Read Online The Four Johns by Ellery Queen - Free Book Online

dispose of it where it would never be found. He thought of the police and again, in frustration, rejected the idea. It was simply too damn suicidal.… If only he knew the identity of that someone, if he could manage to tuck poor Mary’s corpse into that someone’s bed, for instance … that would be poetic justice.… He spent the rest of the trip—through Modesto, Manteca, Tracy, north to Walnut Creek and over the hills to Berkeley—in a series of fantasies, all darkly disastrous to the someone who had planted the corpse in his car.
    It was a quarter to ten when he finally stole to a stop at the curb around the corner from the Yerba Buena Garden Apartments.
    Mervyn got out of the car just as an elderly man in a Hawaiian shirt came heel-and-toeing along the walk pulling a leash, at the other end of which a little white dog jerked and jumped. Mervyn froze. Would the mutt start acting peculiarly when it passed the car? Dogs were supposed to be able to smell death.…
    The man and the dog passed.
    Mervyn felt like praying.
    He walked swiftly to the corner and down Perdue Street to the stucco urns that marked the entrance to the Yerba Buena Garden Apartments.
    Stealing into the court, he paused. Lights showed here and there. His own apartment was dark, as were the three second-story apartments to his right—Numbers 12, 11 and 10, occupied respectively by Susie Hazelwood, Mrs. Kelly (now in the hospital) and Harriet Brill. Apartment 1, John Boce’s, was brightly lit and through the windows came talk and shrill feminine laughter. Mervyn recognized the cackle of Harriet Brill, and John Boce’s easy rumble, then a harsh staccato tenor, vaguely familiar.… He went on. Boce’s parties were the least of his concerns.
    As he passed, the drapes at one of Boce’s open windows flickered. A moment later, the door opened and John Boce lurched out. “Mervyn!” he bawled. “Hey, Mervyn!”
    Mervyn drew a deep breath; he halted and turned. Boce was reeking of bourbon. “Mervyn, old boy, you’re home at last. Where the hell have you been?”
    â€œHere and there.”
    Boce seized his arm. “Come on in for a drink. Or two or three. Everything top quality. That’s old Bocey’s style, eh, what?”
    Mervyn tried to detach his arm. “I’ll drop in later, John.”
    â€œMervyn, I insist. Susie insists. Harriet insists. Everybody insists.”
    â€œFine, John. Later. Let go.”
    â€œMervyn, can this be the real you? Standing first on one leg, then the other? Come onnnnn.…” He tugged; Mervyn tugged back.
    Susie peered out. “Why, if it isn’t Mervyn, back from his tomcatting.” Her hair hung loose and fluffy, as if it were freshly washed; her voice was light. She kept looking at him.
    Boce complained, “He’s trying to give me the freeze, Susie. Say, look. Mervyn. You don’t know Blake Callahan, do you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOr his wife? Estelle?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAha, just as I thought! Then you better come on in and meet ’em.” Mervyn’s arm was growing numb; he winced, and Susie smiled sweetly and went back into the apartment. In his enthusiasm Boce sprayed him with bourbon. “Aw, come on , buddy-boy. I offer you beautiful women and whiskey flowing like water. You know me, pal. I never do things halfway. You name it, we got it, or we know where to get it. Which reminds me. I had to borrow a fifth of your bourbon. I’ll replace it, natch.”
    â€œHow did you get into my apartment?” asked Mervyn furiously.
    â€œThe usual way. Through the front door.”
    â€œMeaning that you picked the lock, or removed the hinges?”
    â€œHell, no. I just turned the knob, and the door opened.”
    Mervyn blew out his breath and permitted Boce to drag him into Apartment 1.
    John Viviano, pacing back and forth across the room, proved to be the source of the