rib.”
“What were you doing while all that was going on?”
“Standin' there watchin'. Someone unscrewed the corridor light bulbs, rang the bell an' busted one through me when I opened the door. The door was at the dark end of the apartment, too. All I saw was a kind of outline. Dark Clothes, an' I'd bet gloves an' a mask. I didn't even get a glimmer of skin.”
“How about size?”
“Right quick I'd have said not too big, but after I like to sprung my neck against the opposite wall goin' after him, the runnin' footsteps sounded real heavy.”
“All running footsteps sound heavy,” Detective Rogers said patiently. He removed the still unlighted cigarette from his mouth and placed it carefully over one ear. “When I got there after they'd hauled you in here, your ex- hostess was hysterical. Claimed that, with the difference in height, if she'd opened the door herself she'd be on a slab downtown.”
“Could be, Jimmy.”
“On the other hand, you haven't made many new friends lately, either.”
“I think this is one time I was the innocent bystander. On two counts. That shot came through so fast it had to be just reflex on the part of the gunman. He wasn't pickin' an' choosin' targets. He was all lined up on the door, an' the second it opened-bang.”
“You said on two counts,” Rogers reminded him.
Johnny hesitated. “I didn't use the elevator goin' up there, Jimmy. I used the stairs. There was two people with her when I got there. For anyone watchin' the elevator, when those two people left Madeleine Winters was supposed to be alone.”
“I know it's hopeless asking you why you avoided the elevator, so I'll just ask you who her visitors were.”
“You must've asked her that when you talked to her, Jimmy.”
“Maybe she lied to me.”
“Maybe she did. You don't want any help from me, though. I've got it on the best of authority.”
Detective Rogers glared. “Was one of them this Tremaine? The woman's got him all tagged and labeled as the gunman. She was all for swearing out a warrant until I asked her what she planned to use for evidence.”
“She's got a thing about him. They don't like each other.”
“You don't know that it wasn't Tremaine who fired the shot, Johnny.”
An orderly entered with Johnny's clothes, and he signed without reading the slip offered him. He began to dress. “No. I don't know. I think Tremaine's too big for what I saw, but I don't have to be right.”
“What were you doing up in that apartment in the first place?”
Johnny eased on his undershirt, picked up his shirt and looked at the dark-red clotted stain on it. He got his arms into it and buttoned it slowly. “Dechant had been crooked for years, accordin' to what I hear, an' had been mixed in with the same crowd right along. Everyone enjoyed good health, except Dechant's partner some time back. Then Kiki landed here. Pow! Dechant evaporated, Arends was blasted, someone pitched a shot through the widow lady's door an' all the other lovely people keep makin' noises like they'd like to nibble each other to pieces. Why, Jimmy?”
“What were you doing up in that apartment?”
Johnny settled his jacket gently on his shoulders and covered the red-brown discoloration on the left side with his sleeve. “I just about got time to get back to the Duarte an' knock off a fast forty winks before the school bell rings,” he said. “Seems like a better idea the more I think of it.”
“Johnny, you-”
“I'm the guy that got scragged, Mr. Detective, please, sir,” Johnny said in a falsetto. “Wouldn't you think the police department would be out scufflin' to find out who pegged that iron instead of fussin' with little old me?”
“Little old you can drop dead, as far as I'm concerned,” Detective James Rogers said bitterly. He set sail for the door without a backward glance, the back of his neck rigid with anger.
Johnny went out to the street leisurely. It was surprisingly mild, a pointed reminder that the weather was about to catch up with the calendar. Johnny couldn't truthfully say he thought too well of the idea. He seemed to appreciate the heat of the summer in New York City a little less with each passing year.
He stood on the curb and waited for a cab. He'd have to find some way to smooth down Rogers' ruffled fur. He liked Jimmy Rogers.
It had been quite an evening. Quite an evening.
In the lobby of the Duarte Johnny caught Paul Sassella's head nod, and turned to confront Madeleine Winters rising from an armchair. She came directly to him, her green eyes large in the pale oval of her face. “I want to talk to you. Privately,” she said huskily.
“Just a minute.” Johnny walked over to Paul behind the bell captain's desk. “What time did she get here?” he asked the stocky Swiss in an undertone.
“Three minutes ago. Less, maybe. Hadn't even gotten the chair warm.”
“Any excitement around here?”
“Marty had a no-pay skip on the middle shift. He checked in on our shift. Rollins wants to see you in the morning.”
“Okay,” Johnny grunted. “I'm goin' up an' change.” He walked back to Madeleine Winters. “Let's go upstairs.”
“I called the hospital and they said you'd left against their advice,” she said on the elevator. “I came right over.”
“You sure did,” Johnny agreed. “You had farther to come than I did.”
“You certainly don't look as though you were shot,” she said in the sixth floor corridor, almost trotting to keep up. “If I hadn't seen you hit-”
“It wasn't much of a hit,” Johnny said patiently. He was going to get rid of this woman in a hurry, that he knew. He was in no mood for small talk. Key in hand he stopped at 615, and froze instantly. One glance was enough to show that the lock had been forced with no particular finesse. “Stay back tight against the wall!” he threw over his shoulder at the blonde, and barreled inside with a rush.
The hard-flung door banged off the inside wall. Johnny stood just inside the threshold, and for once in his life stared blankly at the welter of upside-down chairs, torn-up bed, torn-down curtains, overturned chest of drawers, and dumped-out refrigerator. The floor was a tangled litter of bedclothing, cushions, pillows and papers thrown down from table drawers.
Recovering, he made a quick circuit of the room. The bathroom and the closet were the only places anyone could hide, and there was no one there. He turned to find Madeleine Winters surveying the devastation from the doorway. “A pig couldn't find its little ones in here if it didn't hear them grunt,” he said wryly.
“Didn't that expression sound more like 'Un cochon n'y retrouverait pas ses petits a moins de les entendre' the first time you heard it?” the blonde inquired.
“Maybe it did,” Johnny admitted absently, his eyes roaming the wreckage of his room. His attention sharpened. “What was your name before it was Winters?”
“Maillard.” She gestured at the room. “You haven't even looked to see if anything's missing.”
He didn't answer her. He walked over to a chair with its bottom slashed, and handfuls of coarse, wiry hair dribbling out, and kicked it gently. “I sure wish I'd stumbled in here while this was goin' on,” he said in a thinking- out-loud voice.
Madeleine Winters' voice rose. “You haven't even- ”
“I heard you,” Johnny interrupted her. He righted a chair and sat down. “I don't need to look. It wasn't here.” He bent stiffly to unlace his shoes, then changed his mind, got up and went to the phone. “Ring Housekeeping, will you, Sally?” he asked when she came on the line. “Amy?” he inquired of the languid drawl that eventually answered. “Killain. Hustle your tail on down here. Bring an appetite for hard labor.” He hung up and removed his jacket and shirt, carefully.
“But what are you going to do?” the blonde cried forcefully. “Nothing at all?”
“Do? I'm goin' to work,” Johnny said blandly. He removed a uniform from the closet and draped it over the chair back. He noticed that the pockets in some of the other clothing had been ruthlessly slashed, and his lips tightened.
