1954 - Safer Dead (12 page)

He stared at me, blinked, then nodded.

‘That’s right. How did you know?’

‘I’m working with the police. We want to find out something about this girl’s background.’

‘Why have the police sent you for heaven’s sake? Why didn’t they come themselves?’

‘Tampa City is out of their jurisdiction. I said I would see you to avoid complications.’ I took Fay Benson’s photograph from my wallet and offered it to him. ‘That’s the girl. Do you still recognize her?’

He took the photograph, screwed up his eyes and peered at it. Then he reached out, turned on the table lamp to see it better.

‘That’s the girl,’ he said, ‘I’d know her anywhere. Mind you, when I knew her she was dark; but it’s the same face. I’m an expert on women’s faces: I have to be. I’m a magazine cover designer.’ He waved the photograph at me. ‘This girl modeled for me. That haughty piece who went out just now also models for me. You’ve no idea what I have to put up with with these girls.’ He waved the photograph again. ‘This one cost me time and money. You wouldn’t believe it to look at her, would you? I thought when I met her she would be easy to handle, but no, she turned out just like the rest of them.’

‘Was her name Fay Benson?’

He shook his head.

‘No. Her name was Frances Bennett. She was one of the showgirls at the Golden Apple. That’s the plush nightery on Roosevelt Boulevard in case you don’t know.’

‘You say she modelled for you?’

‘That was the idea. She did quite a lot of work for me. I spotted her at the club way back in June of last year. She seemed to me to have just the right face and figure for a good cover design. I fixed for her to come out here and pose. She used to come regularly. Then suddenly, she was fixed to come one day and didn’t show up. I haven’t seen her since.’

‘When was this?’

‘Sometime in August last year.’

‘Could you give me the exact date? It’s important.’

‘I guess so.’ He groaned as he hoisted himself out of the chair and went unsteadily across the room to a big cupboard. He took from it a cardboard folder and returned to his chair. ‘I’ve the last drawing I did of her somewhere here. It’s not finished, but I’ve got the date on the back.’ He thumbed through a pile of half-finished sketches, pulled out one and handed it to me.

‘That’s it. The date’s on the back.’

I looked at the sketch. He certainly could draw. Although the drawing was only half finished I recognized the girl. There was no doubt she was Fay Benson. I looked at the back of the sketch. The date was August 2nd. Fifteen days after she had posed in this room, she had disappeared from Welden. She had arrived in Welden on August 9th. What had she been doing between August 2nd and the 9th? I wondered.

‘Yes, that’s her all right,’ I said, handing back the sketch. ‘Can you remember if she gave you any hint that she might not turn up to finish her modelling?’

He shook his head.

‘No, it was a complete let down. She was pleased with the sketch as she should have been. She said she was looking forward to seeing it finished. I told her I’d only be one more day on it, and it was she who suggested she came the next day. She fixed the time too. Then she never turned up.’

‘Do you remember what time she left you on August 2nd?’

‘Around four o’clock. I don’t like working long hours. She came at twelve thirty. We worked until two, then we had a sandwich lunch, and she left at four.’

‘Did she show up at the Golden Apple that night?’

‘Yes. I happened to be there and I saw her. She took part in the show.’

‘Do you know where she lived?’

‘I can tell you. I’m a methodical cuss, Mr. Sladen. You might not think it to look at me, but I’ve got method.’ He produced a card index box from the cupboard, flicked through it, found a card and tossed it over to me.

I examined the card.

BENNETT. Frances, Lucy, 256, Glynne Avenue. T. C. 4475. Showgirl. Golden Apple Club. Age 26. Brunette. Blue eyes. Height 5ft. 6. Bust 36. Hips 36. Weight 120 lbs. Photogenic. Good for cruise, vacation, outdoor, candy box subject. Good patient model.

‘I keep tabs on them all,’ Hartley said. ‘Then when I want them again, I run through the cards until I find them.’

I made a note of the address.

‘Any idea if she had a boyfriend?’ I asked.

‘I’ve no idea. I’m careful not to get personal with my models. When I do, I run into trouble. Suzy is an example. She’s a swell model, but she imagines she can throw her weight about: slams doors, goes haughty on me, won’t do as she’s told. My fault. I got personal with her.’

‘I wouldn’t mind getting personal with her myself,’ I said.

‘Ever heard of a guy who calls himself Henry Rutland? He’s tall, handsome and runs a cream and green Cadillac?’

Hartley shook his head.

‘Nope.’ He closed his eyes. I could see he was fast losing interest in me. ‘Well, brother, if I can’t help you anymore, I guess I’ll take a little nap. I’m not feeling as bright as I did when I got up this morning.’

‘Well, thanks,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘Maybe I’ll call on you again. Don’t disturb yourself. I can find my way out.’

I was talking to the air in the room. By the time I reached the hall, he had begun to snore.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I

I
t was coming up for seven o’clock by the time I had tracked down Glynne Avenue, but I decided to keep on working while I could. I remembered Creed’s warning. If he were right, then the chances were I would get slung out of town before very long, and I wanted to find out as much as I could before I did run into trouble.

Glynne Avenue was a modest tree lined street at the eastern end of the promenade: a street of apartment houses and tourist pensions, and No. 256 turned out to be a brown stone apartment house.

Having located it, I drove the Buick to the nearest car park some hundred yards down the street, left the car, and walked back.

I climbed the steps to the front door and stared at the five name plates which told me nothing. It was obvious that someone had taken over Fay Benson’s apartment, but I had no idea which apartment she had occupied.

The situation called for thought. I wasn’t anxious to advertise the fact that I was inquiring for her, and yet I had to take a chance, if I was to find out who her successor was. I was about to thumb the bell to the first floor apartment when the front door opened and a girl appeared.

She was dark and pale with nice eyes; not a beauty, but pleasant on the eye. She was the kind of girl you’d take home for your mother to see; that kind of girl. She started when she saw me, not expecting to see anyone, then smiled nervously.

‘You gave me a fright.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, taking off my hat. ‘I was about to ring the bell.’ She looked safe enough to confide in, so I went on, ‘I’m looking for Miss Bennett. I understand she lives here. Miss Frances Bennett.’

The girl looked sharply at me. I could see the surprise in her eyes.

‘Why, Frankie’s been gone months. She left Tampa City in August.’

‘She has? Well, what do you know? That’s a big disappointment. I promised to take her out the next time I was in town.’

She smiled then.

‘What a shame. No, Frankie’s left. I don’t know where she’s got to. I was hoping she’d write, but she never has.’

‘Are you a friend of hers?’

‘Oh yes. We shared the apartment together.’

‘My name’s Sladen,’ I said. ‘This is a big letdown for me. I was hoping she would have dinner with me.’

She looked at me with sudden interest, mixed with caution. What she saw apparently reassured her for she said, ‘I’m Irene Jarrard. I don’t know if Frankie ever mentioned me. I’m sorry, Mr. Sladen, but she’s gone: that’s the way it is.’

‘Yeah, too bad.’ I gave her my best boyish smile. ‘I guess you would be dated for tonight, Miss Jarrard? You couldn’t take pity on a stranger? I was hoping for a little company tonight.’

‘Oh well, I don’t know.’ she stopped, hesitated, then laughed nervously. ‘You see, Mr. Sladen, I don’t really know you. I’ll be honest. I was going out to supper on my own, but I don’t think . . .’

‘I’m harmless,’ I said. ‘I’ll prove it to you if you’ll join me. I can’t very well, if you don’t, can I?’

She laughed again.

‘That’s fair. Well, all right. I’d love to.’

‘Fine. My car’s at the end of the road. Where shall we go?’

‘There’s Lodoni. It’s a little expensive, but the food’s marvellous: that is if you like seafood.’

I said I was crazy about seafood.

By the time we reached Lodoni’s restaurant, I had got her confidence, and we were talking away as if we had known each other most of our lives.

She was telling me she worked for Ryman Thomas, the advertising man, as I drove up a sand covered drive that led directly to the neon plastered restaurant, and she broke off to say: ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have come here. It’s going to be expensive. I don’t want you to have to spend a lot of money.’

I laughed, thinking what a favourite she would be with Fayette.

‘I’m in an expensive mood tonight. Think nothing of it.’ I pulled into the parking lot, and together we walked over to the restaurant entrance.

It was a pretty nice joint. The big restaurant overlooked the ocean, and although it was fairly crowded, we managed to get a table on the balcony that gave us a fine view of the sea, the bathers frolicking in the moonlight, and the wonderful sweep of the promenade.

Irene told me she had heard the turtle steaks at Lodoni’s were out of this world, so we had turtle steaks. We started with two very dry martinis, followed by scampi, then the turtle steaks. While we ate, we talked. When we got to the coffee and cigarette stage, I brought the conversation around to Fay Benson.

‘Why did Frankie leave town, Miss Jarrard?’ I asked. ‘Did she give you any reason?’

Irene shook her head.

‘I just can’t think. I went off to work as usual and when I got back she had gone. She left no note; she had just gone.’

‘She took all her things?’

‘Oh, yes; otherwise I should have been much more worried than I was. As it was, I couldn’t understand it. I called the Golden Apple, but they were just as surprised as I was.’

‘Who did you speak to at the Golden Apple?’

‘The stage manager: Mr. Hewlitt. Frankie hadn’t said anything to him about leaving.’

‘Do you remember the exact date?’

‘It was August 3rd. I remember because my brother’s birthday is on the 4th and I had got him a tie. I wanted Frankie’s opinion of it, but she had gone.’

‘She gave you no hint at all that she was leaving?’

‘No.’

‘Did she pay her rent?’

‘Yes. I found the rent money on the mantelpiece. That’s why I was so surprised. I thought at least she might have written a note. We were good friends, Mr. Sladen. We had shared the apartment for eight or nine months. We got on well together.’

I ordered more coffee. When the waiter had refilled our cups and had moved away, I said, ‘She worked at the nightclub on the night of 2nd?’

‘Yes. She had been modelling for Mr. Hartley, the cover designer, during the afternoon. When I got back to the office about six, she told me what a good drawing he had made of her and that she was looking forward to seeing him again the following day. She went out to do some shopping, then when she came back, she got ready for the nightclub and left at eight o’clock.’

‘She didn’t seem flustered or upset?’

Irene shook her head.

‘She was in great form. She wasn’t worried a bit.’

‘Did she get back at her usual time?’

‘I think she was later than usual. She more or less got back every night around two. We didn’t share bedrooms, but I generally heard her when she came in. I thought it was later, but I can’t be sure. I was sleepy, and I didn’t look at the time. It felt later to me. I think it must have been nearly daylight.’

‘Did you see her before you went to work?’

‘Oh no. I didn’t disturb her. She didn’t get up any morning before eleven, and I have to leave the apartment around nine.’

‘Was she alone when she came back that night?’

She looked sharply at me, frowning.

‘It’s funny you should ask that. I had an idea at the time there was someone with her. I was only half awake when I heard her unlock the door, but I thought I heard a man’s voice. I can’t be sure. I was sleepy, but I did think a man was with her.’

‘Did she often bring men back to the apartment?’

‘Only once that I remember: towards the end of July. She said she was having a friend in for supper, and would I mind keeping out of the way. We had agreed to do this when we shared the apartment together. If I wanted my friends in, she kept out of the way. As it happened I had a movie date, and I didn’t get home until late. They had gone by then, but there were a lot of cigarette butts in the ashtray: Egyptian cigarettes. I don’t like the smell of them much and I particularly noticed they were Egyptian.’

‘It might have been a woman, of course?’

‘Well, there were no lipstick marks on the butts.’

I smiled at her.

‘You’d make a good detective; Miss Jarrard.’

‘I was thinking that about you,’ she said seriously. ‘Why are you asking all these questions?’

‘I’ll tell you: I think Frankie’s in trouble.’ I took out Fay Benson’s photograph from my wallet and put it on the table.

‘That’s her, isn’t it?’

Irene looked at the photograph.

‘Yes, of course, but she’s blonde in this picture. She was a natural brunette, Mr. Sladen. Why has she gone blonde? When was this picture taken?’

‘From what you tell me, I’d say it was taken a couple of weeks after she left here. This girl,’ I went on, tapping the photograph, ‘called herself Fay Benson. On August 9th, she arrived at Welden and got a job at the Florian nightclub as a solo dancer. On August 17th she suddenly vanished and the police think she was kidnapped. I’m going to be frank with you, but I want you to promise me that what I’m going to tell you goes no further. It’s important.’

She was looking a little scared by now.

‘Of course I won’t say anything.’