Dead, She Was Beautiful Page 12
Studying him, she said, “You’re awfully quick sometimes, Hagen. It frightens me a little, what you may think next.”
“If I was as quick as all that, you wouldn’t be sitting at the other end of the sofa.”
“Would sitting any closer be helping Hilda?”
“I told you I was thinking principally of myself. But you’re right. Business is business. The question I want you to answer is this. Did Hilda ever say anything about going to Hawaii or any place in that general vicinity?”
Dagne shook her head slowly. “The answer would have to be no. Hilda never told me anything of that nature. I think I told you that there was a time, about three years ago, when I didn’t know where she was.”
“For about a year, maybe?”
“About that long. I’m not sure the exact—”
“Could she have been out of the country—in the Islands?”
Dagne hugged her knees, frowning. “It’s possible.”
“Funny she didn’t tell you,” Hagen said. “Also, funny you didn’t ask.”
“I never asked Hilda anything and she treated me the same way,” Dagne said coolly. “That was part of our bargain. And I certainly can understand why she would want to keep mum about Hawaii, if what it says there is true. Now, may I step down from the witness chair?”
Hagen smiled and held out his wrist. “Go ahead—slap it. I’m sorry if I sounded like the cops. I’ve been on the outside of this thing so long that now I’ve got a foothold I can’t help digging in.”
“That’s all right, Hagen,” she told him, softened measurably by his apology. “I guess I’m a little worked up or I wouldn’t—”
At that moment, there began a thunderous pounding on the front door of the apartment. They both started to their feet and looked at each other in surprise. Hagen asked, “Expecting company?” and Dagne said, “Who in the world?” at the same moment. Then she went to see. Hagen sat down again on the sofa.
It was Larry Beldorian who burst in upon them like an avenging angel. Dagne’s muscular partner was flushed and dishevelled, as if he had been doing callisthenics on the porch. But it soon became apparent that his rumpled condition was due to emotion, not exercise. He came in, bellowing. “Where is he? I’ll break every bone in his stinking body—”
He was already on his way into the bedroom when he discovered Hagen sitting on the couch. Beldorian was obviously taken aback at this unexpected turn of events. He halted in mid-charge and blinked uncertainly.
“What are you doing there?” he challenged Hagen, regaining his belligerency.
Hagen held up the diary. “Reading, of course. You’ve heard of it?”
“Stand up,” said Beldorian. “Stand up and get what’s coming to you, Hagen.”
Dagne had been silent, following her first surprised greeting of the newcomer, but now she demanded, “Just exactly what do you think you’re doing here, Larry, do you mind telling me?”
“I was outside, watching. I thought something like this might happen. And I was right. Well, I won’t take it, Dagne.” He strode toward Hagen. “You better stand up unless you want it sitting down, buddy.”
Hagen rose, sighing. He had no desire to fight Beldorian tonight, after the day just past. For that matter, he had no real desire to fight the gym instructor at any time. But there seemed to be no way out, even if it meant a whipping for himself. Particularly with Dagne looking on; his pride demanded that he meet the challenge. However, he hoped that Beldorian wouldn’t touch on any of his many sore spots.
Dagne interposed angrily. “Larry, I don’t know what you’ve been thinking but whatever it is, you’re mistaken. Mr. Hagen and I were discussing business.”
“Hah!” Beldorian snorted, boring in toward Hagen.
“And even if we weren’t, it’s none of your damn business—and I forbid you to turn my apartment into an arena! I warn you, Larry—”
Beldorian, stung by her tone, made the same mistake Sharkey made against Dempsey. He turned his head to appeal. Hagen hit him flush on the chin with a right hand that had the entire weight of his body behind it. Beldorian had a glass jaw. He went down flat on his back.
He was strong, though. He came staggering up at the equivalent of an eight-count and Hagen thought wryly that it was just his luck to be matched against the rugged ones. First Jack and now Beldorian. He prepared to receive the fresh onslaught. Regretfully, he waved Dagne out of the way.
However, Hagen was pleasantly surprised. Either Beldorian was muscle-bound or the knockdown had sapped him, but his punches lacked power. Moreover, he was clumsy for all of his gym work. Realizing this, Hagen’s spirits soared and he went to work on his opponent with considerable élan. Dagne was yammering at them to stop it, stop it this instant, do you hear me? but Hagen was enjoying himself too much to stop. He walked around his bigger foe, chopping at him like a woodman at a tree, until at last Beldorian fell. This time he didn’t get up but lay there, moaning and shaking his head and spotting Dagne’s thick beige carpeting with blood that streamed from his nose.
Hagen said, “All right, buster, let’s clear the ring.” He grabbed Beldorian by the wrists and dragged him toward the door. Beldorian was able to walk the last few steps and so Hagen had to forgo the pleasure of actually throwing him out. But the result was the same: Beldorian went without another word, snuffling blood.
Dagne was staring at Hagen when he turned from shutting the door again. “I’ve got to give you credit. I didn’t think you could handle Larry.”
“I didn’t think so myself.” He flexed his fingers. His hands were already swelling. “Couple more days like this and I might as well take up fighting professionally.”
“Are you hurt anywhere?” Dagne asked solicitously, coming to him.
“I’m hurt everywhere.” Beldorian’s signet ring had opened a small cut on his cheek. Hagen submitted gratefully to Dagne’s gentle ministrations. “My mother used to kiss it to make it well.”
She brushed her lips quickly across his cheek. Her breath was sweet. “Don’t get me confused with your mother, though, Hagen.” She eluded his tentative grasp. “I’ll get a basin and some hot water so you can soak your hands.”
“It’s probably safer,” he admitted. While she so busied herself, he sat down and opened the diary once more. Something in the encounter with Beldorian had stirred his memory and now he leafed through the pages until he found what he sought. He read it several times to himself and then aloud to Dagne when she returned. Early in the year, under a March heading, was this reference, tucked away among several others of no particular significance: Larry called while I was out but left no message so that probably ends that. He reminds me of a blue-ribbon bull trotting around a pasture pointlessly, nothing on his mind but his satisfactions (or excesses) and presenting a lovely picture. I wish I could forget myself in myself!
“You don’t suppose,” said Hagen, “that by some wild coincidence, Hilda might have been referring to Larry Beldorian, do you?”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” She began to bathe his hands with the hot water. “He doesn’t remind me of a bull.”
“Has Beldorian ever been in Hawaii? He was in the service, you said. Was he stationed at Pearl or Hickam or Schofield? He ever say?”
“I don’t recall that …” Dagne hesitated for a long moment, then looked thoughtful. “It was Hilda who introduced Larry to me in the first place.”
“That’s interesting.” He looked at his wrist watch; during the fight, it had stopped. “What time you got, Dagne?”
“Nearly midnight. Hagen, do you think that Larry might have had something to do with Hilda’s murder?”
“Tell me the minute it’s twelve, will you?”
“Why? Do the gnomes reclaim you then? Or do you have another date?” She viewed him and chuckled softly. “I’m afraid you’re too battered for anyone but me, Hagen. And I don’t like you because you don’t answer my questions.”
“I’m not evasive. I just don’t know.”
Dagne murmured, “Isn’t it strange? Right here in my hand is a whole year of my twin’s life that I never knew anything about. It’s almost like reading about myself. I’ve had some of these same thoughts.”
“I can’t quite figure out why Hilda kept a diary for just one year. Why didn’t she go on with it?” Dagne didn’t answer and he mused, “Well, I guess it makes sense, at that. She was on a trip and a lot of people like to keep records of that sort of thing.”
“And she was in love, too,” Dagne added softly. “Don’t overlook that, Hagen.”
“I haven’t forgotten it. I’m wondering if this Bruce character could have been the guy who broke up our marriage. The time element fits.”
“There’s nobody left to tell you now, is there?”
“No.” He gnawed his lips. “It must have been tough on Hilda. She never could keep a secret and here she was sitting on top of the biggest one in her life, and not able to tell anybody. That’s probably the real reason she kept the diary—she had to argue with somebody even if it was just herself.”
“Poor little Hilda,” Dagne sighed. “If only I could have helped her …”
“ What time is it?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s past twelve already. I hadn’t noticed. What are you waiting for, Hagen?”
“Where’s your phone?” Dagne pointed into the bedroom and he went to use it. What he’d been waiting for was the press deadline at the morning newspapers. Sitting on the edge of her bed, he called the editorial offices. Dagne listened sadly while he told each paper the same story, that he had been retained by the Wayne Wishart household to investigate Hilda’s murder, that he had discovered pertinent information in the murdered woman’s diary, and that he would present the same to the district attorney first thing in the morning. He recited the Bruce entry and gave his guesses as to approximate date and general locality. He permitted himself to be quoted. When he finally hung up the sweaty receiver, he was positive that his revelations would be headline copy in the dawn editions.
Dagne asked, “Now exactly what was the purpose of all that? I thought you didn’t like your name in the papers.”
“Better there than on the police blotter.” He stood up up and stretched and massaged his cramped ear. “But that’s enough business for one day. Let’s get a new day started, and started right. Come here and marvel over me.”
Without hesitation she walked over to him. He closed his arms around her. She blinked up at him tenderly and said, “I’m marvelling—what next?” He kissed her with all the hunger in his system. They swayed and nearly fell down together. Afterward, she caught her breath and murmured, “In case you’ve lost track, it’s now twelve-thirty, Hagen, darling.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against the fragrant sleekness of her black hair. He thought, it must have been like this at first with Hilda, this utter tranquillity and yet you beat inside like a drum, time stops for you but you still keep time with your blood.
“Hagen, darling,” repeated Dagne. “What time did I say it was?”
“In my family, it’s bedtime.”
“Yes. In my family too.” She wrenched away from him abruptly, stood searching his face with her hands holding his elbows. “We shouldn’t let ourselves play games. Not in the bedroom.”
He smiled. “I’m awful tired.”
“I didn’t notice. All I notice is that I’m awful emotional and awful sentimental. And now I’m scared.”
“You left out something.”
“All right then, awful sexy. But let’s get out of my bedroom and say goodnight before I make a fool of myself. You’d just be ashamed of me. I’ve been non-foolish for a long time, Hagen, believe me—and I don’t want to break my record. I’d rather break my heart than my record.” She almost ran into the living room.
With a last longing look at the bed, he followed her. She was standing nervously by the front door, blushing, a hand already on the knob. She said, “You are going to leave me alone, aren’t you? You aren’t going to make me make a fool of myself, are you?”
“Could I?”
“Yes, damn you, you could. With just one false move.”
“Good. At least, I can withdraw with my ego intact.”
“Don’t joke.”
He kissed her again by the door, both of them leaning against the wall. “Who’s joking?” he asked.
She mumbled, “Darling, when we know each other better—and can make some sort of decent plans—but with Hilda dead only last night … You stay another minute, Hagen, and I’m going to burst into flame.”
“Save it,” he said, and bit her ear and slipped out the door. It shut instantly and he thought he heard her whimpering through the panel.
He shook his head wonderingly as he walked down the steps. The night air was still but terribly cold against his cheek. When he looked back, Dagne’s lights were out again. There was a frenzied fluttering of the venetian blind as she waved to him. He threw her a salute. He decided that the new feeling he felt for her, the attitude he’d never had toward Hilda, was pride. He was proud that Dagne had will power enough to kick him out. He also decided that he must be crazy. That bed of hers had looked awful comfortable.
16
HAGEN did not go home that night. He had at least two reasons for this, either one of which would have been sufficient. The first involved the police. He was reasonably sure that the newspapers, now that he had put them on the scent, would already be prodding the cops for additional information. The cops in turn would be trying to find him—and Hagen wasn’t quite ready to talk to them yet. The second reason was that once the sunrise editions hit the streets, as early as 5 a.m., the archer might try to find him, for purposes even more marked. Hagen had no idea who this marksman might be and at the moment he didn’t care to be surprised.
So he spent what remained of the night in the manner he deemed most safe. He drove up the coast highway for nearly a hundred miles, listening to the radio and thinking and stopping only for gasoline and caffeine pills. Hilda’s diary was locked away in the glove compartment. When he had gone far enough, he turned around and drove back.
He arrived in the city as it awoke to go to work. The first rays of the sun were dispelling, the remains of the night’s fog and the day held forth promise of being pleasant. Hagen had high hopes for it, the weather quite aside. By rights, he should have been a candidate for a hospital bed. Actually, however, he felt quite chipper. Part of this was due to the caffeine pills. But most of it sprang from an inner conviction that he was at last making progress. He was still in the dark but he could begin to glimpse light around the edges. There is nothing like imminent success to minimize a man’s aches and pains.
So, with his stomach churning but his spirits buggling, Hagen ate breakfast at a drive-in near the city’s civic centre and spun out his usual two cups of coffee until the buildings opened. It was here that the district attorney had his offices but this was not Hagen’s first stop.
He went instead to the hall of records, the diary safe in his pocket, and persuaded one of the clerks to search the files on the chance that Larry Beldorian had registered his discharge papers. It was a free service of the city—Hagen had availed himself of it several years before—and he hoped that the microfilm record would reveal whether, as he suspected, Beldorian had ever served in the Asiatic Pacific Theatre.
However, his quest was unsuccessful. Beldorian’s discharge was not on file. Disappointed but not dismayed, since he had known from the onset that the odds were against him, he chose another route to reach the same destination. He telephoned Dagne.
/>
He rather expected that his call would awaken her but she answered on the first ring, not at all sleepy. He apologized, anyway. She said, “It’s perfectly all right. To tell the truth, I was just lying here thinking about you.”
“Regretfully, I hope.”
“Only partially. I find you’ve promoted yourself to the top of my problem list, Hagen, darling.”
“We’ll tear up the list at dinner tonight.”
“Don’t you understand? Getting within reaching distance of you just makes my problem that much worse.” Her tone had been languidly light but now she grew more serious. “The more I see of you, the more I seem to get involved. I’m afraid you spell misery for me, Hagen.”
“I’m never very good at spelling anything.”
“Of course, your intentions are honourable,” she pretended to muse.
“In an underhand way.”
“Oh, it’s the blasted business!” Dagne exploded suddenly. “On top of everything else, what am I going to do about Larry? After that performance last night, I mean. He is my partner, you know, and I’ve put too much into the salon to let any childish jealousy wreck it now.”
“Is that all? I’ve got a solution for that too, Dagne. We award Larry to the cops as Hilda’s killer. If he can juggle a throwing knife, he can launch an arrow somehow. He’s probably got special muscles so he could have spit it into her.”
There was a silence. “Hagen, don’t,” said Dagne at last. “Not about Hilda. I guess we’ll never get together on that. I loved her. You didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’m not necessarily joking about Larry. He interests me. Was he watching your apartment last night or did he arrive there from following me? Somehow he strikes me as too much of an oaf to be true.”