CHAPTER THREE
Back at the hotel, I found Velda in a booth in the bar, busily sopping up a highball and working a crossword puzzle at the same time.
“Little early for that, isn’t it?” I asked, nodding to the highball.
“I’m on vacation,” she said.
I slid in opposite her. “Interesting way to keep Mike on the wagon-start drinking early.”
She gave me her cutest smile and took a lady-like sip. “I don’t want you on the wagon. I just want you sober.”
I grinned at her, said, “I like the way you think,” and called for a beer.
Usually by this time she’d be in a bathing suit, but for once she had on clothes. The day was a little too cool for sunning and swimming, I guessed. She shoved the paper away and leaned toward me, big brown eyes wide, long lashes fluttering like lazy butterflies.
“So, Mike-what did you find out?”
“What makes you think I found anything out? The police chief wanted to see me.”
“Right. What did you find out?”
The bartender, a lanky guy wrapped in an apron and boredom, delivered my nice cold mug of beer. I waited until he moved away before I told Velda about the little set-to at police headquarters. She made a great audience, moving from surprise to fear to laughter at all the right times.
When I’d wrapped it up, she said, “What do you think, Mike? What goes on in this town? And what does the Wesley woman have to do with it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You know what your next move is?”
I wiped suds off my mouth with the back of a hand. “Get out to the Wesley house and take a look around. Sharron wasn’t the type to live quietly. Whatever she was up to has the boys in blue here worried plenty.”
“What about them? Are they the power in Sidon?”
“Don’t be silly. If there’s anything big going on, it takes more brains than they have collectively to run it. Those guys are stooges, especially the chief. Dekkert is a plain out-and-out strong-arm boy. When the report reaches the top man that there’s an outsider prying around, that’s when the fun will begin. You just watch.”
“Watch my eye,” Velda countered. “I’m tired of sitting still while things go round and round. How about letting me in on something for a change? Don’t forget I have a private op’s license and a permit to carry a gun. I won’t get hurt.”
Some girl, Velda. Next to her compact in her purse nestled a flat. 32 automatic and she knew how to use it. And that wasn’t her only weapon-she could whip off a heel and crack a masher’s skull in a flash.
I patted her hand. “You don’t get the point, honey. If this was an ordinary routine job, I’d say swell, but it’s not. It’s a damn dirty business and I’d hate like hell to see you in over your head.”
“Mike… I’m a big girl.”
“And in all the right places. Look, if you really want to help me, just do as I tell you. Maybe what I ask you might seem insignificant, but I promise it won’t be. I can’t be in two places at the same time, and the little details you take care of help out a lot.”
“Okay, Mike,” Velda said softly, through a pouty smile. “You’re the boss.”
We finished our drinks and ordered another round. I tried to think through what I had so far, but there was really nothing to go on except a disappearance and something that smelt like power politics and graft. I needed more.
“Wait here for a minute,” I said to Velda.
She shrugged and went back to her crossword.
I went over to the bartender and got change for a five spot, mostly quarters, and went to a pay phone booth in the back of the room. I stuck a nickel in and asked for the operator.
When I got her, I said, “Police Headquarters in New York City,” then rattled off the number.
The switchboard at HQ knew to put me right through to the man I’d called.
“Captain Chambers, Homicide Bureau, speaking.”
“Hello, kid. This is Mike. Sober and sassy.”
“Well, about time you gave me a buzz. How goes the getaway?”
“About as well as that time Dillinger and Baby Face Nelson went to that lodge in Wisconsin.”
He laughed, but said, “I hope you’re kidding. How’s Sidon look to you?”
“Dead on its feet, but right now the only tourists in town are Velda and me. It’ll get livelier.”
“You mean when the season opens? Or because you’re in town? I can tell that this is no social call. What’s up?”
“Not very much… yet. Do you have any information on Sharron Wesley dating from after the trial? I mean, has she been booked for anything or been connected with anything shady?”
“So why the sudden interest in Sharron Wesley?”
That guy had a hair-trigger mind that could figure angles faster than I could snap my fingers. I was willing to bet that he had already mentally reviewed the Wesley dame’s entire past including the most recent episodes involving the tabloids’ favorite black widow.
“She seems to be Sidon’s most prominent notorious citizen,” I said. “Humor me.”
“Just a minute,” he said, “let me check my files.”
He was back in seconds and I could hear the rustle of paper as he thumbed through. “Yeah, here’s something. Mrs. Wesley was given a ticket for illegal parking on an express street about a month ago.”
“That it?”
“No. No… then she was arrested for disturbing the peace two days later.”
“Interesting.”
“There’s more. She had a catfight with another babe in a night club. Seems like it continued out onto the street after they were put out of the place and a window got broken. She paid for the window and her fine.”
“She can afford to.”
“The last time she was in the custody of the city was two weeks ago. Mrs. Wesley was picked up when the vice squad raided a high-stakes card game in a suite of rooms in a downtown hotel. She was released along with three other women who apparently weren’t in on the game.”
“Pat, you’re not saying this was prostitution. She’s not a damn call girl.”
“I don’t know what she is, other than not a grieving widow. We’ve had some big-time gamblers in town lately, Mike, and she might have been backing somebody’s play. She can afford that, too.”
“Yes, she can.”
“Anyway, pal, that’s all I have.” I heard the file hit his desk like a slap. “Okay, I showed you mine, now you show me yours-what gives on your end?”
I started from the beginning and took it through to the police station visit this morning.
When I finished, he muttered, “Dekkert, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Would it surprise you to hear I’ve had all kinds of bad reports on that bastard since he was kicked off the force?”
“Nope.”
“Seems Dekkert got in a jam in Miami, working for a security outfit that was burgling its own clients. Somehow he managed not to do any time-maybe he ratted his gang out. Then he wasn’t heard from until we got a teletype from San Francisco requesting his history. He landed a private dick’s license there, and during the course of a case beat a guy to death. When they caught up with him, his license got revoked and he was given twenty-four hours to get out of the state.”
“Sounds like he manages to leave dirty smudges on his record when it should be filthy as hell.”
Pat grunted agreement. “Dekkert’s always had a way of finding some mob angel to cover for him. When the trouble hits, he makes a deal, pays off whoever he has to, and starts somewhere else.”
“But how can he wrangle another police job, even in Sidon?”
“Mike, he was asked to resign from the New York force. The administration at that time had too much dirty
