Transcript

Chapter 13 · Bullet Proof

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Chapter thirteen of bullet Proof by Frank Kine. This LibriVox recordings in the public
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domain read by Ben Tucker, Chapter thirteen. Luigi's was located in the heart
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of Brooklyn, a brownstone house and a row of brownstone houses, with no
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indication of its identity as a restaurant other than the oversized garbage can in the
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area way. The walls of the basement apartment had been knocked out to make
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one huge room at the far end of which a huge wood burning stove chuckled
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and Snappedlydell selected a table near the wall, tossed his hat on the hat
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rack, settled down to wait for Mugsy. A huge woman waddled slowly over
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to his table, her face wreathed in a toothy smile that was given added
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brilliance by a slight mustache. Is nice to see you, mister Lydell,
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she puffed. Long time, since you pay Luigi and Serafina visit Miss Ronnie.
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She come in too. She is supposed to meet me here, Seraphine.
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He glanced at his watch. She shouldn't be long now, You like
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maybe some Chianti while you wait? She pursed, Her lips rolled her eyes
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touched the tips of her thumb and index finger. He's good, KIANTI dislike
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you, like mister Laddell. Lydell nodded, watched her waddle to a nearby
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cabinet come back with a fiber covered bottle. She gave him another smile,
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waddle back to preside over her pots. Lydell was on his second cigarette wh
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Muggsy walked in. She waved to Seraphene came directly to the table. Something
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happened, Johnny. Lydell poured some wine into her glass, refilled his plenty.
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Saville's putting the heat on the d a to lift my card. And
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there's nothing that clothing store dummy would like better. He sipped at his wine
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morosely. Can't you do anything about it? Isn't there any way to stop
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it? Not unless I get something to use as a lever. I thought
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I had it, he growled. But the dock keeps one step ahead of
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me. What do you have? Lydell shrugged. I establish the fact that
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Seville is Anne Savalaro. He admits that. I also stumble over the fact
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that he married a nurse named Mellison in nineteen forty. I thought I had
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him on that one. He just laughed at me. Mellison died in nineteen
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forty five, leaving him conveniently free to marry Jean Merritt and leaving me holding
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a nice right bag. But you said Matt Merritt was murdered. If you
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can prove that, Blydel snorted, if I could prove a lot of things.
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Sure, I know Merrit was murdered, but nobody will believe me.
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I know his daughter didn't disappear, she was snatched by Skota, but I
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can't prove it. I even know why Vailey's boys have been trying to blow
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my brains out. So what there's not a damn thing I can do about
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it. Well, you can't sit here and swell KEIANTI and let them lift
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your license without fighting back. If you can just prove any one of those
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things pop in the paper could start a big enough fire under the DA that
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he'd be too busy keeping his own rear end from getting sinned to be trying
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to burn yours. Her eyes mirrored her concern. Don't you have any ideas?
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Just one, and it's so damn far fetched, I'm afraid to count
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on it. He finished his glass of wine. I'm going out to Carport.
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If Merritt was murdered, there must be some trace of it if I
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can't find it, he shrugged. I just let myself in for something I
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should have stayed out of. Muggsy drained her glass. I'm going with you,
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Lydell shook his head. Yeah, you'd better not. Baby. Why
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should you get dragged into this mess Because I'm a special correspondent from the advance
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assigned to it. We're going to string along with you on it. Johnny
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Pop doesn't know it, but I'm back on the staff. Lydell started to
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argue, decided it was a lost cause. It's your time if you want
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to waste it. Saraphene waddled over as they stood up. You not going,
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miss Ronnie. I fixed something special for you. You're not going without
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trying it. Muggsy patted the fat woman on the shoulder. We'll be back,
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Seraphene. We can't take the time to eat now, we've got a
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train to catch. The Long Island Railroad wheezed its way to a jerky stop
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in front of a one story weather beaten frame building that had a shingle hanging
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from its roof that identified to stop as carport two dust bagrime sedan stood under
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another sign captioned taxi. Their operators lounged indolently against their front fenders. They
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watched Muggsy and Lidel alight from the train with no sign of interest. Now
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where the merit places, Lydel asked the cabby. He addressed a tall,
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lanky man with a red ski cap, a brightly colored plaid shirt, a
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lined leathery face. Shifted the water tobacco from his right cheek to his left,
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spat in the dust at his feet. No sense going out there,
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mister. Ain't no one there, he opined. Isn't there a caretaker of
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some kind? The cabby considered the question, conceited. There was hellow name
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LESSI nice fellow. None of the family there. Though the old man's dead,
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the rest are gone. Lydel fished the Tom Terry press card from his
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wallet, showed it to the Cabby. We don't have to see the family.
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We're just interested in doing a feature piece on the grounds itself. The
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cabby side realized motion was inevitable. Straightened up. Suppose you want to go
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out there, if it's not too much trouble. How far out of town?
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Is it ten fifteen minutes, Cabby direc to the stream of tobacco juice
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in the general direction of the trash can depends on how much of a hurry
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you're in. He opened the rear door of the sedan, helped mugsy in
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the young one that miss Jean. She was always in a hurry, made
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at one time six minutes flat, for wouldn't want to make a habit of
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it. He slid in behind the wheel, kicked at the starter, headed
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the car out of the parking lot onto the town's main street. The route
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took them through the heart of town, making it necessary for the driver to
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weave in and out of double parked cars around trucks parked almost in the middle
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of the road. Throughout it, the driver kept up an endless stream of
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chatter. Finally, no Old Matt Merritt lightel asked do him to see not
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to speak to kept pretty much to himself, he did. The girl wasn't
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like that. A little bit wild, I guess, but not snooty.
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The taxi passed the last cluster of stores that made up the main street,
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headed into a twisting road that skirted the bay. She's spent a lot of
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time in New York. I've run into her down there, never did slately.
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She didn't get in as office as she used to. Here she was
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running with a fast crowd, and the old man put his foot down.
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How about missus Merritt. The cabby concentrated on skidding the big sedan around the
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curve in the road, shook his head. Never saw much of her,
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kept pretty much to herself. I guess real broken up by the old man's
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desk. From what I hear, guess she would be lightell agreed. What
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did they think about the way he died around here? The cabby spit nextpert
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curve in the wind, didn't think much one way or the other. I
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guess man's got a right to do what he wants with his own life.
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He was a pretty sick man there toward the end. Don't know but what
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I'd do the same thing myself. He half turned, looked back. Ain't
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want of them people feel it ain't right to kill yourself if you got a
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mind to, that's all very fine, as long as you don't take other
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people with you. Us for instance, Muggsy muttered, if you made this
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drive in six minutes, you must have used a helicopter. The driver turned
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back to the road. Needn be nervous, miss, I can drive this
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road in my eyes closed. That's what I thought you were doing, Muggsy
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told him. The car slowed down, swung off the county road on to
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a black top that wound up a hill through a twin lane of old trees.
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After a short climate reached a hidden driveway. Turned in the house was
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a huge, old frame building set back from the road in a sheltering grove
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of elms. It had a broad porch that ran around three sides of the
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house sat on a promontory that commended an unimpeded view of the bay beyond.
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The taxis skidded to a stop in the driveway. Mammy to wait, the
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Cabby asked. Lydell considered it, nodded, might as well. I don't
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know how long we're going to be here, but I don't like the idea
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of walking back to the station. The Cabby grinned, patted his meter.
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Whatever you say, Pardner, it's your money if you want to go crazy
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with it. Lydell led the way up the short flight of wooden steps to
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the entrance, pulled the old fashioned door poll. A dark man with gray
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hair brushed up into a pompadoor opened the door. He looked from Lydell to
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Muggsy and back. Good evening, sir, you're Lessie, I suppose,
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Lydell greeted him. The man nodded, Is there anything I can do for
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you? Lydell produced the press card. Let the man read it. We
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came out from New York to have a look around. We're working on a
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feature series about famous old homes out here on the island. We'd like to
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take a look around. The gray haired man looked undecided. I don't know,
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sir. As you may know, there was a tragedy in the family,
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and I know that makes the interest in this place all the greater.
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Lessie took another look at the press card, consulted his watch. It's too
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late to reach mister Bagussian to day. That's the Merritt family lawyer. You
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understand I would like some authority before I Is it only a preliminary visit,
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Lessie. We wouldn't be taking any photographs or anything like that until you had
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time to check with Bogossian. The gray haired man made up his mind,
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swung the door open. Oh sure that would be all right, sir.
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I know you'll understand my hesitation. I wouldn't like to exceed my authority.
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Lydell nodded, followed him into a large hall at the far end of broad
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curving staircase led to the upper floors. On either side, huge doors led
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into other rooms. The entire hallway was covered with thick, yielding carpeting.
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The walls were hung with patently expensive tapestries. Is there any place in particular
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you would like to start, sir? Lydell dropped his hat on a carved
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oak chest of drawers, looked around. I suppose it's been closed up since
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mister Merritt's death. Nothing has been touched. As you may know, missus
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Merritt has been ill and miss Jean's been living in town. He indicated a
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door to the right. This is the parlor. You may be interested in
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some of the period pieces. I think I would rather see that in daylight.
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Lydell cut him off. Would it be possible to start with his study?
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It's morbid, of course, but I would like to see where he
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met his death. The gray haired man looked at him, frowned, nodded,
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as you wish, sir, mister Merritt's studies at the head of the
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stairs. Would you come this way? He led the way up a thickly
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carpeted staircase to a door at the head of the corridor. He opened the
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door, felt for a light switch, bathed the room in a subdued light.
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Mister Merritt spent most of his time here. One whole wall was of
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glass, looking over the bay. Two of the remaining walls were filled with
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bookcases, the fourth covered with beautiful tapestry depicting a savage tiger hunting scene.
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In the center of the room, a huge carved mahogany desk contained a radio,
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some correspondence trays, a pipe rack with four pipes, a silver hammered
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humidor. The entire room was covered with soft, gray green carpeting that seemed
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to merge and blend with the green of the trees and lawn that stretched out
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below toward the bay. I don't blame him for spending most of his time
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here. If I had a study like this, I'd never leave, Lidell
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murmured. He stared up at the ceiling, found no trace of a scar.
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Walked over to the window wall seemed intent on studying the glass. Finally,
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he walked back to his desk, leaned against it. Where was he
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found? Lessie walked around the desk, faced them. He was standing here
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when he did it. Standing? How do you know? Lessie frowned.
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He had to be you see, the chair was pushed back when he shot
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himself. He fell to the floor. Here, he indicated a place on
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the carpet where a faint chalk outline was still barely visible could be. He
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toppled off the chair, knocked it back out of the way. Muggsy suggested,
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Hardly, Miss Lessa responded, pointing to the heavy carved arm chair.
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There are no rollers on the chair. Lydell reached over snapped on the desk
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light. It threw a yellow gleam of brilliance towards the ceiling. This is
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the only lamp in the room besides the indirect lighting. That's right, Why
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I'm not sure Lydell told him, just an idea. He walked around the
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desk, stood over the chalked spot on the rug, faced the lamp.
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Then he swung around, looked at the tapestry directly behind him. The gray
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haired man and Muggsy watched him curiously as he walked over to the tapestry,
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examined it carefully. Suddenly his head jerked. Lessie, come here, please,
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he called over his shoulder. Lessie joined him at the tapestry. What's
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wrong, sir? What's that look like to you? Lydell pointed to an
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almost invisible hole. The man caught his breath examined it more closely. A
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moth hole. I don't understand. This tapestry was supposed to be completely protected
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from No moth made that hole, Lessie, help me lift this tapestry away
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from the wall. I don't know if I should, sir. Mister Merritt
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was very particular about anyone touching at tapestry. He won't mind it, won't
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hurt it a bit. Grab that end and lift. There was a sharp
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note in Lydell's voice. Muggs, you'd better come over here. I think
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we should have several witnesses. The girl walked over watched while the two men
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lifted the huge tapestry. Lidell gave a triumphant grunt. Take a look at
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that hole in the wall under the tapestry, Lessi, your moth bored right
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through it. Only your moth was steel. Jacketed. There was a neat
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bullet hole in the wall. What could have done that? Sir Lessie gasped
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the bullet that killed mister Merrit the bullet. The police couldn't find the bullet.
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That is the best proof in the world that Matt Merritt did not commit
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suicide but was murdered. End of Chapter thirteen.