Vanishing Ladies

by Ed McBain

  “Hardly anything does.”

  “But this especially. What I’m saying is this. There’s like a big taboo, you understand? This taboo says, ‘Don’t touch!’ It applies from when you’re kids just dating, to when you’re married, to when you got one foot in the grave. Marriage makes touching all right. When you’re married, you get to be one person. You got no secrets, anyway. You belch, you yell, ‘Hey, I got to get into that john!’ you spill things at the dinner table—in other words you share with another person the secret that you are only an animal with a mind. So the masterminds figured out where if you’re belching, you might just as well be touching. But that’s where the taboo is lifted, and no place else. And I say the taboo is a big crock.”

  “What are you really trying to say, Simms?”

  “I’m trying to say I’m gonna marry a prostitute. A whore. A harlot. A hooker. A slut. Me. I’m gonna marry one. I love her, and screw you.”

  “I’ve got no objections.”

  “It wouldn’t make a damn if you did. I wouldn’t even care if you was one of the guys rolled with her, now what do you think of that?”

  “I think it’s an admirable attitude.”

  “There ain’t nothin’ admirable about it. It’s common sense. She’s been touched, and the others ain’t. Who cares? Who knows these other guys? What the hell did she give them but her body? You see what the trouble with everybody is?”

  “No. What?”

  “They got it figured out so that the cheapest thing you can give to another person is your mind. You sit around and bullshit, and you’re dishing out little chunks of your mind. They got it figured so that the big premium is on your body. This is the thing you don’t give away without a struggle to the death. Well, mister, they got it figured out all bass-ackwards. I can be made, I admit it. But I’m careful about who I give what’s up here.” He tapped his temple. “Up here is what counts. The rest is all animals.”

  “You sound as if you’re contradicting yourself,” I said.

  “Maybe I am. Who cares? You want a drink?”

  “No. Tell me about Lois.”

  “A doll,” Simms said. “Listen, I been around, and this is a doll.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “A doll. Didn’t you understand me? What’s a doll—but a doll?”

  “Brunette?”

  “Yeah. That means black hair, don’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Brunette,” Simms said, nodding.

  “Eyes?”

  “Of course.”

  “The color, I meant.”

  “Oh. Brown. Like candy kisses.”

  “Short? Tall?”

  “Bigger than me. Some guys this would disturb. Me, it don’t. I say it don’t matter how tall a guy is, so long as he feels big. I’m only five-eight. This is a shrimp nowadays. You meet guys are six-four. A generation of basketball players. I know some short guys, everything about them gets short. You can give me two guys, both five-six, put them in the same room together. One guy looks like a midget. The other guy, you never even stop to think how tall or how short he is. You think a mutt ever stops and wonders how tall another mutt is? You ever see a Chihuahua male pause before trying to mount a Great Dane bitch? Never happened, mister. Lois is tall, and I like her tall. When we go out together, she wears whatever kind of shoes she wants. Flats, heels, it makes no difference to me. She wears whatever makes her feel best, whatever makes her feel beautiful. And when she feels beautiful, I feel handsome. I feel big. I don’t need no built-up shoes. All I need is her on my arm. And also, she fills up a bed. I like a bed that’s all filled up. I don’t like empty corners.”

  “Why’d she go to Barter’s place?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “But why there?”

  “Why not? Good loot. I told you, we’re getting married. We can use all the loot we can get our hands on.”

  “Where’s she from?”

  “The next state. Me, too. Can’t you tell? I got an accent a mile long. These hicks don’t dig it.”

  “And she was staying at Barter’s place?”

  “Only to work. She was registered here at the hotel. That’s what I don’t get. Everybody says she left town, but she didn’t check out of this place!”

  “When did she arrive?”

  “Two days ago. She called me the first night, and then she said she’d call me again the next night. That was last night. When I didn’t get her call, I tried to reach her at Barter’s but the number ain’t listed. The people here at the hotel said she wasn’t in her room. This morning, I come right over the river. Man, I love that girl, you understand?”

  “Did she tell you anything about the place when she spoke to you?”

  “Only that she thought she could make a lot of money. She planned to stay a month, did I tell you? So how come she pulls up stakes now?” Simms paused. “Something’s mighty fishy. They told me at the station she got on a Davistown train. Why Davistown?” He paused again. “How come you ask so many questions?”

  “Force of habit,” I said, smiling.

  The room got very quiet. Simms poured himself another drink. The whisky splashed into the glass. He didn’t seem short at all. He seemed very tall. He sloshed the liquor around for a moment and then swallowed it. He looked at me steadily.

  “You’re a bull, ain’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Vice Squad?”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  “Just an ordinary dick. I’m on vacation. My girl disappeared at Barter’s place.”

  “So now you’re messin’ with it?”

  “Yes.”

  “All this stuff I told you about Lois …” Simms hesitated.

  “What stuff?”

  “You know, about her being …”

  “I didn’t hear a thing,” I said.

  “I mean …”

  “I didn’t hear a thing. We’ve been discussing life, haven’t we?”

  Simms smiled. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Phil Colby.”

  He extended his hand. “Simms. Johnny. You can call me Johnny.”

  I took his hand.

  “I ain’t shaking with you because I want to find out whether or not you got a dagger,” Simms said. “I’m saying we’re friends.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Are we?”

  “I’m shaking hands,” I said.

  “Good.” Simms paused. “I’m still gonna snoop around. If you need help, let me know. I got to find her, Colby.”

  “Phil,” I said.

  Simms smiled. “Phil, you just proved it, you know that?”

  “Proved what?”

  “That bulls are animals, too.”

  I left Simms and walked through the town. I had about an hour before meeting Mitchell, and it was the longest hour I ever spent in my life. After he arrived, we sort of went our separate ways because he thought he could accomplish more, not being known to Barter or the local cops. He told me later what happened, but that would probably be hearsay, and the best thing would be to have him here to tell it himself. But he’s on a plant right now, and his job is law enforcement, and he’s a more indispensable cop than I am. I have his deposition here, which I’ve been advised might be admitted as evidence. Whether it’s admitted or not, I’d like permission to read it now because it fills in some of the gaps between my talk with Simms and what happened later on.

  12

  Anthony Mitchell, being duly sworn, deposes and says as follows:

  I arrived in the town of Sullivan’s Corners at 5:45 P.M. on the evening of June 4th. I was driving an unmarked police sedan which Lieutenant DeMorra allowed me to check out. I have to admit that I was a little puzzled by the trouble Phil had got himself into, and a little surprised that the lieutenant was going out on a limb to help. Actually, I shouldn’t have been surprised by anything the lieutenant did. He’s about the greatest skipper there is, and I wouldn’t trade h
im for Christmas every Sunday.

  I found the only bank in town, and I also found the restaurant next door to it. For the record, the place was called “Fanny’s.” I took a table at the rear, and ordered a cup of coffee from a blond waitress who winked at me. I didn’t wink back because I happen to be married, and I happen to feel that winks are for the teen-agers. I’m old-fashioned that way. I’m old-fashioned because my wife Sandy is old-fashioned, too. We agreed to the words, and the words were “and forsaking all others keep you alone unto him as long as you both shall live,” and that made it legal, and I’m a big believer in things legal, otherwise I wouldn’t be a cop.

  I couldn’t have been sitting for more than five minutes when Phil came in. He looked tired. I work with the guy, and I’ve seen him on tough assignments, and I’ve seen him on all-night plants, but he never looked quite as tired as when he walked into that place. He’s a tall guy, with blond hair, and he was wearing gray slacks and a light-blue short-sleeved sports shirt. He looked very neat even though he hadn’t shaved—blond guys don’t have to shave except every other Thursday—but there was this tired slump to his shoulders, and this tired expression around his eyes. He spotted me immediately, and came straight to the table, extending his hand. I stood up and took it.

  “Tony,” he said.

  “Sit down, Phil,” I told him. “You look about ready to cave in.”

  “I’m kind of bushed,” he said.

  I signaled for the waitress and ordered another cup of coffee.

  “I haven’t had dinner yet,” Phil said, and I don’t know whether or not you are familiar with this boy’s appetite, but to be kind I’ll say it’s somewhat wolfish. He asked for a menu, and I listened in awe while he ordered. “I’ve got to eat to think straight,” he said. “Did the skipper tell you what happened?”

  “He told me Ann’s vanished. He also said you think she’s safe. What else is there?”

  “The place she vanished from is a whorehouse.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Mmmm,” I said.

  “What do you think?” Phil asked.

  “I don’t know. I just got here. How’d she vanish?”

  “From her cabin. I don’t know how. She was there asleep, and then suddenly she wasn’t.”

  “Her clothes?”

  “Gone. Luggage, too. Whoever cleaned out the cabin did a good job. Even got new tenants to take over after she was gone.”

  “Oh.”

  “Fellow named Joe Carlisle, and his alleged wife, girl named Stephanie. I checked later. Carlisle’s not married.”

  “Who was the girl?”

  “I don’t know. I thought one of the hookers at first, but her clothes were in the closet, and there was a dresser full of underwear. The closet stuff wasn’t a hooker’s working gear.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Some dresses, skirts, like that. From what I could gather talking to Simms—”

  “Who?”

  “Johnny Simms. Boyfriend of one of the girls who, incidentally, is also missing. Tony, this whole set up stinks. Did the lieutenant tell you about the blood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Something, huh? Anyway, from what Simms said, I gather the girls live away from the motel. His girl was checked in at the local hotel. In town. Allegedly, she suddenly left the job at the motel. But she never checked out of the hotel.”

  “Give me the setup,” I said.

  “About fifteen cabins at the motel. Run by a man named Mike Barter. He’s married, never met his wife. The local law is wise to the setup, I’m sure. In any case, they’ve been in on the coverup. You might look up a j.p. named Oliver Handy. And watch out for a state trooper whose name is Fred. He’s the son of a bitch who has my gun. And O’Hare’s, too.”

  “Burry? How’d he get into this?”

  “He had a .32 in the glove compartment of his car.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did you bring—”

  “I brought you the one I usually keep at home. It’s a Smith and Wesson. I gave it to Sandy, and I taught her how to use it. Now she’s defenseless, you see?” I grinned. Phil grinned back.

  “Where is it?”

  “In the car. I’ll give it to you when we get outside.” I paused. “What else should I know?”

  “Barter’s got a handyman named Hezekiah. Carlisle apparently does work around the place, too, but Hez is the regular. He’s a bruiser. Don’t get into a bear hug with him.”

  “I won’t. What’s Ann wearing?”

  “Her slip and brassiere, last time I saw her.”

  “Let’s assume she’s dressed now.”

  “I can only tell you what she was wearing when we left the city yesterday morning.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “A white cotton dress, one of these sun things with bare shoulders. She was carrying a straw bag, and she was wearing straw pumps. Lucite heels.”

  “Hat?”

  “No. Never wears one.”

  “What about her luggage?”

  “Just two plain brown leather bags.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “A hooker named Blanche. Flaming redhead, kid of seventeen. If you see her, you can’t miss her. She’s got it blazed in neon across her chest. She was told to stall me last night when Ann disappeared. She also seems to know a hell of a lot more about all this than she’s telling. She’s the one who told me Ann is safe. Oh.”

  “What?”

  “The j.p.—this Handy character—he also hinted that Ann would be all right if I just minded my own business.”

  “What are they trying to cover, Phil?”

  “I don’t know. I imagine the blood has something to do with it, though. Murder is something to cover.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ve got me.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll take a look. Where can I reach you?”

  “I’ll check in at the hotel. You can call me there. Where are you going now?”

  “Out to the motel.”

  “All right, I’ll wait for your call.”

  “It may not be until late tonight. I’d rather you didn’t waste the time.”

  “What do you want me to do, Tony?” Phil asked.

  “This hooker. The one who’s missing, too.”

  “Lois is her name.”

  “All right. Find out all you can about her. There may be a tie-in with Ann.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to her boyfriend again.”

  “I’ll try to ring you around midnight or so. If we run into each other anywhere in town, you don’t know me. I only hope we’re not being watched now.”

  “I don’t think so, Tony.”

  “All right, come on. I’ll give you that .38.” I saw the look on Phil’s face. “You can eat your dinner after I give you the gun.”

  We went out of the restaurant and over to the black sedan. Because we didn’t want to attract attention, the transfer of the gun took place inside the car. Phil tucked it into his waistband.

  “I feel better already,” he said.

  “Don’t go using it unless you have to,” I said.

  “I haven’t had to use it since I’ve been a cop,” he answered.

  “I have,” I said. “I’ll call you later.” We shook hands, and he got out of the car, and I started driving towards Sullivan’s Point. It was just getting dark when I got there. I parked the car behind a Cadillac with a tag reading SB-1412. I walked up to the motel office and knocked. There was no answer. I knocked again.

  “Hello?” I called.

  My voice echoed out over the lake. I sighed and was turning back toward the car when I saw the woman.

  She came off the dock at the edge of the lake. She had a towel in her hands, and she was patting her face dry. The rest of her was wringing wet. She wore a two-piece swim suit of some stuff that looked like silver lamé. She was tall and slender, with the remarkable combination of good legs and a magnificent bust. She wore
a bathing cap, and the cap was white and decorated with plastic daisies. She looked like a Follies girl making an entrance, except for the fact that she was unaware of any audience. I leaned against the fender of my car and watched her. She pulled off the cap, and blond hair tumbled free onto her shoulders. She shook her head, the way a big dog does when she’s coming out of the water. I watched. She looked up then and saw me.

  “Hello,” I said. I grinned.

  Her eyes were green, and the lashes were wet, and even if she hadn’t just come from the water, they’d have been frigid. “Hello,” she answered.

  “How was the water?”

  “Fine,” she answered.

  “It seems to have done you a lot of good.”

  “How would you know?” she asked. “You didn’t see the ‘Before’ picture.”

  “No, but the ‘After’ is most convincing.”

  “Thanks. Are you finished?”

  “I want a cabin,” I said. “No one seems to be in the office.”

  “I’ll take you up,” she said.

  “Do you know the owner?”

  “I am the owner,” she answered.

  “Oh?”

  “Stephanie Barter,” she said with a small nod. “Come on.” We walked up past the Caddy with the SB plate. It did not take a super sleuth to figure who owned the Caddy. There were several other things I wanted to ascertain though, and it would have been easier to discuss them with Mike Barter, rather than his wife.

  We went into the office. Stephanie Barter kept dripping water onto the floor. She was a pretty thing to watch. I’d never seen her swim, but I was willing to bet she was good. She had a clean young body, a body she’d taken good care of. She was probably somewhere in her late thirties, but the body was much younger. The hair had an artificial look to it, but the bleach job was professional. Her nails were well manicured. Stephanie Barter, whatever else she did, spent a lot of time in the beauty salon.

  “What exactly did you have in mind?” she asked.

  “Is there a choice?” I said.

  “Not really,” she answered. “Did anyone recommend you? Or did you just happen by?”

  “I was recommended,” I said.

  “By whom?”

  I dug into my memory. “A fellow named Joe Carlisle. Know him?”