want. I’ll be calling you again. So long for now,’ and I hung up.
I spent the next hour writing a full report of the situation to date. Benn came in as I was putting the report in an envelope.
He started and stared.
‘For crying out loud!’ he exclaimed, moving around me. ‘I wouldn’t have known you. You can relax, Bud. There’s not a cop in town who’d spot you.’
‘It’s not bad, is it?’ I said, fingering my moustache. ‘I should get by. I’ve fixed for someone to pick up this package and letter. He’ll be from the Welden police and I’ve told him to pick them up from you. Okay?’
‘Sure.’ He took the package and the letter. ‘Feels like a gun.’
‘That’s what it is.’ I tilted back my chair and went on, ‘Have you been in this town long?’
‘Since the war.’
‘Then you’d know most of the characters.’
‘I know some of them.’
I produced Fay Benson’s photograph and showed it to him.
‘Ever seen her?’
He examined the photograph, then shook his head.
‘I don’t think so. These girls all look alike, but I don’t remember her.’
I retrieved the photograph and put it back in my billfold.
‘Know anything about Cornelia Van Blake?’
His face hardened.
‘She’s the one who got Cap Bradley tossed off the force. I know her. What’s she to you?’
‘I don’t know, but I have an idea she’s at the bottom of most of my troubles.’
‘She’s in solid with Doonan’s flock of buttons. If you’re in wrong with her, you’d better watch out. Lassiter’s on her payroll.’
‘Is that a fact? How do you know?’
‘A barman hears things. Lassiter may only be a sergeant, but he’s got plenty of influence. Money talks in this town and he’s got it. You should see the Packard he runs, and his house.’
‘Think he gets it from her?’
‘That’s what I hear. It’s my bet he’ll be Lieutenant next year, and Captain the year after.’
‘Why?’
He showed his teeth in a mirthless smile. ‘She wouldn’t give anything away for nothing. He’s worked for it all right.’
‘Bradley thinks she murdered her husband. What do you think?’
‘I wouldn’t know, but I do know two days after he was shot, Lassiter bought himself the Packard.’
‘They say Ted Dillon did the shooting. Did you ever run into Dillon?’
‘Are you digging into this murder?’ Benn asked, lowering himself on the arm of a chair.
‘It may be hooked up to another killing I’m investigating. Did you ever run into Dillon?’
‘He and I served in the same battalion during the war. He was my sidekick. He didn’t kill Van Blake.’
‘What happened to him?’
Benn shrugged his shoulders.
‘He was taken care of. When you plan to kill a guy with as much dough and influence as Van Blake, it’s a good idea to have a fall guy. That’s what Ted was.’
‘How does Hamilton Royce fit in with all this?’
Benn looked blank.
‘Does he? I didn’t know that.’
‘Bradley thinks Royce arranged the killing on Mrs. Van Blake’s say-so. The payoff was with the club.’
‘That’s an idea, but I wouldn’t know. A joint as plush as the Golden Apple is out of my territory. Why not talk to Royce’s ex-girlfriend? She strikes me as being ready to stick a blade into him if she can be sure there’ll be no blow back. About the time Van Blake was murdered Royce and she quarrelled. He threw her out of the nest.’
‘Who is she and where do I find her?’
‘Her name’s Lydia Forrest. She works at the Hey-Day club on Tampa Boulevard.’ He got to his feet. ‘When I’ve more time and if you want to talk, I’d like to hear more about this setup. Dillon was my pal.’
‘Sure,’ I said.
He took the letter and the package. When he had gone, I reached for the telephone and put in a personal call to Bernie in New York. After some delay he came on the line.
‘How are you making out, pal?’ he asked. ‘Long time no see.’
‘I’m managing without you,’ I said. ‘It’s about time you did some work for a change.’
‘I thought that was in the wind,’ he said. ‘The story’s coming along fine. Even Fayette likes it. Give me another couple of weeks on it.’
‘Couple of weeks - nothing. You’ve got a long trail ahead of you. You’re going to Paris.’
‘Paris?’ His voice rose in a yelp. ‘Hot dog! Is that good news! Do you think Fayette will stand for it?’
‘He will after he’s read the report I’m mailing him. I want you to check on Cornelia Van Blake’s movements while she was there. I’ll send you all the dope. Take a photograph of Fay Benson with you and show it around in the hotels I’ll give you.’
‘Did she go to Paris then?’
‘I don’t know, but I want to find out. Check up on Joan Nichols too.’
‘Say, this sounds like hard work,’ Bernie protested. ‘There are other things to do in Paris besides work.’
‘Listen, you good-for-nothing punk! I’m in a jam here. The cops think I’ve knocked off a couple of guys and they’re hunting for me. They’re a tough, rough bunch, and if you don’t give me what I want, I’ll go to Paris myself and you can handle this end!’
‘Relax,’ Bernie said hurriedly. ‘I’ll give you what you want. Just tell me and you’ll get it.’
II
I left the hideout around nine-thirty, using the emergency exit. It was a dark, moonless night with a hint of rain in the air, and the darkness gave me a sense of security. I was glad to stretch my legs. The report I had written to Fayette was as complete as I could make it, and it had taken the best part of four hours. Getting it all down on paper had helped to clarify my mind on several points I had to clear up.
I had an idea that if I could find out why Lennox Hartley had been murdered I would find the solution to most of my problems. I had had time to think over the events of yesterday, and I recalled Cornelia’s reaction when I had remarked on the picture of her that Hartley had painted. I recalled too her reaction when I had given her Fay Benson’s photograph. Fay had been one of Hartley’s models. There was a hookup somewhere between the three of them. It occurred to me that Fay’s friend, Irene Jarrard, might be able to supply the key to this hookup. It was possible Fay had said something to her that might put me on the right lines. I told myself that at the first opportunity I would talk to her.
Hamilton Royce was another loose end that needed tying up. If his ex-girlfriend was willing to talk, she would be my best bet for tonight.
The Hey-Day club had a gaudy, neon decorated entrance that led down steep stairs into one of those airless, dark cellars that save rent and attract the tourist trade. I descended the stairs to where a hard-faced bouncer signed me in for a three dollar entrance and temporary membership fee and promptly lost interest in me.
I pushed aside the curtain that guarded the entrance to the bar and dance floor and made my way through the smoke laden air and the closely set tables to the bar. There weren’t more than twenty people in the club: most of them were over made up and underdressed girls on the lookout for male company. I could feel their eyes boring into me as I made my way to the bar.
The rat-faced barman nodded to me as I came to rest in front of him. He looked me over and didn’t seem to know what to make of me.
I ordered a straight whisky.
‘If you want company,’ the barman said as he set the whisky before me, ‘all you have to do is to smile at
