1954 - Safer Dead (24 page)

Then I caught sight of Lydia as she came out of the shadows.

She walked unsteadily and slowly towards me.

‘There she is,’ I said and ran over to her.

Before I could reach her, she folded at the knees and dropped on the grass. The two policemen joined me as I bent over her. For a moment I thought she had been shot, but there was no sign of blood. One of the policemen felt her pulse.

‘She’ll be okay,’ he said. ‘She’s fainted.’

By this time people were crowding out of the cabins and were forming groups around the two dead gunmen. Approaching sirens brought two more squad cars bouncing

down the drive-in.

‘I’ll get her to my car,’ I said, picking Lydia up.

With the two policemen either side of me, I carried her to the car park where the squad cars were unloading.

A sergeant came over to me.

‘Sladen?’

‘That’s right.’

‘The Captain wants you back at headquarters. Who’s the girl? Is she hurt?’

‘No; just fainted.’ I got Lydia into the Lincoln. ‘She’s part of the story. Are you going to give me an escort?’

‘I’ll send someone with you.’

He told one of his men to drive us to headquarters, then calling to his men, he went off down the cinder path.

It took us under an hour to reach headquarters. On the way, Lydia came out of her faint. She seemed pretty badly shocked and after I had assured her she had nothing to worry about, she relaxed against me, her head on my shoulder.

Scaife was waiting as we pulled up outside headquarters. He stared blankly at me as I helped Lydia out.

‘The guy hiding behind this moustache is your old pal Sladen,’ I said.

‘Pretty smart,’ he said, grinning. ‘You had me foxed for a moment. Looks as if you’ve been having fun. Come on in. The Captain’s just shown up. I got him out of bed. Better watch your step. He’s as mad as a bear with a boil.’

While he was talking he looked curiously at Lydia who leaned against me and stared at him with scared eyes.

‘Let’s go on in,’ I said.

We climbed the stairs to Creed’s office.

‘While I talk to the Captain, will you look after Miss Forrest?’ I said. ‘She’s had a shock and needs a rest.’

‘Sure,’ Scaife said. ‘You come with me.’ He went on to Lydia. ‘I’ll fix you up.’

Leaving them I rapped on the police captain’s door, pushed it open and walked in.

Creed sat at his desk. His heavy face was drawn and tired. The wall clock told me it was twenty minutes past three. I felt quite a wreck myself. For a moment he stared hard at me.

‘Sladen reporting,’ I said.

‘You seem to have got yourself into a pretty fine mess,’ Creed growled.

‘I guess I have,’ I said, hooking a chair towards me with my foot. ‘Mathis is after me, and I had to change my appearance to keep my freedom of movement. I’ve brought a witness along with me. Her name’s Lydia Forrest. She’s the ex-girlfriend of Hamilton Royce. Have you read my report?’

He nodded.

‘Let me bring you up to date,’ I said, sitting down. I gave him a detailed account of what had happened since writing the report and concluded by saying, ‘Miss Forrest can prove Royce and Fay knew each other, and I can get hold of this private investigator, Andrews, who can prove Royce fingered Fay to Flemming.’

Creed took out a cigar, bit off the end before saying, ‘That won’t do us much good. So long as he remains in Tampa City we can’t touch him. I’ve checked the gun you sent in. It was stolen from a gunshop in Frisco eight years ago. It could have belonged to anyone. There’re no prints on it.’ He lit his cigar, then asked, ‘What’s the motive behind Hartley’s murder?’

‘As far as I can make out the motive behind all these murders is panic,’ I said, shaking a cigarette from the pack and lighting it. ‘Since Fay disappeared there have been five murders that can be linked to her. Let’s look at them in rotation: first was Joe Farmer. He helped kidnap her. He was a lush; the kind of guy who might talk when he was drunk. He was dangerous, so he was knocked off by a hit and run car. Joan Nichols was next. She was a blackmailer, and it’s my bet she picked up some information when she was in Paris and tried to cash in on it. She too was silenced. Then fourteen months later, just when everything had quietened down, Jake Hesson made a mistake. He admitted to me he knew Fay. He was promptly knocked off before I could put pressure on him. Hartley offered you information. When I first called on him he hadn’t much to tell me, but later, he may have thought of something. Anyway, he called me and said he had a theory that might interest me. But he was knocked off before I could get to him. Probably his servant saw the killer and he had to go too. The whole setup smells to me of panic. Someone is desperately trying to keep a murder quiet. I have an idea it’s Van Blake’s murder and not Fay’s that the killer is trying to cover up. There must be a pretty good reason why six people have been murdered, and five million bucks is a good reason. That’s what Van Blake left his wife.’

Creed ran his fingers through his hair while he scowled at me.

‘You think Royce and the Van Blake woman are behind all these killings?’

‘I’m sure they are.’

‘But you’re guessing. Where’s the hook up between Van Blake’s murder and Fay Benson?’

‘If I knew that the case would be solved. There is a hookup. There must be. Look at it this way: Royce dropped his girlfriend for Fay. But he went around with Fay in secret. Why in secret? If Miss Forrest hadn’t had Fay watched no one would have known Royce and she had teamed up. Royce fingered Fay to Flemming. He then took her to Welden where no one knew her and he was careful not to be seen with her there. Flemming, Farmer and Hesson kidnapped her, and Flemming killed her. He took a lot of care about hiding her body. Mrs. Van Blake knew her. She must have done. You should have seen how she reacted when I showed her Fay’s photograph. Hartley employed Fay as his model. I think he remembered something about her that was dangerous to either Royce or Mrs. Van Blake. He got shot before he could talk. Of course there’s a hookup. We’ve got to find out what it is.’

‘Yeah,’ Creed said, impressed in spite of himself. ‘Well, how are we going to do it?’

‘There’s an essential clue missing,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘Maybe Low will dig it up in Paris. I’ve sent him over there to trace Mrs. Van Blake’s movement. I’m hoping he’ll find out what Joan Nichols found out. I’m now going back to Tampa City. Royce was pretty anxious to silence Miss Forrest and he’s failed. He and Mrs. Van Blake might panic, and I want to be there if they do.’

‘You’re sticking your neck out, Sladen,’ Creed said seriously. ‘If Mathis arrests you for murder, there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘I’ll chance it. The solution to this case is in Tampa City. Until we crack the case, don’t let Miss Forrest leave here. She’ll be an important witness, and we can’t afford to lose her.’

‘I keep telling you,’ Creed said impatiently, ‘we haven’t any say-so in Tampa City. Royce and the Van Blake woman could get away with this even if you got proof. I can’t see Doonan putting a millionairess on trial.’

‘He’ll put her on trial if I can prove she killed her husband,’ I said. ‘You might not be able to do anything about it, but I can. We’ll print the whole story with statements and photographs in Crime Facts. That’ll smoke Doonan out. He’ll have to put her on trial.’

Creed’s face brightened.

‘That’s an idea, but you’ll have to get proof that’ll stand up.’

‘When I get it, my proof will do more than stand up: it’ll jump right at him and bite him,’ I said as I made for the door.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I

A
girl in a grubby white sweater looked at me from over a portable typewriter and raised pencilled eyebrows.

‘If you want Mr. Andrews,’ she said distantly, ‘he isn’t in.’

The office was big enough to swing a cat in, but only just. Behind where the girl sat was a door marked Private. A fireproof filing cabinet stood by the window. An armchair for clients, its headrest greasy from the impact of hair oil spread over many years faced me.

‘I did want to see him,’ I said, closing the door. ‘Will he be long?’

She looked at the fly blown clock on the wall. It told her it was twenty minutes past ten.

‘He’s usually here by now.’

‘Then I’ll wait.’

I sat on the arm of the chair which creaked ominously under my weight and set fire to a cigarette. The girl looked doubtfully at me, decided I was no business of hers and turned her attention to the typewriter. Time drifted by, punctuated by the clicks of the typewriter keys. I mentally dozed.

I had got back to Tampa City around five-thirty this morning and had gone to ground in the hideout. I had slept until nine-thirty, then after a cup of coffee and a brief word with Benn, I had driven over to Murrow Street where Benn had told me Andrews had his office.

After seeing Andrews, I intended to talk to Irene Jarrard, Fay’s girlfriend, and if I could get any new information from her, to persuade her to see Creed. Then I thought a call on Vincent

Latimer, Van Blake’s ex-secretary, might pay dividends in spite of Captain Bradley’s warning that Latimer was no talker. The hands of the wall clock stood at ten forty-five when the outer office door jerked open and a lanky man in a light grey suit, much creased and spotted, entered hurriedly.

He looked sharply at me, and his small, close set eyes alerted. Then he smiled hopefully, revealing big plastic teeth. He looked exactly what he was: a man who had spent half a lifetime sneaking up and down hotel corridors, listening at keyholes and standing out in the cold and rain with stoic patience.

‘You wanted me?’ he asked, looked at the girl and then back to me.

‘Mr. Andrews?’

‘That’s right. Come on in.’

His long thin legs took him to the door marked Private. He produced a key, unlocked the door, turned and said to the girl, ‘As soon as this gentleman has gone, Miss Fairely, I’ll have my mail.’

She stared blankly at him.

‘There isn’t any,’ she said.

He tried not to show how much he would like to slap her, and waved me into the office.

I walked into a room the size of a cupboard and squeezed against the wall to let him get around the battered desk.

‘I didn’t get your name,’ he said, waving me to an upright chair.

I sat down. My knees touched the front of the desk.

‘I’m a staff writer on Crime Facts, and at the moment I am working with the Welden police.’

The fixed smile vanished like a rat down a hole, and the small green eyes turned stony.

‘What’s that to do with me?’ he asked, resting his elbows on the desk and cupping his bony chin between his not too clean hands.

‘Some time ago you were hired to watch a showgirl who worked at the Golden Apple club: Frances Bennett.’ I took out Fay’s photograph and laid it on the desk in front of him. ‘This girl.’

He looked down at the photograph, then up at me, and his lips turned down at the corners.

‘Look, Jack,’ he said, his voice suddenly tough, ‘you’re wasting your time. I don’t talk about my clients. If that’s all you have to say, pull up your anchor and steam out of here.’

‘Your client, Miss Forrest, is with the Welden police right now, giving them a statement. We want you to support her statement. I can put some money and a lot of publicity your way if you will go to Welden and see Police Captain Creed. You’ll be the first private dick to have his photograph in Crime Facts.’

He pushed his hat to the back of his head while he stared at me.

‘What is all this?’

‘Frances Bennett was murdered in Welden. You say Royce fingered her to Flemming, a Frisco killer. That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know any Flemming.’

‘But you saw Royce finger the girl to a guy in a car, didn’t you?’

‘Suppose I did?’

‘I want you to sign a statement to that effect.’

Andrews moved his plastic teeth while he did some fast thinking.

‘What’s it worth?’ he asked at last.

‘Publicity and thirty a day expenses.’

He brooded some more then shook his head.

‘I’ve got to live here, pal. You’re after Royce, aren’t you? You’re kidding yourself. You won’t get him: he’s too smart. How long do you imagine I’d last if he found out I’d made a statement about him to the Welden police? Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, but not more. That guy’s dangerous. The cops in this town love him. No: you don’t get any statement from me.’

‘You don’t seem to cotton on,’ I said patiently. ‘The girl was murdered. If you withhold information from the police you become an accessory.’

He frowned down at his desk.

‘I don’t know she’s murdered. I don’t know anything.’

By now I was sick of him and sick of his dirty little office. I gave it to him without gloves.

‘You either go to Welden right now and give Creed a statement or I’ll print your refusal to cooperate in Crime Facts. If I do that you’ll lose your licence.’

That seemed to hit him where he lived.

‘Now, wait a minute,’ he said hastily. ‘If you did that I’d sue you and your rag.’

I laughed.

‘Go ahead and sue us. We’d love it.’

He sat staring at me for a long moment, then he shrugged his shoulders.

‘Yeah, I guess you would. Well, okay, I know when I’m beat. It serves me right. I should never have taken on that job. Watching Royce was asking for trouble. I’ll see Creed.’

I took out my billfold and put twelve five dollar bills on the desk.

‘That’s two days retainer. I’ll call Creed and tell him you’re on your way in.’

He snapped up the bills and put them out of sight as if he were scared I might change my mind.

‘How long did you watch Miss Bennett?’ I asked.

‘Three days and two nights.’

‘During that time she was mostly with Royce?’

‘The first day she wasn’t. She went out to the Van Blakes’ place in the morning.’

I stiffened to attention.

‘When was this?’

He thought for a moment, then opening a drawer in his desk he took out a thick notebook, flicked through the pages, studied an entry and put the book back.