Miss Callaghan Comes to Grief

by James Hadley Chase

  “What the hell’s the matter with me tonight?” he growled irritably, throwing down the pack of cards. He walked over to the window and threw it wide open.

  The night was hot and still. The full moon, floating just above the distant roof−tops, flooded the street below with a silvery light. He stood watching the traffic for several minutes, letting the hot air fan his face.

  Then, just as he was about to return to the room, he paused. He leant far forward, looking into the street. His eyes tried to probe the shadows. Except for an occasional car the street was deserted. The guard, who should have been standing by the entrance, was no longer there. Mendetta couldn’t believe his eyes. For three months now the guard had stood there, his hand on his gun, watching those who entered the block of apartments. No one could go in who roused his suspicions. For three months Mendetta could look down on him, and smile to himself, confident in his safety. This came as a great shock to him.

  He turned back to the room hurriedly. His first thought was to ring Grantham and tell him to send one of the mob over fast to investigate, then he hesitated. It wouldn’t do for Grantham to think that he was getting soft. He tried to remember if he had a gun in the place. It was such a long time since he had had a gun. Maybe Jean had one.

  He crushed down the little panic that was beginning to form in his brain. This wouldn’t do, he thought angrily; the guy down there maybe was standing inside the hall where he couldn’t see him. The best thing would be to ring down to the hall porter and find out.

  As he went over to the house phone he heard a key turn in the front−door lock. He stiffened, and stood waiting. He was furious with himself to find that his mouth had gone very dry.

  The door opened and Jean came in. She was wearing a smartly cut black two−piece suit. She came in slowly, as if she were tired.

  Her presence reassured Mendetta, who said angrily, “Where the devil have you been?”

  Jean didn’t say anything. She stood looking at him, her eyes very scared, and her face thin and bony.

  Mendetta repeated, “Where have you been? Did you know the guard ain’t on the door? Was he there when you came up?”

  Jean shook her head. “No.”

  “Well, where is he? What’s all this about? You look as if you were expecting someone to die.”

  She looked at him in horror. “Don’t say that,” she said fearfully.

  He took a quick step towards her, but she got out of his way and half ran round the settee. He stood very still, staring at her. “Well, tell me,” he said between his teeth, “where have you been?”

  She said, “Iran into an old pal of yours. He insisted onseeing you.” She waved her hand towards the door.

  Mendetta turned his head slowly. A cold chill ran down his back. Raven stood in the doorway, his cold face expressionless. A limp cigarette dangled from the side of his mouth, and in his right hand he held a long−barrelled gun.

  Mendetta shivered with the shock. His big white hands fluttered, imploring Raven to go away. “What do you want?” he whispered.

  Raven jerked the gun. “Sit down, Tootsie,” he said, “we got things to talk about.”

  Mendetta sat by the card−table. He folded his twitching hands on the green cloth. From where he sat he could see Jean, kneeling on the floor. She had covered her head with her arms. Her attitude reminded Mendetta of a woman who is witnessing an unavoidable head−on collision, and turns away in horror before the crash. He suddenly felt very sick.

  Raven continued to lean against the doorway. “It’s taken time to get around to you, Tootsie,” he said, “but I’ve done it. I said I’d do it, didn’t I?” He jerked his head to Jean. “She ratted on you, Tootsie. Don’t trust women, they always let you down. She got the guard to go away. She let me up here, just because she was tired of sleeping with you.”

  Mendetta’s face twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Jean got suddenly to her feet and ran into the bedroom, shutting the door violently behind her.

  Raven shrugged. “She thinks I’m goin’ to look after her. You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t trust her, an’ I wouldn’t want anythin’ you’ve had your hands on. No, I guess she’ll be sorry for what she’s done.”

  Mendetta said in a whisper, “You want this territory, don’t you, Raven? Well, you can have it; I’m through.”

  Raven nodded. “Yeah, you’re through all right.”

  “Listen, let me get out of town. I’ll sign it all over to you. You wouldn’t want to kill me if I gave it all over to you?”

  Raven shook his head. “I don’t want to kill anyone. Why should I?”

  Mendetta searched the cold face to try to find some comfort for himself there. He could read nothing in the cold, blank eyes. “I’ll sign anythin’,” he said eagerly. “What do you want?”

  Raven pointed to a pad of paper on the table. “Just write saying that you’re giving me your share of the Club. That’s all I’ll need. Grantham won’t make any trouble.”

  Mendetta hesitated. “I can go if I do that?” he said. “You’ll let me leave the town?”

  Raven looked at him. “Why should I want to stop you?” he asked.

  The two men looked at each other. Mendetta, fat, well dressed, but terrified; and Raven, cold, thin and shabby.

  Raven said, “I can’t stay here all night.”

  Already Mendetta’s brain was formulating a scheme. His signature on a bit of paper would mean nothing.

  He would give the signal as soon as Raven had left to have him killed. My God! He’d been a fool not to have got rid of him before. He reached out and pulled the pad towards him. With a hand that no longer trembled he wrote, handing his share of the 22nd Club over to Raven. He signed it with a flourish.

  “Give me until tomorrow,” he said, throwing the pad across the table. “I’ll get out by tomorrow.”

  Raven stretched out his hand and took the pad; he glanced at the writing and then put the pad in his pocket.

  “You don’t have to go, Tootsie,” he said quietly. “You’ll be better off here.”

  Mendetta suddenly went cold. He got slowly to his feet. “Listen, Raven,” he said feverishly, “this is on the level. I’ve done what you wanted” He broke off as he saw the vicious gleam in Raven’s eye. With a whimper of terror, Mendetta turned and ran blindly across the room and began to pound on Jean’s door. “Don’t let him kill me… Jean! Stop him! Stop him! Jean, you wouldn’t let him kill”

  Moving softly, Raven stepped behind him and shot him through the head. The gun only made a little hissing sound.

  Mendetta was opening the door as he fell. The door swung open violently and he sprawled into the room.

  Jean crouched against the wall and screamed.

  Raven looked at her and raised his gun. She saw the little black hole of the barrel pointing at her, and she hid her face in her hands. The heavy .45 bullet smashed two of her fingers before it blew the top of her head off. She fell first on her knees with a thud that shook the room, and then straightened out, her head hitting the carpet with another muffled thud.

  Across the passage, Sadie sat up in bed. She thought she had heard a scream in her sleep, but she knew that she had heard the sound of someone falling.

  She listened intently, suddenly wishing Benny was by her side. She could hear nothing, but the scream was so real that she got out of bed and hurriedly put on a wrap. She went out of the bedroom into the little hallway.

  It was all very dark and silent. Putting on the hall light, she went to the front door and raised the letter−box flap. She could see Mendetta’s front door, and the gleam of light coming from under it. Seeing the light warned her that she too was showing light, and she turned off the switch, then she resumed her watch on the opposite door.

  She was conscious of her heart beating rapidly, and she felt frightened and alone. A presentiment told her that something was going on in Mendetta’s apartment, and she stayed there watching for some time. Then, just when she had decided that sh
e had made a mistake, she saw the door opposite opening silently.

  Raven stepped out, a bundle of papers under his arm, and his long−barrelled gun in his hand. He looked up and down the passage and then, shutting the apartment door softly, walked swiftly away.

  His ruthless look and his gun scared Sadie badly. She lowered the flap softly and ran into her bedroom. She dived into bed and hurriedly pulled up the sheet. She lay shivering, seeing Raven’s cold, wolfish face, and wishing that Benny would come back to her.

  10

  June 5th, midnight.

  JAY PUSHED open Henry’s door and strode in. Henry was just going home. He was putting on his hat and admiring himself in the mirror. He looked over his shoulder and scowled at Jay.

  “No more tonight,” he said firmly. “Look at the time. I ought to have been home hours ago.”

  Jay sat down in the arm−chair and lit a cigarette. “I got something to tell you,” he said; “you’ll be interested.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ve got something to tell you. You can forget about the 22nd Club. Poison’s just been through.”

  Jay shook his head. “Oh no,” he said. “I’ve got somethin’ on that Club that’s goin’ to make headlines.”

  Henry looked at him keenly. “What is it?” he said.

  “Grantham’s mixed up in a Slave Ring. He uses the Club for immoral purposes.”

  “You’re crazy. Where did you get that stuff?”

  Jay grinned. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “But I’ve got a guy who’s seen and heard things. I’m inclined to believe him. The place wants watching, and maybe we’ll find somethin’ out.”

  Henry sat down. “Poison told me to lay off the Club. He’s seen Mendetta and they’ve had a little talk.

  Mendetta’s got an interest in the Club, so Poison doesn’t want to do or say anything to upset him.”

  Jay sneered. “Maybe Poison doesn’t know about this Slave angle. It’ll make a grand story.”

  Henry hesitated and then he reached out for the phone. “Shall I see what he says?”

  Jay hesitated, then he shook his head. “Will you come with me and meet this guy first? Once you’ve had a talk with him you’ll understand why I’m interested.”

  “What, now?” Henry demanded. “I can’t come now.”

  Jay got to his feet. “What’s the matter with you, Chief? This is goin’ to be a big story. We’re right in it on the ground floor. I’ve been waiting a chance to pin somethin’ on Mendetta for the last two years. Slavin’ is a fine club to beat that heel with. Come on, let’s go.”

  Henry followed him into the elevator. “You’re goin’ to get somewhere one of these days, Ellinger,” he said.

  “I don’t know where, but you’ll get there all right.”

  Jay grinned. “I ain’t sentimental, but that guy certainly made me think when he talked about his sister. You gotta daughter, ain’t you? I’ve seen her; she’s cute.”

  Henry looked at him from under the brim of his hat. “What’s my daughter got to do with it?”

  They walked out of the elevator and crossed the big lobby.

  “That’s just it, Chief. You guys with daughters don’t think about the girls who disappear every year. Let me tell you, if I had a daughter I’d never take my eyes off her. I hope I don’t have one.”

  They got in a taxi and Ellinger gave Fletcher’s address.

  “What are you talking about?” Henry demanded. “What girls disappearing?”

  Jay looked at him. “You know as well as I do. We can’t do anythin’ about it so we just say they’ve gone off to get married, or gone to Hollywood or some other excuse. This guy Fletcher is pretty sure that his sister’s been slaved. He thinks Grantham, and that means Mendetta too, is trading women. We know there’s no proof of it, but, by heavens, think what a stink we could make if we got the proof.”

  Henry lit a cigar. “All right,” he said, “let’s see how this guy strikes me. If I think there’s anything to it you can go ahead, but Poison will have to give his okay first.”

  “Poison will okay it if we can convince him. That’s why I’ve got you to come down now. If you think it’s all right we’ll both go an’ see Poison and give it to him with both barrels.”

  The taxi drove up outside the tenement block. There was a large crowd standing around the front door. An ambulance and two police cars were parked on the opposite side of the street.

  Jay bundled out of the car. He looked quickly at Henry, and together they ran up the steps. A big cop stepped in their way. “Take it easy,” he said, “you can’t come in here.”

  Jay said, “We’re goin’ in, buddy. Meet the Editor−in−Chief of the St. Louis Banner. Big stuff, boy. Where’s your red carpet?”

  The cop didn’t move. “Yeah?” he said. “If that old guy’s the Chief of anythin’, then I’m the mother of kittens.”

  Jay looked at Henry. “He’s got you there, Chief,” he said with a grin.

  Henry said with cold dignity, “What’s going on in here?”

  Two plain−clothes men from the Homicide Bureau came down the stairs and made to pass them. Henry knew one of them. “Hey, Bradley, tell this flat−foot who I am. I want to go up!”

  Bradley looked at him keenly. “For Pete’s sake, it’s Henry! What are you doin’ here?”

  Henry smiled easily. “I was passin’, saw the ambulance, and thought I’d see my man work first hand.”

  Bradley shook his head. “It ain’t much,” he said regretfully; “just another shootin’. Still, you can go on up.”

  Jay said, “Who is it?”

  “Guy named Fletcher. I guess someone owed him a grudge.”

  Jay shook his head. “I guess we won’t bother,” he said grimly. “Come on, Chief, that’s small−town stuff.”

  They returned to the taxi, and Jay told the driver to go back to the Banner office.

  “Does that interest you?” he said quietly. “Grantham must have found out he’d talked to me, so he shut his mouth. This looks like the real thing.”

  Henry said doubtfully, “Maybe it was a coincidence.”

  “Maybe it was nothing of the sort. It sticks out a mile. Who’d want to shoot a guy like Fletcher? Ask yourself. He was just an out−of−work clerk. No, guys don’t risk killing a poor punk like that unless it’s very important. I’d like you to speak to Poison.”

  Henry said, “What are you thinking of doing?”

  “I’d like to take this up on the quiet. Keep an eye on the Club, find out what I can, and if I get anything worth while, go for it with two hands.”

  Henry relaxed. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll speak to Poison.”

  “Let’s go an’ see him now,” Jay said. “The old buzzard won’t be in bed yet.”

  Henry groaned. “All right,” he said. “It looks as if I’m not going to get any sleep tonight.”

  “You’ll get all the sleep you want after you’ve seen Poison,” Jay said, giving the new address to the taxi−driver.

  They had to wait nearly half an hour before Poison would see them. Then he walked into the small reception−room, a heavy scowl on his face and his hands thrust deeply in his trouser pockets.

  Poison looked what he was: a millionaire newspaper owner. Hard as nails, a terrific worker, and greedy for dollars. He stared at Henry as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “What do you want?” he snapped. “What is this?”

  Henry said respectfully, “This is Ellinger, who’s responsible for crime news. He’s got a little story that I thought would interest you.”

  Poison didn’t even bother to look at Jay. He tapped Henry on his chest with a long bony forefinger. “Listen, I pay you to listen to interesting stories, and to print them. I’m far too busy to bother with things like that. Go back to the office, hear his story; if it’s any good, print it, if it isn’t, tell him to go to hell.”

  “This story’s about Mendetta and the 22nd Club,” Henry said patiently. “In view of what you said to me this morning, I thought
I’d ask you first.”

  Poison’s eyes snapped. “I said leave the 22nd Club alone. Leave Mendetta alone. When I say a thing I mean what I say.”

  Henry stepped back. “Very well, Mr. Poison,” he said.

  Jay said, “Mendetta’s running a vice ring. He’s trading in women. Decent girls are being kidnapped from their homes. I’ve got proof that he is using the Club for this purpose. I want your permission to make an investigation.”

  Poison stiffened. His thin hatchet face went white with anger. Without looking at Ellinger, he said to Henry: “I will not discuss this further. I’ve told you our policy. Leave Mendetta alone, and leave the Club alone. If any of your staff disobey our policy, get rid of them. Good night.” He turned on his heel and walked stiffly out of the room.

  Henry looked at Jay. “You heard him,” he said.

  “I wonder how much Mendetta gave him, the dirty rat−faced heel,” Jay said, picking up his hat. “If he thinks he can stop me he’s made a big mistake.”

  Henry looked worried. “You’ve got to leave it alone, Jay,” he said. “Poison’s the big shot.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t spell it that way,” and Jay slammed out of the house.

  11

  June 6th, 12.30 a.m.

  GRANTHAM SAT behind his neat desk, writing. A cigarette burnt lazily in an ash−tray at his elbow, and the room was silent but for the faint scratch of his pen.

  He heard his door open, and he glanced up irritably. Raven stood looking at him. Behind Raven, Grantham could see Lu Eller, white−faced and uncertain.

  Grantham laid down his pen very slowly. The colour went out of his face and a muscle in his jaw began to jump.

  Raven said, “Tell this monkey to go away.”

  Grantham knew that Mendetta was dead. Raven would never have come if Mendetta wasn’t dead. He told Eller with his eyes to go away. He didn’t trust his voice.