Night My Friend Read online

  It was out now. He’d spoken the words. He’d told someone about it, even if it was only Nancy. He told her the rest of it then, all of it, watching her face for any change of expression that would tell him her thoughts.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked him finally.

  “Talk to Officer Harper, like I told Yorkman I would.”

  “Why get involved in it any further, Johnny?”

  “I am involved, though. If Cotton Cravess had Backus killed so he wouldn’t talk, he might do the same to me.”

  “Let me go with you, then.”

  “No…”

  “At least to question Harper. There can’t be any danger there.”

  Johnny Nocturne sighed. “All right. I think he goes on duty early tonight. We can probably catch him at Headquarters.”

  They left the restaurant and headed down the street to the old stone building that served as River City’s Police Headquarters. He led Nancy around the back, to the garage, because this was where it had happened.

  “Tom Harper around?”

  “Yeah, he’s around. Who wants to know?”

  “Johnny Nocturne. Tell him I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Hey, Tom! Fellow here to see you!”

  From behind a line of gleaming black and red police cars Tom Harper appeared. Johnny was struck at once by the deep, tired lines of his face. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week.

  “Hello, Johnny.”

  “Hello, Tom. I heard what happened.”

  Tom Harper frowned at Nancy and then shifted his gaze back to Johnny. “He was so young, so damned young.”

  “You think Cotton’s men did it?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Johnny. He was shot down right here in this garage, not twelve hours ago. I don’t know what to think.”

  “Of course Cotton Cravess approached you?”

  “Of course. As soon as you left us last night one of his men appeared from somewhere. He must have figured the girl had gasped out a dying message.”

  “They say she died of heart failure.”

  “She probably did, but in that guy’s position he might as well have murdered her. If that story got out he wouldn’t have a chance of being governor.”

  “They tried to bribe you?”

  “Offered us a thousand dollars each on the spot. But I must admit that later, when Cravess himself asked to talk to us, he didn’t offer money.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “But he said we’d be promoted, promised us things like that. He explained it all, too. About the party and how the girl ran away.”

  Johnny Nocturne sighed. He noticed a spot on the garage floor and wondered if it was grease or possibly the blood of young Backus. “So you believed them and said nothing.”

  “I said nothing at first, but this morning I went in and told everything.”

  “You told them about Cotton Cravess and the dying girl’s words?”

  “Yes. I told them everything.”

  “What about Backus?”

  “He was young…”

  Johnny looked hard into Harper’s eyes, and then he turned away. “Come on, Nancy. We’d better call Jim Yorkman.”

  They left the garage and found a pay phone nearby. But no one answered at the congressman’s number. Johnny dialled the office of Cotton Cravess and waited.

  Presently a gruff voice answered. “Hello?”

  “Could I speak to Jim Yorkman, please?”

  “Yorkman? I don’t know if he’s here.”

  “He’s there. Let me speak to him. Tell him it’s Johnny Nocturne.”

  Outside, a truck was dropping off the first copies of the morning newspaper, for the night travellers who could not wait till dawn for their news. Johnny motioned to Nancy. “Get me a copy of that.”

  From the telephone came the familiar voice of Cotton Cravess. “What do you want, Johnny?”

  “Right now I want to speak with Jim Yorkman.”

  “What about?”

  “I told him I’d call. Put him on.”

  Cotton Cravess snorted into the phone. “The deal’s off. You can blab all you want now.”

  “No songs on your radio station?”

  “No songs on my radio station.”

  Johnny snatched the newspaper from Nancy and propped it up in the phone booth. “Let me read you a few headlines from the morning paper, Cotton.”

  “What?”

  “COP KILLING LINKED TO GIRL’S DEATH: POLICE HINT POLITICAL IMPLICATIONS.”

  “What the hell!”

  “It’s all out, Cotton. I’d suggest you resign from the campaign.”

  “Go to hell!”

  Johnny sighed. “You’re already in on the girl’s death and the bribery attempts, but I can still keep you out of the cop’s murder if you play ball with me.”

  “What? Are you crazy, Nocturne? Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  “Just let me come up and talk to you.”

  He was silent on the other end of the line for a moment, but finally the voice came over again. “All right. Bring that newspaper with you.”

  Johnny hung up and left the booth. “Come on, Nan, we’ve got a date.”

  “Johnny, would you mind right now telling me what this is all about?” she asked.

  “Well, the whole business is a little strange for me. I don’t usually get involved in politics or things like that. But what you told me about Joan of Arc started me thinking.”

  They were walking now through the brisk darkness, passing only occasionally into the pools of light from the street lamps overhead.

  “What about Joan of Arc?” Nancy asked.

  “I hate to go into it, after you’ve spent over a year gathering your material, but of course your reasoning about Joan is somewhat in error.”

  She paused beneath a street light and looked at him. “You should stick to songwriting, Johnny. History is more in my line.”

  “You’re not the first person that’s told me that, but I think I have to explain it anyway, so you’ll understand this thing.”

  “Go on.”

  “Earlier you brought up four points about Joan to prove she was a witch: her name, the manner of her death, her commander’s guilt, and her knowledge of this guilt. I’ll take the points in order. First, you say Joan was the most common name for witches, but this implies that Joan’s parents—or at least her mother—must have also been a witch, and trained her in the black art. If such was the case, though, I’m sure it would have been brought out at her trial, when they tried to uncover all sorts of evidence linking her with witchcraft.”

  Nancy Stevens started walking again, and he fell into step at her side. “What’s all this got to do with Cotton Cravess?”

  He ignored the question for the moment and went on. “Your second point—that Joan’s death might have been a carefully planned sacrifice to the devil—is hardly possible. Had Joan really been a witch, and really wanted to die, she could simply have told the truth about her Satanic activities. The facts of history show that she certainly didn’t want to die. Which leaves you with only two points, Nan, both of which—even if true—prove only that Joan knew her commander was practising witchcraft.”

  “Isn’t that evidence enough against her?”

  Johnny gazed up at the night sky, where a thousand glistening diamonds glowed and twinkled. “No, oddly enough it isn’t. I met a man today in a somewhat similar situation. Jim Yorkman isn’t a saint, but he’s that equally rare species, an honest politician. He’s honest, but Cotton Cravess got him his job. He feels that he still owes Cravess something. But I think maybe we can get him out from under, and at the same time spike this whole thing before it snowballs into more murders.”

  “That’s not songwriter talk, Johnny.”

  “No, I guess it’s night talk. Talk for when the night is warm and clear like this. And when you’re here and I feel I could beat the whole darned world.”

  Nancy laughed and linked her arm in hi
s. “I guess you and I never did really grow up, did we?”

  “You can write a book about us sometime.”

  “I’ll have to, now that you’ve spoiled my theory of Joan of Arc.”

  “It’s just that sometimes there are so many different ways of looking at the same set of facts…” He turned in at the tall building that housed Cravess Enterprises. “Here we are.”

  They went up in the familiar elevator, rising into the tower offices of Cotton Cravess. But now all was turmoil there. The followers, campaign managers, aides and speech-writers for the would-be governor were all there, talking on telephones, listening to the news on radios, shouting at each other in utter confusion.

  Johnny didn’t know many of them, but he recognized Blinky, the man whose card game had been broken up by Harper and Backus the night before. Yes, someone like Blinky would have a place here.

  Johnny fought his way through the press of activity, pulling Nancy along behind him. “Blinky,” he called out, when the others seemed to ignore him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Find Cravess and tell him Johnny Nocturne’s here to see him.”

  The gambler gave him a tired look and then retreated behind a thick oak door. He returned after a moment and motioned them in.

  Cotton Cravess was there, pleading with some unknown person on the telephone. Finally he threw down the instrument in disgust. “My own newspaper turning against me!” he almost shouted. “What good is it owning a newspaper if they won’t print what I tell them to?”

  Nancy slipped into an empty chair and Blinky closed the door behind them, staying where he was on the inside. Johnny looked around the room but no one else was there.

  “O.K., Nocturne. Start talking,” Cotton Cravess said, his mask of goodwill suddenly gone. “What have you got to offer?”

  Johnny tossed the folded newspaper on the desk. “Judging from the activity outside, you fellows have already seen this.”

  “It’s worse than that now,” Blinky said.

  Cotton Cravess silenced him with a look. Then he turned his attention back to Johnny. “You might as well know about it,” he decided. “The whole story’s out now, and the opposition’s shouting for my scalp.”

  Johnny smiled slightly and decided he’d come at the right moment. “Get Congressman Yorkman in here.”

  “For what?”

  Johnny leaned against the wall and took out a cigarette. “If you want to get out of this thing in one piece, you’ll do as I say.”

  “I don’t take orders from any hack songwriter.”

  Johnny Nocturne smiled. “That’s not what you were saying about my music a little earlier in the day.”

  “Get to the point, Nocturne. I’m busy.”

  “I don’t talk until you get Yorkman in here.”

  Cotton Cravess sighed and pushed a button on his desk. An intercom squeaked into life and he bellowed, “Find Jim Yorkman.”

  Johnny lit the cigarette. “Thanks.”

  Cravess studied him for a moment. “When this is all over, I’m going to take special pleasure in running you out of River City.”

  “We’ll see.”

  The office door opened and Jim Yorkman emerged from the outer bedlam. “Hello, Johnny,” he said.

  “Hi, Jim. I thought you’d want to be in on this.”

  “Oh, what?”

  Johnny Nocturne walked over to Cotton’s desk and ground out his cigarette. “Cravess, I know how you’ve been running honest politicians like Jim Yorkman here. I know how you got them elected and then thought you could control every vote that they cast.”

  Cotton Cravess rose from behind his desk. “You seem to forget that you’re addressing the next governor of the state.”

  Johnny Nocturne laughed.

  It was then that Blinky moved in behind him and caught him with a rabbit punch to the back of the neck. Johnny felt himself falling forward, unable to catch himself on the desk.

  Dimly, he heard Nancy screaming, and then, as he hit the floor and rolled over, he saw Jim Yorkman going into action. The Congressman grabbed Blinky by his shirt and yanked him forward.

  “Cravess, we just dissolved our partnership,” he said, as he hit Blinky a crushing right to the jaw. The gambler toppled backward and crashed into the desk.

  Cotton Cravess groped for buttons on his desk. “I’ll see you in hell, Yorkman!”

  The door of the office opened and two or three men crowded in. “What’s up, Cotton?”

  Cravess waved his arm. “Throw these bums out.”

  But Johnny struggled to his feet. “Cravess, call them off if you don’t want to face a grand jury on a murder charge.”

  “I don’t know anything about that cop killing.”

  “But you’ll burn for it, Cravess.”

  Cotton Cravess dropped back into his chair. “Leave us alone for five minutes. Then toss them out.”

  “Right, Cotton.”

  Blinky started to get to his feet and Jim Yorkman shoved him into their waiting arms. “Take this with you.”

  When the door had closed again Johnny walked over and sat on the arm of Nancy’s chair. “I can get you out of the murder charge, Cravess, in return for two things. First, you give up all connections with Jim Yorkman and anyone else you helped to elect. And second, you withdraw from the race for governor.”

  “What? Withdraw?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I’ll never withdraw.”

  “Cravess, I hardly think the people of this state would elect a man under suspicion of killing a policeman and raping a girl.”

  “I didn’t rape any girl and I didn’t kill any policeman.”

  “But try and tell the voters that.”

  “Damn you.”

  “You’ve got your choice. Bow out now and the party still has the better part of three weeks to build up a replacement. Keep fighting and you’ll either be tossed out by the party or by the voters.”

  “And if I agree?”

  “If you agree you can still save something of your reputation and also escape a possible murder charge.”

  Cotton Cravess looked around him like a man suddenly trapped by the press of events. He sought the eyes of Jim Yorkman and asked, “Jim, what do you think?”

  Yorkman sighed. “Either way, I’m through with you. You’ve run my life for too long a time. If it means leaving Congress, I’m ready to do that, too.”

  “Well?” Johnny Nocturne asked.

  The door opened again and the men were back. “Should we throw them out, Cotton?”

  “No,” he answered quietly. “Get out.”

  They retreated once more, and Johnny, Nancy and Jim Yorkman faced the man behind the desk, now grown suddenly old. After a moment’s silence he picked up the telephone and spoke into it.

  “Arrange for me to go on radio and television at once. I have a statement to make.”

  He dropped the phone into its cradle and looked up at Johnny Nocturne. “Now how are you going to clear me of this murder?”

  “You’re giving up?”

  Cotton Cravess nodded. “I’m giving up…”

  Twenty minutes later they were grouped together in the studios downstairs, watching as the television camera rolled in for a close-up of Cotton Cravess.

  “Friends and supporters,” he began, “it is not easy for me to come before you tonight…”

  Jim Yorkman tugged at Johnny’s arm.

  “What’s up, Jim?”

  “The killer of Harvey Backus just confessed.”

  Johnny frowned. “Keep it quiet till after the speech. That could ruin everything right now.”

  And they stood in silence and listened to the words of Cotton Cravess. “…and so it is that I feel it to be in the best interests of the party that I withdraw from the race at once, to devote all my time to silencing these false rumors against my name. I feel sure that the party will be able to…”

  “That’s it,” Johnny said.

  Nancy sighed with relief. “I st
ill don’t know just how you did it.”

  “Come back to the apartment and I’ll explain,” he said. “Right now I can think better with a piano under me…”

  The night shadows had lengthened, conquering the world of glowing neon and blinking lights. Now it was the world of Nocturne, of deep, dreamy mood that slipped across the sleeping city.

  And Johnny ran his fingers lightly over the piano keys and thought about how great it was to be alive. Jim Yorkman was gone now, but Nancy was still with him, curled up on the couch as his fingers moved lightly over the keys.

  “Tell me, tell me how it is…”

  “Johnny, the Congressman said someone confessed to the murder.”

  “Yes…”

  “Who?”

  “That policeman we saw this afternoon. Tom Harper.”

  “Tom Harper! But why?”

  “Why? …The eternal question.” His fingers searched among the keys and his gaze was far away, in the night. And in the dimness of the apartment there were only the two of them.

  “Why?” he repeated. “Because Tom Harper was a loyal man, so loyal that he couldn’t bear to see a young cop being bribed. It was too much for him, and when he confronted Backus in the garage there was nothing left to do but to kill him. Backus had sold out the whole police force, and in Harper’s eyes he had to pay for this.”

  “But how did you know? How did you know it wasn’t Cravess?”

  The music drifted around them, and the darkness clothed them like a warm friend. “There were many things showing it wasn’t Cravess or his men. He was already in enough trouble without chancing a cop killing. And, anyway, Backus had accepted the bribe. They certainly wouldn’t have killed him. Besides which, the murder was committed in the police garage, when Backus was going off duty. Why kill him in the very shadow of Police Headquarters when he would have been out in the street on his way home in another minute? The answer of course was that the killer wasn’t a hired gunman. He was another policeman.”

  “Why Tom Harper, though?”

  “Because if Backus did accept the bribe and said nothing, only Harper could have known about it. Harper himself didn’t report that incident till morning, so only he—and Cotton’s men—knew that Backus had accepted the bribe.”