“Who is the handsome Romeo who just picked up his key?” she asked, taking a dollar bill from her bag.
Nodley eyed the bill and grinned.
“He’s no good to you baby,” he said and accepted the bill. “He’s Steve Harmas: chief investigator National Fidelity Insurance.”
Fay lifted her plucked eyebrows.
“Chief Investigator? Does that mean he is a cop?”
“Along those lines. He’s checking on the Barlowe murder.”
“But he is a cop?”
“You could call him that.”
Fay smiled.
“Thanks… be seeing you.”
Nodley watched her duck-tail walk to the exit with an appreciative stare.
Dr. Henry, the house surgeon of the Pru Town hospital received Lieutenant Jenson and Harmas in his office. He waved them to chairs.
“This is Mr. Harmas of the National Fidelity Insurance Corporation,” Jenson explained. “Barlowe was insured by his company. He…”
“Just a moment,” Harmas broke in. He didn’t want the doctor to get a wrong impression. “I’m an investigator and I’m working with the Lieutenant. My job is to check all claims made on our company. So far no claim has been made regarding Barlowe. There hasn’t been time, but we want to be prepared when it is made. Barlowe was covered for fifty thousand dollars. He took out the policy about ten days ago. The circumstances are exceptional, but naturally, with such a sum involved, we don’t want to pay it out if there is any doubt about the genuineness of the claim.”
Dr. Henry, a tall, balding man, lifted pale eyebrows.
“What exactly do you mean by that and what has it to do with me?”
“We will need to be convinced that Mrs. Barlowe was really attacked and raped,” Harmas said. “We will need a certificate and details from you.”
“I’ll be happy to give you a certificate,” Henry said. “The woman was most certainly attacked… her jaw was dislocated, and there is no doubt she was brutally raped. I can give you details that must satisfy your people that she has been through a horrible and harrowing experience.”
Harmas and Jenson exchanged glances. Harmas shrugged.
“Thanks, doctor, that’s all we’ll need. Can we talk to her now?”
“Yes. I’ll take you to her.” Henry looked at Jenson. “Make it as short as you can. She really is in a bad way, and she is still suffering from severe shock.”
“Sure.” Jenson got to his feet. “All I want at this stage is a description of the attacker. The rest of it can come later.”
The two men followed the doctor up to the first floor. They entered a room in which was a bed and the usual hospital equipment. In the bed was a woman with auburn hair.
Motioning them to stay where they were, Henry went over to the woman.
“Mrs. Barlowe, Lieutenant Jenson would like to talk to you. I’ve asked him not to bother you too much. Do you feel you can talk to him?”
While he was speaking, both Harmas and Jenson were looking curiously at the woman. Harmas was shocked to see that the left side of her face was heavily bruised and her left eye was half closed and swelling. There was split skin near her mouth. It was obvious she had taken a violent blow on the side of her face… there was no fake about that… In spite of this disfigurement, Harmas saw that this woman was sensationally handsome… beautiful he decided wasn’t the right word.
“I’m all right,” she said in a shaky whisper. “Yes, of course I’ll talk to him.”
Jenson came forward.
“You’re not all right, Mrs. Barlowe,” he said. “I’m sorry to have to bother you at this time, but I want a description of the man that attacked you. Can you help me?”
Meg closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them. On the table by the window was a vase holding a dozen blood red roses.
If you get roses, you will know our man hasn’t been arrested, Anson had said.
“He was short and thickset,” she said, “and he was completely bald.”
“That’s the punk!” Jenson exclaimed, looking at Harmas. “The same one who…” He paused, controlling his excitement.
To Meg, he went on, “How do you know he was bald, Mrs. Barlowe?”
She closed her eyes. There was a pause, then she said “In the struggle… his hat fell off… he had no hair at all.”
“Can you remember what he was wearing?”
“A black coat and a black slouch hat.” Jenson nodded, satisfied.
“Okay, Mrs. Barlowe, you take it easy. I won’t worry you again for a while. You just relax.”
Moving forward, Harmas asked, “Mrs. Barlowe, there’s just one thing that could help us. Why did you and your husband go out to Jason’s Glen?”
The cobalt blue eyes suddenly snapped open. Meg looked intently at Harmas.
“Why? Why… Phil wanted to… it was our wedding anniversary. He took me to the Court roadhouse… he was in a romantic mood…” She broke off and hid her face in her hands.
Dr. Henry said, “That’ll do for now, gentlemen. I want Mrs. Barlowe to rest.”
He shepherded Jenson and Harmas to the door. Harmas paused at the door and looked back at Meg. She lay motionless, her hands hiding her face.
As they walked down the corridor, Jenson said, “It’s the same guy. The hell of it is he could be anywhere, and he could do this again.”
“Let’s take a look at Mr. Philip Barlowe,” Harmas said. “At least we won’t be disturbing him.”
“What do you want to look at him for?”
“I want to look at the man who managed to persuade that lush dish to marry him… he should be quite a guy,” Harmas said.
The morgue attendant, a burly Negro, flicked back the sheet.
“Here he is mister… ain’t much to look at.”
Jenson, who had seen the body before, remained where he was, away from “the table, his hand cupping a cigarette, his face showing impatience and irritation.
Harmas, his hat at the back of his head, surveyed what remained of Philip Barlowe. He stared for a long moment, then he nodded to the Negro and turned to Jenson.
“Got a report on the slug that killed him?”
Jenson squinted at him.
“Not yet… why?”
“How long will it be?”
“Could be ready now.”
“I have a hunch,” Harmas said. “Let’s find out if it is ready.”
They walked to the Coroner’s office and Jenson put a call through to the Ballistics department. While he was waiting, Harmas said thoughtfully, “What magic did a little punk like Barlowe have to persuade a sexy piece like that woman to marry him?”
“Women do odd things,” Jenson said, then as the connection came through he waved Harmas to silence. He asked for the report on the bullet. There was a pause, then some talk, then Jenson said, “Okay, Ted. Thanks. I’ll be right over,”
He hung up. He stared at Harmas, his eyes puzzled. “Now what do you know? The two men were both shot with 38’s, but the guns are different. The slugs don’t match. How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” Harmas said. “I told you… it was a hunch.” He stood up. “It needn’t mean a thing. Our bald headed pal could own two .38 automatics… but somehow I don’t think he does.”
A little after six o’clock, Anson completed his list of calls and then drove back to the Marlborough hotel. Right at this moment, he was thinking as he locked the car, Jenson and Harmas were seeing Meg. He would have given a lot to have been there. He had to trust her to keep her nerve. He wished he could call her later and find out what had been said, but that was far too dangerous.
This dossier, Harmas had spoken about… what could be in it? Had Meg lied to him when she said she hadn’t a record: nothing to hide? Had Maddox found out that she had had lovers? The more Anson thought about Meg, the more sure he was she couldn’t have lived with Barlowe without having a lover. He had made a slip telling Harmas Meg and Barlowe had been happy together. He had forgotten th
ey had had separate rooms.
“Hello, Johnny…”
Anson started and looked round.
Fay Lawley stood by his side. She smiled at him, her eyes hard and glittering.
“Hello,” Anson said curtly. He wasn’t in the mood to be bothered with this overblown tart. “Excuse me. I have a business date… I’m late already.”
She caught hold of his arm.
“Skip it. Don’t give me that line. I’m expecting you to take me out tonight and to spend some of your new-found money on me. It’s time you unbuttoned your wallet.”
Anson shook her hand off his arm.
“Beat it!” he said viciously. “Go, peddle it elsewhere,” and pushing past her, he crossed the street and entered the hotel.
Fay stood motionless watching him disappear into the hotel, then with a hard little smile on her over-painted mouth, she started down the sidewalk to the nearest bar.
Maddox shoved aside a pile of papers that fell on to the floor. He lit another cigarette, ran his fingers through his hair and picked up yet another insurance policy from his in-tray. Patty Shaw looked in. “Steve’s here,” she announced.
Maddox said nothing for several seconds, then he put the policy down and stared at Patty. For some moments he didn’t seem to register her, then his eyes became alert. “Steve? Sure… shoot him in.”
Patty said to Harmas, “The Maestro is coming out of his trance. He’ll see you.”
Harmas entered the office and sat down in the client’s chair. The time was nine fifteen a.m. He had driven through the night back to San Francisco and he was feeling jaded. Maddox pushed back his chair. “What’s cooking?”
“Plenty,” Harmas said, “but I haven’t had the time yet to get it all straightened out. I thought I’d better come back here and talk it over with you. For a start: Barlowe and his wife didn’t live as man and wife. They had separate rooms. He was a queer: a sick man. You should have seen the muck I found in his room: sadist stuff… really rotten. Mrs. Barlowe was attacked and raped. I have the doctor’s certificate. Here are all the sordid details.” He dropped a paper on the desk.
“There’s no fake about that. I’ve seen her. She’s certainly been beaten up. I went over the house. She keeps it the way a self-respecting pig would hate. I’ve seen Barlowe. He’s a shrimp of a man… I can’t think why she ever married him.”
Maddox relaxed back in his chair. His red rubbery face creased into a benign grin.
“Go on… keep talking.”
“She writes short stories. Awful stuff, but one of them deals with an insurance swindle.” Harmas took more papers from his pocket and dropped them on the desk. “Have a look at this when you have time. She has an idea.”
Maddox nodded.
“Barlowe was a champion revolver shot,” Harmas continued. “He owned a gun: a .38, but the gun is missing. Barlowe was shot with a .38. The other guy was also shot with a .38, but the slugs don’t match. Mrs. Barlowe gave out a description of the killer: a word for word description that appeared in the newspapers of the guy who attacked the other couple.”
Maddox was practically purring. He opened his desk drawer, took out a file and pushed it towards Harmas.
“There it is, Steve. Take it away and read it. Then come back and we’ll talk again… you are doing fine.”
Harmas picked up the file.
“There’s one other thing,” he said, getting to his feet. “Anson has already alerted the press that this woman is going to make a claim. If we block the claim without good reason, we’re in for a lot of rank publicity. She has the sympathy of the public.”
Maddox grinned wolfishly.
“You read that dossier. We can’t get bad publicity once that dossier becomes public reading. This is a phony claim. I knew it was as soon as it came to my desk. You keep going… you’re doing fine!”
Joe Duncan, a large man with a great sagging belly and a whisky complexion put down one of his six telephone receivers and looked questioningly at Sailor Hogan as he came into the office.
“Park your butt,” Duncan said. “Have you any idea what the date is?”
Hogan settled himself in the big arm-chair opposite Duncans desk. He struck a match to light a cigarette.
“Why should I care?”
“In five days you come across with twenty-five grand or you and me part company,” Duncan said. He leaned his gross body back into his chair, reached thick fingers for a cigar, nipped off the end with his small yellow teeth and spat the end into the trash basket. “How’s it coming? I want the dough…”
Hogan grinned at him.
“You’ll get it, even if I have to borrow it.”
Duncan sneered.
“Who’s going to lend you money?”
“You’d be surprised,” Hogan said and winked. He was feeling very confident. “I’m a guy with prospects now.”
Duncan tapped a copy of the Pru Town-Gazette lying on his desk.
“From this rag, your meal ticket has been raped. Are you telling me you can still find twenty-five grand?”
Hogan’s grin widened.
“Read it again. Who cares if she was raped? Her husband is dead and he was insured for fifty grand. Now put that in your gizzard and chew it over.” He lounged to his feet. “Be seeing you, Joe. Relax. It’s working out fine for me… just relax.”
When he had gone, Duncan scratched the back of his thick neck, shrugged and reached for the telephone.
CHAPTER 10
Harmas arrived back in Pru Town late the following evening. He had spent all the morning with Maddox, and now briefed, was ready for action.
He dumped his bag at the hotel, then drove out to the Court roadhouse.
The roadhouse was situated a few miles outside Pru Town. It was one of those showy, neon covered places that attracted the car trade and the young in search of a reasonably good dinner with a reasonably good band at a not too exorbitant price.
He walked into the bar, which, at that time, was nearly empty. He asked the barman, a big, jolly looking Negro, if he could have a table in the restaurant. The Negro said he would fix it. In the meantime, how’s about a drink?
Harmas said he would have a large Scotch on the rocks and he sat at one of the high stools at the bar. He asked for the evening newspaper.
The Negro got him the drink and the paper and then went to the far end of the bar to phone the restaurant. The front page of the Pru Town Gazette was given up to the Barlowe murder.
The barman came back to say a table would be ready in ten minutes.
“That’s a horrible thing,” he went on seeing Harmas was reading about the murder. “These two were out here a couple of hours before it happened.”
Harmas put down the newspaper.
“Is that right? It surprises me they went out to Jason’s Glen. After the first murder you would have thought they would have kept clear of such a lonely place.”
The barman rolled his eyes.
“That’s just what he said. He didn’t want to go. They argued about it for nearly twenty minutes, but she wanted it. Man!
When a dame like that wants something, she gets it!”
“So he didn’t want to go out there?”
“That’s a fact. They came in here for a final drink. It was around half past nine. At one time I thought they would blow up, they got so heated. Finally, he said the hell with it: if she wanted to go that bad, then he would take her. Then she went to the Ladies’ Room and kept him waiting for more than ten minutes. I saw he didn’t go for that either!”
“Too bad she didn’t take his advice,” Harmas said, his mind busy. He finished his drink. “I guess I’ll go and eat,” and tipping the barman generously, he went in towards the restaurant.
He crossed the lobby and paused outside the ladies’ room.
The doorman glanced at him, then stiffened to attention as Harmas beckoned to him.
“Would there be a telephone in there?” Harmas asked and took out his wallet. From it he sel
ected a five dollar bill.
The doorman eyed the bill the way a gun dog eyes a falling grouse.
“Yes, sir.”
“Automatic or does it go through a switchboard?”
“A switchboard, sir.”
“I’d like to talk to the operator,” Harmas said. He took out his card and let the doorman examine it. Then as he took the card back, he handed over the five dollar bill.
“I can fix that,” the doorman said. “Come this way.” He took Harmas to a small office where there was a switchboard and a blonde thumping a typewriter. The blonde was young and pretty and she looked at Harmas as the doorman said,
“This gentleman wants a little help.” He winked. “You help him… he’ll help you.” To Harmas, he said, “You go right ahead, sir. You’ll find May ready to help helpful gentlemen,” and he went away. Harmas sat on the edge of the desk. “Is that right, beautiful?” he asked and took out his wallet. He felt this was the right time to be extravagant. He knew Maddox would willingly meet any expense to save the company paying a phony claim.
The blonde, snugly curved, with big baby blue eyes looked with alert interest as Harmas fished out a five dollar bill.
“For that, handsome,” she said, “you could go a very long way.”
“That’s good news,” Harmas said, grinning, “but right now all I want is a little information. Do you keep a record of the out-going calls you handle?”
“Yep.” She looked him over. “Are you a private eye?”
“I’m private,” Harmas said. “I’m trying to trace a call made from here on September 30th around half past nine… made by a woman.”
The blonde got to her feet and swung her neat hips over to the switchboard. She consulted a notebook.
“Here we are… must be the one I can’t remember if it was made by a woman, but on that night I wasn’t busy. I had only four calls. Three of them between seven and half past eight… the other was around nine forty. Elmwood 68009.”
“Could I have the other numbers?”
She gave him the numbers and he wrote them down, then he thanked her and passed over the five dollar bill.
Tell It to the Birds Page 12
