1945 - Blonde's Requiem Page 7

  “Yeah,” I said, “that’s true.” I sat staring at the floor. I wanted to get rid of these guys so I could turn things over in my mind. “I’ve got things to do,” I went on after a long pause. “If there isn’t anything else . . .”

  Macey got to his feet. “We just looked in,” he said. “We don’t like private dicks, so we thought we’d tell you. Kind of let you know how you stand.”

  “Sure,” I said, not moving.

  “The sensible thing for you to do would be to take the first train out. That’d be the sensible thing to do, wouldn’t it, Beyfield?”

  Beyfield grunted.

  “And another thing,” Macey said, at the door, “keep out of Starkey’s way. He doesn’t like private dicks either.”

  “I’m seeing Starkey this afternoon,” I said, stubbing out my cigarette. “I want to tell him about the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It’s a swell story, and it’ll interest him.”

  “He doesn’t like stories,” Macey said, his lower lip jutting. “I’d beat it if I were you. My department can’t give protection to private dicks. We’re too busy.”

  Beyfield cleared his throat. “And a dummy like you’ll need plenty of protection if you stick around,” he told me in his basement voice. They went out and left me alone.

  * * *

  I wrote:

  Dear Colonel Forsberg,

  I saw Lewes Wolf yesterday. Briefly, the case boils down to this: Wolf, a retired industrial moneybag, for something better to do, plans to be elected mayor.

  The opposition consists of the city mortician, Max Esslinger, and a gambler called Rube Starkey. Esslinger seems to be the people’s choice, but Starkey has the support of the Chief of Police and probably the rest of the crackpots on the city’s pay roll. In any case, it looks like a snap for Starkey, as he’s going to strong-arm the polls when the election breaks.

  Wolf is out in the cold but won’t admit it. Three girls disappear. One is a daughter of a drugstore assistant, McArthur; the other, the daughter of a janitor, Dengate; and the third one is an orphan named Joy Kunz. The disappearances start trouble in the town—panic, excitement and window smashing, that sort of stuff.

  Wolf engages us to find the girls. This because he’s got money to burn and hopes to gain favour with the voters. Esslinger, not to be out-done, engages the local Agency, run by Audrey Sheridan. The cops, knowing Starkey, whom they support and is going to be elected anyway, are not working on the case. They reckon if the girls aren’t found it’ll hurt Wolf and Esslinger s chances—they having guaranteed to find them.

  That’s the background of the case. The opposition is something to see. No one likes Wolf and consequently they don’t like me. If I’m not careful someone’s going to drop a rock weighing a ton on me. I called on McArthur but got chased away by his Wife. One of Starkey’s boys tailed me and left me a threatening note.

  Ted Esslinger, Max Esslinger’s son, who knows all three girls, wants them found and never mind about the election. He came with McArthur last night to see me and offered help. His theory is that Starkey has kidnapped the girls to put Wolf and Esslinger on a spot. This may be an idea, although it doesn’t quite check. Evidence points to it, but until I’ve had time to look around I’m not accepting it as the only angle. Briefly, the three girls were photographed by a street-cameraman and all were given tickets to collect the photographs. The place where the photographs are collected is run by Starkey. The girls went to this joint on the day they disappeared.

  They could have been easily knocked off when they went to the shop, but I don’t see how they were taken from the shop. If they have been killed, where are the bodies?

  Things started last night. Another girl disappeared. Ted Esslinger tipped me off. Playing a hunch, I went to the Street-Camera joint and in the window was an enlarged picture of the missing girl, Mary Drake. Too smooth? That’s what I think.

  Almost like a plant. I got into the shop, and while I was looking around and not finding anything three of Starkey’s men—I’m not sure they were Starkey’s men, but it’s an even bet they were—bust in, snatched the photograph, replaced it with another and beat it. As I was leaving I found a handkerchief with the initials M.D. in the passage by the back door. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there when I arrived. I may be wrong, but I don’t think I could have missed it when I was looking around.

  It could have been planted when I was in the shop. The whole set-up of the Street-Camera joint is too smooth. It may be a stunt by Wolf or Esslinger to discredit Starkey. Esslinger’s most likely to be pulling it, as his son tipped me off about the joint. Whether Ted is working with his father or is just a stooge, I don’t know. He seems a decent kid, but I’m watching him. On the other hand, it may be Starkey’s scheme to kidnap the girls. I haven’t made up my mind yet.

  Dixon, the editor of the “Granville Gazette ,” showed me three photos of the girls which were taken by the Street-Camera operative. I culled on Dixon as soon as I found what kind of opposition I was up against, but I only got one thing out of him before some guy phoned and told him to shut his mouth. He did say that Esslinger had no confidence in Audrey Sheridan to break the case. He was putting her on the job as window-dressing.

  I went along to Dixon’s place after finding the handkerchief An unidentified woman had got there before me. I ran into her on her way out and she pulled a Jap trick on me. While I was out she took the handkerchief off me. Later I found Dixon had been knocked off Someone had tied a cord too tightly around his neck. The three photographs had gone and he hadn’t been dead more than ten minutes. The woman could have killed him and taken the photographs, but strangling with a cord isn’t the way women kill. Although expert jiu-jitsu is a novelty too. The three photographs and the handkerchief were good enough evidence to set the F.B.I. working, but I haven’t got them now. The woman might be Audrey Sheridan or she might be one of Starkey’s molls. I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. She certainly made a sucker out of me: This morning Chief of Police Macey and a stooge called. They acted tough, but it was a bad act. They thought I had something. Whether they thought I had the three photographs and the handkerchief I’m not sure, but they went through my room like they were looking for something important. I bluffed them into thinking I had something on Starkey, and if I’m to stay healthy I’ve got to keep them thinking along those lines.

  They told me Dixon had clod of a heart attack. This might mean either of two things: (1) Starkey killed him to get the photographs and the police are covering him up, or (2) they don’t want anything to interfere with or take the limelight off the fourth kidnapping. The murder of the town’s editor would be bigger news than the disappearance of a working girl. Starkey and Macey want to create as much unrest in the town as possible.

  Before long something’s going to happen to bust the lid off this town. When that does happen a lot of people are going to get very tough indeed. I take it you ‘re charging Wolf danger money? I’d hate to be killed at our usual rates. I’d hate to he killed anyway. I’ll let you know what progress I make. If you’ve got a joss stick, move’s the time to burn it. I want all the spiritual support I can get.

  I was signing this when the telephone rang It was Ted Esslinger.

  “Hullo there,” I said.

  “Did you find anything?” His voice sounded thin and far away.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.” I wasn’t sure, but I had a feeling someone was listening in. “Don’t talk now,” I went on, “I’ll call you sometime today. There’s one thing you can tell me. Is there a dame in this town who practises jiu-jitsu?”

  “What?” His voice sounded startled. “What did you say?”

  I repeated what I had said.

  “Jiu-jitsu?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Why, yes. Audrey Sheridan used to do it. Her father taught her. But I don’t know if she can do it now. Why do you ask that?”

  “Never mind,” I said, and hung up.r />
  * * *

  I walked across the fine green lawn and rang the bell in the brick portico under the peaked roof.

  The same noiseless, sharp-eyed manservant came to the door.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said. “Mr. Wolf is in.”

  I followed him into the lobby.

  “If you will wait a moment.” He went on and walked off down the passage.

  I could hear the tappity-tap-tap and the thin bell and muffled whir of Miss Wilson’s typewriting coming through the closed door of her office. There was a fresh, pleasant scent of flowers in the lobby. At the end of the passage double glass doors opened onto the garden.

  The manservant came back. “This way, if you please,” he said.

  I followed him into Wolf’s study.

  He said, “Mr. Spewack, sir,” softly, and closed the door behind me.

  Wolf was sitting by the open window. His thin lips were clamped round a green dapple cigar. A small table at his side was covered with legal-looking documents and he was holding other papers in his fat hand.

  “Have you found ‘em?” he barked as soon as the door closed.

  I pulled up a chair and sat down. “Let’s get this straight,” I said shortly. “You may be hiring me, but I don’t have to take anything from you or anyone else.”

  He took the cigar out of his mouth and stared at me with hot and angry eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t act tough,” I said, flicking my thumbnail under a package of Lucky Strike. “If you want me to work for you, treat me right.” I took the cigarette that popped up from the package and set, fire to it.

  He passed his hand over his close-cropped head. “God damn it,” he said, “another girl’s disappeared. What the hell do you think I’m paying you for?” But his tone was a shade milder.

  “You’re paying because you want the girls found. I can’t stop them disappearing, but I can find them.”

  He put the papers he had in his hand on the table. “I don’t want a lot of talk,” he growled. “I told you to come here when you’ve found something.”

  “How bad do you want to be mayor?” I asked.

  He gave me a hard look. “I told you. I’m going to be mayor. When I say a thing, it happens.”

  “Not with you sitting on your fanny all day,” I said. “The other guys are up and doing. You want to get wise. This is going to be a battle.”

  “You thought of something?” There was eagerness in his voice.

  “Who owns the Granville Gazette?”

  “Elmer Shanks. Why?”

  “What sort of a guy is he?”

  “He’s an old fool. Worn out and useless,” Wolf growled. “Dixon runs the paper. He’s not much use either,”

  “Would he sell?”

  Wolf stared at me. Ash fell from his cigar and made a large splash of white on his coat. “Sell? Why the hell should he sell? He makes a living out of the paper and he leaves the headaches to Dixon. What are you talking about?”

  “Dixon’s dead.”

  Wolf went white and then red. “Dead?” he repeated. He looked suddenly old and a little idiotic.

  “Don’t you read the papers? He died last night.” I struggled not very successfully with a yawn.

  Wolf didn’t seem able to cope with the news. He sat staring at me, pulling at his beaky nose. I gave him time to recover and then went on: “The police say he died of heart failure, but he didn’t. He was murdered.”

  Wolf flinched. “Murdered?”

  I nodded.

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s my business to know things like that.”

  He put the cigar in his mouth, chewed it, found it had gone out and mashed it in the ashtray at his side. His hand shook as he did this.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, he was murdered all right. Macey’s covering it up for his own reasons. I haven’t made a guess yet what they are.” I shifted forward in my chair. “With Dixon out of the way, you should be able to buy the Gazette if you act fast.”

  He turned this over in his mind. When he looked at me again I could see interest and doubt in his eyes.

  “Why should I buy the Gazette?” he asked.

  I snapped my fingers impatiently. “You told me when you left the mine you were crazy with boredom. Take over the Gazette and you’ve got a full-time job on your hands. If you can’t control the town with the Gazette, you’ll never control it. With the right editorial policy you could crucify Starkey, Macey and anyone else who’s standing in your way.”

  He stopped me by holding up his hand. “I know,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  He got to his feet and moved across the room. His face was flushed and his eyes burned feverishly. Then he walked back to his desk.

  “Wait,” I said, as his thumb was hovering over a bell push. “What are you doing?”

  He shot me an angry, preoccupied look. “You leave this to me,” he said. “I want to talk to my lawyer.”

  “Well, talk to him,” I said, pointing to the telephone. “But don’t let anyone get his number for you. Get it yourself.”

  “What the hell is all this?” he growled.

  “How long have you had Miss Wilson?”

  “Miss Wilson? She’s been my secretary for six months. What’s she got to do with it?”

  “Only she’s had six months to work up a nice hate for you,” I said casually. “You’re not the kind of guy a girl falls for. You’d only be kidding yourself if you thought you were. If you want the Gazette you’ll have to act fast and secretly. Starkey might like the rag himself.”

  “You’re either a rogue or a fool,” he said viciously. “There’s nothing wrong with Edna Wilson.”

  “Get your lawyer yourself,” I said. “And don’t take chances. Let me know when you’ve got the rag. I’ll help shape its policy.” I got up and went to the door.

  “Wait.” he said. “I want to hear what you’ve been doing. Come back and tell me.”

  “I’m not ready yet to tell you anything,” I said. “Get the Gazette whatever it costs. With that you can crack this case and become mayor or any damn thing you want . . . if you last that long.”

  I opened the door and stepped into the lobby. I heard him mutter something, then there was a faint ping from the telephone bell as he picked up the receiver.

  I moved across to Miss Wilson’s office. I made a lot less noise than a feather makes when it settles on concrete. I put my hand on the doorknob, turned it gently and went in.

  Miss Wilson sat at her desk, the extension telephone receiver glued to her ear. She was drinking in everything Wolf was saying to his lawyer.

  I looked at her and she looked at me. Her pupils dilated, but otherwise she remained calm.

  “Good morning,” I said, smiling at her. “You should be out in the garden. The sunshine would do you good.”

  She frowned, shook her head and went on listening.

  I leaned over the desk and pulled the receiver out of her hand. “You don’t want to listen to him,” I said. “Listen to me. I’m much more interesting.”

  Making a claw out of her hand, she struck at me. I got my face away in time, but only just in time. She snatched at the telephone, but I caught her arm and pulled her over the desk towards me. She struggled, but I kept pulling and she slid over the desk, upsetting everything on her way.

  I did all this with one hand while I put the telephone back with the other. Then I eased her to the floor and held her until she got her balance.

  She pushed away from me and stood among the ruin, her eyes spiteful and wild. “How dare you!” she said.

  “I didn’t want you to hear what he said,” I explained, sitting on the desk. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you packed up and went. I can’t let you kid Wolf any longer.”

  Anger went out of her eyes and she looked dismayed and frightened. “I wasn’t doing anything,” she sa
id, her lips beginning to tremble. “Please don’t tell him. I don’t want to lose this job.”

  I shook my head. “I bet you don’t. Who are you spying for? Esslinger or Starkey? Or is it someone else?”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Her eyes became wide and dark in a tense, white face, I thought she was going to take another swing at me, and I got ready to duck. Then she controlled herself.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said evenly. “I’ve worked for Mr. Wolf for six months. He’s never complained.”

  “It’s six months too long. Pack up and get out. A change of air will do you good, but not half as much good as it will do Wolf.”

  “I take my orders from Mr. Wolf,” she said coldly. “If he wants me to go, then I’ll go.”

  “Let’s ask him,” I said, turning to the door.

  Her eyes became dark and wide again. “No.”

  I went across the lobby, tapped once on Wolf’s door and went in. Wolf was just putting down the telephone.

  I told him about Miss Wilson.

  “Get rid of her,” I said. “Everything you do is being handed to Starkey or Esslinger on a plate.”

  His face sagged a little. “I’ll talk to her,” he said. “I don’t want to get rid of her yet. We don’t know she’s telling things . . . I mean you’re only guessing . . .”

  I stared at him blankly. “But she was listening.”

  “I know, I know.” He began to bluster. “Leave it to me. When I want advice about my staff I’ll ask for it.”

  I nodded and went out.

  Edna Wilson was standing in the doorway of her office. She smiled spitefully and triumphantly at me.

  I smiled right back at her. “Why didn’t you say he slept with you?” I said. “I wouldn’t have bothered him.”

  Her smile went like a fist when you open your hand.

  She went back into her office and slammed the door.

  * * *