Safer Dead Page 8

  Creed shoved him aside, looked into the opening, grimaced and stepped back.

  ‘It’s her,’ he said. ‘I can see the spangles on her getup. Okay, Joe, get it open.’

  A few more blows with the hammers caused the cement suddenly to fall apart the way an Easter egg will open. I took one look and turned away.

  I heard Creed say, ‘She’s all yours, Doc: what’s left of her.’

  I was on my way out by then. I have a pretty good stomach, but what I had seen turned me sick. I went into the office, took out the bottle of Scotch and gave myself a big shot.

  ‘Me too,’ Scaife said, coming in. He took the bottle and half-filled his glass. ‘Phew! I wouldn’t be a croaker for all the money in the world. Well, that settles it. It’s her all right.’

  After a few minutes, Creed came in.

  I made him a drink; he took it silently and went to sit on the desk by the window. He drank some of the liquor although he didn’t look as if he needed it. His eyes were alight with excitement and satisfaction.

  ‘Well, at last we’re getting somewhere,’ he said. ‘You two stick around. I’m going to talk to the press. There’s no doubt it’s Fay Benson. The body in there’s got a crooked little finger and so had Fay.’ He finished his drink. ‘Now, we’ll have to find out why she was killed.’

  He went out to where a gang of pressmen were waiting impatiently in the yard.

  Scaife lit a cigarette.

  ‘We’re heading for some hard work,’ he said gloomily. ‘We’ve got to find this guy Rutland.’

  I reached for the telephone and put through a personal call Bernie in New York. After a ten-minute delay, I got Bernie on the line. The time was now twenty minutes past midnight and I was surprised to catch him in.

  ‘I can’t stay long,’ he said. ‘Clair’s throwing a party, and I’ve got to keep feeding these vultures with my best whisky. What’s cooking?’

  ‘Get your notebook,’ I said. ‘I’ve got something hot for you so snap it up.’

  ‘Won’t it wait until tomorrow morning?’ he asked plaintively. ‘Clair doesn’t like me to leave our guests. Guests, did I say? That’s funny! They’re more like wolves.’

  ‘Listen, you drink sodden baboon; get your notebook and pin your ears back! We’ve found Fay Benson!’

  ‘You have? Well, that’s something. How is she?’

  ‘Wet, cold and very dead. Get your notebook!’

  After an infuriating delay, he came back on the line again.

  ‘Clair’s livid with me,’ he said. ‘For the love of Mike, hurry up.’

  ‘Shut up about Clair!’ I exclaimed. ‘Listen to what I’m going to tell you.’ I began dictating the story. One of Bernie’s major accomplishments was being able to take down in his own peculiar shorthand, dictation at an incredible speed. I gave him the facts and told him I was putting more photographs on the morning plane. ‘Get someone to meet the plane. This stuffs going to be sensational,’ I concluded.

  ‘I’ll fix it. I’ll have the whole thing doped out by tomorrow. Nice work, Chet.’

  ‘Glad you think so. Keep close to the telephone. I’ll have something more for you in a little while. We’re waiting for the doctor’s report.’

  ‘Don’t call me up any more tonight,’ Bernie said, alarm sounding in his voice. ‘Clair . . .’

  ‘I know: Clair won’t like it. Phooey to her!’ I snarled and hung up.

  Creed came into the room, looking pretty pleased with himself.

  ‘This is just the story those ghouls like,’ he said, sitting down. ‘We’re going to hit the headlines all right. Doc been in yet?’

  Scaife shook his head.

  We had to wait another ten minutes before the Medical Officer came in. He looked completely unperturbed as he began to fill his pipe and he shook his head when I offered him a drink.

  ‘She was killed by a blow on the back of her head. I’d say she was struck by the butt of a revolver: I’ve got nothing else for you. She’s been in the water too long to tell us much. She was dead when the cement was put in.’

  Creed got to his feet.

  ‘Thanks, Doc.’ He looked over at Scaife. ‘Come on; we’ve got work to do.’

  As the M.O. followed them, I reached for the telephone and called Bernie again.

  II

  I looked in to see Creed the next morning soon after eleven o’clock. I had paid my bill at the Shad Hotel, packed my bag and was now ready for the two hundred mile run to Tampa City. Scaife told me Creed was tied up, but he wanted to see me before I left.

  ‘He won’t be more than twenty minutes. Come in my office. I’ve news for you.’

  When I had sat down, Scaife said, ‘You were right. Joan Nichols had a record. She served two years in 1948 for blackmail.’

  ‘Any details?’

  ‘It was a particularly mean type of blackmail. One of the girls she was working with in a show had a brother who was in a criminal asylum. His background was pretty grimy and Joan found out about it. She threatened to tell the other girls if this girl didn’t pay her five dollars a week. That was about all the girl could afford as she was keeping her mother. The girl paid up. It went on for six months, then her brother died, and she went to the police. Joan Nichols collected two years.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ I said. ‘I wonder if she was blackmailing Fay.’

  ‘More likely she was blackmailing Rutland. Maybe she and Fay were working together to put the bite on Rutland and he knocked them off.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I don’t see it that way. Joan’s death was accidental. So was Farmer’s. Following your argument, why wasn’t Fay’s? Why was it so important to get rid of her body so no one would ever find it? You don’t go to the trouble of giving a body a cement overcoat unless it’s urgently necessary for the body not to be found. Why shouldn’t her body be found?’

  Scaife stared at me. He hadn’t thought of this angle.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he said. ‘They could have knocked her off accidentally just as easily.’

  The buzzer on his desk sounded and he got up.

  ‘That’s the old man. Come on, I know he wants to see you.’

  Creed was sitting at his desk, chewing on a cigar. He didn’t look as happy as he had the previous night after he had told the pressmen what a smart guy he was. He was scowling, and he stared at me as if he wasn’t sure if he liked me or not.

  ‘You’ve certainly started something, Sladen, with your ideas. I’m hanged if I know if I can finish it.’ He waved Scaife out of the room. ‘Okay, we’ve found the body; we’ve killed the killer, but where does that get us? Even the press can see Flemming was hired to kill her, and in a day or so, they’ll begin to put some pressure on me. I’ve got no lead now.’

  ‘I might turn one up in Tampa City. I’m off right now.’

  ‘In a way I hope you don’t. It won’t get us anywhere,’ Creed said. ‘I’ve already told you: we have no jurisdiction in Tampa City. We can’t send our men in there. Doonan isn’t cooperative. Ever since he’s been there, Tampa City has been used as a sanctuary for criminals. You wouldn’t believe a town of two hundred and fifty thousand people could be so law abiding. Fifty percent of their convictions are motoring offences. The rest of them are for pilfering, shoplifting, stuff like that. There hasn’t been one major robbery or murder there for four years; just small time stuff among the lower working class: the folk who can’t afford to buy protection. Even if you get a lead, you’ll have to be careful how you use it.’

  ‘It can’t be as bad as that,’ I said. ‘If I get direct proof that the guy who hired Flemming is in Tampa City, surely we can put pressure on Doonan to pass him over to you?’

  Creed lifted his shoulders.

  ‘It’ll depend on who the guy is and how much protection he can pay. But it’s my bet you’ll never get the evidence. You’ll be thrown out of town long before that.’ He took his cigar from between his teeth and tapped ash into the ashtray. ‘I’m not kiddi
ng, Sladen. I’ll tell you something: six months ago, a private eye resident here worked on a divorce case. The wife he was watching went to Tampa City. He followed her and kept after her. She had a lot of dough. It’s my guess she went to Doonan and complained. I wish you could see what they did to that guy. His wife has to shove him around now in a wheelchair. He doesn’t know who beat him up. He doesn’t care, anyway. He’s slap happy. After a little trouble - he doesn’t talk so well now – I managed to get from him that three men cornered him an alley. He couldn’t see what they looked like. He didn’t have much time before they slugged him unconscious. I spoke to Doonan about it.

  He said he would get after the three guys. He even promised to have them for me in a week. I still haven’t got them, and I never will.’

  I stared at him, feeling a sudden chill run up my spine.

  ‘They wouldn’t treat me like that, would they?’

  Creed smiled grimly.

  ‘If I sent Scaife to snoop in their territory, they would do it to him: why not to you?’

  ‘I represent Crime Facts,’ I said, but with no confidence.

  Creed laughed.

  ‘Tell that to Doonan. It might amuse him.’

  ‘Maybe I’d better keep away from Tampa City.’

  ‘Please yourself. I wouldn’t ask you to go there, but if you want to get a story as badly as you seem to, that’s where you may find one. It’s up to you.’

  I laughed uneasily.

  ‘You sound like my editor, only he would order me to go there. Okay, I’m a sucker: I’ll go, but I’ll take care to be cautious.’

  ‘Have you that gun I lent you?’ Creed asked, holding out his hand. ‘I want it. You need a permit from Doonan to carry a gun in his territory, and if they catch you with one without his permit you’ll spend six months in one of the toughest jails in the country.’

  I reluctantly handed over the .45.

  ‘I was hoping to hang on to that,’ I said. ‘No one would put me in a wheelchair if I had that gun to show them.’

  ‘You’re safer without it. You can’t pull a gun on a cop. You should know that.’ He picked up an envelope lying on his desk and tossed it over to me. ‘That’s a note to Don Bradley, Tampa City ex-police captain. He and I used to be old friends. I haven’t seen him for a long time: too long. He’s a good guy. He might be able to steer you right. Anyway, he’ll bring you up-to-date on who to see and who to avoid. Go talk to him as soon as you hit town. He’ll tell you where to stay, and he’ll give you the geography of the place.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, put the envelope in my pocket and stubbed out my cigarette. ‘I’ll also go along and see Lennox Hartley and find out what he knows about Fay Benson. Any other letters come in about the girl?’

  ‘Sure, we’ve had a couple of dozen new ones. They don’t mean much. The writers only think they recognize her. None of them is as sure as Hartley seems to be. None of them come from Tampa City anyway. We’re working on them, and if we turn up anything, I’ll let you know. As soon as you’re settled in, call me, and give me your address.’ He stared thoughtfully at me. ‘I hope you stay long enough in town to get an address.’

  ‘So do I,’ I said, feeling he wasn’t encouraging. ‘Well, I’ll get off.’

  He shook hands.

  ‘So long, Sladen, and good luck.’

  He said it as if he thought I needed a lot of luck.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said and left him.

  Scaife was still in his office as I passed and I put my head around the door.

  ‘I’m off to Tampa City. Be seeing you,’ I said.

  He looked long and seriously at me.

  ‘You know I think your pal Low’s got a lot more sense than you have,’ he said, pushing back his chair. ‘Maybe you are the brains of the combination, but he’s got the sense. Me – I wouldn’t go to Tampa City if my wife was dying there - if I had a wife, which I haven’t.’

  ‘I’ve not only got the brains,’ I said with dignity, ‘but I have also the courage.’

  As I walked down the passage to the exit, I heard his mournful hoot of laughter. It wasn’t an inspiring sound.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I

  Around four o’clock in the afternoon, I hit the approach road to Tampa City: a four track highway that ran as straight as a foot rule alongside golden sands and the sun swept ocean.

  At this hour, the road was fairly clear of traffic, and I coasted along at a steady sixty miles an hour until I saw ahead of me a forty foot hoarding whose blood red letters on a glittering white background made me snatch my foot off the gas pedal.

  YOU ARE APPROACHING TAMPA CITY. SLOW DOWN OR SPEND A NIGHT IN OUR JAIL!

  A mile further on I spotted two speed cops, sitting astride their motorcycles by the side of the road, their gauntlet covered hands resting on their handlebars as if they were itching to go into action: two beefy, red-faced men with eyes like sun baked pebbles. They both stared hard at me as I passed them at a sedate thirty-five miles an hour.

  Another mile further on, the road dipped sharply and began to run downhill, and I had my first sight of Tampa City. It sprawled out around a sheltered bay: a white, glittering town of skyscrapers, beach huts, plushy looking hotels, gay sun umbrellas, tropical shrubs and trees. It looked as immaculate and as contented as a showgirl who has just been given a diamond bracelet.

  A closer inspection, as I reached the long, busy main street, told me this was a rich man’s town. Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Cadillacs and Daimlers cluttered up the parking lots. Well fed, well-dressed men sat in the cars, drumming impatiently on the steering wheel while they waited for their wives to have done with their shopping, or sat at cafes, staring insolently at the lightly clad lovelies who displayed their charms with equal insolence.

  I told myself Bernie would like this town. I didn’t dislike my first look of it myself. I spotted an empty place in one of the parking lots and swung the Buick into it, cut the engine and got out.

  The sun beat down on me as I walked across to a drug store to ask the way to Havelock Drive where Don Bradley lived. The clerk told me as if he were doing me a favour. His sharp eyes appeared to have the facility of peeping into my wallet and counting my money. From his expression I gathered he didn’t think much of me, and it was obvious my arrival gave him no pleasure.

  A tall girl in a backless blue swimsuit, doughnut sized sunglasses and a straw hat the size of a cartwheel drifted into the store as I was leaving. She had a bracelet of diamonds around her left ankle that must have set some sucker back a small fortune. The clerk went over to her with a deference that’s usually reserved for royalty. Money in Tampa City obviously talked. I went back to the car.

  A cop who from the rear could have been mistaken for Primo Camera, leaned against the car and stared at me as I approached with a stolid, impersonal expression and with cold, unfriendly eyes.

  ‘This yours?’ he asked nodding at the car as if it were beneath his dignity even to notice it.

  ‘That’s right,’ I said mildly.

  I didn’t know what his grouse was going to be, but I didn’t have to be psychic to see he had a grouse.

  ‘You’re in Tampa City now,’ he said, biting off each word. ‘We like cars parked straight here. Your rear wheels are over the white line.’

  I looked over at the glittering Rolls Royce parked next to my car. Its offside wheels were over the white line by three feet, but after all it was a 1954 Rolls and not a 1940 Buick.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m a stranger in town.’

  He held out a hand that could have been mistaken for a bunch of bananas in a poor light.

  ‘Licence.’

  I gave him my licence. He brooded over it as if he wasn’t too sure of the longer words, then took out a leather case containing a pad of forms and began to write laboriously.

  ‘Staying long?’ he growled at me without looking up.

  ‘I don’t imagine so. I doubt if I’ll be able to afford to.’

  He let th
at one drift, ripped out the sheet he had written on and poked it at me.

  ‘Five bucks.’

  I gave him the five dollars without blinking an eyelash and accepted the receipt. I had been warned by Creed, and Fayette was paying, so why should I care?

  The cop seemed surprised there was no fuss.

  ‘Be careful next time.’

  ‘I’ll buy myself a spirit level and a T-square,’ I said. ‘I’ll see she’s properly lined up next time I leave her.’

  He licked the stub of pencil and wrote down my number. His eyes were no warmer than an iceberg. I could see he would look out for me in the future.

  I got into the car.

  ‘Okay for me to move on?’

  He gave me a long, hard stare and walked away. He looked from the back like a small mountain that had grown legs. A nudge from him would have shoved in my ribs.

  I drove away, aware that I was sweating slightly and not because of the heat. If this kind of thing was going to happen often, I thought, my temper and nerves would almost certainly become frayed.

  Lincoln Drive was in the poorer quarter of Tampa City: that is to say the houses were smaller, and didn’t stand in a couple of acres of screened estates as ninety-nine percent of the rest of the houses in Tampa City did. It was a tree lined street tucked away as if ashamed of itself, but a street that I would have been glad to live in.

  A big, fat, solid looking man was fussing over a row of sweet peas a professional would have been proud to have grown in the garden of No. 24. I guessed he must be Bradley. He glanced up as I swung the Buick to the kerb.

  He looked every inch a cop; but not a bad cop. His fat weather-beaten face had a half humorous expression that went well with a pair of alert blue eyes. A straggling moustache, a sunburned, balding head and an aggressive chin gave him character plus toughness instead of just plain toughness. I got out of the car and he wandered down the garden path to meet me.

  ‘Captain Bradley?’ I asked, resting my hands on the gate.

  ‘Sure, come in,’ he said.

  ‘Will the car be all right? I’ve already been pinched for parking out of line.’