“Oh, no, I couldn’t accept that. But I will confess that I could eat another sandwich.”
I signaled to the waiter. The second sandwich went the way of the first while I drank coffee. She ate the olives and slices of pickle, too.
“Feeling better now? You were looking a little peaked.”
“Much better, thank you. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I hadn’t eaten all day. And I’ve been on short rations for a week.”
I looked her over deliberately. Her dark blue suit was new, and expensively cut. Her bag was fine calfskin. Tiny diamonds winked in the white-gold case of her wristwatch.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “I could have pawned something. Only I couldn’t bear to. I spent my last cent on my ticket—I waited till the very last minute, when I had just enough to pay my fare.”
“What were you waiting for?”
“To hear from Ethel. But we won’t go into that.” Her eyes shuttered themselves, and her pretty mouth became less pretty. “It’s my worry.”
“All right.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, or ungrateful. I thought I could hold out until I got to Los Angeles. I would have, too, if you hadn’t broken me down with kindness.”
“Forget about my kindness. I hope there’s a job waiting for you in Los Angeles. Or maybe a husband?”
“No.” The idea of a husband, or possibly a job, appealed to her sense of humor. She giggled like a schoolgirl. “You have one more guess.”
“Okay. You flunked out of school, and couldn’t face the family.”
“You’re half right. But I’m still enrolled at Berkeley, and I have no intention of flunking out. I’m doing very well in my courses.”
“What are you taking?”
“Psychology and sociology, mostly. I plan to be a psychiatric social worker.”
“You don’t look the type.”
“I am, though.” The signs of early frost showed on her face again. I couldn’t keep up with her moods. She was suddenly very serious. “I’m interested in helping people in trouble. I’ve seen a great deal of trouble. And so many people need help in the modern world.”
“You can say that again.”
Her clear gaze came up to my face. “You’re interested in people, too, aren’t you? Are you a doctor, or a lawyer?”
“What gave you that idea?”
“You mentioned a fee you earned, a thousand-dollar fee. It sounded as if you were a professional man.”
“I don’t know if you’d call my job a profession. I’m a private detective. My name is Archer.”
Her reaction was disconcerting. She gripped the edge of the table with her hands, and pushed herself away from it. She said in a whisper as thin and sharp as a razor:
“Did Edward hire you? To spy on me?”
“Of course. Naturally. It’s why I mentioned the fact that I’m a detective. I’m very cunning. And who in hell is Edward?”
“Edward Illman.” She was breathing fast. “Are you sure he didn’t employ you to pick me—to contact me? Cross your heart?”
The colored waiter edged towards our table, drawn by the urgent note in her voice. “Anything the matter, lady?”
“No. It’s all right, thank you. The sandwiches were fine.”
She managed to give him a strained smile, and he went away with a backward look.
“I’ll make a clean breast of everything,” I said. “Edward employed me to feed you drugged sandwiches. The kitchen staff is in my pay, and you’ll soon begin to feel the effects of the drug. After that comes the abduction by helicopter.”
“Please. You mustn’t joke about such things. I wouldn’t put it past him, after what he did to Ethel.”
“Ethel?”
“My sister, my older sister. Ethel’s a darling. But Edward doesn’t think so. He hates her—he hates us both. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s responsible for all this.”
“All what?” I said. “We seem to be getting nowhere. Obviously you’re in some sort of a bind. You want to tell me about it, I want to hear about it. Now take a deep breath and start over, from the beginning. Bear in mind that I don’t know these people from Adam. I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m sorry, my name is Clare Larrabee.” Dutifully, she inhaled. “I’ve been talking like a silly fool, haven’t I? It’s because I’m so anxious about Ethel. I haven’t heard from her for several weeks. I have no idea where she is or what’s happened to her. Last week, when my allowance didn’t come, I began to get really worried. I phoned her house in West Hollywood and got no answer. Since then I’ve been phoning at least once a day, with never an answer. So finally I swallowed my pride and got in touch with Edward. He said he hasn’t seen her since she went to Nevada. Not that I believe him, necessarily. He’d just as soon lie as tell the truth. He perjured himself right and left when they arranged the settlement.”
“Let’s get Edward straight,” I said. “Is he your sister’s husband?”
“He was. Ethel divorced him last month. And she’s well rid of him, even if he did cheat her out of her fair share of the property. He claimed to be a pauper, practically, but I know better. He’s a very successful real estate operator—you must have heard of the Illman Tracts.”
“This is the same Illman?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“Not personally. I used to see his name in the columns. He’s quite a Casanova, isn’t he?”
“Edward is a dreadful man. Why Ethel ever married him…Of course she wanted security, to be able to send me to college, and everything. But I’d have gone to work, gladly, if I could have stopped the marriage. I could see what kind of a husband he’d make. He even had the nerve to make a—make advances to me at the wedding reception.” Her mouth pouted out in girlish indignation.
“And now you’re thinking he had something to do with your sister’s disappearance?”
“Either that, or she did away with—No, I’m sure it’s Edward. He sounded so smug on the long distance telephone yesterday, as if he’d just swallowed the canary. I tell you, that man is capable of anything. If something’s happened to Ethel, I know who’s responsible.”
“Probably nothing has. She could have gone off on a little trip by herself.”
“You don’t know Ethel. We’ve always kept in close touch, and she’s been so punctual with my allowance. She’d never dream of going away and leaving me stranded at school without any money. I held out as long as I could, expecting to hear from her. When I got down below twenty dollars, I decided to take the train home.”
“To Ethel’s house in West Hollywood?”
“Yes. It’s the only home I have since Daddy passed away. Ethel’s the only family I have. I couldn’t bear to lose Ethel.” Her eyes filmed with tears.
“Do you have taxi fare?”
She shook her head, shamefaced.
“I’ll drive you out. I don’t live far from there myself. My car’s stashed in a garage near Union Station.”
“You’re being good to me.” Her hand crept out across the tablecloth and pressed the back of mine. “Forgive me for saying those silly things, about Edward hiring you.”
I told her that would be easy.
—
We drove out Sunset and up into the hills. Afternoon was changing into evening. The late sunlight flashed like intermittent searchlights from the western windows of the hillside apartment buildings. Clare huddled anxiously in the far corner of the seat. She didn’t speak, except to direct me to her sister’s house.
It was a flat-roofed building set high on a sloping lot. The walls were redwood and glass, and the redwood had not yet weathered gray. I parked on the slanting blacktop drive and got out. Both stalls of the carport under the house were empty. The draperies were pulled over the picture windows that overlooked the valley.
I knocked on the front door. The noise resounded emptily through the building. I tried it. It was locked. So was the service door at the side.
I turned to
the girl at my elbow. She was clutching the handle of her overnight bag with both hands, and looking pinched again. I thought that it was a cold homecoming for her.
“Nobody home,” I said.
“It’s what I was afraid of. What shall I do now?”
“You share this house with your sister?”
“When I’m home from school.”
“And it belongs to her?”
“Since the divorce it does.”
“Then you can give me permission to break in.”
“All right. But please don’t damage anything if you can help it. Ethel is very proud of her house.”
The side door had a spring-type lock. I took a rectangle of plastic out of my wallet, and slipped it into the crack between the door and the frame. The lock slid back easily.
“You’re quite a burglar,” she said in a dismal attempt at humor.
I stepped inside without answering her. The kitchen was bright and clean, but it had a slightly musty, disused odor. The bread in the breadbox was stale. The refrigerator needed defrosting. There was a piece of ham moldering on one shelf, and on another a half-empty bottle of milk which had gone sour.
“She’s been gone for some time,” I said. “At least a week. We should check her clothes.”
“Why?”
“She’d take some along if she left to go on a trip, under her own power.”
She led me through the living room, which was simply and expensively furnished in black iron and net, into the master bedroom. The huge square bed was neatly made, and covered with a pink quilted silk spread. Clare avoided looking at it, as though the conjunction of a man and a bed gave her a guilty feeling. While she went through the closet, I searched the vanity and the chest of drawers.
They were barer than they should have been. Cosmetics were conspicuous by their absence. I found one thing of interest in the top drawer of the vanity, hidden under a tangle of stockings: a bankbook issued by the Las Vegas branch of the Bank of Southern California. Ethel Illman had deposited $30,000 on March 14 of this year. On March 17 she had withdrawn $5,000. On March 20 she had withdrawn $6,000. On March 22 she had withdrawn $18,995. There was a balance in her account, after service charges, of $3.65.
Clare said from the closet in a muffled voice:
“A lot of her things are gone. Her mink stole, her good suits and shoes, a lot of her best summer clothes.”
“Then she’s probably on a vacation.” I tried to keep the doubt out of my voice. A woman wandering around with $30,000 in cash was taking a big chance. I decided not to worry Clare with that, and put the little bankbook in my pocket.
“Without telling me? Ethel wouldn’t do that.” She came out of the closet, pushing her fine light hair back from her forehead. “You don’t understand how close we are to each other, closer than sisters usually are. Ever since Father died—”
“Does she drive her own car?”
“Of course. It’s a last year’s Buick convertible, robin’s-egg blue.”
“If you’re badly worried, go to Missing Persons.”
“No. Ethel wouldn’t like that. She’s a very proud person, and shy. Anyway, I have a better idea.” She gave me that questioning-calculating look of hers.
“Involving me?”
“Please.” Her eyes in the darkening room were like great soft centerless pansies, purple or black. “You’re a detective, and evidently a good one. And you’re a man. You can stand up to Edward and make him answer questions. He just laughs at me. Of course I can’t pay you in advance…”
“Forget the money for now. What makes you so certain that Illman is in on this?”
“I just know he is. He threatened her in the lawyer’s office the day they made the settlement. She told me so herself. Edward said that he was going to get that money back if he had to take it out of her hide. He wasn’t fooling, either. He’s beaten her more than once.”
“How much was the settlement?”
“Thirty thousand dollars and the house and the car. She could have collected much more, hundreds of thousands, if she’d stayed in California and fought it through the courts. But she was too anxious to get free from him. So she let him cheat her, and got a Nevada divorce instead. And even then he wasn’t satisfied.”
She looked around the abandoned bedroom, fighting back tears. Her skin was so pale that it seemed to be phosphorescent in the gloom. With a little cry, she flung herself face down on the bed and gave herself over to grief. I said to her shaking back:
“You win. Where do I find him?”
—
He lived in a cottage hotel on the outskirts of Bel-Air. The gates of the walled pueblo were standing open, and I went in. A few couples were strolling on the gravel paths among the palm-shaded cottages, walking off the effects of the cocktail hour or working up an appetite for dinner. The women were blonde, and had money on their backs. The men were noticeably older than the women, except for one, who was noticeably younger. They paid no attention to me.
I passed an oval swimming pool, and found Edward Illman’s cottage, number twelve. Light streamed from its open French windows onto a flagstone terrace. A young woman in a narrow-waisted, billowing black gown lay on a chrome chaise at the edge of the light. With her arms hanging loose from her naked shoulders, she looked like an expensive French doll which somebody had accidentally dropped there. Her face was polished and plucked and painted, expressionless as a doll’s. But her eyes snapped open at the sound of my footsteps.
“Who goes there?” she said with a slight Martini accent. “Halt and give the password or I’ll shoot you dead with my atomic wonder-weapon.” She pointed a wavering finger at me and said: “Bing. Am I supposed to know you? I have a terrible memory for faces.”
“I have a terrible face for memories. Is Mr. Illman home?”
“Uh-huh. He’s in the shower. He’s always taking showers. I told him he’s got a scour-and-scrub neurosis, his mother was frightened by a washing machine.” Her laughter rang like cracked bells. “If it’s about business, you can tell me.”
“Are you his confidential secretary?”
“I was.” She sat up on the chaise, looked pleased with herself. “I’m his fiancée, at the moment.”
“Congratulations.”
“Uh-huh. He’s loaded.” Smiling to herself, she got to her feet. “Are you loaded?”
“Not so it gets in my way.”
She pointed her finger at me and said bing again and laughed, teetering on her four-inch heels. She started to fall forward on her face. I caught her under the armpits.
“Too bad,” she said to my chest. “I don’t think you have a terrible face for memories at all. You’re much prettier than old Teddy-bear.”
“Thanks. I’ll treasure the compliment.”
I set her down on the chaise, but her arms twined round my neck like smooth white snakes and her body arched against me. She clung to me like a drowning child. I had to use force to detach myself.
“What’s the matter?” she said with an up-and-under look. “You a fairy?”
A man appeared in the French windows, blotting out most of the light. In a white terry-cloth bathrobe, he had the shape and bulk of a Kodiak bear. The top of his head was as bald as an ostrich egg. He carried a chip on each shoulder, like epaulets.
“What goes on?”
“Your fiancée swooned, slightly.”
“Fiancée hell. I saw what happened.” Moving very quickly and lightly for a man of his age and weight, he pounced on the girl on the chaise and began to shake her. “Can’t you keep your hands off anything in pants?”
Her head bobbed back and forth. Her teeth clicked like castanets.
I put a rough hand on his shoulder. “Leave her be.”
He turned on me. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“Edward Illman, I presume.”
“And who are you?”
“The name is Archer. I’m looking into the matter of your wife’s disappearance.”
&n
bsp; “I’m not married. And I have no intention of getting married. I’ve been burned once.” He looked down sideways at the girl. She peered up at him in silence, hugging her shoulders.
“Your ex-wife, then,” I said.
“Has something happened to Ethel?”
“I thought you might be able to tell me.”
“Where did you get that idea? Have you been talking to Clare?”
I nodded.
“Don’t believe her. She’s got a down on me, just like her sister. Because I had the misfortune to marry Ethel, they both think I’m fair game for anything they want to pull. I wouldn’t touch either one of them with an insulated pole. They’re a couple of hustlers, if you want the truth. They took me for sixty grand, and what did I get out of it but headaches?”
“I thought it was thirty.”
“Sixty,” he said, with the money light in his eyes. “Thirty in cash, and the house is worth another thirty, easily.”
I looked around the place, which must have cost him fifty dollars a day. Above the palms, the first few stars sparkled like solitaire diamonds.
“You seem to have some left.”
“Sure I have. But I work for my money. Ethel was strictly from nothing when I met her. She owned the clothes on her back and what was under them and that was all. So she gives me a bad time for three years and I pay off at the rate of twenty grand a year. I ask you, is that fair?”
“I hear you threatened to get it back from her.”
“You have been talking to Clare, eh? All right, so I threatened her. It didn’t mean a thing. I talk too much sometimes, and I have a bad temper.”
“I’d never have guessed.”
The girl said: “You hurt me, Teddy. I need another drink. Get me another drink, Teddy.”
“Get it yourself.”
She called him several bad names and wandered into the cottage, walking awkwardly like an animated doll.
He grasped my arm. “What’s the trouble about Ethel? You said she disappeared. You think something’s happened to her?”
I removed his hand. “She’s missing. Thirty thousand in cash is also missing. There are creeps in Vegas who would knock her off for one big bill, or less.”
The Archer Files: The Complete Short Stories of Lew Archer, Private Investigator Page 27