“There’s lots of Prestons in there. What kind of Preston would you be?”
“Kind of a Mark Preston.”
“Mark Preston. Nice. So long Mark Preston. You’d better go, or you’ll be late for Sunday school.”
I could feel her mocking eyes on my back all the way down the drive.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS I DROVE BACK the sun was half-way towards the horizon, striking a million sparkles from the deep blue of the water. On the white sands the beach crowd had mostly had enough of the swimming and ball games for today. Instead they were lazing around, reading, sipping at iced drinks. The younger ones were showing the early signs of turning their attentions to other things, things which hadn’t any connection with beach ball. I drove slowly, soaking up the relaxed atmosphere. From such surroundings, there could be all kinds of places I could logically be heading for. Naturally, I went to the morgue. The attendant knew me, and that struck a hollow note. After all, how many people can reasonably expect to be remembered on sight by mortuary attendants?
“Hi, Mr. Preston. Hot ain’t it?”
“Hallo, Sid. You had a customer today. Guy who fell off Indian Point.”
“Sure. He’s in twenty-six. You wanta see him?”
No, I did not want to see him. But I knew I had to. My unwilling feet dragged along the stone passage after Sid.
“This here’s the guy.”
He grabbed a handle and pulled out the drawer-like refrigerated slab. I took my one and only look at Mr. Poetry Brookman, poet, aged 31. The front of his face wasn’t too badly damaged at all, and I was fairly satisfied this was the man I’d been hearing described all afternoon.
“Don’t look too bad now, does he?” queried Sid. “I tell you, these young docs these days, they do a marvellous job. Of course, they couldn’t do a lot with the back of his head. You wanta see?”
I shook my head and walked back outside. Sid came along after me.
“Want you to do something for me, Sid.”
“Any time Mr. Preston. You know that.”
“First, don’t tell the police I was here.”
He screwed up his mouth dolefully.
“You know I have to tell them. Part of my job.”
I held out two tens, and he looked at them with interest.
“Is it that much a part of your job?”
He shook his head stubbornly.
“Like to help you Mr. Preston. And that twenty looks good. But I ain’t chancing my job, and my pension and everything for twenty bucks.”
And I could tell it wouldn’t do any good to increase it either.
“If that’s how you feel,” I shrugged. “At least don’t tell them I asked you not to.”
“Sure not. You don’t imagine I’m here to get people in trouble?”
“No. All right, here’s something you can do. Let me know about anyone who asks to see the body. Excluding policemen and newspaper reporters, that is.”
He thought about it for a moment.
“Doesn’t sound to be no harm in that,” he said dubiously.
“There isn’t,” I assured him. “After all, if I care to park outside the front entrance all day, I’d see for myself, wouldn’t I? All I’m asking you to do is save me from getting baked to death in a car.”
“Yeah. That’s true, you could do that. O.K. Mr. Preston, guess this makes me kind of a special agent, huh?”
“Something like that. I’ll see if I can get you a ranger badge.”
He took the twenty this time.
“It just so happens I can produce some results right off the cuff. Come into the office.”
We went into the partitioned square which he dignified under the description of office, and he rifled importantly at a small tray of white cards.
“Here it is. She was here this afternoon, two o’clock, two-thirty.”
I wrote down “Mrs. Evelyn Prince” and an address way over on the Heights. A man has to be lucky sometimes, the place was less than a mile from Parkside Towers.
“Don’t think it’ll do you any good, mind,” warned Sid.
“How come?”
“She didn’t know him. The reason she came, she thought it could be a relative. Seems this relative went missing one time, and from the description in the paper this Brookman could be the guy. So she just came to check. When she saw the body, she was so happy it was the wrong man she bust out crying right there. I was glad, too.”
That didn’t sound like Sid. He didn’t usually enjoy watching people suffer.
“You were glad she cried?” I asked stiffly.
“Nah. I mean I was glad it wasn’t no relative. She was a lady, a real nice lady. She shouldn’t have no business with relatives like that bum in there. She can’t help you.”
“Well, thanks for saving me a trip.”
I crumpled up the note I’d made and dropped it in the waste bin. Sid nodded with approval. A lady who didn’t have bum relatives had no business being chivvied around by bum private investigators either.
“But if anyone else looks in, you’ll call me, huh?”
“Bet.”
I went back and sat in the car thinking. Then I drove out to the Heights. The Prince house lay back from the road in a tree-lined avenue. It wasn’t Beach End property, but nevertheless way up in the middle income group. I had a feeling somebody was watching me as I walked up the flagged path between neat lawns. I was right too because the door opened before I had a chance to knock. A tall gangling boy leaned in the doorway inspecting me. He was about fifteen years old, with a check shirt and battered jeans covering the skinny frame.
“Well?” he demanded insolently.
He was one of those people I could learn to dislike fast.
“I’d like to see Mrs. Evelyn Prince,” I told him.
“What about?”
He showed no sign of interest in the answer, eyes looking over my shoulder into the road, in case anything more interesting should happen along.
“I’ll discuss it with her, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. You could be some kind of nut or something.
