1950 - Figure it Out for Yourself

by James Hadley Chase

  'He's not here, and I've nothing to tell you.'

  'I've been authorized to pay for any information I get,' I said hurriedly as the door began to move.

  'How much?'

  She was looking now like a hungry dog looking at a bone.

  'Depends on what I get. I might spring a hundred bucks.'

  The tip of a whitish tongue ran the length of her lips.

  'What sort of information?'

  'Could I step inside? I won't keep you long.'

  She hesitated. I could see suspicion, fear and money-hunger wrestling in her mind. Money won, as it usually does. She stood aside.

  'Well, come in. It's not over-tidy, but I've been busy.'

  She led me into a back room. It was shabby and dirty and sordid. The furniture looked as if it had come from the junk-man's barrow; the threadbare carpet sent out little puffs of dust when I trod on it. There were greasy black fingerprints on the overmantel and the walls. The least one could say of it was, it was not over-tidy.

  She sat down in an easy chair that sagged under her weight and stared at me, uneasy and suspicious.

  'The boy said your husband is out of town. I didn't believe him,' I said.

  'I don't know where he is.' Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she turned her head. 'I think he's skipped.'

  I felt a prickle run up my spine.

  'What makes you think that?'

  She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

  'What about this money? I haven't a damn cent. He went off, owing money everywhere. I haven't enough even to buy food.'

  'You'll get it if you have anything worthwhile to tell me.'

  Her face hardened.

  'I could tell you plenty. They think I don't know anything, but I do. I keep my ears and eyes open. I know all about them. I've had enough of this hole. I'll sell them out if you give me enough to get away from here.'

  'Sell who out?'

  'Lute and Barratt.'

  I took out my billfold. It felt very lean. I had only thirty dollars left. I took out a twenty-dollar bill and dangled it before her.

  'There's more where this comes from. How much do you want?'

  She leaned forward and snatched the bill out of my hand.

  'Five hundred and I'll give you the works.'

  'What do you think I am - made of money? A hundred.'

  She gave me a cold, fixed stare.

  'That's my price; take it or leave it. I'm going to get out of here. I'll give you a signed statement. It'll blow the lid off their racket. Take it or leave it.'

  'I've got to know what I'm buying. You'll get your five hundred if what you've got is what I want. Tell me.'

  She hesitated, staring at me.

  ‘Who are you working for?'

  'Perelli. Let's have it.'

  'I'll give you a little of it,' she said at last. 'I'll give you the whole of it when I have the money. Lute, Barratt and Dedrick are running the biggest smuggling racket on the coast. They're supplying millions of reefers all over the country and to Paris, London, and Berlin. Lute looks after Los Angeles and San Francisco. Barratt takes care of London and New York. Dedrick supplies Paris and Berlin. How's that for a sample?'

  'You're sure about Dedrick?'

  She gave me a sneering little smile.

  'I'm sure. I've heard them talk. They think I'm dumb, but I'm not. If they had treated me right I would have kept my mouth shut. I know where they keep the reefers. There's not much I don't know. You'll get it all for five hundred bucks, and it'll be cheap at the price.'

  'What do you know about Mary Jerome?'

  She chewed her underlip, her eyes hard.

  'I know all about her. I know where she is too.'

  'Where is she?'

  'She was at the Beach Hotel, but she isn't there now. I'm not giving you anymore until I get the money. I know why Dedrick was kidnapped. I tell you, I can lift the lid right off this racket, but I'm going to be paid first.'

  'Okay. I have a car outside. Come down to my office. You'll have your money and can talk in comfort.'

  'I'm not moving from here. You might take me anywhere.'

  'I'll take you to my office. Come on.'

  'No! I'm not all that crazy.'

  'What did Barratt want just now?'

  'I don't know. He comes to see the boy. That'll show you how they treat me. He doesn't bother to see me. He just talks to the boy and goes away again. Lute hasn't been near me since he went off with that woman.'

  'You mean Mary Jerome?'

  'I don't know who it was. It might have been her. I didn't see her. She telephoned. I heard Lute talking to her. He said, 'All right, baby, don't get so excited. I'm coming right over. He didn't even bother to say good-bye. He took the car and went, and I haven't seen him since.'

  'When was this?'

  'The night Dedrick was kidnapped.'

  "What time?'

  'Just before eight o'clock.'

  'Had Barratt anything to do with Dedrick's kidnapping?'

  She looked at me and smiled slyly.

  'That's the lot, mister; get me the money and you'll hear the rest. I know it all, but I'm not saying another word until I get the rest of it.'

  'Suppose I call the cops? You'd have to talk to them for nothing.'

  She laughed.

  'I'd like to see anyone try to make me talk for nothing. I wouldn't be talking to you if it wasn't for the money.'

  'You'd better come with me. If I leave you here, one of them might fix you. They fixed Gracie Lehmann because she knew too much.'

  'I'm not scared. I can look after myself. Go and get the money.'

  I decided I was wasting time trying to make her tell me more.

  'I'll be back in half an hour.'

  'I'll wait.'

  I went out of the sordid room, down the path to the Buick.

  chapter twenty

  Paula looked up sharply from her paper-strewn desk as I burst into her office.

  'I want five hundred dollars right away,' I said breathlessly.

  'Things are really popping. Grab a notebook and pencil, and let's go. I'll tell you about it on the way.'

  There was no flustration. Paula always kept calm. She got to her feet, went over to the office safe, counted out twenty-five twenty dollar bills, opened a drawer, took out her notebook, picked up her handbag and the little skullcap affair she calls her hat and was ready to go: all inside twelve seconds.

  On our way out, she told Trixy to wait until she got back. Trixy looked doleful, but neither of us paid any attention.

  I hurried Paula along the corridor.

  'Hey!'

  Martha Bendix's sergeant-major voice hit me at the back of my neck.

  I looked over my shoulder.

  'Can't wait: I'm in a hurry.'

  'That party of yours: Souki. Just heard. No skeleton. First-rate man. Been with Marshland ten years,' Martha bellowed. 'When do I get my money?'

  'You'll get it,' I shouted back and crowded Paula into the elevator.

  'That woman would win a hog-calling contest,' Paula said tartly as the elevator hurtled down to the ground floor.

  'That's a hundred and fifty dollars down the drain,' I said gloomily. 'I hoped to dig up some dirt on that chauffeur. Well, well, can't be helped. With any luck, I've cracked this case.'

  I talked solidly as I rushed the Buick along Orchid Boulevard, up Beach Road and Hawthorne Avenue. It was surprising how much there was to tell her since I had last seen her.

  Finally, as I swung into Foothill Boulevard I got around to Mrs. Ferris.

  'This is really something,' I said. 'Dedrick a reefer smuggler! What do you know? For five hundred she'll give me a signed statement.'

  'But how do you know she's telling the truth?'

  'I'll get the statement and then shanghai her to the police. She'll get her money all right, but every word she's signing is going to be checked.'

  I slowed down and pulled up outside the filling station. The boy didn't
show up. I got out of the car, followed by Paula.

  'The bungalow's around the back.'

  We walked down the path, past the repair shed. I paused and look in. The boy wasn't there. I felt a sudden tightness around my chest, and I broke into a run. I was rapping on the door of the bungalow by the time Paula caught me up. No one answered. Nothing happened.

  'Well, I warned her,' I said savagely, drew back and slammed my shoulder against the door. It wasn't built for such treatment and flew open. We stood, side by side, in the dark little hall.

  'Mrs. Ferris!' I shouted. 'Mrs. Ferris!'

  Silence.

  'Well, that's that. These rats work fast. You'd better stay here, Paula, while I look the place over.'

  'You don't think she changed her mind and bolted?' I shook my head.

  'Not a chance. She wanted the money too badly. The boy must have tipped them off.'

  Leaving her in the hall, I went from room to room. I didn't find her.

  I came back to the hall.

  'Not here. If they haven't taken her away, they've frightened her away.'

  I was thinking of the screwed-up figure in the blue nightdress, hanging on the back of the bathroom door. If Mrs. Ferris knew as much as she hinted she did, her life now wasn't worth a dime.

  'Take a look in her bedroom and see if she's taken any clothes,' I said. 'She can't have many.'

  While Paula went into the bedroom, I went into the back room where we had talked. I hunted around, but didn't find anything that told me why she had disappeared.

  Paula came in after a while.

  'As far as I can see, she hasn't taken anything. There're no gaps in the cupboards and the drawers aren't disturbed.'

  'I wish I knew where that boy is. If I could get him to talk—'

  'Vic!'

  Paula was looking out of the window. I joined her.

  'What's that, by the shed? Isn't it—?'

  At the end of the strip of garden was a tool shed. The door was ajar. I could see something white lying on the floor.

  'Wait here. I'll look.'

  I went to the back door, opened it, and walked quickly down the garden. As I approached the shed, I pulled out my gun. I pushed open the door, looked into the dim darkness.

  She was there, lying on her face, her hands covering her head as if to protect it.

  I imagined her seeing them coming up the front way, losing her head and running wildly down the path to the shed. They had probably shot her from the back door, not even bothering to come down and see if she was dead.

  I turned and walked quickly back to the bungalow.

  chapter twenty-one

  They were several well-bred, well-dressed and overfed men aging in the lobby of the Beach Hotel. All of them stared fixedly at Paula's ankles as we walked over to the reception desk. The reception clerk was a tall, willowy young man with blond, wavy hair, a pink-and-white complexion and a disillusioned expression in his pale blue eyes.

  'Good evening,' he said, giving Paula a little bow. 'Have you made reservations?'

  'No; it's not that kind of a party,' I said, and laid my business card on the counter. 'I'm hoping you can give me some information.'

  Blond eyebrows lifted. He peered at the card, read it, picked it up, and read it again.

  'Ah, yes, Mr. Malloy. What can I do for you?' He glanced at Paula again, and unconsciously fingered his tie.

  'We're trying to find a young woman who we think stayed here on the 12th or maybe the 11th.'

  'We don't encourage inquiries about our visitors, Mr. Malloy.'

  He was as stiff as a Dowager watching a bubble dance.

  'That I can understand. But she happens to be this young lady's sister.' I waved to Paula, who gave him a look from under her eyelashes that made his knees buckle. 'She ran away from home and we're anxious to trace her.'

  'Oh, I see.' He hesitated. 'Well, perhaps, in that case I might ... What is her name?'

  'We think she was staying here under an assumed name. You don't get many unattached young women staying here, do you?'

  He shook his head regretfully.

  'Actually, not. I think I know the one you mean. Miss Mary Henderson, if I remember rightly.' He flicked the pages of the register, ran a well-manicured finger down a page, paused. 'Yes; Miss Henderson. Tall, dark, distinctly pretty. Would that be the one?'

  'Sounds like her. She wore a wine-coloured evening gown and a black silk wrap on the evening of the 12th.'

  He nodded, patted his lips with a snow-white handkerchief and gave Paula a dazzling smile.

  'That's Miss Henderson.'

  'Fine. When did she book in?'

  He consulted the register.

  'Six o'clock on the 12th.'

  'Any forwarding address?'

  'I'm afraid not.'

  'When did she leave?'

  'On the 13th. I remember now. I was rather surprised. She had booked the room for a week.'

  'Did she have a car?'

  The clerk frowned, studied Paula's lovely, intent face seemed to draw inspiration from it for he said, 'Actually, not. At least, not when she arrived. But before she went up to her room, she arranged to hire a car. She said she wanted it that evening as she was going out.'

  'Did you hire the car for her?'

  'Oh, yes. We deal with the Acme Garage. You may know it?'

  I said I knew it.

  'Ferris brought the car around at six-thirty or seven, and left it for Miss Henderson.'

  'Did he see her?'

  The clerk lifted his eyebrows.

  'Why, no. That wasn't necessary.'

  'You're quite sure he didn't see her?'

  'Yes.'

  'What happened to the car?'

  'As a matter of fact, it's still in our garage. I'm glad you reminded me. Ferris usually comes and takes it away. I must remind him.'

  'Mind if I look at it?'

  'Why, certainly.'

  'What is it?’

  'A black Lincoln. The attendant will show it to you.' He was looking puzzled.

  'Well, thanks. One more thing; did Miss Henderson have any visitors while she was here?'

  He thought for a moment.

  'One gentleman. Yes, that's right. He came to see her in the afternoon on the 13th. She cancelled her room after he had gone.'

  I lit a cigarette before I asked, 'Did you see him?'

  'Certainly. He came to the desk and asked for her.' Again he patted his lips with his handkerchief and gave Paula a quick, admiring glance out of the corners of his eyes.

  'Can you describe him?'

  'He was an elderly gentleman. Well dressed; obviously well-to-do. He said his name was Franklin Marshland.'

  I drew in a slow deep breath, asked, 'Short, suntanned, beaky nose and very small feet?'

  'I didn't notice his feet, Mr. Malloy, but the rest is right.'

  'And Miss Henderson left almost immediately after? Did she seem upset?'

  'I wouldn't say upset, but perhaps a little flustered. She seemed very anxious to go. I was rather surprised. I think I told you. She had reserved the room for a week.'

  'Did she take a taxi?'

  'I believe she did. The porter will remember her.'

  'If we could find the taxi-driver, he might know where she went.'

  The clerk was taking a lot of interest by now.

  'I'll ask the porter. Just wait a moment.'

  When he crossed the lobby to the porter's desk, Paula and I exchanged glances.

  'Well, we are certainly making progress,' I said. 'I wonder what Marshland wanted with her. You know, I'm beginning to think my idea that Marshland has something to do with the kidnapping isn't such a scatty one at that.'

  'Do we know where he was at the time of the kidnapping?'

  'I don't think that matters. He wouldn't have had anything to do with it himself. He would have hired someone to do it.'

  The clerk came back.

  'No luck, I'm afraid. The porter remembers Miss Henderson, but has no i
dea who the driver was. The cab was cruising when he stopped it.'

  'Well, thanks for giving me so much of your time. I'll take a look at the car now. The garage's around the back?'

  He said the garage was around the back.

  'I hope you find her,' he said to Paula.

  Paula thanked him with a smile that had him running his hand over his curly blond hair.

  As we walked across the lobby the well-fed loungers again paused in their conversations to stare at Paula's ankles.

  The attendant in the garage took us over to a black Lincoln.

  'That's the job. Can't understand why Ferris hasn't collected it yet,' he said. He too seemed smitten with Paula.

  'Do you remember what time she brought it in on the night of the 12th?' I asked.

  'I can tell you. We log all cars as they come in.'

  While he went over to the office, I examined the car, pushing my hands down the sides of the seats, turning up the floor mats, and going through the pockets, hoping to find something she might have dropped or forgotten. I didn't find a thing.

  The attendant came back.

  'She booked in at twenty minutes to eleven.'

  'Did you see her?'

  'I must have, but I don't remember.'

  It would have been too good to be true if he had.

  'Okay,' I said, and gave him a buck. 'Well, thanks.'

  We went back to the Buick. The time was now half-past six.

  'I'll drop you off at the office. Get Trixy off home,' I said.

  'And you?' Paula asked.

  'I'm going to talk to Marshland.'

  chapter twenty-two

  As I drove towards Ocean End, I laid out my discoveries in my mind and brooded over them.

  In actual fact, I was no nearer to getting Perelli out of jail, but I had a feeling that if I kept on digging, sooner or later I'd get the necessary proof. At least, I had something to work on: which was more than Mifflin had.

  Gracie had been murdered because she knew who had framed Perelli. That meant Perelli was innocent, and up to now I hadn't been 100 per cent convinced. It made a difference.

  If I was to believe Mrs. Ferris, Dedrick had been smuggling reefers into Paris before he met Serena. Was this the clue to his kidnapping? Had he decided to give up working for Barratt now he had married Serena, and had Barrett killed him: staging a fake kidnapping to get money out of Serena? That was possible.