“Sure,” I said. “I was the guy that got you out of the jam. I recognised your voice.”
There was a moment's silence, then she said, “You are looking for Mardi Jackson. I told you last time that you would be interested before long. You see, I am not wrong. Mardi Jackson knows too much. I don't think you will see her again. All the same, you might have a look at the Wensdy Wharf to-night at nine o'clock. You might see something there that will interest you further.”
“Why the hell must you be so mysterious....” I began, but the line went dead. If I ever caught up with this dame, I thought savagely, slamming the telephone back on the table, I'd give her something to be mysterious about.
All the same, I was alarmed. She had confirmed my suspicions. Mardi did know something. I didn't like that crack about not seeing her again. I wandered round the room restlessly. Who was this woman? Why was she so anxious to get me started on this business? Kennedy knew who she was. I guessed that my next step would be to go along and have a straight talk with him. If I put my cards on the table, maybe he would open up.
In the meantime, I decided to check the morgue, just in case Mardi was there, unidentified.
I was mighty glad to get the job over. I didn't find Mardi. There were a good number of young girls lying on the slabs waiting for someone to claim them, and by the time I got through I was feeling low.
I had a chat with the morgue attendant before going. Casually I asked him if he knew anything about Wensdy Wharf. To my surprise he knew quite a lot about it. His brother used to work close by the place.
“A real tough spot,” he told me. “No one uses it now. They go farther up river to Hudson's Wharf. You will find all the river rats around Wensdy. Mike... that's my brother... used to say that Wensdy Wharf was used for smuggling. I guess it's cleaned up a bit since then. All the same, it's a tough spot.”
I got directions from him how to get there, gave him a couple of bucks, and beat it.
The rest of the day I spent sorting out my correspondence and seeing some of the boys. Things were quiet, and there were no big news stories coming in.
Around about eight o'clock I took my battered Ford and drove over to the
“H'yah,” he said. “I never really thanked you for fixing Kennedy for us. It was grand work.”
I waved aside his thanks. “Know anythin' about Lu Spencer?” I asked.
Hughson shrugged. “I should forget it,” he said. “That Vessi business is buried. You won't get anywhere digging around that mud-heap.”
I shook my head. “No... I wasn't lookin' at that angle,” I told him. “I just wanted to find out the type of guy he was. A girl friend of mine used to work for him and she's disappeared. I wondered if he'd got anything to do with it.”
Hughson shook his head. “Spencer ain't that sort of a guy. He's got a wife an' he's crazy about her. He wouldn't go two-timin' with one of his workers. Of course, I may be wrong, but I don't think so.”
I offered him a Camel. “Spencer's a pretty tough bird, ain't he?” I asked.
Hughson shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose he is. He's smart and he makes dough. Don't you worry your brains about Spencer.”
We went downstairs together and I drove him part-way home. I left him at a convenient subway and drove on towards Wensdy Wharf.
So Spencer was married. I told myself that I'd got to meet this guy soon. I must find Mardi first and hear her story. Then I could go along and talk to Spencer. It seemed I was getting involved in this business, whether I wanted to or not.
Wensdy Wharf was at the far end of the east side of the town. There were some pretty tough quarters to go through to get there. I had to drive carefully, as the roads were narrow and people walked carelessly.
I parked the car at a small garage when I got close to the wharf.
The morgue attendant was right. This place was mighty tough. The streets were narrow and the dark houses seemed to lean forward so that the roofs blotted out the sky above. The pavements were wet and slippery, covered with all sorts of smelly refuse.
The garage hand had told me where I should find Wensdy Wharf. He looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. Maybe I was, but that wasn't going to stop me.
I walked fast. The river mist was coming up slowly, and I could hear the deep note of a distant siren. Soon I left the shops behind and I seemed to be quite close to the river. Turning a corner, I came on Wensdy Wharf. At the far end, I could see the oily water reflecting the light of a solitary street lamp.
On each side of the wharf tall, straggling houses loomed out of the darkness. Yellow chinks of light gleamed from the windows, coming round the ill-fitting blinds. I suddenly felt cold. The mist was damp, and there was a chilly wind coming off the river.
'Well,' I thought, 'here I am.' Wensdy Wharf didn't appeal to me a lot.
I wandered to the edge of the water and looked out across the dark river. But for an occasional tug, with its storm lantern, I could see nothing. I glanced at my watch. It was just after eight-forty-five.
She had said Wensdy Wharf, but that was all. The place was built in a three-sided square with the river for the fourth side. It was easy to watch. I selected a pile of old rope in a dark corner and sat down.
From this point I could keep an eye on the whole of the wharf, and at the same time I was out of sight and in comparative shelter from the wind.
This was not altogether a grand way of spending the evening, but if I was going to find Mardi I wasn't complaining. I was afraid to smoke, and I wanted a drink bad. After ten minutes of this I began to get sore. I thought up a few fancy names to call that dame on the telephone. I'd just like to meet her once. It would only have to be once.
When my watch had told me I'd been there for over thirty minutes, I began to get restless. I got up and
