Part 13 (1/2)

Vail raised thick eyebrows almost to the rim of one of the worst wigs that Grigsby had ever seen. Gray and s.h.i.+ny, smoothed down flat at the top, it looked like some kind of dead fish curling up in the sun. ”How come?” Vail said. ”He's a reporter, that's how come. Soon as he knows, he'll try to get it in every newspaper in the country. It'll kill the tour.”

”Uh-huh. Tell you the truth, I got a bigger problem here with the hookers gettin' killed.”

”Hey. Sure. Naturally. I can understand that. But you got to understand my position also, Marshal. I got to make sure everything goes smooth on the tour. This gets out, I'm gonna lose bookings like crazy, all over the place.”

He was a typical Easterner, talking mile-a-minute from the corner of his mouth. Maybe forty-five years old, he wore a suit of brown and mustard yellow plaid that reminded Grigsby of the tablecloths in cheap restaurants. He was round and tubby, with two or three s.h.i.+ny chins.

”So where were you last night, Mr. Vail?” Grigsby was getting a headache. From staring at Vail's suit, probably. He needed a drink.

Vail sat back in his chair and pointed a plump forefinger at the center of his chest. ”Me? You talking about me?”

”You're the one I'm lookin' at.”

”Hey now, Marshal. Hold on there. You don't think that any of us knocked off these hookers?”

”You got a better idea?”

”Sure I do. It's obvious. There's some b.a.s.t.a.r.d out there trying to sabotage the tour.”

Grigsby smiled at the notion. ”Yeah? Who'd do a thing like that?”

”How do I know? I got a lot of rivals. And I'll tell you this. It's a rough business, Marshal. Ferocious. You wouldn't believe it if I told you. I know a guy-I'm not mentioning names now-but I know a guy, an actor, he burned down a theater in Buffalo because another actor got the part he wanted. Burned it to the ground. In Buffalo. Like Buffalo really counted, right? Can you believe it?”

”Never been there,” Grigsby said. ”So where were you last night, exactly?”

”Here. I was here. But listen, Marshal-”

”All night?”

Vail shook his head. ”Jeez. You don't give up. I went over to the Opera House at nine, to check the receipts. Got back here around nine-thirty, quarter to ten.”

”You see anybody? The desk clerk?”

”I had a drink downstairs. Talked to the bartender for a while. Came up to my room about ten-thirty.”

”And stayed here?”

”Yeah. Went to sleep around eleven.”

Grigsby nodded. ”Tell me about the other folks on this tour of yours.”

”Hey. Really, Marshal. You're barking up the wrong tree. Couldn't of been any of them.”

”Let's start off with O'Conner,” Grigsby said.

”Jeeze,” Vail said, and shook his head again.

”What kind of a fella is O'Conner?” Grigsby asked.

Vail shrugged. ”He's a reporter. He drinks. So what else is new.”

”He ever disappear at night?”

”How would I know? I'm in bed by ten-thirty, usually. But lookit, Marshal. O'Conner's not your man. I'm telling you, it's somebody trying to screw up the tour.”

”What about the German? Von Hesse?”

Vail leaned forward. ”Lookit, Marshal, you gonna have to talk to O'Conner about all this?”

Grigsby nodded.

”I just had a thought, see. Follow me on this, okay? If O'Conner puts this in the paper, it's gonna kill the tour, am I right?”

”That's not my problem.”

”Yeah, but see, maybe it is. 'Cause if it gets out in the newspapers, then this guy of yours, the guy who's killing all the hookers, he's gonna know you're wise to him, am I right? And he's gonna hide out, right? He's gonna lie low. And you're never gonna find him.”

”I'm talkin' to all the people on this here tour. The sonovab.i.t.c.h I want is one of 'em. He's gonna know, straight off, that I'm wise to him.” And for all I know, Grigsby thought, you're the sonovab.i.t.c.h.

”Right, sure,” said Vail, without missing a beat, ”but if the tour gets canceled, everyone's gonna take off on their own. They'll be all over the place. See what I mean? He'll be gone, he'll be in New York or Chicago or Philadelphia. Wherever. Somewhere you can't get hold of him. But if the tour stays together, see, he stays with it. He's got to, 'cause if he leaves now, he's gonna draw attention to himself. Am I right?”

”You figure I should let him kill off another hooker?”

Vail's eyebrows soared up his forehead. ”Jeez, no, o' course not. I look like Attila the Hun to you?” The eyebrows lowered. ”No, see, what I was thinking, you keep digging around for him, see? And I cooperate, you know? I mean, I help you out any way I can. Maybe you're right, maybe it's one of these guys on the tour. Now I think about it, it makes sense to me. Sure it does. It's obvious, right? So I keep an eye peeled, I watch these guys like a hawk. And I let you know if I pick up anything. But the thing is, we keep the whole business under wraps, see? So the papers don't catch on.”

”And how'm I gonna stop O'Conner from writing it up? Shoot him?”

Vail was leaning forward now, enthusiastic. ”You do a deal with him. He'll love it. You tell him you're gonna give him an exclusive, see. You tell him that once you find the guy-and I got a lot of confidence in you, Marshal, I know you're gonna find the guy, you and me together-and once we find him, you're gonna give O'Conner everything you got. All the facts, see? All the background stuff.” Vail sat back. ”He'll love it, Marshal. Trust me.”

Grigsby had learned over the years that it was generally a pretty good idea not to trust anybody who said ”Trust me.” He said, ”He'll still be writing it up afterward.”

”Yeah, but see, by then it'll all be over. You follow me? I mean, you'll have the guy. It's not like the women who come to the lectures-and, see, the women, they're three quarters of the audience, probably-it's not like they're gonna be afraid to come. Which they would be, see, if they knew he was out there, running around loose. But afterwards, after you catch the guy, well, jeez ...” Vail sat back and looked off thoughtfully. ”You know,” he said, ”publicity like that, it'd send the receipts right through the roof, probably. You couldn't buy publicity like that.” He looked back at Grigsby. ”So whatta you say, Marshal? We got a deal?”

Vail didn't know it-if he had, most likely he wouldn't have been so eager-but what he'd just offered was a solution to a problem that, somewhere behind Grigsby's dull headache, had begun to nag at him. If Greaves learned about the other killings, he'd weasel his way into the investigation. He'd try to edge Grigsby out, he'd try to gouge a few bucks out of this for himself.

But if Grigsby could keep everything under wraps, Greaves would never know.

He nodded to the business manager. ”I reckon. Long as you do your part. Long as you cooperate.”

”Hey,” said Vail, holding out his hands, palms upward. ”Didn't I say I would? And you ask anybody in the business. Jack Vail says he's gonna do something, that thing is as good as done.”

Grigsby nodded. ”So why don't you tell me about this von Hesse fella.”

Vail grinned and pointed his finger at Grigsby. ”See? That's what I like. You just don't give up. You got that incredible persistence. Jeez. It's amazing.” He sat back, shook his head in admiration. ”You know, I got to feel almost sorry for this guy you're looking for. I mean, with you after him, he's as good as dead already.”

”Uh-huh,” said Grigsby. ”And von Hesse?”

Vail waved his hand lightly, dismissively. ”Nah. Not a chance. No way could he be your guy. I mean, he's an officer and a gentleman, you know? Besides, he's also like deeply religious. He's reading these religious books of his, all the time.”

”If he was a soldier,” Grigsby said, ”he'd know how to use a knife.”