End of a Call Girl

by William Campbell Gault

  I kept them in sight. National to Sepulveda and Sepulveda to Wilshire. Ahead was the grounds of the Veteran’s Hospital and on Wilshire here, there was a big driving range. I was sure they hadn’t come to hit golf balls. I wondered if they would turn toward the Veteran’s Hospital. Both cars slowed and for a moment it seemed they were going to turn into the driving range parking lot. But they continued slowly on the right side of Wilshire. And then, half a block from the glare of the driving range floodlights, the Imperial pulled over to the curb and stopped. The Buick pulled ahead of it and waited, its engine still running.

  It was fairly dark here and the traffic busy enough to keep the drivers intent on their own driving. The stocky man got out of the Imperial and went up to climb into the Buick. The Buick went gunning off into traffic.

  I could have followed but there was no point to it, I was certain. I pulled to the curb behind the Imperial and went up to examine the car. Dennis Greene was lying on the floor in back and he wasn’t making a sound. I reached down to feel for his pulse and he moaned. That was enough for me.

  I ran for the driving range and a phone.

  ELEVEN

  LEHNER said, “Sapped a couple of times.” He looked at the paper in his hand. “Rupture of the subcutaneous blood vessels and an extravasation of blood. Now what the hell does that mean?”

  “Contusions,” I said. “He’s a young doctor. Is he sure it’s nothing worse?”

  “He’s not sure of anything, yet. Except that Greene is conscious and won’t talk. Why not?”

  “Hoodlums never talk, do they? Not to the police.”

  “He hasn’t been a hoodlum for a long time. Think I ought to phone Captain Jeswald?”

  “That would have to be your decision, Sergeant.” I looked around the small room. “All right to smoke in here?”

  “If you want. I wish to hell that Rafferty woman would get here. I want you two face to face when I question her. You can stop any lie as she voices it.”

  “How about the license number of that Buick? Has that been identified yet?”

  “No, damn it!” He got up from behind the small desk. “I’ll go and goose ‘em a little. You wait here. Throw your ashes on the floor.”

  I was lighting a cigarette when Eileen Rafferty came in, accompanied by a detective. She stared at me and at the detective.

  I asked him, “Get Eriksen, too?”

  He shook his head. “Where’s Sergeant Lehner?”

  “He’ll be right back. He went to check something.”

  Eileen Rafferty asked me hoarsely, “Exactly what is all this about, Mr. Puma?”

  “I’ve no idea, Ma’m,” I answered. “The Sergeant will explain it to you, I’m sure, as soon as he gets back.”

  “You asked about somebody named Eriksen,” she accused me. “Why did you ask that?”

  I smiled. “A private matter, Red. A local joke.”

  She bit her lower lip and her eyes held a glint of tears.

  The detective said, “The chair next to the desk, Miss Rafferty.” He turned to me. “I suppose he’ll want a stenographer?”

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  Will he want a stenographer, should I call Jeswald … What did they think I was, a Department advisory board? I smoked my cigarette and stared at the floor.

  Sergeant Lehner came in, glanced at Eileen Rafferty only briefly and sat down behind the desk. To the detective, he said, “Have Roberts sent in for dictation.”

  “He’s not here, Sergeant. You could use the recorder.”

  “All right, all right. How about Eriksen?”

  “Patton’s still out on that.”

  “You get on it, too. I won’t need you here.”

  The man left, and Lehner studied Eileen Rafferty.

  “Well, Miss Rafferty, I imagine you have an interesting story to tell us.”

  “I have a request,” she said. “I want to phone my lawyer.”

  “It might take some time for him to get here,” he said easily. “Is there anything you don’t feel free to talk about, Miss Rafferty?”

  She didn’t answer.

  A man brought in a machine and set it on the desk. Lehner plugged it into the wall receptacle and connected a microphone. He didn’t turn it on.

  I asked, “How about my story, Sergeant?”

  “Hers first,” he said.

  “I’m tired,” I protested, as we had planned for me to protest. “I haven’t been well since I left the hospital. I can’t sit here all night. How about my coming back in the morning?”

  “In that case,” he said with a fine touch of ham, “we’d have to hold Miss Rafferty until you got back. And the newspapers would want to know why we were holding Big Bill Rafferty’s daughter.” He expelled his breath wearily. “I was hoping to avoid unnecessary publicity if possible.”

  Eileen Rafferty sat stiffly in her chair, glancing between us anxiously and suspiciously. Finally, she almost whispered, “Am I being threatened?”

  Lehner shook his head absently. “Of course not. Well, there’s the phone, Miss Rafferty. You can go, Puma. Tell the reporters they can come in now.”

  I stood up.

  Eileen Rafferty said, “Just a second — wait, please — ” I sat down again. Lehner started the machine and set the microphone on its stand between him and Miss Rafferty.

  “This evening,” she said slowly, “Dennis Greene came to see me at my flat. I had never seen him anywhere but at the office and I was surprised at his visit. He asked me about Mr. Ryerson’s death and if I knew why Mr. Puma was so interested in it. I didn’t know anything about it and I said so. Only a few minutes after Mr. Greene came, someone else rang my bell and the man who was there told me he was Arno Eriksen and he used to know my father.”

  Lehner asked, “You didn’t recognize him?”

  She shook her head. “I was only seven years old when he had seen me last, he told me. He asked if Greene was there and said he wanted to talk with him.” She paused. “Could I have a glass of water?”

  Lehner frowned, muttered something, got up and left the room. Silence. Eileen Rafferty didn’t look at me and I didn’t look at her. I would have to scratch her as a boudoir potential. It seemed we were never going to be gay, laughing friends.

  Lehner came back with a giant paper cup of water and handed it to her. She sipped it, said, “Thank you,” and waited for him to be seated again.

  Then she went on slowly. “I told Mr. Eriksen he could talk with Mr. Greene. Mr. Greene became highly agitated and finally suggested he and Mr. Eriksen talk in the backyard, as their business was certainly none of mine. They went out.”

  Lehner asked, “How do you mean — Greene became agitated?”

  “Nervous, frightened.”

  “What did he say to make you think he was?”

  “He didn’t say anything like that. It was his — manner.”

  “Go on.”

  “They went out in the backyard. They were arguing loudly and I was afraid the neighbors would complain. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, though. Then there was a sudden silence.”

  She reached for the paper cup and sipped some more water. She was breathing heavily. “In a minute, Mr. Eriksen came back in and said Mr. Greene had had a heart attack and we had better get him out of the backyard at once.”

  “You didn’t consider phoning for a doctor?’’

  She nodded quickly. “I did. But Mr. Eriksen told me that if Mr. Greene died, it would look very bad for me.”

  “Now why, Miss Rafferty?”

  “Because Mr. Eriksen told me that Mr. Greene was the man who had — betrayed my father.” “Betrayed — ?”

  “I meant — informed on.” She put a hand to her eyes. “He was the man who gave Mr. Hovde, that private investigator, the information that the grand jury acted on.”

  “Greene? Eriksen was lying to you, Miss Rafferty.”

  She took a deep breath. “I didn’t know that. Then Mr. Eriksen said we could drive Mr. Green
e over to the Veteran’s Hospital as that was the closest. He promised to see I wouldn’t be involved. He took Mr. Greene in the one car and I followed in Mr. Eriksen’s.”

  “And — ?”

  “When Mr. Eriksen stopped on Wilshire, I thought he couldn’t find the entrance to the hospital. I stopped in front of him and he came up to tell me Mr. Greene had recovered and was all right. I drove home and Mr. Eriksen left immediately.”

  Lehner sighed and looked at me. I shrugged.

  Lehner said quietly, “That’s some story, Miss Rafferty. But even with Norman Rockwell illustrations, I don’t think there’s a magazine in America that would buy anything like it.”

  She said nothing, staring at him stonily. He said, “Certainly no police officer in America would buy it. Would you like to begin over with the truth?” “It is the truth,” she whispered. Lehner looked at me questioningly.

  I said, “Sergeant, if you’ll get me a glass of fresh water, I’ll do my damnedest to dream up a better story.”

  Eileen Rafferty said, “I want to phone my lawyer.”

  “You certainly need one,” Lehner agreed. He pushed the phone toward her. “Ask for an outside line.” He leaned back in his chair. “On the surface, Puma, her story matches yours.”

  “On the surface,” I answered, “a street over a sewer looks exactly like one that isn’t over a sewer. She must have figured how much I had seen from outside and tailored her story to that.”

  Lehner nodded thoughtfully.

  “But,” I said, as we had rehearsed it, “we’ve still got Greene, haven’t we? And a few things Miss Rafferty doesn’t know I know.”

  He nodded in mock satisfaction. “Haven’t we, though? Well, it’s enough for a case. Can’t you get your number, Miss Rafferty?”

  Miss Eileen Rafferty gave no indication of being impressed by our theatrical abilities. She went steadily about her task of phoning her attorney.

  Behind my eyes, the headache grew. I said, “I don’t suppose we’ll get any place until Greene is ready to dictate that story he told you. I’d like to go home, Sergeant.”

  “All right. Don’t you want protection? Eriksen is still out there, prowling around, remember.”

  I shook my head wearily. “I’ll drop in bright and early tomorrow, Sergeant.”

  I stood up and went to the door to deliver my exit line. “What bothers me, Sergeant, is how Eriksen, fresh from the hospital, had the strength to get Greene into that car all by himself.”

  “It bothers me, too,” he admitted. “I’m surprised it doesn’t bother Miss Rafferty. You’d think she’d want to help an old friend of her father’s.” A fine ironic note to make my exit on.

  In the hallway, Detective Deering asked, “Any luck in there, Joe?”

  “Not yet.”

  Deering smiled. “She’s a cool one. I was with Patton when he picked her up. That dame’s a pro, Joe.”

  “So was her father — and he didn’t make it.”

  “Sure, but he didn’t have her build. Take it easy, sonny boy.”

  I promised him I would and went out to the Plymouth. Silly as her story was, we couldn’t prove it wasn’t true right now. Maybe we would never be able to.

  And if Greene didn’t cooperate, what could the Department hold her on? This was a murder case under investigation, not a backyard quarrel. She could swear she had never seen the bludgeoned Greene in the rear of that Imperial and who could prove she had? The proximity of the Veteran’s Hospital to the driving range was just a coincidence but she had used it to add credence to her story. She was not a stupid woman, this Eileen Rafferty.

  She had been Ryerson’s girl friend and undoubtedly in his confidence. All the files containing the financial shenanigans of the shady Ryerson clients had been open to her scrutiny. Big Bill Rafferty’s daughter would know how to milk a nickel from that, if she was a true daughter.

  Eriksen was still out in the darkness somewhere, prowling around, but it didn’t keep me from falling asleep immediately. I didn’t open my eyes until nine o’clock in the morning.

  I wanted something better than packaged cereal and frozen orange juice this morning; I ate breakfast in Beverly Hills.

  There was a picture of Eileen Rafferty in the Times, and the account of last night’s disturbance identified her as the daughter of a former district attorney. The Times did not call him “Big Bill” anywhere in the article. Arno Eriksen had not been apprehended when this paper had been printed. I could guess that he was still at large.

  I phoned the Hollywood Station from my office and asked for Captain Jeswald. When I got him, I asked if Greene was still under medical observation.

  “No. He went home early this morning. Sergeant Lehner is here; he can tell you anything you want to know, Joe.”

  Lehner told me what I’d expected to hear; Greene would file no complaint. I said, “You have his unlisted phone number, undoubtedly.”

  “I have. What’s on your mind?”

  “Maybe he’d feel less — restricted if he talked with me. After all, I’m the man who phoned the doctor for him.”

  “And you then put everything that happened into your report to us?”

  “Not everything, Sergeant. Everything that applies to the case we’re working on. Greene may tell me something he doesn’t want repeated. If I don’t stay private, remember, I don’t stay solvent. Give me some latitude.”

  A momentary silence and then his friendly voice. “All right. I guess you’ve given me enough reason to trust you, Joe.” He gave me the number, and I hung up, warmed. It was the first time Sergeant Lehner had ever called me by my first name.

  My mail consisted of an ad from a local brokerage house and an expense check from Mrs. Dora Diggert. The check was small but so had my expenses been. It was check number nine on the Westwood Branch of the Bank of America, my own favorite.

  It was almost eleven and Dennis Greene should be up. I phoned the unlisted number and a pleasant, rather high male voice informed me this was the Dennis Greene residence.

  “This is Joseph Puma,” I said. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Greene.”

  “He’s resting, sir. If you care to leave your number, I will be sure to inform Mr. Greene you called when he wakens.”

  I left my number and went to work on finishing up my report for yesterday. He phoned back as I was finishing. He told me he would be in my neighborhood this afternoon, and if I wanted to see him, he could drop in. I told him I would be in the office. He thanked me for my part in his rescue last night and said he would be in around two o’clock.

  My still-warm phone rang again and this time it was my Mary.

  “What about that redhead in this morning’s paper, Puma? How did you get tangled up with her?”

  “Involved,” I said gently, “not tangled. You are being vulgar. She is an evil girl and I will have nothing to do with evil girls and you know it. How’s Jean bearing up?”

  “Better. Seriously, Joe, what was all that about?”

  “I can’t tell you any more than you read in the paper. I’m not working for you, kid. I’m working for Jack.”

  “He’ll tell me. He’ll tell me anything. He’s a born gentleman.”

  “He can afford to be. What did you do last night?” “Moped, mostly. Why don’t you come here for lunch? Or we could meet somewhere in Beverly Hills?” “What about the funeral?”

  “There isn’t going to be any. Only the cremation. I asked a Catholic friend and it’s a sin, Joe. I should have talked Jean out of it.”

  “It’s not your business,” I said. “About the lunch, I’d like it, but I’d be bad company. And somebody very important is going to be here around two o’clock. I don’t want to miss him so I think I’ll grab a sandwich at the drug store.”

  Silence and then, “Joe, you are bored with me.”

  “Never,” I told her earnestly. “If the man I’m meeting is at all cooperative, it’s possible I’ll have a lead that can clean this whole mess up. Then we’ll be ready f
or our weekend at Jack’s.”

  “The good life, eh? I’m glad to see you’re learning to compromise.”

  “I’ve been for rent for so long,” I told her, “I decided I might as well be for sale. You stay out of trouble, now.”

  “Natch,” she said. “I’m saving myself for you.” She laughed, and hung up.

  I didn’t feel nearly as sorry for myself this morning as I had yesterday. Mary loved me and Lehner had called me Joe and I had a rich friend in Palm Springs.

  Talsman was now, or soon would be, ashes. George Ryerson was surrounded by the cold, damp ground. I was alive and functioning. If that continued until being alive and functioning was no longer important, I would not ask for the immortality Mary was so concerned about. I would figure I had been given a full share of what was available.

  I sat alone in my inexpensive office wondering if I actually believed what I was trying to. And I wondered if a man ever reached an age where it wasn’t important to be alive. A sane man. The sound of Dr. Graves’ busy drill came to me and reminded me this world was not heaven. If there was a heaven, this was not it. A thought I had had yesterday. When a pretty woman no longer interested me, I decided finally, I would then be ready for Forest Lawn.

  At twelve-thirty, I had a sandwich at the drug store and picked up a paperback western from the rack to take back to the office. I never outgrew my love for westerns. I was hunkering over a small fire in the middle of the immeasurable plain under the clear stars with my wide-shouldered hero when Dennis Greene entered my office. He was alone. A square patch of surgical gauze was taped to his head above his ear and one eye was almost closed, surrounded by blue-black, swollen flesh.

  “Nice boy, that Eriksen,” I said. “Isn’t he the man you retained the sentimental interest in?”

  Dennis Greene didn’t smile. He sat in my customer’s chair and looked at me gravely. “You work with the police, Mr. Puma?”