1954 - Safer Dead

by James Hadley Chase

  ‘Very, very fishy,’ I said, half aloud, then treading on the starter I drove back to Main Street, and getting my bearings from a cop, I headed for Bay Street. No. 27 turned out to be a delicatessen store. I assumed Jake Hesson had a room above, but as there was no street door at the side, I went into the store.

  A dark, heavily built girl in a grubby white overall looked at me over a mountain of cooked food, sandwiches and bowls of gherkins.

  ‘What’s yours?’ she asked as I came to rest before her.

  ‘I’m looking for Jake Hesson,’ I said, giving her my boyish smile. ‘I was told he hangs out here.’

  She gave me a quick, appraising stare.

  ‘What do you want him for?’

  ‘I’ll get him to tell you if he wants you to know,’ I said, smiling to take the curse off it. ‘Is he still in bed?’

  ‘No. Are you from the cops?’

  ‘Do I look like a cop?’ I asked indignantly. ‘What’s it to you who I’m from? Are you Jake’s pal or something?’

  She made a face.

  ‘I’m not all that hard up for pals.’ She suddenly smiled. ‘I can see you’re not a cop. Jake’s gone.’

  ‘You mean he’s gone to work?’

  ‘No, I don’t. He’s skipped; packed and scrammed. Don’t you understand English? He went late last night. I guess he’s in some kind of trouble. It won’t be the first time.’

  I lit a cigarette, put the match carefully in the ashtray on the counter while I looked at the girl.

  ‘Did he say where he was going?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No. He paid his rent, packed his bag and beat it. You don’t ask Joe questions unless you want a new set of teeth.’

  ‘How long has he been staying here?’

  ‘About a couple of years.’

  I took out my wallet and produced a five-dollar bill. ‘I would like to look at his room. Would five bucks cover your expenses?’

  Fingers with grubby knuckles and nails stained dark red snapped up the bill. The girl turned, took a key from the cash register and handed it to me.

  ‘Through that door, upstairs. Second door on the left. If my old man catches you, you’ll have to talk yourself out of it. He’s got a mean disposition.’

  ‘You might not guess it to look at me,’ I said as I moved to the door, ‘but so have I.’

  I walked into a passage, mounted dirty, uncarpeted stairs and stopped outside the second door on the left. I slid the key into the lock, turned it and pushed the door open. The room showed every sign of a hurried departure. The doors of the wardrobe hung open, drawers had been pulled out of the bureau and left on the floor. There was dirty, soapy water in the bowl on the washstand.

  I shut the door and looked around. I was sure now I had started something. Hesson had panicked. He had lied about knowing Fay Benson, probably because he was off guard and said the first thing that came into his head. Realizing his mistake, he had packed and bolted.

  I went over the room methodically and carefully. It wasn’t until I moved the bed from the wall that I found anything to excite my interest. I caught a glimpse of something that gleamed through a thick layer of dust. I bent and picked it up. Moving over to the window I examined my find.

  It was a miniature replica of an apple, made of gold; the kind of thing you might find on a charm bracelet women wear.

  Engraved on one side of it in letters so small I could scarcely read them was the following: F.B. from H.R. June 24th.

  F.B. - Fay Benson?

  I rolled the tiny apple across my palm, then I dropped it into my pocket. As I turned to renew my search, the door pushed open and a thickset man, his dark swarthy face set in a hard scowl, stood in the doorway.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he growled.

  ‘Looking for Hesson,’ I said, guessing he was the girl’s papa. He looked as if he had a mean disposition. ‘Know where he is?’

  ‘You can see he’s not here. Get out before I toss you out!’ He looked tough and strong enough to do it so I moved to the door.

  ‘I want to find him. I’ll spring five bucks for his address,’ I said.

  He looked less hostile.

  ‘It’ll cost you twenty.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I’ll pay ten, but not a nickel more.’

  ‘Okay, ten.’

  I groped in my wallet without taking it out of my pocket, found two fives and folded them.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s gone to Sam Hardy’s place. 3, Lennox Street, Frisco.’

  ‘Would you be sure of that?’

  ‘That’s where he told me to send his mail.’ He reached for the bills. ‘If he isn’t there, he’ll be there sometime.’

  I handed over the ten dollars. I wasn’t sure if I were parting with the money for nothing, but as it was Fayette’s money and not mine, I thought the risk was justified.

  ‘If I don’t find him, brother,’ I said, pushing past him, ‘you’ll be seeing me again.’

  I went down the stairs to the street.

  III

  It was a little after one o’clock by the time I got back to the Shad Hotel. I found Bernie sitting in the lobby, hollow eyed and pale, glass of whisky and water within reach.

  ‘Still tippling? I should have thought you had had enough last night to last you a lifetime.’

  Bernie closed his eyes, then opened them and shuddered.

  ‘Would you mind keeping your voice down?’ he said pathetically. ‘The least noise sends stabbing pains through my head.’

  ‘Serves you right. Come on; let’s eat. I’ve got news for you.’

  Bernie recoiled.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about food. I couldn’t touch a thing.’

  I grabbed him by the arm and hustled him into the dingy restaurant.

  ‘Then you can watch me,’ I said.

  While I ate, I gave him a detailed account of what I had discovered the previous evening and of my work during the morning. He became so interested, he even forgot his headache.

  ‘We’re doing all right,’ I said. ‘We already know more than the police did when they dropped the case, and that’s not bad going. We know Fay was in touch with this guy in the camel hair coat. The police didn’t manage to turn him up or if they did, they didn’t think he was of sufficient interest to mention him. I think he’s worth investigating. Anyone who wears dark glasses at night is my idea of a suspect. And another thing: who is this girl Joan Nichols? Where does she fit in? She called here three days after Fay had disappeared and asked for her. Then she promptly falls downstairs and breaks her neck. Farmer is the only guy who could have seen Fay leave the club and he gets himself conveniently run over. Looks to me that Joan Nichols and Farmer were got rid of because they knew too much.’

  Bernie’s eyes popped.

  ‘Hey! Has it occurred to your master mind we also know something?’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Suppose someone starts trying to knock us off?’

  ‘Don’t drivel. Investigators never get knocked off. Don’t you read thrillers?’

  ‘I don’t like it. Maybe we’d better drop this case, Chet. I’m serious. I wouldn’t like anything to happen to you - nor to me, come to that.’

  ‘Skip it!’ I said. ‘This is going to be our best story. I’m going after Hesson. I want you to find this guy in the camel hair coat. The chances are he’s already left town, but it’s worthwhile calling on all the hotels here and seeing if anyone recognizes his description. His car might help you.’

  Bernie nodded reluctantly.

  ‘Well, okay. I’ll do what I can. There can’t be many hotels in town - I hope!’

  I pushed back my chair.

  ‘Well, come on. I’ll need the car. I should be back from Frisco tonight. See you here.’

  Bernie got to his feet and we went into the lobby.

  ‘Hang on a moment,’ I said and stepped into the telephone booth. I called the Florian club and asked to be put through to the
stage door office.

  ‘Is Spencer there?’ I asked.

  ‘This is Spencer talking. Is that Mr. Sladen?’

  ‘Yeah. Do you know if Miss Benson owned a charm bracelet? You know what that is, don’t you?’

  ‘Sure, Mr. Sladen. She did have one. It had a lot of charms on it. She showed it to me.’

  ‘Was there a gold apple among the charms?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Fine, and thanks,’ I said and hung up. I left the booth and joined Bernie. ‘I was right. The charm came off her bracelet, Spencer saw it. Hesson will have a job to explain how it got into his room.’

  ‘We’re not bad for amateurs, are we?’ Bernie said.

  ‘If we were amateurs we’d be good. See you tonight.’

  It was four o’clock and growing dusk when I drove over the Oakland Bay bridge and stopped on Harrison Street to inquire the way to Lennox Street.

  The cop told me to make for India Basin.

  I left the Buick in a vacant plot and walked down the dirty street, at the end of which was Lennox Street. Tenement houses, faced with iron escapes, stood starkly against the darkening sky. Here and there lights showed in upper windows.

  I paused outside No. 3. It was a narrow high building with a bunch of dirty, ragged kids sitting on the bottom step. They stared fixedly at me, nudging one another.

  I said, ‘Sam Hardy live here?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s out,’ one of the boys said. He shifted a little to let me pass, and as I walked up the dirty, worn steps, the kids turned to stare after me. The front door was ajar and I pushed it open and entered a bare, dirty hall.

  A thin negro was sitting on an upturned box with his back against the wall, reading a racing sheet. He looked up and stared at me, his eyes tired and bored.

  ‘Where do I find Jake Hesson?’ I asked and showed him a dollar bill.

  His eyes lit up.

  ‘Third floor, boss. Room 10.’ He reached for the bill and I let him have it.

  ‘Is he in?’

  ‘Sure, boss. He hasn’t been out all day.’

  I nodded and began to climb the stairs. I kept on until I reached the third floor. A radio was blaring from behind one of the doors. I went quickly along the passage to room 10, paused to listen with my ear against the panel, then hearing nothing, I rapped.

  No one told me to go in.

  I turned the door handle and gently pushed. The door swung inwards.

  Jake Hesson lay across the bed. His dirty white shirt had a crimson patch just below where his heart was. Growing out of the patch was the handle of a knife. From the look of his waxen, yellowish face, he had been dead some hours.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I

  Lieutenant Marshall of the Homicide Squad, a big, red-faced man with a neat moustache and a jutting, aggressive chin, stuck a cigarette on his lower lip and set fire to it. He looked across at me as I leaned against the wall, keeping out of the way of the fingerprint men as they worked in the small room. All that now remained of Jake Hesson was a splash of blood on the dirty bed cover.

  ‘Tom Creed will want to take care of this,’ Marshall said. ‘If what you say is right, it starts from his end.’

  ‘Who’s he?’ I asked.

  ‘Captain of police, Welden. Last year he asked us to check the Swallow Club where this girl Benson was supposed to have worked, but we didn’t turn up anything.’ Marshall gave me a hard smile. ‘Looks like you’ve managed to make a monkey out of me this time.’

  I had worked with him in the past and I had a certain respect for his intelligence and capabilities.

  ‘I should have said your father was more responsible for that than I am,’ I said gravely.

  Marshall laughed. He turned to Sergeant Hamilton, his second in charge.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, Dick. Me and the bright boy will go and talk to Creed. Drive over when you’re through. You can take me back.’

  Hamilton nodded.

  ‘Okay, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Come on,’ Marshall said, taking my arm. ‘You can run me to Welden. Creed will be interested to hear your story. He was worked up about the girl’s disappearance, but as he didn’t find a body, he had to drop the case.’

  ‘Let me have a photograph of the remains,’ I said to Hamilton. ‘I’m staying at the Shad Hotel.’

  Hamilton looked at Marshall for confirmation.

  ‘Let him have it,’ Marshall said. ‘I’m in the picture too. It’ll be good publicity.’

  ‘Don’t rely on it,’ I said. ‘Fayette may block you out. We have to be careful how much horror we print.’

  ‘Come on - you!’ Marshall said, and we went down the stairs together.

  On the way to Welden, I went over my story again so Marshall could be sure he hadn’t missed a point.

  ‘Well, we seem to have a few new leads to work on now,’ he said when I was through. ‘I always thought there was something phoney the way Farmer died. Where does this Nichols girl fit in?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ I said. I swerved past a truck, then went on, ‘What’s Creed like? Think he’ll let me work along with him?’

  Marshall shrugged.

  ‘I guess so. There isn’t a cop on the coast who doesn’t want his picture in your rag. He’s a good guy, but he doesn’t like being kept out of things. You should have seen him before you went after Hesson.’

  ‘For the love of Mike!’ I exclaimed. ‘I only arrived yesterday. I was going to see him as soon as I had talked to Hesson.’

  ‘Just watch your step with him. By the way, you still working with that fat script writer from Hollywood?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it working. He’s still drinking at the magazine’s expense.’

  ‘He’s a smart guy. You’d have thought he could have done something better than hack for Crime Facts.’

  I laughed.

  ‘Everyone thinks that. It’s just the way his head’s shaped.’

  It was around eight in the evening when I pulled up outside the Welden police headquarters.

  ‘I expect Creed will have gone home by now,’ Marshall said, getting out of the car. ‘Let’s see.’

  But the desk sergeant said the captain was still in his office, and after he had put through a call, he told us to go on up. Police Captain Tom Creed was a tall, powerfully built man in his late fifties with a strong, hard face, piercing blue eyes and a shock of greying hair.

  He shook hands with Marshall, and when Marshall introduced me, he smiled, seemingly pleased to meet me. ‘Your magazine does a fine job,’ he said. ‘You report from our angle, and that’s what I like.’

  I grinned.

  ‘If we don’t keep in with the cops, we don’t eat. You want to hear what we think of you lot when we’re away from a typewriter.’

  ‘Don’t pay any attention to him,’ Marshall said. ‘He’s a great kidder. Captain, this guy has been doing our work for us. He’s turned up some new dope on the Fay Benson case.’

  Creed sat down, motioned us to chairs and looked hard at me.

  ‘My editor thought it might be an idea if we did an article on the case,’ I explained. ‘I came down here to pick up the background and was lucky to stumble on something you haven’t got in the dossier. You probably know about it by now.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Creed said, and taking a pipe from his pocket, he began to fill it from a worn pouch.

  I went over the story again.

  Neither Creed nor Marshall interrupted, and when I had finished there was a long pause. I could see Creed didn’t like being scooped.

  ‘You should have reported this to me right away,’ he said. ‘I would have grabbed Hesson before he left town.’

  ‘I hadn’t anything on Hesson nor had you,’ I said. I took the gold apple out of my pocket and rolled it across the desk towards Creed. ‘By the time I found this, he was dead.’

  Creed looked at Marshall.

  ‘What time did he die?’

  ‘Last night. He arrived at Hardy’s joi
nt at one o’clock in the morning. He was knocked off between three and four.’

  ‘Any line on the killer?’

  Marshall shook his head.

  ‘It’s a professional job. No fingerprints. No noise. No one saw anything. At four o’clock in the morning even the bums in Hardy’s place sleep.’

  Creed picked up the miniature apple and studied it. Then he put it down and puffed smoke at it while he brooded.

  ‘Yes, it seems you’ve started something,’ he said, looking over at me. ‘Let’s go through the dossier again.’ He picked up the telephone and asked for the Benson dossier.

  ‘I’m sure Farmer was lying,’ he went on as we hung up. ‘I couldn’t see how the girl could have disappeared unless she had gone out past Farmer’s door. She had only eight minutes in which to do her disappearing act, and the stage door exit was the nearest to her room. That’s why we hammered away at Farmer, but we couldn’t move him from his story. It looks as if he and Hesson were working together.’

  A tap came on the door and a policeman brought in a thick file which he gave to Creed.

  ‘Farmer and Hesson could have kidnapped the girl and have taken her to Hesson’s room. The charm under his bed points to it,’ Creed said as he opened the file. After turning some pages he read for a moment, then said, ‘She was wearing the charm bracelet when she disappeared.’

  ‘They wouldn’t have taken her to Hesson’s room,’ I said. ‘The only way up to the room is through the shop. They couldn’t have taken her there unless the owner of the shop was in it too, and I don’t think he was. He gave me Hesson’s address. It’s my guess. Farmer and Hesson were hired to kidnap the girl. Farmer got her into his office by telling her she was wanted on the telephone. She was expecting a call. He probably hit her on the head and bundled her into a waiting car. There must have been someone beside Farmer and Hesson in this to handle the car. Both Hesson and Farmer would have to stay in their jobs to alibi each other. Maybe the bracelet fell off Fay’s wrist when Farmer knocked her out. He might have given it to Hesson or he might

  have gone to Hesson’s room later with it.’

  Marshall nodded.

  ‘Yeah, it could have happened like that.’