1945 - Blonde's Requiem Read online

  Beyfield leaned against the door, took out a package of gum, peeled the paper from it and slid the strip into his mouth. He then hooked his thumbs in his belt and eyed me with blank, stony eyes.

  Macey lit a cigar. He took his time about it and didn’t say anything until he was satisfied that it was burning properly, then he put his elbows-on the desk and glared at me.

  “I don’t like private dicks,” he began, the jowls of his fat face red, “but when a private dick starts being funny, I know what to do with him. Don’t I, Beyfield?”

  Beyfield grunted.

  I took out a cigarette and set fire to it. “I can imagine how scared some dicks would be,” I said mildly, “but you don’t scare me, Macey. I’ve got too much on you to worry much about your threats.”

  Macey showed his yellow teeth in a mirthless smile. “You think you’ve got something on me,” he said, pointing at me with the wet end of his cigar, “but you haven’t. We’ve got you, and unless you talk fast we’ll keep you.” He sat hack and regarded me for a long moment, then added: “No one knows you’re here.”

  I thought maybe he had something. If these guys decided to knock me off— and if they wanted to there was nothing that would stop them—no one would know what had happened to me. I decided I’d have to play my hand carefully.

  “So you found a body in 37, did you,” Macey said, “but it wasn’t there when my boys called? What’s the idea?”

  “No idea,” I said. “The body was there, but while I was calling you someone took it away.”

  Macey and Beyfield exchanged glances. “All right, someone took it away,” Macey said. “How did you find the body in the first place?”

  I told him about the date with Marian French, how, after she hadn’t shown up, I went to her room and found the address of the house.

  “She was on the floor with a cord around her neck,” I said. “I’d say she had been dead about four hours. The woman who rents her room said Marian received a phone call at five o’clock and went out right away. She went to meet her murderer.”

  “You don’t think we believe this yarn, do you?” Macey asked, tapping ash into his wastebasket.

  “I don’t give a damn if you believe it or not,” I returned. “I don’t expect you’ll turn the killer up—I’m going to do that—but I wanted to show you what’s happened to the other four girls who are missing.”

  There was a long heavy silence, then Macey said: “What’s the connection between these four girls and French?”

  “Suppose we put the cards on the table face up,” I said, shifting a little closer to the desk. “All you’re worrying about is the election. You want Starkey in office so you can feather your own nest.”

  Beyfield pushed himself away from the wall, took a quick step towards me and swung at my head. By falling on my hands and knees as the swing started I made him miss. While he was off balance I skidded away from him, stood up and grabbed a chair. I held it so I could crown him if he came in. We looked murder at each other.

  Macey exploded with a “Cut it out!” and stood up to thump his desk. “Sit down and shut up!” he bawled at Beyfield, who was breathing heavily, his face white with rage.

  I put the chair down. “If you want a fight,” I said to Beyfield, “you can have it, but it’ll mean a long vacation in hospital for you.”

  Macey bawled: “Didn’t you hear me? I said cut it out!”

  Beyfield went back to the door and stood chewing and glaring at me. I shrugged, and went back to my chair. “Let’s be reasonable,” I urged. “I said cards on the table, but if you’re scared, then we’ll forget it.”

  Macey settled down in his chair again. He rescued his cigar that had fallen on the floor, scowled at it and then at me. “Go on,” he said. “Shoot your mouth off if you want to.”

  “You’re not trying to find the missing girls because you’re scared it’ll lead to Starkey. You think Starkey has knocked them off, and if you dig you’ll have to pinch him. As you want him as boss of Cranville you’re too scared to do anything about the case.”

  His small eyes shifted away from me, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Starkey didn’t kill Marian French nor did he have anything to do with the missing girls,” I went on. “It points to him, but someone’s framing him for it.”

  There was an expression of cautious interest on Macey’s face now. “Go on,” he said. “What makes you think that?”

  “Maybe you haven’t any more brains than a leg of mutton,” I said, “but you know about the Street-Camera business. You know that every girl who’s disappeared has had her photograph in the window of that Studio and you know Starkey owns the joint. You think the photos were a bait to get the girls to come to the shop, but it wasn’t. There’s someone in this town who is’ out to frame Starkey. Whoever he is works like this. For some reason I haven’t got around to yet, he decided to kidnap and murder a number of girls in this town. Maybe he reckoned that it would be one way to get rid of Starkey, maybe there’s some other angle to it. I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Anyway, this guy starts indiscriminate kidnapping. First he goes along to the Street-Camera Studio and finds out who’s photograph is on show in the window. The photograph is changed every four days, and he may have to go there a number of times before he recognizes a girl he knows. When that happens, he contacts the girl, kidnaps her, murders her and hides her body. He does that three times, then he sends pictures of the girls to Dixon, tipping Dixon off that Starkey is using the shop as a bait to kidnap the girls. He hopes Dixon will come out with the story in the Gazette and upset Starkey’s applecart. That’s what I mean when I say someone is framing Starkey.”

  Macey brooded. He was interested all right. He had even let his cigar go out.

  “How did this guy get the photographs to give Dixon?” he asked, rather to say something than to pick holes in what I’d told him.

  “That’s easy. Each girl he kidnapped had the Street-Camera ticket with her. That ticket entitled the holder to go to the Studio and buy the photographs. All he had to do was to hand over the ticket and collect the photographs. The joint must do a big trade, and whoever handed the photos over would not be likely to remember who had bought them.”

  Macey brooded some more, and then as he was going to say something the telephone rang. He scooped up the receiver and growled into it.

  I watched him as he listened and saw his eyes light up. He glanced at me and looked away. Then he said, “Okay, that’s fine,” and hung up. “Maybe you’ve got something,” he said, but I could see he wasn’t concentrating. He was thinking of something else. “Suppose that did happen, who’s the fellow behind it?”

  I shrugged. “That’s what I’m going to find out,” I returned, “but as long as I know it isn’t Starkey and as long as you know it isn’t, then we can pry the lid off without worrying what’ll come out of the tin.”

  He pulled a slip of paper towards him and scribbled on “Yeah,” he said, “but suppose it’s Wolf? You’re acting for him and it wouldn’t suit you to turn up Wolf, would it?”

  “It isn’t Wolf,” I said, “and if it is, I wouldn’t care.”

  “Give this to Joe,” he said, offering the paper to Beyfield. “Tell him to get a move on.”

  Something at the back of my mind told me that what was happening right under my nose wasn’t going to do me any good. But unless I snatched the paper from Macey I couldn’t know what it was all about. I watched Beyfield take the paper and leave the room.

  “One of my men’s found a guy we’ve been looking for,” Macey explained, without looking at me. “Excuse me interrupting you, but I want to get after him.”

  “Sure,” I said. I knew he was lying, but I couldn’t imagine what his game was.

  “So you wouldn’t care if Wolf was at the bottom of this?”

  I shook my head. “I liked Marian French,” I said. “She was a stranger to the town and I was looking after her. Whoever kille
d her is going to burn. I don’t give a damn who it is.”

  “Suppose you’re right and it is murder,” Macey said, folding his arms and resting them on his desk. “Where are the bodies?”

  “Where have you looked?” I said, lighting another cigarette.

  That held him for a moment. I knew damn well he hadn’t looked anywhere, and he, knew I knew it.

  “Where do you suggest I look?” he said at last.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I returned. “Anywhere is a likely bet. Suppose you get a crowd of men organized and take the whole town to pieces? Get a map and mark it off in squares. Have ten men to each square and let ‘em hunt. A body isn’t easy to conceal. It’s the hard way, but I can’t suggest a better one.”

  He grunted. “How do you suppose this French girl’s body was taken out of the house?”

  “The back way. Easy enough if the guy who did it was strong. All he had to do was to carry the body downstairs into the back garden and heave it over the fence into the lane that runs along at the back of the gardens. If he had a car there, it would be easy. It was dark and no one would see him if he didn’t make a noise.”

  “I’ll have the lane checked for wheel-marks,” Macey returned. “Okay, Spewack, I’ll get working on this. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

  “So you’re sure Starkey’s in the clear?”

  “Never mind that,” he said shortly. “I’ll look for the bodies on your say-so, but I’m not expecting to find them.”

  “Depends how hard you look,” I said, and stood up. “Maybe it would be an idea to let Starkey know I’m not after him anymore. Somehow I don’t think that guy likes me.”

  “I’ll let him know,” Macey promised, and smiled again. It was a cold, foxy smile, and I didn’t like it.

  I went downstairs and found Reg Phipps waiting for me.

  “How did you know I was here?” I asked as we went down the yellow-walled passage to the street.

  “When I reached the house and found you weren’t around, I guessed you’d been taken to headquarters,” he said. “What happened?”

  I gave him a brief outline of the set-up. “Did you locate Latimer?”

  “Yeah, he’s waiting in the car at the next parking lot. We didn’t know where to get in touch with Audrey Sheridan so we thought we’d better hang around for you.”

  I quickened my pace. “I want that kid out of the way,” I said. “If Starkey knows where she is, there’ll be trouble.”

  “You’ve cleared him of the kidnapping rap, but he’s still in it on the Dixon murder, is that it?”

  “Yeah, and Macey knows it. We didn’t touch that angle of it, and if Starkey gets that picture you took of Dixon, then he’s clear of everything.”

  We found Latimer in the car and we scrambled in.

  “Gazette,” I said to Latimer. “And tread on it.”

  As the car shot away from the kerb, Reg said: “So it’s murder and not kidnapping?”

  “It’s murder all right,” I said, thinking of Marian and feeling bad about the whole business. “We’ll drop you off at the printer’s. You’ll have to cut out that stuff I gave you on Macey and get the story of the murder on the front page instead. We’ll lay off Macey for a while and see if he plays. If he doesn’t, then we’ll use the stuff.”

  Reg groaned. “You make a hell of a newspaper man,” he complained. “You don’t seem to know your own mind.”

  I grinned savagely in the darkness. “I do now,” I said. “It only wanted this to happen. I’m going all out to get that killer, and I’ll get him if it’s the last thing I do.”

  There was silence for a while, then Reg said: “You know, I can’t believe she’s dead. She was swell.”

  “She was,” I said, “and that’s what gets me. This is a personal matter now.”

  Latimer pulled up outside the printer’s shop and Reg got out of the car.

  “Give all the facts,” I told him, “and when you’re through, grab some sleep.

  I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I changed seats and got in the front with Latimer.

  “I want a quiet hotel,” I told him. “Where do I go?”

  He said the Palace wasn’t bad and it was not far from the Gazette offices.

  We passed the hotel on our way and it looked all right to me. When we reached the Gazette offices I told him to get off home.

  “Sure you don’t want me?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I’ll pick up Audrey and then we’ll go to the hotel. We can’t do much tonight. Be at the office early tomorrow.”

  As I was walking across the sidewalk to the entrance of the building he called me back.

  “All this excitement made me forget,” he said. “I’ve checked up on Starkey. He has a cast-iron alibi for two o’clock that night. You can’t nail him for Dixon’s killing.”

  “I didn’t think I could, but I can nail one of his mob, and that’ll finish him in Cranville,” I returned. “Anyway, thanks for finding out.”

  “And another thing,” he went on. “I don’t know if it’s any use to you, but Edna Wilson’s his daughter.”

  I stood still. “His what?”

  “Yeah. I happened to run into a guy I know and he told me. Starkey married about eighteen years ago. His wife got tired of his ways and left him. She died last year and her kid—Starkey’s daughter—came back to Cranville hoping he’d look after her. He planted her on Wolf, and she’s been feeding Starkey information ever since. The guy who told me used to live in the same town as Starkey’s wife and recognized Edna.”

  “I knew she was a phoney,” I returned. “I wonder what Starkey would say if he knew of her relations with Wolf? She must be a nice type of kid to sleep with a guy and betray him at the same time.”

  Latimer shrugged. “Women are all the same,” he returned cynically. “They’ll cut your throat while they’re loving you. Anyway, that’s the dope for what it’s worth.”

  I said I was glad to have it and went on into the building.

  There was no light showing through the pebbled glass door of the Gazette offices. I wondered uneasily if Audrey had gone to sleep. I tried the door and found it wasn’t locked.

  One look, around the room, after I had turned on the light, confirmed my worst fears. It looked like a cyclone had hit it. Chairs were overturned, the desk was shoved against the wall, and rugs were crumpled in corners.

  Audrey had put up a pretty good fight. The silent and dishevelled office told its own story. Starkey had got her.

  chapter six

  I paid off the taxi a hundred yards or so from Wolf’s house and walked the short distance, keeping in the shadows. It was now a little after twelve o’clock and I was hoping everyone in Wolf s place had gone to bed.

  There were lights burning in two-of the upper-floor windows of the house, but the ground floor was in darkness. I walked across the lawn, round the back to the garage. It took me a few minutes to force the lock and another five minutes to get my car out. Fortunately there was a sloping ramp from the garage and I rolled the car down to the drive without having to start up the engine. I manoeuvred it in a position for a quick getaway and then ran round to the front door again. One look at the lock convinced me that it would take too long to force, so I tried a window. I managed to slip a catch, pushed up the window and found myself in Edna Wilson’s office. Moving quietly, I stepped into the lobby and listened. No sound came to me, so I started up the stairs. I reached the landing. As I was hesitating what to do next a door at the far end of the passage opened. I ducked back behind the bend of the staircase.

  Wolf wandered down the passage. He was wearing a blue silk dressing gown over his tuxedo. A cigar was clamped between his teeth and he moved heavily as if he were tired or had something on his mind. For a moment I thought he was going downstairs, and I began to wonder what excuse I was going to give to explain why I was lurking in his house. But halfway down the pa
ssage he paused and rapped on a door. A moment later Edna Wilson stepped into the passage. She was wearing a green silk wrap. She said something to him in a low voice and Wolf scowled at her.

  His heavy face went red. “All right,” he growled, “if that’s how you feel.”

  “That’s just how I feel,” she said sharply, and she closed the door in his face.

  Wolf stood muttering for a few moments and then he went back to his own room.

  I waited a few minutes then I stepped into the passage across to Edna Wilson’s door. I turned the handle. Rather to my surprise the door opened and I walked into a large, lavishly furnished bedroom decorated in green and silver.

  A quick look around showed she wasn’t in the room. A door on the left stood open, and as I walked softly over to it she came out. I caught a glimpse of a naked thigh that flashed between the opening of her silk wrap, then she saw me, her hands went to her face and her mouth curved into an O.

  With my left hand I swept her hands from her face and hit her on the side of her jaw with my right. As she folded up I caught her under her arms and lowered her to the floor.

  I paused for a second to look at her. Without her glasses her face had a sort of off-key neurotic charm that only needed some clever make-up to be striking. I was slightly startled to see how glasses had spoilt her looks.

  I looked swiftly around the room, grabbed a pair of silk stockings, and rolling her over I bound her wrists together. A silk scarf hanging over a chair back served to fasten her ankles together. I rolled her over again, made a knot in my handkerchief and stuffed it in her mouth. Then I picked her up—she was light and I could feel her bones sticking into me as I carried her—and walked quickly to the door.

  I didn’t hesitate, but went straight into the passage, down the stairs to the front door. I had to lay her on the floor while I unbolted and opened the door, then picking her up and leaving the door open I ran around to where I had left my car. I bundled her into the front seat, slid under the wheel beside her and started the engine.