What the h.e.l.l difference did it make if the police came for him in the morning? He and Anna would have had a happy evening together: a big dinner, presents. And tomorrow? Why, let the police come! With him in jail, Anna would have to go home where she could be taken care of. Her father would see that Anna divorced him. G.o.d, he couldn't lose Anna. He ... But he had already lost her, because he was a failure. Grimly, he ripped open the envelope before he lost courage, felt a thick sheaf of money. He ducked around the corner. He had to get rid of the envelope. It was evidence, wasn't it? Tom laughed shakily, stuffed the money in his pocket and, as he walked rapidly on, dropped the letter to the sidewalk.

"Hey!" A man's voice boomed out behind him. "Hey, there! Wait a minute!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw a man in a policeman's blue uniform hurrying toward him. Good G.o.d! Were they after him so soon? Tom pretended he hadn't heard and ducked around the corner. Anna had to have this one night.... Tom broke into a run, ducked into an alley before the policeman turned the corner. Tom was panting, his whole body shaking with the effort. He hurried on.