by Hank Janson
‘Listen,’ I said patiently, ‘I’m the subscriber. I just pay the telephone bills. But I wanna check up on the people that’s been using my phone. How about it?’
‘Just a minute,’ she said. She clicked off to attend to another call. Then clicked back again. ‘What were you saying?’
‘You’ve got a nice voice, honey,’ I said, ‘What do you do evenings?’ I wanted information from that dame and was gonna get in good with her if possible.
‘Cut that out, Romeo,’ she said. ‘I’m married. I got that way through taking up a blind date. You leave me cold.’
‘Maybe you are married,’ I said soothingly. ‘But if your figure’s like your voice, it must be a honey!’
‘I measure 38, 32 and 38,’ she said coldly. ‘I’ve got varicose veins, my hair’s almost grey and I’ve got two kids, one five and one seven. Now, will you stop trying to woo me?’
‘They must be nice kids,’ I said. ‘I’d like to make them a present.’
‘I’ve got those numbers,’ she said coldly. ‘Here they are.’
She started to give them to me and somebody else came on the line. ‘Just a minute,’ she said, and clicked off.
A moment later she clicked back again. Her voice was charged with suspicion. ‘What’s your game?’ she demanded.
‘I’ve told you.’
‘That number you gave me’s a phoney. I’ve just got a call come through from that number on another line.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Okay, Goldilocks,’ I said. ‘I’ll give it to you straight. I’m a private eye, see? I want some information.’ Then I got inspiration. ‘Listen,’ I said eagerly. ‘Put the guy through to this number. Let me listen in on it, will ya? You can fix it.’
‘You know I can’t do that,’ she said. ‘It’s as much as my job’s worth.’
‘I’d like to make a present to your two kids,’ I said. ‘Mutual aid.’
‘It’s against the regulations,’ she said crisply. ‘Just a minute.’ She clicked off.
I hung on a few moments and the wire clicked again. But this time I heard voices speaking. I held my breath and listened. I listened right through to the conversation’s end. When it was over the operator clicked back on the line again.
‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now what do you want?’
‘I guess it was an accident,’ I said. ‘Coupla lines got crossed. I overheard other folk.’
‘Is that so?’ she said. ‘Accidents do happen sometimes.’ She sighed.
‘What’s your address?’ I said. ‘What do you call the kids?’
‘You were on the level about that?’
‘Mutual aid!’
‘Much obliged, mister,’ she said. ‘‘They can do with a present. Father’s been laid up sick for the past four months.’
She gave me the address. I took careful note of it and went back to the table.
‘Where are you two planning to go?’ I asked.
Pearl looked at Dane and her eyes were bright. Happy, sparkling eyes. ‘We’ve got plans,’ she said.
‘That’s right,’ said Dane. ‘I won’t be around for a few days. We’re gonna take a trip to Las Vegas.’
‘Las Vegas! That costs dough,’ I said,
‘I’ve saved a little,’ said Pearl softly. ‘Enough to get us there and a honeymoon.’
‘Right in the middle of all this trouble!’ I shook my head dismally.
‘It’s your worry,’ said Dane. ‘You started it. You finish it. I’m only the drama critic. Murder doesn’t bother me unless it’s on the stage.’
I looked at Pearl and I looked at Dane. ‘You two really are nuts about each other, aren’t you?’
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘We sure are!’ he said. ‘And what’s your next move? Not that we wanna help. Just outta interest.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I got things to do. I’d better get busy on them right now.’
‘I’d like to give you plenty to think about,’ said Dane. His eyes twinkled. ‘Just so that criminal mind of yours gets plenty of exercise. Have you ever figured out there’s a law in this country that excuses husband or wife from giving incriminating evidence against the other?’
I looked from one to the other of them suspiciously. I shook my head sadly. ‘I still don’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe you killed him, maybe you didn’t. But I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. I’m working on the angle you didn’t do it, Dane.’
‘In that case,’ smiled Pearl, ‘I’ll wish you success.’
She was in a private ward. I eased open the door gently and looked across at her. She was a young dame, maybe 20. She was sleeping. She had long black hair that rippled over the pillow and against which her pale face seemed even whiter. There was a nurse sitting beside her, and as I opened the door she looked up and put one finger to her lips.
I backed out again, closed the door behind me and then turned to my doctor friend who’d used his influence in the hospital to let me see her.
‘Can you tell me something about it?’ I asked.
‘I’m not supposed to, Hank,’ he said.
‘It won’t go no further,’ I assured him. ‘Just between you and me.’
He shook his head sadly. ‘Bad case,’ he said. ‘For a long time it was touch and go. We had to use the stomach pump. She’s a strong girl, though. She made it. But she lost the baby.’
‘Baby?’
He looked down at the floor. ‘Yes, I guess that’s why she did it. She’s not married.’ ‘Police know about it? Will she be charged?’
‘My job is to help people who are ill, Hank,’ he said. ‘If the police ask questions we give them information. But we don’t have to do police work for them. Nobody’s asked us if it is attempted suicide so we don’t say anything. If she’d died it would have been different.’
‘She’s all right now, then?
‘She’ll make out,’ he said. ‘She’s strong.’
‘Now about this guy Williams,’ I said. ‘You say he was here all last evening with her?’
‘Couldn’t get rid of him,’ he said. ‘Just hung around. When she recovered consciousness he pleaded with us to see her. He was with her a little while and then dashed out.’
‘What time would that be?’
‘Early hours of the morning.’
‘Have you seen him since?’
‘I haven’t seen him. But he’s been ringing through regularly. The guy must be stuck on her. Might even have been the father of the child. He didn’t look the type, though.’
‘You’ve been helpful,’ I said. ‘Just one more thing. Could you let me have her address?’
‘Well,’ he doubted. ‘It’s very irregular.’
‘So’s all of this, including suicide,’ I said. ‘Just let me have the address. That’s all I want.’
It was a gloomy residential district near Sleepy Hollow, boarding-house land. A third of the houses in the street exhibited rooms-to-let boards.
I left the taxi waiting outside the door of the house, found the name I was looking for on the indicator board and climbed steadily and heavenwards up dusty, gloomy stairs to the fifth floor.
There were three apartments on that floor. I picked the one I wanted, rapped hard on panels from which old paint was peeling.
‘Who is it?’ a dame asked.
‘Open up!’ I said loudly. ‘Open up!’ I rapped more vigorously on the panels.
She opened up quickly. She was only a kid and her eyes were frightened.
‘Wanna talk with you,’ I said. ‘Police.’
She opened up like I’d come to arrest her for murder and she was too scared to resist arrest. She’d pulled a red dressing-gown around her and I could see it was covering underclothing.
I shot a quick glance around. It was the kinda apartment you’d expect a coupla dames of 20 or so to occupy. A coupla single beds, badly made, and the rest of
the room a riot of disorder. Cheap, old-fashioned furniture supplied by the landlady. Clothes, hanging behind the door, draped across chairs, hanging out of half-closed drawers. A dressing-table littered with toilet preparations, stockings on the mantelpiece, hairbrushes, combs, soap and boxes of bath cubes on the table, together with an open butter-dish, half-cut loaf and a pile of dirty crockery.
She worked up a weak smile. ‘I’m afraid – I wasn’t expecting – it’s a little untidy.’
‘I haven’t come to see the place,’ I told her. ‘Just to ask a few questions.’
‘Won’t you sit down?’ she said. She was nervous as a cat. Her hands were fluttery.
I removed a slipper from a chair, shifted some dirty underclothing and settled down. Meanwhile, the dame hurriedly and clumsily took down the smalls hanging on a line stretched across the room. She thrust them away hurriedly beneath the table.
I tried to look like a cop. I tried to talk like a cop. ‘You’re Jane Symons,’ I said.
She bit her lip. ‘That’s right, sir.’
‘You live here with Rita Clark.’
She hung her head. ‘That’s right, sir,’ she admitted. Her voice was almost a whisper.
‘Yesterday evening she was taken to hospital, very ill. You telephoned for the ambulance. Is that right?’
‘That’s right,’ she said. She was still hanging her head and I hardly heard her this time.
‘Are you aware of the nature of her illness?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and this time I didn’t hear her.
‘Speak up.’
‘Yes,’ she said, more loudly.
‘You know she attempted suicide?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. You’d have thought she was a convicted prisoner, humbled and ashamed of herself and confessing to terrible crimes.
‘Don’t be so worried,’ I said gently. ‘You haven’t done anything to be ashamed of. I just want you to answer the questions, that’s all. You did your duty. You had her taken to hospital.’
‘I didn’t know she was going to do it,’ she said suddenly. ‘I would have stopped her. But I didn’t know.’
‘Of course not,’ I said gently. ‘Do you know why she may have done this?’
She nodded again. ‘She was …’
I looked down myself. ‘I’m afraid she won’t have it now,’ I said.
After a long pause she said: ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well, now’ I said. ‘Let’s see what else we can find out.’
She was a good talker. She just answered yes or no to questions, but when talking gave every scrap of information she knew.
Rita Clark and she were both employed as hat-check girls at the Storkers Club. They started work at eight in the evening and carried on until four or five in the morning. The previous evening at about six o’clock, Jane had come in from shopping to find Rita writhing on the bed, her face contorted in agony and a bottle of poison lying at her side. Jane had been a sensible girl. She’d telephoned the hospital immediately.
She’d gone to the hospital in the ambulance, she’d waited as long as she could and then gone on to her job. By that time she’d learned there was a 50-50 chance that Rita would live.
‘This is important,’ I said. ‘Do you know who the father of the child was?’
She nodded dumbly.
‘You’ll have to tell me,’ I said. ‘Who was it?’
She almost choked over the words. ‘Hugh Burden,’ she said.
The hunch I’d been working on wasn’t a hunch any longer. Suddenly I knew this was it. This was the real break. Now I was really getting somewhere.
I asked more questions. It seemed Hugh Burden had been a frequenter at the Storkers Club. He was the type of guy to be taken by a pretty face. All was grist that came to Burden’s love mill. Even a hat-check girl. So he’d worked on her innocence and her youth. The affair had been only fleeting, Burden dropping Rita almost as soon as he’d used her.
She’d kept the secret as long as she could, until her room-mate, young but wise in the ways of the world, had three-quarters guessed the truth. It had all been pent up inside Rita, too much for her to bear alone. She’d confided in Jane, told her everything, and Jane had sympathised. Not that it helped any. The one person who could help was Hugh Burden. And he’d just laughed at her, accused her of trying to blackmail him.
‘Rita’s a good girl,’ said Jane. ‘He was the only one. There was never anybody else. She thought the world of him, too. Even though he’d deserted her that way.’
I was getting the picture clearly now. I said: ‘What do you know about a guy named Williams?’
She took the question in her stride. ‘A nice little guy,’ she said. ‘Used to come into the club two or three times a week and talk with Rita.’ Then she looked at me angrily. ‘You’re not suggesting –’
I held up my hand. ‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just asking questions.’
‘There was nothing to it,’ she said hotly. ‘He was a nice old guy. More like a father.’
The word ‘father’ clicked in my mind.
‘Did Rita ever tell you his exact relationship to her?’
‘He wasn’t any relation,’ she said. ‘He was just a friend. He used to call in two or three times a week. He only came to speak to Rita. He was interested in her.’
‘Did Rita ever tell you why he was interested in her?’
‘To be honest,’ she said, ‘it seemed a bit funny to me. Rita was studying in her spare time. He used to give her money to help her. We don’t get good wages at the club. He used to buy her books and give her money for clothes. I believe he paid her school fees, too.’
‘And all that for nothing!’
‘It wasn’t like that. Honest. When he first started it, Rita tried to discourage him. Then, as it went on, it was clear he didn’t expect anything. I guess he was one of those guys who’d got a lotta dough and just liked doing things for people.’ She pouted. ‘He never offered to help me.’
‘Just one more thing,’ I said. ‘Do you know where Rita Clark was born?’
‘That’s easy,’ she said. ‘We used to go up to school together. That’s why we got this job together. North River Side.’
‘Thanks very much, Jane,’ I said. ‘You’ve been very helpful. Very helpful indeed.’
There were tears glimmering in her eyes. ‘Is she going to be all right – I mean – Rita?’
‘She’s going to be all right,’ I reassured her. ‘Just as soon as she’s better she’ll come home.’
‘Won’t you …?’ She looked upon me as a cop.
‘We’ll forget all about it,’ I said. ‘When a kid’s had a tough time, we don’t wanna make it worse.’ I went across to the door and noticed the butter and the cut loaf on the table. I thought how tough it was for two young dames to make a living and pay their expenses in Chicago. I thought how difficult it was going to be for Jane, paying for that apartment from her slender wage-packet while Rita was still in hospital. She had a pale, hungry look like she didn’t get enough to eat.
‘Look, kid,’ I said. ‘You’re going to look after Rita, aren’t you?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Rita’s my best friend.’
I took out my wallet, peeled off five century notes. ‘Put this towards the rent,’ I said. ‘It’s gonna be a few weeks before she gets back to work.’
She stared at the money with eager eyes. Then she looked at me sadly.
‘No thanks, mister,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t take it, honest. It’s awfully good of you, but I could never pay it back.’
‘Take it, kid. You don’t have to pay it back,’ I growled.
‘I couldn’t take it,’ she gulped. ‘But, if you wouldn’t mind, mister. If you could give me just five bucks. Just so as I could buy some flowers for Rita.’
I reached out for her hand, pressed her fingers around the notes. ‘Don’t be a dope, kid,’ I said. ‘You can’t fight the world a
lone.’
There were tears of gratitude in her eyes. She was trying to say something, thank me, but her lips were quivering with emotion. I turned away quickly, went out and closed the door behind me.
Chicago was a big town. If you wanted to be a writer you didn’t have to dig deep to find material. All over town at that very minute there were a million homes where every degree of tragedy and happiness was being enacted. You only had to scratch the surface a little to find grim reality.
I’d just scratched the surface. Not very much, just a little. But as I went down those dark, gloomy stairs, I was blinking my eyes and telling myself not to be a big sentimental dope.
12
I arrived at the registrar’s office just before it closed. I used my Press card, a lot of persuasion and dollars to get a coupla clerks working overtime. It was all adding up. I got the information I expected to get and it still added up. It all made sense now.
But I still had to swing it, and swinging it was going to be a problem. Hugh Burden’s murderer was a guy who sounded like he was gonna stay quiet. I had to figure out some way to make him come out in the open.
The newspaper stands were crowded. Headlines were shrieking the news that the police were looking for Hugh Burden’s missing secretary. That caused a flutter of anxiety in my belly.
I fought to buy a copy of the Chronicle. It was still pumping out the challenge. It couldn’t do anything else. It was sink or swim now.
And the paradox was that the Chronicle had published on the front page a photograph of Carter, asking for information of his whereabouts, emphasising that Carter was wanted by the police for interviewing. And we had to publish that, knowing full well that when Carter told his story to Sharp it would alibi Skinner, proving that Skinner couldn’t possibly have committed the murder.
I wondered what line Sharp was working on now. I gave it a try-out. I rang through to Police Headquarters. Sharp and Conrad were both out. I asked to be put through to someone in their office.
A dame answered the phone. Her voice sounded like she was 16. It seemed everybody else was out of the office. I asked: ‘Do you know where Inspector Sharp is now?’
