Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief (7 page)

June 6th, 9.30 a.m.

JACK CASTON, under−manager for the local branch office of Preston Motors, walked into the Preston building with a light springy step.

The commissionaire saluted smartly and escorted him to the elevator.

Caston was the kind of guy who got up early in the morning and did breathing exercises in front of an open window. He was bouncing with good health and his big pink face was torture to anyone with a morning hang−over.

He walked into his office, rang the buzzer on his desk, and then hung up his hat. He walked over to the mirror and adjusted his tie and smoothed down his hair. He was very satisfied with what he saw in the mirror.

The door opened and his secretary walked in. She was a ritzy−looking dame, with corn−coloured hair, blue eyes, and a neat little figure.

Caston smiled at her and sat down at his desk. She thought he looked like a very nice good−humoured pig.

“Well, well,” he said, stretching out his hand, “and very nice too!”

She kept her distance and inclined her head. She knew Caston.

“Now, Marie, don't be high hat. Come over here and let me look at you,” he said, still keeping his hand out.

“You can see me just as well here, Mr. Caston,” she said. “Did you want anything?”

Caston withdrew his hand and fiddled with a pencil. His pink face lost a little of its brightness. “Sit down,”

he said, “I want to talk to you.”

Marie sat down, carefully adjusting her skirt as she did so. Caston leant a little forward and watched the operation with considerable interest. He considered any girl with a nice pair of legs should show them at every possible occasion.

“That's the beginning of a ladder you're getting there,” he said. He leant forward, staring at her leg with fixed concentration.

Marie bent forward to investigate. She could see nothing wrong with the faultless silken hose.

“Look, just there, a little higher up. Too bad with socks as expensive as those.”

Marie lifted her skirt a trifle and couldn't find anything. Caston got out of his chair and came round.

“You're not lookin',” he said severely. “Look, here.” He pulled her skirt well above her knees, and she promptly smacked his hand and hastily pulled it down.

“I might have known it,” she said bitterly. “Just another of your tricks.”

Caston beamed at her. “Well, maybe I was mistaken,” he said, sitting on the edge of the desk and reaching for her hand. “But I might not have been, you know.”

She allowed her hand to remain in his big pink fingers, and she waited, her neat shoe tapping impatiently on the polished boards. “When you're through with all this,” she said, “suppose we get to work?”

Caston shook his head. “I'll never train you,” he said sadly. “You know, baby, you and me might get somewhere if only you'd co−operate.”

Marie sniffed. “The one place I'd get to if I did would be a maternity hospital,” she said acidly, snatching her hand away. “Shall we get to work?”

Caston sighed. You never knew with women. Some mornings Marie was quite willing for a little fun and games. He got off the desk and sat down in his chair. He looked at her closely. She certainly looked tired and irritable. Being a man of the world, he didn't pursue the matter, and began to dictate the few letters that required his attention.

It was ten o'clock by the time he was through, and he dismissed her with a kind smile. “Listen, baby, if you don't feel well take the rest of the day off. I've got to go out in a while and I don't think I'll be back. Just please yourself, will you?”

She looked at him suspiciously and then went out. Caston sat back in his chair and frowned. This was not starting the day well. Why the hell couldn't people be a bit more lively?

The door opened and Benny Perminger wandered in. Caston gave him a quick look and groaned. This was certainly not going to be his day. Benny was looking like something the cat had dug up.

“And what's your trouble?” he asked shortly.

Benny sank into the arm−chair and sighed. “Nice bit that, ain't she?” he said, pursing up his mouth.

Caston frowned. “Who's a nice bit?” he demanded.

“Miss Mackelsfield,” Benny explained. “Lucky guy havin' a secretary like that.”

“Well, I don't know,” Caston said. “What of it?”

Benny closed one eye and leered. “You bachelors,” he said; “I bet you an' she have a grand time.”

Caston sat up stiffly. “Now see here, Perminger, I don't like that kind of talk. This is a business place, and business only is conducted here.”

“Nuts! What kind of business? All you guys do in these offices is to horse around with your secretaries. I know. It's guys like me out in the general office that don't get the chances.”

Caston thought it wise to shift the ground. “Well, you didn't come in here to tell me that, did you?”

Benny's face fell, and he became depressed again. “No,” he admitted, “I didn't. As a matter of fact, Caston, old boy, I came for a little advice.”

Caston smiled. Things were looking up. He liked giving advice. He settled back in his chair and lit a cigarette. “Sure,” he said. “What's the trouble?” For a moment he had a sudden qualm that Benny was going to touch him for some dough, but on second thoughts he knew that wasn't Benny's usual opening when he made a touch.

Benny hung his feet over the side of the chair. “Well, Sadie and I have had a quarrel,” he said bitterly. “She properly shot her mouth off last night.”

Caston made sympathetic noises. “Nice girl, Sadie,” he said. He often wondered why a swell looker like Sadie had fallen for Perminger. He could have gone a long way to have made her himself.

“Sure, she's a nice girl, but she's got a damn odd way of looking at things. Would you believe it, she's accusing me of always lookin' at girls? She even had the neck to say that I'd be makin' a pass at one of them one day.”

Caston shrugged. “Well, won't you?”

Benny looked vacant. “Well, yes, I suppose I will,” he admitted. “But she won't know about it.”

“Listen, Perminger, wasn't that a dame I saw you out with the other night?”

Benny scowled at him. “What else do you think it was?” he snapped. “A horse?”

“Steady, buddy,” Caston said. “No need to go off the deep end. What I meant was, she wasn't Sadie?”

Benny shook his head. “No, she was a business client. She wanted to buy one of our models.”

Caston blew his nose. “I suppose you were taking a fly out of her eye?” he said sarcastically.

“Will you leave it? I want your advice, not a goddamn sermon,” Benny returned. “I've walked out and left Sadie high and dry. What the hell am I going to do?”

“You've left her?” Caston asked, his eyebrows raising. “You crazy or something?”

“I tell you we had a stand−up fight. I couldn't just go to bed after it.”

“You left her all night?” Caston wished he'd known that. He might have called and done himself some good.

“What I want you to bend your brains on is how am I going back?”

Caston shrugged. “Easiest thing in the world. All you do is to walk in, kiss her, tell her you were tight and all will be well.”

Benny stared at him. “Do you really think so?” he asked. “Gee! I wish it would work like that.”

Caston was getting a little bored, anyway. “Sure,” he said, getting up, “you try it. Don't forget, she might be pretty sick about it herself today. You go down there right away. You might find her in.”

Benny got to his feet. “I'll do it. That's mighty white of you, Jack. If there's any little thing”

Caston led him to the door. “On your way, pal,” he said, “and if it works, give her one for me.”

He watched Benny hurry down the corridor before turning back to his office.

June 6th, 9.45 a.m.

RAVEN SAT on the edge of his bed and looked round at the three men who stood or leant against the wall opposite him.

There was Lefty, Little Joe and Maltz. For eighteen months these three men had elected to follow Raven, and they had for this period experienced a very thin time. Raven didn't excuse himself. He had just told them to be patient and they had believed him. He had never let them go hungry. Somehow, by dangerous raids, hold−ups and the like, they had managed to make a little money, but all the same they had all had a bad time.

Such was their faith in Raven, however, that they had not grumbled. It was now that he could tell them that their faith in him was justified.

He knew these three men for what they were. There was no spark of human feeling in any of them. They wanted money: not just money, but big money. They didn't care how they got it, but they knew that none of them had the brains to make that money. They knew Raven could make it, so they had been contented to wait.

Raven looked round at them, and he gloried in his triumph. “Well,” he said, “I've sent for you guys because somethin's happenin'. I told you it would, and it has.”

The three shifted a little and regarded him with blank, stony eyes. Three jaws moved rhythmically as they turned the chewing−gum in their mouths.

“When I first came to this burg I wanted to play ball with Mendetta. But the dirty rat said no. He was in the position to say no. I had to take it. You guys thought I'd get a break. You've stuck around for a long time waiting for that break. You haven't bellyached. You've done what I've told youwell, by God, we've waited long enough. We're takin' over the burg.”

Still the three stood silent. They waited for facts.

“Mendetta had protection,” Raven said, stressing the past tense. “We couldn't start anythin' as long as he was alive. Now he's deadso we move in.”

The three fidgeted.

“I've seen Grantham. He won't be any trouble. In a day or so I'll have my hands on some dough. We're goin' to organize this burg. We're goin' to milk it dry. We've got everythin' just where we want it. I'm tellin' you what to do, an' you'll do it. That way we'll all be in the dough.”

Maltz, a little wop, with a heavy sneering mouth and bloodshot black eyes, straightened away from thewall. “You said you'd do it, boss,” he said, “and we knew you would. Why didn't you get one of us to rub Mendetta?”

Raven shook his head. “Who said I killed him?” he asked quietly.

The three exchanged glances and grinned. They thought that was a good joke.

Raven got to his feet. “Stick around, fellas,” he said, “I gotta go an' talk with Grantham. By tonight I'll know how much dough's comin' to us.”

He went away, leaving them still standing in his bedroom.

June 6th, 10.30 a.m.

JOHNSON, THE desk sergeant, chewed the end of his pen and regarded Jay with an unfavourable eye. He never had much use for crime reporters. They were always bobbing up at the wrong time and always asking embarrassing questions. Jay was no exception to this. In fact, he showed a lot of talent for being a nuisance.

Jay, with his hands full of petty and uninteresting crimes, was feeling irritable. He wanted a free hand to work on the Mendetta affair. The fact that Poison had warned him to lay off did not deter him. He was as determined to go ahead and find out what had happened to Fletcher's sister as he had been before hearing Poison's threat of dismissal. He knew he was good as a reporter and he knew he wouldn't have far to look for another job. What did rile him was the number of small cases that had suddenly arisen during the night which he was bound to cover, and now he found himself chained by the leg to the station house, awaiting fresh evidence. It looked like he'd be there all the morning. Then he had to write up his two columns, so Fletcher's sister would have to wait until the evening.

Johnson sighed. “It's a pity your paper can't find you a job of work to do,” he said sourly. “I'm gettin' tired of seein' you loafin' around this joint. Why don't you go out an' take a little exercise?”

Jay put his feet up on the wooden bench and closed his eyes. “Leave me alone,” he said. “I'm sick of breathin' the same air as you, but this is what I'm bein' paid for, so leave out the cracks.”

The sergeant grunted and began to write laboriously in the charge book. “Well, there ain't much about,” he said, blotting his neat writing carefully. “You guys live pretty soft, I must say.”

“It's when there's nothin' about that we work hard,” Jay told him. “Look what we've got today. Petty thieving, an embezzlement, and a small−time forger. How would you like to make a column out of that little lot? What I want is a nice rape or a good murder. Somethin' that'll take my column on the front page.”

Johnson scowled. “Horrible lot you newspaper guys,” he said.

“Do you know how many girls have been reported missing this year?” Jay asked.

Johnson shook his head. “Not my department,” he said promptly. “You want the Missing People's Bureau.

You lost someone?”

Jay shook his head. “I was wonderin', Johnson, if there's anythin' in this White Slave rumour I've heard about.”

Johnson laughed. “Not a word,” he said. “You think about it for a moment and you'll see that there can't be anythin' in it.”

“You tell me. It'll save my energies.”

Johnson spread himself over his desk and folded his arms on his blotter. “It's like these rape cases we get,” he explained. “It ain't possible to rape a woman against her will. In the same way, it ain't possible to keep a woman in prostitution against her will in a big city like this. Sooner or later we should hear complaints. Guys that go to these houses would report that a woman was being held against her will. But we never hear of them.

Obviously, the women are in the game for what they get out of it, and the stories we hear about Slaving is so much junk.”

Jay considered this. “Suppose these women were terrorized?” he said. “How about that?”

Johnson shook his head. “Too risky,” he said. “We'd give them protection if they wanted to squawk. All they have to do is to walk in here, lodge a complaint, and we'd look after them until an investigation's been made.”

“Suppose they can't get out?” Jay persisted.

Johnson frowned. “What you hintin' at?” he demanded. “Do you know anythin'?”

Jay shook his head. “Nope,” he confessed; “but I'm interested. I believe that a woman could be terrorized into prostitution, and I'm lookin' into it from this angle. I may be wrong, but if I ain't, I'm going to keep you mighty busy bookin' the heels who run the racket.”

“You're wasting your time,” Johnson said. “What you want is an excuse to play around with undesirable floosies. I bet part of your investigation will be meetin' and talkin' to these dames.”

Jay shook his head. “I'm serious, Johnson,” he said. “You wait and see. If I do strike on anythin' you'd better get ready for some heavy work.”

A police officer came in, followed by Benny Perminger. The officer went up to Johnson. “This guy thinks we've got his wife in gaol,” he said. “Will you speak to him?”

Johnson looked at Benny doubtfully. “What's the trouble?” he demanded.

Benny was looking scared. “I'm Ben Perminger,” he said. “I want to see my wife.”

Johnson closed his mouth into a thin line. “I ain't stoppin' you,” he said coldly. “She ain't here.”

“Well, where have you taken her?”

“What
is
all this?”

Benny began to look bewildered. “Well, I don't know,” he said. “I found this note when I got home.” He gave Johnson a slip of paper.

Jay sat up on the bench and watched all this with interest. He smelt a news story.

Johnson read the note and handed it back. “There's no one of the name of Perminger booked last night. We didn't pull anyone in from that address. I guess she's havin' a game with you.”

Benny stood staring at the note. “Maybe they didn't bring her here. Could they take her anywhere else?”

“There's the station on West 47th Street. I'll ask them.” Johnson pulled the phone towards him and put the enquiry through. After a short wait he shook his head and hung up. “No, they don't know anythin' about it.”

Benny began to sweat. “What am I goin' to do?” he asked.

Johnson was getting bored with him. “It's your wife, buddy,” he said. “Most like she's havin' a little game with you. You go back home. You'll find her waitin' for you.”

Benny turned away from the desk and moved slowly towards the door.

Johnson looked at Jay. “That guy's got a leak in his conk,” he said under his breath.

Jay got up and followed Benny out of the station house, ignoring Johnson's yell for him to come back.

Benny walked down the street in a daze. He didn't know what to make of it. Surely Sadie wouldn't pull a stunt like this if it didn't mean anything? She had said that she was being taken down to the station house as a witness and would Benny come at once.

Jay overtook him at the comer. “Hey, Perminger,” he said, “what's all this about your wife?”

Benny blinked at him. “Where the hell did you spring from?” he said, shaking hands.

“Come over an' have a drink,” Jay said, taking him by his arm and steering him into a near−by bar. “I overheard what you were tellin' Johnson. What's happened to Mrs. P.?”

Seated at a small table away from the bar and assisted by a large iced beer, Benny unburdened. He told Jay how he had quarrelled with Sadie and how he'd left her during the night. “Well, I felt a bit of a heel this morning,” he went on, “so I thought I'd get back and make it up. When I got in I found all the lights burning and a note on my pillow saying she'd been taken down to headquarters as a witness and would I please come.”

He paused to pull at his beer.

Jay puzzled. On the face of it, he thought, Sadie might be just teaching this guy a lesson, but his instinct for news was not satisfied. Why should she use such an odd way of scaring him? Why a witness? A witness of what? No, it didn't quite add up.

“I thought the police were supposed to help you,” Benny grumbled. “The way that guy went on, you'd think I was crazy.”

“You don't have to worry about him. He's gettin' all kinds of stories and complaints every hour, and he just doesn't take any interest. Where are you livin' now?”

Benny told him.

Jay suddenly sat up. “Surely, that's where Tootsie Mendetta hangs out?” he said.

Benny nodded. “That's right,” he answered. “I've been wantin' an introduction to him for weeks. I want to sell him a flock of tracks. He lives just opposite my apartment, but I've never set eyes on him.”

Jay got to his feet. There might be something in this story after all. It was a long shot, but he wasn't going to let it grow cold. “We'll go back to your apartment and have a look round,” he said. “Come on, buddy, let's go.”

Benny went with him and they took a taxi to the block.

Inside his apartment Jay couldn't find anything that excited him. It was just an ordinary joint of a man with a nice income. He wandered around, his hands deep in his trouser pockets, brooding.

Benny sat on the arm of a chair and watched him.

“Did she take a suit−case or anythin'?” Jay asked suddenly.

Benny looked bewildered. “I don't know,” he said. “I hadn't thought of lookin'.”

“Check that up, will you, pal?”

Benny went into the bedroom and after a while he came out again. He looked more bewildered still. He shook his head helplessly. “No,” he said, “she hasn't taken anythin'. The only things that are missing are the clothes she wore yesterday and her handbag. Nothing else.”

Jay didn't like the sound of this. No woman would ran away from her husband without taking some of her belongings.

“Will you wait here?” he said. “I'll go across and hare a word with Mendetta. Maybe he heard somethin'.”

Benny suddenly went very pale. “You don't think anythin' bad's happened to her?” he asked.

Jay shook his head. “No,” he said, “I don't think so, but we'll clear this up or find out somethin', so we can get the cops interested. You sit down for a moment.”

He left the apartment and crossed the corridor. He rang Mendetta's bell. No one answered. He stood there waiting, and then he rang again. Still no one answered.

Benny came to his front door and stood watching him.

“No one seems at home,” he said.

Jay scratched his head. “Will you phone down to the porter and find out what time Mendetta went out?” he said.

While Benny was doing this Jay took a little instrument from his vest pocket and inserted it in the lock. He made no attempt to open the door, but by careful probing he knew that, if he wanted to, he could do so.

Benny came back, looking blank. “The porter guy says Mendetta hasn't left the building.”

Jay put his thumb on the bell and kept it there. They stood listening to the angry whirr of the bell for several minutes. Then Jay made up his mind. “I'm goin' in,” he said.

“You can't do that. Maybe he's asleep.”

Jay looked at him. “I'm chancin' that,” he said shortly. “Somehow, I feel there's somethin' wrong in there.”

He once more probed with his instrument and a moment later the lock slid back with a little snick. Gently, he eased the door back and looked into the hall. Then he stepped in softly and entered the first room he came to.

He stood looking at Mendetta sprawled out on the floor. His big head rested in a pool of blood. Over the other side of the room Jean lay, one leg drawn up and her arms flung wide. Jean wasn't very nice to look at.

Jay caught his breath. Here was his front page murder. He spun on his heel and nearly collided with Benny, who had come in.

“My God!” Benny said, going suddenly very green.

Jay pushed him out into the corridor. “Keep your shirt on,” he said roughly. “Go into your apartment and get some drinks lined up.”

Benny went away hurriedly, and Jay carefully closed the apartment door. He followed Benny and grabbed the telephone. “Listen,” he said, as he hastily dialled a number, “there's goin' to be a riot in a little while. Did your wife know Mendetta?”

Benny gave himself a long drink of Scotch. He shook his head. “You don't think she's mixed up in this, do you?”

Jay was already on to Henry. “Mendetta's been bumped,” he said. “I've just been into his apartment. We've got the exclusive story. Even the cops don't know yet. Can you get this story on the street right away?”

Henry got very excited. “Let's have it,” he said.

Jay sat down. In short, crisp sentences he fired off the discovery of finding Mendetta's and Jean's bodies.

“What the hell were you doin' up there?” Henry snapped.

“I'll fix that end,” Jay told him. “You get that on the street in ten minutes and you'll beat the whole gang to it. I've got to tell the cops.”

“When you're through come on back. I've got to see what Poison's got to say about this.”

“To hell with Poison. This is the story of my life. If Poison's going to put a soft pedal on it I'm quittin',” and Jay hung up.

He turned to Benny. “Listen, pal, this is where you've got to be a big help. We're goin' down to get the porter to open Mendetta's door. It wouldn't look too good if they found out that I've broken in. Come on, we've gotta work fast.”

Protesting feebly, Benny followed him downstairs.

17

June 6th, 11 a.m.

SADIE OPENED her eyes. The hard, naked light of the electric lamp blinded her and she rolled over on the bed, shielding her eyes with her arm. A stabbing pain shot through her head as she moved.

She couldn't think where she was or what had happened to her. Her mouth felt dry and her body ached. She lay for some time, only half conscious. Then, after a while, her mind began to function again. She remembered dimly leaving her home. She remembered Lu. Out of the mists Grantham's face appearedGrantham, thin−lipped, standing over her with something in his hand that she couldn't see. She remembered her terror, and, as she started to scream, a hot hand coming from behind her, over her mouth. She remembered a sharp prick in her arm and her wild struggle, then she remembered nothing more.

Again she half opened her eyes. She was aware that she was lying on a mattress and the colour of the walls was a drab grey. Her heart began to thud wildly. It was no horrible nightmare, then. She turned over and looked round the room.

It was small. The thick carpet on the floor matched the walls. There was no other furniture in the room except the bed on which she was lying.

The door was opposite her. Slowly she sat up, holding her head between her hands. There was something the matter with the room. For a moment she couldn't make it out, then she realized that there was no window.

The discovery did a lot to clear her brain. She knew that she was in acute danger. Of what she didn't know, but all the same it made her sick with terror.