1954 - Safer Dead (13 page)

‘The Welden police have asked me to find out what I can about the girl. They have an idea an investigation won’t be encouraged by the Tampa City police so I have to work cautiously. There’s some mystery going on, and I want to find out what it is.’

‘But if she was kidnapped, surely she must have been found by now,’ Irene said, her eyes opening wide. ‘You say she disappeared on August 17th? That’s more than fourteen months ago?’

‘She hasn’t been found yet,’ I said. I thought it wouldn’t be wise to tell her the girl had been murdered. She might get scared and clam up on me. ‘Maybe she hasn’t been kidnapped. Maybe she’s scared of something and is in hiding. Did she have a boyfriend; someone she went regularly with?’

‘No. You see, her work made it difficult. She didn’t get up until late, and she went to the nightclub at eight. She often said how dull it was having the afternoon free with no one to spend it with.’

‘And yet there was a man who came to your apartment for supper, and who was with her on the last night before she left.’

‘Yes, but she never said who he was and I never saw him.’

‘Are you quite sure she didn’t leave that night? You didn’t go into her room the next morning, did you?’

‘No. Of course, she might have left that night. I overslept and I was in a hurry to leave. It was only when I got back I noticed the money on the mantelpiece. It might have been left there overnight.’

‘She never mentioned a guy named Henry Rutland to you, did she?’

Irene shook her head.

‘No.’

‘She had a charm bracelet. Did you ever see it?’

‘Yes. I’ve often seen it.’

‘Did you notice a golden apple among the charms?’

Irene looked surprised.

‘Oh yes. Mr. Royce gave it to her. It was soon after she had got the job at the Golden Apple. She had made a hit on her first night, and Mr. Royce gave it to her as a memento.’

‘Hamilton Royce? He owns the club, doesn’t he?’

She nodded.

Hamilton Royce - Henry Rutland, I was thinking. Could he be one and the same?

‘Have you ever seen him?’

‘Oh no. Although Frankie didn’t talk about him much, I think she liked him. I’ve never seen him myself.’

‘Did she ever say what he looked like?’

‘I don’t think she did, but I have the impression she thought he was very good looking.’

I decided I should have to take a look at Mr. Royce. He interested me.

We talked on for another half hour, but I learned nothing further. Irene had just so much information to give me, and no more. But I had one more lead to follow. My next move was to take a look at Royce.

I took Irene home, promised I would let her know if I made any startling discoveries, then drove back to the Beach Hotel.

I went up to my room, got into bed and lay in the dark, considering my progress.

Fay obviously had a mysterious man friend. For some reason or other she had kept quiet about him to Irene. If the association had been straightforward the most natural thing would have been for her to discuss him with Irene. But she hadn’t done so. Why? Was he Royce? At least I had one small clue. This guy smoked Egyptian cigarettes: a little unusual, but not all that unusual.

Had Fay left on the night of August 2nd? If she had, it was possible she had gone with her boyfriend. I wasn’t forgetting that she and Henry Rutland booked in at the Shad Hotel, Welden, on the same day.

The time lag between August 2nd, when she left Tampa City and August 9th, when she arrived at Welden, puzzled me. Seven days - where had she been and what had she been doing during those seven days?

‘Work at it, Sherlock,’ I said to myself. ‘This time lag may be the key to the whole mystery, so work on it.’

It was after two o’clock before I fell asleep.

II

A
little after noon the following day, I drove out to Lennox Hartley’s house.

The Filipino boy who opened the door showed me into the lounge and said he would ask if Mr. Hartley was free to see me. I waited half an hour before Hartley appeared, in a red and white striped dressing gown over pearl grey pyjamas. He looked rather the worse for wear, but at least he had shaved and bathed.

‘You again,’ he said and laboured across the carpet to the cocktail cabinet. ‘Scotch or gin?’

I said Scotch sounded right.

He made two large highballs, handed me one with a hand that was no steadier than an aspen leaf, then sank into an armchair, took a swig from his glass, shuddered and closed his eyes.

‘Sunlight and early callers are hell,’ he said mournfully. ‘I sometimes wish I lived on the moon. Have you ever thought of living on the moon?’

I said since, from what I had heard, there was no air worth mentioning up there and also it was pretty cold, I had never given it serious consideration as an asylum.

He stared up at me and shrugged.

‘Maybe you’re right, but think how isolated you’d be.’ He took another drink, then asked, ‘Well, old fella, what is it this time?’

‘You are a member of the Golden Apple club, aren’t you?’

He looked surprised.

‘That’s right, but don’t hold it against me. Why?’

‘I want you to take me there tonight.’

He gaped at me, then smiled and set his glass down on the occasional table at his side.

‘You are quite a guy, aren’t you? So you want me to take you to the club, do you? This is very interesting, Mr. Slade - is that your name?’

‘Sladen,’ I said.

‘Sorry.’ He groped for his glass, found it and held it close to his chest. ‘Mr. Sladen, this is very interesting. What makes you imagine for one moment that I want to take you to the Golden Apple tonight? I don’t want to sound boorish, but let’s be reasonable about this. I met you for the first time yesterday, and now you are suggesting I should take you to the most expensive dive on the coast and spend my good money on you. Don’t take offence, Mr. Sladen, but when I go out and spend my money recklessly I like to spend it on a girl who will be duty bound to pay off in return. See what I mean?’

I laughed.

‘Sure, that’s the way I like to do it too, but this is business and important. I have reason to think Frances Bennett has been murdered.’

He spilled some of the whisky on his dressing gown, but he didn’t even notice.

‘Murdered?’

‘Yes. It’s important I get into the club and take a look around. You’re the only person I know in town who is a member. You’ll be doing the police a service if you’d take me in tonight.’

He stared down at the carpet while he thought. The process seemed to be painful to judge by his screwed up expression.

‘Someone belonging to the club kill her?’ he asked.

‘It’s possible.’ I was on the point of asking him for a description of Royce but decided against it. He would probably jump to the conclusion that I thought Royce had killed the girl. If he spread that rumour I knew I would be in real trouble.

‘No point in me taking you to the club, Mr. Sladen,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It wouldn’t be good for you nor for me. I’ll tell you why. I go to the club pretty often, but I’ve never taken a man there as my guest. Not once. There’s a guy on the door who’s about the toughest egg I’ve ever run into. If you don’t want to look suspicious, you won’t go to the club with me.’

‘But it’s urgent,’ I said. ‘If it wasn’t I wouldn’t bother you.’

He thought some more, then snapped his fingers.

‘I’ll fix it for you. I’ll ask Suzy to take you,’ he said. ‘She’s a member, and she’s always taking her boyfriend’s there. How would that work?’

‘It’d be okay with me, but I had the impression she didn’t take to me. I don’t think she’d play.’

Lennox waved an airy hand.

‘You’re kidding yourself. You don’t know Suzy. She’ll take you. She’s always on the lookout for something new in trousers. You leave it to me. I’ll fix it. Have you any spending money?’

I stared at him.

‘Why sure. Is it going to cost me something?’

He laughed unpleasantly; a sound that would have made Fayette’s blood run cold if he could have heard it.

‘That’s one of the greatest understatements I’ve ever heard. Cost you something? I’ll say it will. You don’t take Suzy out unless you’re prepared to sell up your home, hock your car and empty your bank balance. That’s why I see her here. I can’t afford to take her out.’

‘Go ahead and fix it,’ I said recklessly. ‘What do I have an expense sheet for?’

‘Now you’re talking,’ he said and reached for the telephone.

III

T
he entrance to the Golden Apple club was guarded by high walls and a couple of beefy men in white drill uniforms and black peak caps.

They stood either side of the open double wrought iron gates. Above them were two powerful flood lamps that lit up the road and the cars that moved slowly past the guard’s scrutiny.

‘They take good care they don’t get gate crashers here, don’t they?’ I said to Suzy who sat at my side.

‘My dear man, this is an exclusive club,’ she said. ‘We don’t want anyone who is nobody in it.’

I suppose that should have been a compliment to me, but I felt like slapping her. Snobbery of any kind makes my hackles rise.

I slowed down to a crawl as the cars ahead crept forward at a snail’s pace while the drivers waved their membership cards out of the open window.

I looked at Suzy from out of the corner of my eye. She certainly was something to look at. She had on a gold lame evening dress; over it she wore a black silk, scarlet lined wrap. Around her lovely white throat was a diamond collar that must have cost someone a heap of jack.

Hartley had told her I was a wealthy businessman from New York, foot loose, with plenty of money to spend. The introduction appeared to be interesting enough to make her forget her first opinion of me, and although I couldn’t say she was exactly cordial, she was at least fairly sociable.

As I came within sight of the gates, one of the guards came up, and I stopped the car. He peered in, his hard, cold eyes going over me with the intensity of a blow lamp.

‘Hello, Hank,’ Suzy said. ‘It’s only me.’

The guard touched his cap.

‘Okay, miss, go right ahead.’

He again stared at me, then stepped back and I drove on though the gateway and up a long, curving, sand covered drive.

‘He’ll know me again,’ I said.

‘Of course. That’s his job. He never forgets a face. Are you going to become a member? I’ll put you up if you like.’

‘I don’t know how long I’m staying in Tampa City, but thanks for the offer. If I have to stay longer than I think I’ll be glad if you would.’

A sudden sharp bend in the drive brought me my first sight of the Golden Apple club. It was quite something. Floodlit, the building reminded me of Addison Mizner’s Everglades Club in Palm Beach. Looking more closely at it, I saw it was a pretty fair imitation of the famous Palm Beach club. It was a stucco building with a red tiled roof, medieval turrets and wrought iron grill work in the style of a Spanish monastery. It was pretty obvious someone had spent a lot of money on it at one time or the other. A plush, purple carpet ran down the shallow steps from the lighted entrance hall to where the cars were decanting their occupants.

Everyone getting out of the cars looked well fed, rich and immaculate. Diamonds glowed like fireflies. I could see if you couldn’t rise to a string of diamonds you had best keep away from this joint.

‘Where’s the car park?’ I asked.

‘My dear man, they’ll take the car,’ Suzy said with a touch of impatience.

‘Forgive me: I’m just a New York hick,’ I said.

We left the car in the hands of a uniformed attendant and walked up the carpeted steps into the hall.

A big thickset man in an immaculate tuxedo appeared from nowhere and barred my way. His hard, cruel face looked as if it had been carved out of old ivory. His black still eyes had a glitter in them that reminded me of naked knife blades. He looked Spanish, but could have been Mexican or even Cuban. He looked questioningly from me to Suzy.

‘Good evening, Juan,’ Suzy said, obviously suddenly anxious to please. ‘This is Mr. Sladen. I’ve brought him along to see the club. He’s from New York.’

‘Will you please sign the book, Mr. Sladen?’ he said in a voice you could scour rusty iron on. There was no welcoming smile. He seemed sorry he had to admit me.

He led me across the hall to a reception desk where a girl in a tight black silk dress offered me a quill pen and a cool, appraising smile.

I signed my name, using my initial and not my full name just in case this dago was a reader of Crime Facts.

‘Ten dollars please,’ the girl said while Juan stood close, his warm breath fanning the back of my neck.

‘Ten - what?’ I said, staring at her.

‘Ten dollars, Mr. Sladen, for your temporary membership card,’ Juan said curtly.

I remembered in time that I was supposed to be a wealthy businessman from New York and I paid up. I was given a neat card with my name on it and the date. In minute printing the card told me that for ten bucks I could use the amenities of the club for one night only. I hated to think what it would cost me to use the amenities for one month.

A hat check girl relieved me of my hat and Juan relieved me of his presence as he swooped away to prise another ten bucks from a guy who had been unwise enough to bring a guest. Suzy took me into the bar which was the longest and plushiest room I have ever seen. I paid out a small fortune on champagne cocktails and then settled down to make pleasing conversation. I hadn’t got far before a stocky little man came over with a bundle of menu cards and asked if we would care to order dinner.

We ordered dinner, or at least Suzy did. She said she would start with oysters, and I betted myself they would cost a buck piece, then she decided to take the grilled river trout, pheasant and French salade, ice cream and Brie cheese to follow. I said that would do me too. The stocky man scribbled the order down on a pad and went on to the next group.

‘For a girl with your shape you eat pretty well,’ I said. ‘How do you manage it?’