This Way for a Shroud

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?"