Francon was looking interested now.
'You might have something there, Vic. It's worth trying.'
'It's the only thing we've got. I'm going after Mary Jerome. She was first seen at the Acme Garage, and that's where I'd going to start to look for her. If I can trace her from the garage to Ocean End on the night Dedrick was kidnapped then I may come across something on the way. I'm going to dig into Souki's past. No one's bothered with him yet. Then there's Dedrick himself. I'm sending Jack to Paris right away to get hold of every scrap of information about Dedrick he can find. All this may be a waste of time, but it's our only chance. We're digging a big plot of ground in which something valuable may or may not be buried. If we don't dig, we won't find it, and if it's not there to find then, it's just too bad.'
'I think Mary Jerome's a good line of investigation,' Franco said, pulling at his long, bony nose, 'but I can't see any point in bothering about Souki.'
'That's just why I'm going to do it. No one's bothered to look at Souki. He's just the corpse. I'm leaving nothing to chance. I can't afford to.'
'Well, all right, but don't waste too much time on it. You wouldn't know if Perelli had an enemy, would you? Someone must have hated him pretty badly to have hung that frame on him.'
'Yeah. I've been thinking about that. There's one man who's tailor-made for the job. A nasty little rat named Jeff Barratt. He's a reefer-addict and a thorough bad egg. He has an apartment opposite Perelli's.’ I went on to tell Francon how I had called on Barratt and how Perelli had saved my life.
'Does Brandon know this?' Francon said, interested.
'No; but if he did, it wouldn't make him change his mind. I'm going to dig into Barratt's background. That fishing rod is something you couldn't easily conceal. Someone had to carry it into Perelli's apartment. I'm hoping whoever it was was seen.' I stood up. 'Well, we'd better get moving. As soon as I have something for you, you'll have it.'
‘The sooner the better,' Francon said.
Outside in the corridor Kerman said, 'What was that again about me going to Paris?'
'Yeah. I want you to get off right away. Paula will fix the details. You can have what spending money you want within reason. You won't object to a trip to Paris, will you?'
Kerman rolled his eyes and tried to conceal his excitement.
'I'll put up with it,' he said. 'It's in a good cause. Besides, from what I hear these French wrens are pretty accommodating.'
'They'll need to be if you're going to hum around them,' Paula said tartly.
chapter fourteen
Mrs. Martha Bendix, Executive Director of the Bendix Domestic Agency and an office neighbour of mine, was a big, hearty woman with a male haircut and a laugh like the bang of a twelve-bore shotgun. She was coming out of her office as I was coming out of mine, and, as soon as I saw her, I knew I wanted to talk to her.
'Hello there, Vic,' she boomed. 'Where have you been hiding yourself? Haven't seen you in days.'
'I want to see you, Martha. Can you spare a moment?'
She looked at her wristwatch, about the size of a cartwheel, decided after all she wasn't in any hurry and opened the office door.
'Come on in. Suppose you want to pick my brains again, huh? I gotta date, but it's nothing important.'
She led the way through the outer office where a pale blonde with a face like a happy rabbit pecked at a typewriter and gave a coy little smile as she passed.
'If Mr. Manners calls, Mary, tell him I'm on my way down,' Martha said, and breezed into her cream-and-green office.
I followed her in and closed the door.
'Turn the key, 'Martha said, lowering her voice. It probably could still be heard at the far end of the corridor, but she imagined she was speaking in a conspirator's whisper. 'I've a bottle of Vat 69 that wants breaking open, but I wouldn't like Mary to think I drink in office hours.' She hoisted a bottle into sight as I sank into an armchair. 'I wouldn't like her to think I drink at all, for that matter.'
'What makes you so positive she doesn't know?'
'What makes you so damn positive she does?' Martha said and grinned. She slapped a three-inch snifter down on the desk in front of me. 'Rinse your phlegm out with that.'
'There are times, Martha, when I don't believe you're even civilized, to hear you talk,' I said, collecting the glass. 'Well, bung-ho.'
'Fungus on your adenoids,' she boomed, and downed her drink at a gulp. 'Not bad, huh? Want another?'
I shook my head, and accepted the three coffee beans she dropped on the blotter before me.
'Well now, what's your trouble?' she asked, sitting down and getting to work on the beans herself. 'What do you want to know this time?'
'I'm trying to find out something about a Filipino named Toa Souki; Serena Dedrick's chauffeur. She engaged him in New York, and I'm wondering if your New York office handled the job.'
Martha looked insulted.
'My good man! I'll have you know we don't handle coloured people. You're not sticking your nose into that case, are you'
I said I was sticking my nose into that case.
'How can I get a line on Souki?'
Martha scratched her head with the paper knife while she thought.
'I suppose I could find out for you,' she said, a little grudgingly. 'Syd Silver runs the biggest colour agency in New York. He's a friend of mine, the dirty little rat! I'll ask him. If his boils aren't bothering him, he might find out for you. Anything in it for him?'
'A hundred bucks.'
Martha's eyes popped.
'Why, for a hundred bucks that guy would drown his mother in a quart of beer.'
I said: ‘I didn't want him to drown his mother in a quart of beer. All I wanted was the lowdown on Souki.’
'Consider it done. I'll have some dope for you in a couple of days. Will that do?'
'I'll make it a hundred and fifty if I can get it by tomorrow morning and if the dope's worth having.'
'You'll get it,' Martha said, climbing to her feet. That guy's a genius at stirring up dirt. That all?'
'Yeah. Well, thanks, Martha, you're always helpful. I don't know what I'd do without you.'
Martha grinned.
'Tell me something, Vic. When are you marrying that dark-eyed lovely you keep in frustration in your office?'
'If you mean Paula, I'm not marrying her. I wish you wouldn't keep harping on that subject whenever we meet. Haven't I told you she isn't the marrying type?'
She gave me a nudge that nearly dislocated my spine, and let off a laugh that rattled the windows.
'You ask her and see,' she said. 'There's no such animal as a non-marrying woman. Those who aren't married haven't been asked.'
chapter fifteen
I parked the Buick in the forecourt of the apartment house on Jefferson Avenue and walked into the quiet of the lobby.
A girl, not the foxy-faced Gracie, was sitting behind the counter, the telephone harness hitched to her chest. She was chewing gum and reading the funnies, and from the bored expression on her face I concluded they were no funnier than those Gracie had been reading the first time I had come in here.
Maxie, the bowler-hatted bouncer, popped out from behind his pillar and scowled at me.
'Hello,' I said, and gave him the teeth. 'Where do we talk?' His small eyes, set deep in the fat-veined face, showed suspicion and surprise.
'What do we want to talk for?' he growled, his moustache bristling. 'I haven't anything to say to you. Besides, I'm busy.'
That seemed to be the cue for the mercenary theme, so I took out my billfold and hoisted a ten-dollar bill into sight.
'Let's go somewhere quiet and talk,' I said.
He studied the ten-dollar note thoughtfully, groped with a thick, dirty finger amongst his back molars, fished out a slab of something and deposited it on the seat of his trousers. Then he looked at the girl behind the counter.
'Hey! I'll be downstairs if you want me. Don't let anyone up.'
She didn't bother to d
rag her eyes away from the funnies, but she did manage to incline her head a couple of inches to show she heard and understood.
Maxie plodded off towards the elevator.
We stood side by side, breathing over each other as the elevator took us down to the basement.
He led the way along a white-tiled passage, lit by lamps in wire baskets to a small office that consisted of a desk, two chairs and a signed photograph of Jack Dempsey over a soot-filled fireplace.
He sat down behind the desk, pushed his bowler hat to the back of his head and relaxed, breathing gently through his thick, fat nose. His eyes never left the ten-dollar bill for a second.
I gave it to him. I knew he wouldn't concentrate on anything else until he had it. Fat, nicotined fingers closed on it and stowed it away in a pocket somewhere in his rear.
'Perelli,' I said.
He wiped the end of his nose on his coat-sleeve, puffed out a small quantity of garlic and beer fumes and sighed.
'Aw, hell! Not him again?'
'Certainly. Why not?'
'Every cop in the City has been talking to me about Perelli. I've got nothing to tell you I haven't told them.'
'That doesn't mean a thing, since I don't know what you told them. Suppose you answer a few questions: questions I bet the police didn't ask you.'
'Well all right,' he said with no enthusiasm. 'So long as you pay for my time I don't care.'
I rolled a cigarette across the desk to show him this wasn't going to be a hurried session, and he wasn't to get any false ideas about the value of his time, and lit one for myself.
'Do you think Perelli kidnapped Dedrick?'
The small eyes blinked. He hadn't been expecting that one.
'What's it matter what I think?'
'Plenty. And, look, don't let's waste time. If you don't want to answer questions, just hand back my dough and I'll find someone who will.'
We stared at each other across the desk, and he decided I meant business.
'Beer?' he asked. 'Might as well make ourselves comfortable.'
He produced two cans of beer, levered off the caps with a jack-knife and handed me one.
'Happy days.'
'Happier nights.'
We drank, sighed as men will, and set the cans on the desk.
'I don't reckon he did it. It wasn't in his line.'
'That's what he told me.' I leaned forward and began to make patterns on the desk with the wet bottom of the can. 'I want to help him if I can. Anything you might tell me could turn the trick.'
Maxie started to explore his back molars again, changed his mind and poked about inside his ear instead.
'Not a bad guy. A free-spender. No trouble. Nice girl friend. You seen her?'
I said I had seen her.
He closed one small eye, then opened it again.
'The best figure I've ever seen on a woman. Think it's real?'
'Could be. Did you see him bring that fishing-rod in here?'
He shook his head.
'No; and I know he never had a fishing rod. I asked the girl who cleans his room. She's never seen one.'
'Did she look under the bed?'
'She cleans under it.'
'The cops found it last night. Did she clean under the bed yesterday morning?'
He nodded.
'What time?'
‘She was late. Perelli didn't leave the apartment until twelve thirty. She didn't start cleaning until one.'
'What time did the police find it?'
'Seven-thirty.'
'So between one-thirty in the afternoon and seven-thirty in the evening someone planted it. That's right, isn't it?'
'If anyone planted it.'
'Well, we won't argue about that. Sometime between one-thirty and seven-thirty either Perelli or someone brought a fishing rod into this building. That's right, isn't it?'
He couldn't find any fault with that reasoning.
'Yep.'
'Are there any other entrances except the main one?'
'There's a rear entrance to the basement.'
'Can anyone get up to the apartments that way?'
'No.'
'Sure?'
'Certainly, I'm sure. The way this place is built, you either come in the main entrance or up the stairs from the rear entrance. Either way you have to cross the lobby and you'd be seen.'
'Where were you between one-thirty and seven-thirty last night?'
'At the movies.'
'You mean you weren't here yesterday afternoon and evening?'
'I was at the movies.'
'Your day off?'
'My day off.'
'Who was in charge of the lobby?'
'Gracie Lehmann.' Maxie took another pull at his can of beer, added, 'It's her day off today.'
'Have the police questioned her?'
'Why should they?'
'Didn't they want to know about the rod? I mean how it got into Perelli's room?'
'Why should they?'
I drank a little beer myself. He was right, of course. They had found the rod in Perelli's room, and that was good enough for them. They wouldn't bother to find out how it got there. It was there, and as far as they were concerned that was all that mattered.
'She could have seen someone bring the rod in, then?'
'If anyone brought it, she saw it.'
'She might have gone out to wash her hands or something?'
Maxie shook his head.
'The lobby ain't to be left a second. That's the rule of the house. She has a retiring room behind the switchboard. If she goes in there she turns down a switch connected with buzzers under the front and rear mats. Anyone coming in from the main entrance or up the stairs from the basement would sound the buzzer. It's foolproof. We had a lotta burglaries here one time. Now we really have to watch out. If anyone brought in the rod, she would have seen it.'
'We've just proved either Perelli or someone did bring it in. So she must have seen it.'
'That's right.'
I drained the can of beer and lit another cigarette. I was faintly excited.
'Want another?' Maxie asked, helping himself.
I nodded, and watched him hoist two more cans into sight.
'Well, I guess I'd better talk to Gracie,' I said as he knocked off the cap of the can. 'She could be my star witness.'
'She'll be in tomorrow. Watch her. She'll come a mite expensive.'
'Where does she live?'
He brooded over this, then shook his head.
'Can't give you her address. It's against the rules.'
I nursed the can of beer and stared past him at the photograph of Jack Dempsey.
'It's my bet Jeff Barratt brought in that rod.'
He was drinking from his can, and the beer went down the wrong way. I had to get up and thump him on the back or he would have choked. I thumped him a little harder than necessary. I thought I might as well get something for my money.
'Barratt?' he wheezed when he could speak. 'What are you talking about?'
'Barratt hates Perelli's guts. The guy who planted the rod hates Perelli's guts. Barratt lives opposite Perelli. Barratt's a first-prize rat. Not evidence in court, but evidence to me.'
He chewed this over and finally nodded his head.
'Could be.'
I drank some more beer.
'Don't waste your time on Gracie if you expect her to squeal on Barratt,' he said, lowering his voice. 'She's very, very strong for him.'
Now, perhaps, I was going to get value for my money.
'What gives?' I asked. 'Why should Barratt want to bother himself with a girl like that?'
‘The guy who owns this building tries to keep it respectable. Don't ask me why. He's funny that way. We've got instructions that all women visitors are to check out before one o'clock or it has to be reported. Gracie works a night shift every other week. Barratt's women visitors don't check out at one o'clock and don't get reported.'
'So what does he do? Feed her five bucks a wee
k? I'll pay for information.'
Maxi finished his beer, dusted the ash off his trousers and stood up.
'Well, I guess I gotta get back to work.'
'Sit down and give. I haven't had anything like ten dollars' worth of information.'
'At my rates you have. Make it another ten, and I'll tell you something that'll sit you on the edge of your can.'
'Five.'
'Ten.'
'Seven and a half.'
We closed at eight.
I gave him the money and he sat down again.
'She's a reefer-smoker, see? Barratt keeps her in weeds. You ain't got a chance.'
I thought this over, and decided perhaps I hadn't, but there was no harm trying.
'Give me her address.'
The extra money persuaded him to break the rules.
'274 Felman Street: it's one of those rooming-houses.'
I stood up.
'Keep this under your bowler, Maxie. If anyone asks you, you've never seen me.'
Maxie grunted, thumped himself on the chest and eyed me sourly. 'You don't have to worry. I'm fussy who I claim as a friend.'
I left him sitting there, breathing gently and staring absently at the empty beer cans.
chapter sixteen
The entrance to 274 Felman Street was sandwiched between a tobacconist's shop and a third-rate cafe. There was a dirty brass plate on the door that read: Rooms for Business Women. No Service. No Animals. No Men. A card with several dirty thumbprints on it was pinned above the brass plate and read: No Vacancies.
The next-door café had four tables on the sidewalk. They were presided over by an elderly waiter whose long, lean face carried an expression of infinite sadness, and whose tailcoat, in the hard sunlight, looked green with age. He watched me park the Buick before the entrance to the rooming house and hopefully flicked at one of the tables with a soiled cloth, but the gesture didn't sell me anything.
1950 - Figure it Out for Yourself Page 8
