Conrad came back along the passage.
“They’re all right: talking like a couple of magpies,” he said, then catching sight of O’Brien’s white, strained face, he went on, “You’re looking pretty sick, Tom. Why don’t you get off to bed? I’ll wait here for Weiner.”
“There’s nothing the matter with me,” O’Brien snapped. “For the love of mike, lay off, will you? I’m going to bed, anyway, as soon as this punk’s finished.”
Conrad offered his pack of cigarettes, but O’Brien shook his head.
For a long moment the two men stood listening to the violence of the storm, then Conrad asked, “How’s your boy, Tom?”
“He’s all right,” O’Brien returned, giving Conrad a quick, startled look.
“Ever thought how damned lucky you are?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that.” I’ve always wanted a son, but Janey won’t hear of it. She says it’d spoil her figure.”
“It could at that,” O’Brien said, scarcely knowing what he was saying. “A girl
like your wife doesn’t want to mess around with kids.”
Conrad shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, well, what’s the good of talking? All the same I would like to have a son, and a daughter, too, for that matter.”
O’Brien wiped his face with his handkerchief.
“Why don’t you turn in?” he asked, wondering how much longer Conrad was going to stay outside the bathroom door. “If you’re going out again at three you’ll need some sleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep in this storm. How long is he going to be in there?”
“Twenty minutes or so. Hark at that thunder.”
“I wish that Coleman girl would make up her mind to talk,” Conrad said after the rolling crash of thunder had died away. “I’m positive she saw Maurer.”
“Doesn’t look as if she’ll talk now. What are you going to do with her?”
“The D.A. will have to decide that.”
The sound of water splashing behind the bathroom door made O’Brien’s heart skip a beat.
“You know Weiner puzzles me,” Conrad said. Tm inclined to think his birthmark drove him off the rails. There’s no real vice in him: not like the rest of them. What’s his record amount to? We have no evidence he ever committed violence. As far as I know he specializes in stealing cars for the gang. I’ve talked to him, and I think he could be put back on to the rails again.”
“The hell with him!” O’Brien said savagely. “I’ve got no time for these hoods: and that’s what he is. Just because a guy happens to have a birth-mark doesn’t give him the right to steal cars.”
“Isn’t it time he came out?” Conrad said, looking at his strap watch. “He’s been over twenty minutes.”
“Aw, he doesn’t hurry himself.”
Conrad rapped on the door.
“Snap it up, Weiner!” he called.
O’Brien inwardly cursed Conrad. He wondered if Ferrari had gone. With an unsteady hand he lit a cigarette.
The noise of the storm was slowly receding. Every now and then thunder crashed, but it was now more distant. The rain continued to hammer down on the roof and hiss in the gutters.
O’Brien saw Conrad turn the bathroom door handle, then frown.
“He’s locked himself in! There shouldn’t be a lock on this door, Tom.”
“So what?” O’Brien growled.
Conrad rapped again.
“Are you ready, Weiner?”
The silence that greeted him alarmed him.
“Hey, Weiner!”
“What are you getting so heated about?” O’Brien asked.
“Why doesn’t he answer?”
“Maybe he’s sulking. I’ll kick his tail off for him when he comes out.”
“Hey, Weiner!”
Conrad banged on the door with his fist. When there was no answer, he stepped back, his face hardening.
“Come on, Tom! Let’s get this door open!”
“Take it easy,” O’Brien said. “Let me have a go at the punk.”
“We’re wasting time.”
Conrad set himself and drove the flat of his foot against the door lock. The
door creaked but held.
“Let me get at it,” O’Brien said, sure now Ferrari must have gone.
He stepped back, then charged the door, turning his shoulder as he crashed against the door panel.
The door burst open and O’Brien staggered into the bathroom.
“Hell!” Conrad exploded, crowding in behind O’Brien. “Quick, Tom! Help me get him out!”
Pete lay stretched out in the bath. The small room was full of steam. Pete’s head was under the water, and around his head and shoulders the water was a pinkish colour.
O’Brien reached forward and pulled the waste plug out. He caught hold of Pete’s hair and lifted his face clear of the water.
“He must have been crazy to have got into a bath this hot,” he muttered, his hand going down on Pete’s chest. He felt for a heartbeat, then shook his head. “He’s gone, Paul.”
“Move over!” Conrad snapped. “Let me get hold of his legs. Come on! Get him out and let’s work on him.”
Together they lifted Pete out of the bath.
“Bring him into the passage. There’s no room to work in here,”
Conrad said.
They carried Pete into the passage and laid him face down on the floor. Conrad knelt astride him and began giving him artificial respiration.
Pete’s personal guards had come out of Pete’s bedroom and were standing, watching.
O’Brien leaned against the wall. The strength had gone out of his legs, and it was as much as he could do to stand upright.
Conrad worked steadily.
No one moved or spoke. Thunder continued to roll and rumble in the distance. The rain was falling less heavily now.
At the end of a quarter of an hour, Conrad sat back on his heels. His finger touched the artery in Pete’s neck. He shook his head.
“I’m afraid he’s gone. Here, Wilson, you take over. Keep at it. You other two relieve him.”
The guard came over and knelt astride Pete’s lifeless body. He continued the rhythmic pressure on Pete’s back.
Conrad went into the bathroom. O’Brien came to the door and watched him.
Conrad began a systematic search of the bathroom.
“There’s blood on the taps,” he said. “He must have slipped and caught his head, lost consciousness and went under.”
“Yeah,” O’Brien said. “The water was too hot.”
Conrad straightened and stared up at the window. The puzzled, searching expression in his eyes sent a chill up O’Brien’s spine.
“What are you looking at?” he demanded.
“I was wondering if he did faint in his bath. He might have been got at.”
“For Pete’s sake! How?”
“Yes — how?” Conrad said, and ran his fingers through his hair. “There was no one hiding in here. If someone tried to get through the window Weiner would have had time to yell.” He turned quickly and stared at O’Brien. “I did think I heard him call out.”
“I didn’t; besides, no one could get through the window. It’s too small. Even a dwarf would have to struggle, and Weiner would have had time to come out.”
“Yes, I guess that’s right,” Conrad said after a moment’s thought. He went out into the passage again. “Any sign of life?” he asked Wilson, who shook his head.
“He’s gone, sir. The hot water in his lungs would have finished him quicker than anything.”
One of the guards brought a blanket and spread it over Pete’s body.
“Well, that’s that,” Conrad said in disgust. “After all the trouble we’ve taken to keep him safe from Maurer, he has to die accidentally.”
He heard a sound behind him and looked over his shoulder.
Frances’s door was open and she was standing in the doorway looking down at Pete.
“Is he dead?” she asked as Conrad went quickly to her.
“Yes, he’s dead. Go back to your room, please. There’s nothing you can do.”
There was an expression of stricken horror in her eyes that frightened Conrad. Every scrap of colour had left her face.
“How did it happen?”
“He fainted in his bath. The water was too hot.”
“Fainted in his bath?” she repeated slowly. “Are you trying to tell me it was an accident?”
“It was an accident all right. Now please go into your room.”
Madge came to the door and put her hand on Frances’s arm, but Frances stepped away from her. She continued to look at Conrad, her eyes glittering. ,
“That man murdered him! Pete said he would do it, and he’s done it! Pete knew he was going to die. He said one of you would sell him out! That’s how they got at him! He knew it was going to happen! He knew it!” She began to cry, tears running down her white face. “He said even you could sell him out!”
“You mustn’t talk like that!” Conrad said sharply. “It was an accident. No one could have got at him. Sergeant O’Brien and I were outside the door the whole time. No one could get in through the window. The water was too hot, he fainted and hit his head on the taps.”
She stared at him, her lips trembling.
“Do you really believe that?”
“That’s how it happened.”
“But it didn’t! He was murdered! You’re not going to let this man get away with it, are you? You can’t let him get away with it!”
“What man are you talking about?” Conrad said, a creepy sensation going up his spine.
“Maurer! Maurer did this! Pete said he was going to do it, and he’s done it!”
“Maurer didn’t kill Werner,” Conrad said patiently. “You’re just guessing. It was an accident.”
“But he did do it!”
“Now look, please go and lie down. You’re upset, and I understand that. You must leave this to us to handle. No one could possibly have got at Weiner. I’m sure of that.”
Frances stood for a long moment staring at Conrad, her fists clenched, and as he watched her, she seemed to grow older before his eyes, and her face hardened until he scarcely recognized her.
“I’m going to tell you something,” she said in a quiet fierce voice. “Maurer must pay for this. I don’t care now what happens to me. I’ll give the evidence you want. I did see Maurer at Dead End! He did murder June Arnot! I saw him do it!”