“I know what you mean. About this somebody, you have some idea who it was?”
“Oh sure. That’s what struck me so funny, you know?”
Very patiently, I said.
“No Charlie, I don’t know. Not yet. But if you’d like to come out with a name, then maybe we could all be surprised.”
“Eh, oh sure. It was McCann.”
He lowered his voice at the mention of the name, and I didn’t blame him for that. Legs McCann was a man who didn’t care for people shouting his name around.
“O.K. so I’m surprised,” I conceded. “Where did you see them, what were they doing?”
“It was over at Palmtrees one day. They was just standing there, talking. Wasn’t no more to it than that.”
It could be enough, I reflected. The mere fact that Brookman might have known McCann was something worth a look. I put two fives on the table and skinny fingers scooped them up and pushed them out of sight.
“What does McCann do these days? I don’t seem to be hearing too much about him lately.”
Charlie’s expression became wary.
“Lookit Mr. Preston, you know I like to help you if I can, and I can do with the bread. But I don’t wanta have nothing to do with guys like that. I mean just to mention his name gives me the hives.”
“Come on Charlie, I won’t tell him.”
He darted quick nervous glances all around the bar, then repeated the performance.
“I hear he’s shacked up with some dame.”
“That maybe, but they have to have groceries,” I pointed out. “What else is he doing?”
“That’s just it. Far as I know, the answer is nothing. It’s like he retired or something.”
“You wouldn’t know who the woman is, or where they’re staying?”
“Come on Mr. Preston, this ain’t Information Please.”
I put down another five and watched it disappear in the same direction as the others.
“Try to win a few huh, Charlie?”
I went out before he had a chance to explain at length just how he proposed to do that.
CHAPTER THREE
I WENT ACROSS TOWN to the Monteray Building and headed for the manager’s office. What I wanted was to get into the late Mr. Brookman’s apartment and see what I could find. What the manager wanted was a reason for letting me in. I waved my license under his nose importantly.
“Looking for a guy who jumped his bond in Sacramento a year ago. He cost his company twenty thousand dollars, and they’d sort of like to know what became of him.”
“Why not go to the police? They know more about the man than I do.”
“Been there. The officer handling the enquiry is now off duty. And I don’t want to be working when he comes on again. That will be at midnight.”
“Oh well.” It was evident from his attitude that the manager had already had more than his fill of the late occupant of apartment 824.
“If it’s the right guy there’s a reward,” I hinted.
“Which you get.”
“Sure. But I’d be prepared to spread say twenty-five dollars for all this cooperation I’m going to get around here.”
He got up then, and took a key from a drawer.
“Nothing up there, but naturally if it’ll help you.”
The elevator shot smoothly to eight and we walked around a corner or two before reaching the apartment. I thought apartment was a fairly toney word to be applied to the cramped room we entered. The manager was right. There was nothing here to tell me much about the recent tenant. He seemed to have been a neat, methodical kind of man, to judge by the contents of the drawers. His clothes were not expensive, but they were laundered and well cared for.
“Any family been around for that stuff?”
“No. You’re the first one outside of the police.”
I took a final look at the light gray suit hanging on the back of the door. It had nothing to tell me.
“What kind of looking man was he?”
The manager said suspiciously.
“If you’re looking for a bond jumper, you have a full description. It’s always circulated along with the wanted notice.”
“Yes,” I agreed patiently, “I know exactly what my man looks like. But I don’t know whether this Brook-man is my man.”
That seemed to make sense. The manager scratched his head.
“Mind you, I never laid eyes on him personally. But various people here have described him so many times today that I have a kind of picture of him. I’d say he was over medium height, and on the thin side. That’s being kind. At least two people have said he looked half-starved.”
Three, I thought, if you counted Charlie Surprise. It began to sound like the same man.
“Did he have a job?”
“I doubt if he’d have had the time for any regular work. There were so many newspapers and books up here, all to do with horse-racing, I would say it must have taken all his time to keep up with them.”
And that seemed to clinch it.
“You threw that stuff away?”
“Certainly not. I don’t have the right. The rent is paid up to the end of the month. No, the police took it with them.”
There wasn’t much more to be learned there. I thanked the manager, promised to remember him if there was any reward due, and left.
It was the middle of the afternoon now, and the sun was quite fierce as I clambered back into the Chev. On a day like that a man should be down at the beach, loafing around and watching the maidens disport. Or else be sitting in some air-conditioned office where the sun would not be permitted to intrude. He ought not to be poking around crummy bars and seedy apartments making enquiries about a corpse. I ran a handkerchief around the
