by Jack Murray
‘What’ so funny?’ asked Hammett.
‘You’ll run into half of San Francisco’s politicians there, from what I hear.’
Hammett laughed, ‘A few policemen also, I suspect. Senior policemen too.’
Mulroney didn’t try to deny it. This created a problem.
‘It’ll ruffle a few feathers if we go there,’ said Mulroney. ‘It’s not a career-enhancing idea if you take my meaning.’
‘Nothing to stop me,’ pointed out Hammett. He was still unsure if he should mention the Englishman. He decided against it for the moment. The Dain Collins case was still his and it was not necessarily relevant to the Cowan murder. Not yet anyway.
‘They’ll love you, a hot shot shamus.’ Mulroney began laughing at his own joke.
Hammett let that one pass. He lit a cigarette and asked, ‘What about Cookson? Have you anything on him?’
‘Nothing on him here, but that’s only a matter of time. The kid’s violent. He’ll do something soon if he isn’t already implicated in the Cowan killing.’
‘Do you know who he’s working for?’
‘Have you heard of Sidney Goodman?’
‘I think so. He’s a fence?’ said Hammett.
Mulroney nodded, ‘That’s right.’
‘I don’t know much about him. Our paths have never crossed. I can’t see what the connection could be with the Collins girl, though.’ The name was familiar, though. Hammett had heard it recently. He wasn’t so sure it wasn’t in connection with this case.
‘Me neither. Goodman’s been operating for a few years now under the front of an antique shop on Pine. We’ve never been able to pin anything on him. The word is Cookson’s been hanging around this Goodman.’
Hammett left the Hall and jumped into his car. He felt the tell-tale liquid tremor in his stomach that usually preceded a coughing fit. Right on schedule he began coughing. For the next few minutes he gouged his stomach and throat of catarrh. When a ceasefire was finally granted by his body, he drove to the Pinkerton Offices.
He gave Geauque’s office door a brief rap then walked in just as he heard him say ‘enter’. The benign blue eyes looked at Hammett. He might have made a good hypnotist, thought Hammett.
For the next few minutes Hammett updated Geauque about the developments in the Dain Collins case. The head of the agency merely nodded, remaining sphinx-like throughout. A good poker player too, thought Hammett.
‘Lehane’s won’t be cheap,’ said Hammett.
Just at that moment the phone on Geauque’s desk buzzed. He answered it. As soon as he heard the voice on the line, he covered the phone and said to Hammett, ‘Can you wait outside?’. Hammett rose from his seat and left the room. It was a thing of Geauque’s. He preferred to keep operatives and the commissioning client apart in these cases. A strange quirk but Hammett let it pass. He’d barely sat down when Geauque peered through the door.
‘That was the client. He’s fine with the expenses. Do what you have to. By the way, do you have you a gun?’
‘No and no,’ replied Hammett anticipating the inevitable follow up.
He left the office and took the stairs down to the ground floor rather than wait for the elevator. The cost of information at Lehane’s would be high assuming they didn’t throw him out on his ear. This was a real possibility although they would have no reason to if, as Hammett assumed, she was no longer working for them.
It was still a little early to go to Lehane’s. Nightclubs like Lehane’s usually didn’t get going until after eight. On a whim he headed in the direction of Pine, stopping briefly in a public library before returning to his car. He arrived at an antique shop called Goodman’s Antiques, ten minutes later. He parked the car and walked up to the window. It contained an old oak writing bureau, and chair on one side and several stone sculptures and wooden carvings in the other. Hammett took from his pocket a pair of spectacles and put them on. He quickly checked on how they looked via his reflection in the window. It made him look smarter, he thought. Then he walked inside.
The shop was smaller inside than it had seemed from the outside. The front windows had only provided a small clue as to the contents in the shop. Hammett was no expert in antiques, but he could see items from various countries: an Egyptian sarcophagus, Roman statues, woodblock prints and swords from Japan, and a wall full of leather-bound books, with a sign above claiming they were first editions.
He headed straight towards them. A few moments later a woman appeared and stood beside him. Hammett turned to her. She was in her forties and it looked like she hadn’t worn a smile since her twenties. Hammett almost recoiled at the severity of her expression. Collecting himself quickly he smiled openly at the woman.
‘How do you do?’ he said primly.
The woman’s mouth moved slightly in what she may have mistakenly believed was a smile.
‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’
‘Yes, do you have Julian Aubrey’s ‘Birds of America’? First or second edition?’
The woman looked completely confused by this, which she should have but perhaps not for the reasons she should have. Hammett smiled hopefully at her.
‘We have a small section over here on nature,’ said the woman gesturing towards a group of books on the bottom shelf. Describing this section as small was an understatement. Hammett counted three books.
‘It could also appear in your art section,’ said Hammett with another killer grin.
The smile, insofar as it could have been described thus, slowly left the woman. She was beginning to feel out of her depth. She moved slowly towards the art section which, to be fair to Goodman’s, provided a wider selection of books. However, none matched the title of the book Hammett was after, principally because just over one hundred existed. And the author was called John, not Julian and his surname was Audubon.
‘Perhaps,’ offered Hammett, ‘I could speak to the owner. I’m very interested in acquiring this book. I would be willing to make it worth his while. May I speak with him?’
The woman saw an escape route open up and Sandra Robins was not a woman to allow such a golden opportunity to pass.
‘Mr Goodman is not in today. I’m sure if you were to come tomorrow morning, you would find him here. After eleven,’ said Sandra Robins before adding needlessly, ‘He’s a late riser.’
‘A man after my own heart.’
‘Can I leave him a message?’ She handed Hammett a pen and some paper. Hammett thanked her and wrote the following message.
I’m interested in a certain rare Bird. Would like to discuss with you tomorrow. Yours, J. Audubon.
Sandra Robins looked at the message and said, ‘I’m sure Mr Goodman will be delighted by your interest.’
Hammett smiled back, ‘Yes, I’m sure he’ll be just delighted.’
19
There was unquestionably a certain atmosphere at the dinner table that evening. The air crackled with a current that managed to be both under, positive and live all at the same time. The key clues picked up by the betrothed sleuths were the unusually flippant mood of Agatha, more than matched, it must be said, by Alastair, and the despondency of Algy.
Kit discounted the idea of pre-wedding nerves or second-thoughts. Algy seemed far too smitten even by his own high standards for this to be the case. Clearly the fact that Dain had been implicated in a murder was uncommon even by the standards of modern matrimony. This left two possibilities. He discussed them with Mary afterwards sotto voce.
‘He must have met Natalie,’ suggested Kit.
Mary looked wryly at Kit, ‘Are you suggesting, Lord Aston, that it is Natalie who has turned his head?’ The implication was clear.
This was dangerous territory under normal circumstances for any chap talking innocently with his intended to negotiate. Kit dealt with the potential pitfalls adeptly, aided by the certainty that Mary was less interested in testing his love for her than turning any situation into an opportunity to tease him.
There was o
nly one response.
‘Certainly. Natalie would turn any man’s head,’ declared Kit, straight-faced. ‘One look at her...’
Mary held her hand up and managed both to grin and frown at the same time. This was an extraordinary natural gift of hers and left Kit, once more, regretting that he could not take his fiancée for a romantic walk, ideally somewhere secluded. For a week or three.
‘I think I understand your point, Lord Aston,’ interrupted Mary. She ran her hand down the front of her dress slowly before adding, ‘Even I can see how some men might have their head turned.’
Kit’s eyes narrowed and they both began to giggle. After a few moments his face grew more serious.
‘Either something happened with Natalie or the mystery surrounding Miss Collins is beginning to wear his resolve down. I think the former,’ said Kit glancing in the direction of Alastair and Agatha who were all but clinking glasses in celebration.
‘I agree. Can you ask Algy, you know, man to man?’ The last part of that sentence was said in a deeper voice. Then Mary’s face erupted into a smile at her own foolishness.
‘Remind me, when are we getting married?’ asked Kit plaintively.
‘Why wait?’ pointed out Mary, eyebrows arching upward.
Indeed, thought Kit. Why wait. It was 1920. Times had changed. He felt torn between a rational respect for his fiancée and more emotional feelings, needs even.
They were joined by Algy at that moment. He tried to smile and be the good host. Kit decided to put him out of his misery.
‘Let’s go outside, old man. I can’t stand to see you so miserable. Tell me what’s on your mind.’
‘Is it so obvious?’ said Algy, his face fell vertically, like a teardrop.
Mary took his right arm and Kit the left and they walked outside into the garden. They followed the path down to the seat overlooking the bay. It was night. Lights flickered like fireflies across the other side of the water. A ship went past and blew its horn. Another one responded. The sound of a boat’s engine spluttering on the water echoed across the bay. Overhead the cloudless sky provided a spectacular display of stars, blinking lights from the very beginning of time. Algy began to speak of Dain, including their first meeting.
‘I was out with a potential client. He said he knew a place that was fun. Good food, dancing, lots of girls. I thought, well why not. Business hasn’t been so good lately and we needed a win. We went to this place out of town. Anyway, I didn’t like the look of it from the moment I arrived,’ said Algy looking at Kit directly in the eye.
‘I think I take your meaning,’ said Kit.
Mary frowned at both men. Kit shrugged but remained tight-lipped.
‘We went to where the music was playing. Actually, the band was pretty good and lots of people were dancing. We ordered some food. It was all wrong, though. This guy didn’t want to talk about his business. In fact, he seemed a bit young to me to be even in business.’
‘What was his business?’
‘Antiques, he said. He was going to be opening a big store in town and wanted to get the word out to as many potential clients as possible. The thing was, when I asked him about his business, he seemed uncomfortable.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Mary.
‘Like he was reading from a script. Some of his answers had nothing to do with my questions. It was really strange. Then he saw Dain. I didn’t know her at that point. She was working in this place as a hostess. Hated it, by the way. Old men pawing at her. Anyway, that’s just what happened. This guy snaps his fingers and orders her to come over. I have to tell you; I really didn’t like that. Then he grabs Dain by the arm and virtually pulls her down to sit with us.’
‘My word, a ruffian,’ said Mary.
Kit looked at her archly and said, ‘Ruffian? He sounds like one of these American hoodlums Aunt Agatha, and apparently Uncle Alastair, love to read about. What happened then.’
‘As soon as I saw the fear on Dain’s face, I was on my feet and giving him a piece of my mind. I told him Aston’s didn’t take thugs like him as clients. And do you know what he did?’
Both Kit and Mary shook their heads.
‘He started laughing at me. I couldn’t believe it. I mean he was laughing in a strange, mad way. He grabbed at Dain again and tried to get her to kiss him, but, naturally, I wouldn’t have it. I was round the table immediately and about to sock him when he let her ago. He was still laughing. I told him to get on his feet and act like a man. I was ready to teach him a lesson. Then he showed me.’
‘Showed you what?’ asked Mary.
‘The gun?’ suggested Kit.
Algy nodded to Kit. He shook his head at the memory of the night. ‘He was grinning like a maniac. Dain was saying to me, “Please get me out of here. I hate it.” I took her hand and we got out of there.‘
‘Didn’t anyone try to stop you?’ asked Kit, surprised.
This time Algy shook his head. He said, ‘Nobody tried to stop us. It was like they expected their clients to act that way.’
‘How horrible,’ said Mary taking Algy’s hand.
‘On the way home, we talked. She told me she’d left home in New York a year ago. Her stepfather was a beast. He was trying to make unwelcome advances on her. She’d changed her name and come out west to make sure he’d never find her again. Her nerves were shot but she managed to find a job as a hostess in that terrible place. It’s like she’s a Maître d’ but she also stays and chats to the clients. Mostly male clients. Some strange women too but I won’t dwell on that.’
Mary tilted her head slightly. Enough to mock the ridiculously misplaced sense of gallantry in men that stopped them from speaking about subjects that might, quite literally, melt the ears of well brought up women. Kit suppressed a smile. Algy would learn what Mary was like soon enough.
‘I could tell, even on that car journey back, that she was not what my father probably thinks she is. You may have gathered pops is not keen on the marriage. He’s been perfectly gentlemanly towards her, naturally, but I know he doesn’t approve. He’s stopped short of telling me outright, of course. He knows what my answer would be.’ Algy stopped and looked at Kit. ‘Look, Kit, God knows I’ve made mistakes before. I can be a bit rash. This time really is different. I’m sure about Dain.’
Kit put his hand on Algy’s arm to reassure him. ‘You said that business isn’t going well?’
‘Since pops left, we’ve lost clients. Quite a few. We’re not replacing them, and competition has increased. It’s tough but we’ll survive. Pops says he’ll maybe help out a bit. He’s great with clients, like a magnet. The business has missed that.’
Kit smiled and glanced back at the house.
‘Your father seemed in a very good mood tonight for a man whose son is rushing into an unfortunate marriage, a prospective daughter-in-law who is under suspicion for murder and with a business in trouble.’
Algy put his hands over his face and groaned. Then he smiled with embarrassment, ‘Oh my God, this so embarrassing.’
‘What happened?’ asked Mary.
‘I don’t quite know myself. This new maid, Natalie. She’s quite...’ Algy saw Kit looking at him directly, eyebrows raised. ‘Anyway, I was getting ready for my bath and in she walks. Anyway, she faints when she sees me. I was holding her when Ella-Mae arrived.’
‘When you say getting ready, Algy?’
‘Let’s say I was all but climbing into the bath, Kit.’
‘I think I see,’ said Kit.
‘Me too,’ chipped in Mary which earned her wry look from Kit and a shocked one from Algy.
‘Best to ignore her, Algy, I find,’ advised Kit.
Algy laughed, ‘I’m falling in love.’
‘Choose your weapons, sir,’ replied Kit with a grin.
‘Advertising copy?’ suggested Algy hopefully.
‘I’m not a box of chocolates,’ pointed out Mary in mock irritation.
Kit rolled his eyes and motioned Algy to finish the thought
.
‘No, Lady Mary, you’re so much sweeter,’ said Algy.
Mary exhaled theatrically, clasped her hands together dramatically and pronounced Algy her hero.
‘I can see why your business is in trouble,’ said Kit sardonically.
20
It was close to midnight when Hammett pulled up to the large parking lot outside Lehane’s. A big neon sign blinked over a single-story building that looked like a gaudily painted garage. A pretty big garage. There were no windows. Hammett sat in his car and listened to the first drops of rain hitting the roof. Little by little the sound grew louder. Soon the windscreen was a mass of rivulets running downwards, distorting the view of the club.
The parking lot was half full. The cars were a mixture of waiting taxicabs and larger, more expensive automobiles. Hammett had no doubt his local taxes paid for the taxicabs. He felt the anger rising.
The thought of visiting a joint like this sickened Hammett. He hated it already. He hated the owners running the place. He hated the customers more. A politician he half-recognised left the club. He was accompanied by a younger Hispanic woman. Much younger.
Finally, Hammett emerged from the car and strode towards the club like a man who had every right to be there. He was dressed in his best dark suit and a recently acquired blue silk tie with light blue polka dots. If he didn’t have a million dollars then he sure as hell had set out to make people think it. As he got closer to the entrance, he heard music playing. A poster at the entrance showed a scantily clad woman behind a microphone. It read Elsa Nichols. Hammett had never heard of her, but he doubted it was her voice that audiences were interested in. He also saw the doormen. They were big. More than big, they looked mean. Thankfully he didn’t recognise any of them. This meant the chances of him being recognised were slim.
He nodded to the smaller of the two men at the door. The smaller man was better dressed. This seemed to satisfy the man and Hammett had passed his first test. He realised as he walked in that his heart was beating very quickly. In a moment he would begin to cough. He covered his mouth. A young woman came over to him.
