Miss Callaghan Comes to Grief

by James Hadley Chase

  Fan, her eyes gleaming madly, shrilled, “What are you waitin’ for? Where’s the other one?”

  In a body they stampeded for the door. Andree and Julie had already gone upstairs. They could hear them thumping on a door.

  Fan, her hands covered in blood, ran up the stairs, with the others behind her. They brushed the two girls away from the door and threw themselves forward. The door creaked and bulged, but held.

  Grantham backed against the wall, terrified. He rushed to the window and threw it up. Far below him he could see cars passing and people moving about in the streets. He leant far out of the window and began to yell at the top of his voice.

  Faces turned towards him. People stopped and pointed. Cars came to a standstill, and people got out to look at him. He saw a policeman move towards the house with a slow measured tread. Behind him he heard the door creak, and he yelled again, his voice going off pitch with terror.

  Then with a crash the door flew open, and he spun round, his back to the window.

  Fan stood there, her hair wild and her eyes savage. He saw the bloodstained knife gripped in her hand and he turned back to the window. He heard his own voice screaming in panic as he tried to climb out.

  They all came across the room in a wave. Hands seized him and dragged him back. He went down under them with a thin wail of terror.

  11

  September 8th, 5.30 p.m.

  RAVEN glanced at the clock and stood up. It was time he got back to his hotel. He nodded to Maltz. “It’s goin’ all right,” he said. “We’ll have to open some more houses. The girls are comin’ in now faster than we can handle them.”

  Maltz grunted. “The cops at Denver are workin’ on this, boss,” he said. “There’s been a hell of a lot of squawks from that town. Maybe we ought to ease up on the girls there.” Raven nodded. “Sure,” he said; “put a little more pressure on Cleveland. When things start getting hot, try somewhere else.”

  He went to the door. “I’m goin’ back now,” he said. “You might go over to the 22nd tonight. I’m expecting a batch of girls to come in. Grantham’s gettin’ too busy to handle that sort of thing now.”

  Maltz said he would, and Raven went out. He walked down the stairs, his face thoughtful. All the afternoon he had been worrying. He knew someone wanted to get his finger−prints. When the St. Louis house dick had brought him the cigarette−case his suspicions had been aroused. It couldn’t be the authorities. They would never have used a broken−down flatfoot like Harris.

  The last three months of easy living had not blunted his finely developed sense of self−preservation. He had got on too well to risk anything now.

  Out in the street he hesitated before calling a taxi. Something told him that he shouldn’t return to the hotel.

  Yet, he told himself savagely, he’d got to. All his dough was there.

  As he neared the hotel he leant forward and told the driver to go straight on past. He crouched back in the cab and examined the hotel carefully as they went by. He saw nothing there to alarm him. Still he wasn’t satisfied. He stopped the taxi at the next block and paid him off. Then he went into a phone booth and rang his apartment. The clerk said apologetically that he could get no answer. He asked sharply if his wife was out.

  The clerk told him he hadn’t seen her go. Raven hung up.

  By now he was a little alarmed. He wondered if Grantham knew anything. When he rang Grantham’s office he was told that he was out, but was expected any minute.

  “Where’s he gone?” he asked.

  The girl said, “To Madam Lacey’s house.”

  Raven hung up and immediately rang Madam Lacey’s. A hard voice answered him. It was a man’s voice he couldn’t place. He asked for Grantham.

  “Who are you?” the voice snapped.

  Raven sensed that it was a cop. He felt cold sweat suddenly break out under his arms. “Tell him it’s Fleming,” he said; “I want to talk to him.”

  “He’s busy right now,” the voice said. “Suppose you come down.”

  “I’ll be right along,” Raven said, and hung up. There was something wrong. He rang up Maltz.

  “Go over to the hotel and sniff around,” he said, after explaining what had happened. “Don’t give yourself away. Just poke around quietly and meet me at Franky’s in an hour’s time.”

  Maltz said he would.

  Raven came out of the phone−box and lit a cigarette. He hailed a taxi and gave Madam Lacey’s address. “I want you to cruise past the joint slowly, but you’re not to stop.”

  The taxi−driver said he’d do that and set the cab rolling. They reached the house in a few minutes, and Raven could see something was wrong. There were two police cars and an ambulance standing outside. A policeman stood at the door frowning at the large collection of people standing staring.

  At the end of the road Raven paid off the taxi and walked slowly back towards the house. He kept on the opposite side of the road, his hand touching the handle of his hidden gun. He mingled with the crowd and stood watching.

  Three patrol wagons came racing down the street, their sirens wailing, and drew up outside the house. The crowd surged forward, carrying Raven with them.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” he asked a guy who stood near him.

  “They’re raidin’ a brothel,” the guy said with evident relish. “Seems a riot broke out inside. They say the dames in there set about two fellas and killed them.”

  Raven started. “What do you meankilled them?”

  “That’s right,” a sheep−faced man broke in. “Two punks who ran the house. The girls got tough an’ gave them the worksserve the lousy punks right.”

  Just then the front door opened and the police began to bundle the girls out into the street. The crowd raised an ironic cheer. The girls were herded into the wagons, cops applying their night−sticks to their backsides as they fought and protested. It was a real outing for the crowd. The sheep−faced man yelled, “I bet those cops’ll have a treat tonight.” The crowd raised a loud laugh. “Can we help you, copper,” another man bawled, “or can you manage that little lot yourself?”

  Raven recognized Fan, Julie and Andree. He noticed they were handcuffed. Fan was being very troublesome, and the cops were treating her rough.

  Raven was livid with suppressed rage. Each one of those girls brought him in a large income. What the hell did the cops mean by breaking into one of his houses? Then he remembered what the sheep−faced man had said. Uneasily, he waited. The wagons moved off, and then two white−coated attendants came out, carrying a stretcher. The crowd gave a groan of satisfaction and shoved forward some more. By stretching his neck Raven caught a glimpse of a figure covered with a white sheet being slid into the ambulance. Almost immediately two more attendants came out carrying another stretcher.

  “What did I tell you?” the sheep−faced man demanded triumphantly. “Killed two guys those girls did. An’

  serve ’em right, I say.”

  Raven had seen quite enough. It was dangerous to stay here any longer. He broke away from the crowd and walked hurriedly away. His brain was on fire with worry. Maybe Maltz would find out something. It was obviously very unsafe to return to his hotel. He passed a telephone booth, hesitated, and then went in. He rang up the D.A.’s office.

  “Hackensfield?” he asked, when a man answered the phone. “This is a friend of Grantham. What’s happened? What the hell are you raiding one of our houses’ for?”

  “Who are you? What’s your name?” Hackensfield demanded. He sounded tough.

  “Never mind who I am. If you want to stay on our payroll you’d better get those girls off at once,” Raven snarled.

  “You’re crazy. I can’t do it,” Hackensfield said, throwing caution to the wind. “Don’t you know what they’ve done?”

  “What have they done?”

  “They set about Grantham and Eller. My God! You ought to see those guys. The things they did to them. I tell you we’ve got to prosecute. The autho
rities will demand an enquiry. We can’t get out of this.”

  Raven felt a little sick. “You’ve got to!” he shouted violently. “If you get those girls to testify the balloon goes up. Once they start openin’ their mouths they’ll never shut them again. The racket’ll go sky−high, an’

  you’ll go with it. Listen, Hackensfield, you’ve got to stop them testifying. I don’t care how you do it, but you’ve got to stop them. Do you understand?”

  Hackensfield’s voice cracked in his panic. “I tell you we can’t do it. Two murders have been committed.

  The newspapers have got all the details. They’ll splash it in every newspaper. The public will demand a trial.

  This is the most horrible and sensational crime that’s ever been committed in this town. You’ll have to get the hell out of here and leave it to me to handle. Can’t you see that?”

  “If you think I’m goin’ to pass up nearly a million dollars of investments just because you’re too damned milky to stop it, you’re crazy. I’ll stop it if I have to break into the gaol and shoot every one of those whores.

  Now do you understand that I mean business?”

  There was a pause, then Hackensfield said, “It won’t work. Think about it. Statements will be taken from the girls as soon as they get to the station. They’ll find out that some of the girls have come from other States.

  The F.B.I. have already gone down to the station to see if they can horn in on the investigation. We can’t keep them out. As soon as they know there are girls from other States they can take charge through the Mann Act.

  No, it’s all up. Every one of us’ll have to save his own hide.”

  Raven hung up and stepped out of the phone booth, trembling with suppressed rage. Hackensfield was right. The thing had come too fast for him to act. The F.B.I. would take over and he’d be on the run again.

  There wasn’t a moment to delay.

  He climbed into the taxi and gave Franky’s address. He had to pick Maltz up, although by now Franky’s wouldn’t be safe. During the drive he took out his wallet and counted the amount of money he had on him.

  He’d got just over two hundred dollars. When he thought that he could put his hands on nearly a million dollars if he could only get back to the hotel, he shivered with rage and frustration. He’d got to get that money, even if he raided the hotel and took it at the point of a gun.

  He paid off the taxi at Franky’s and, holding the butt of his gun, walked in.

  Maltz, Little Joe and Lefty came across the lobby as soon as they saw him.

  “You got a car?” he snapped.

  Lefty nodded. “At the back.”

  “Then let’s get out of here,” Raven said.

  They went through Franky’s place and got in the car. “Where to, boss?” Lefty asked.

  “Drive around. I want to talk,” Raven returned, lighting a cigarette. “Just keep moving.”

  The car swung away from the kerb.

  “Well, what did you find out?” Raven asked Maltz.

  Maltz seemed bewildered. “The cops are in your apartment,” he said. “They took Sadie away. What the hell’s happenin’?”

  Raven’s face twisted. “It’s that rat Grantham,” he snarled. “I was crazy to have trusted him. I told him to get rid of Ellinger and he didn’t do it. Now Ellinger’s finished us.”

  Little Joe scratched his head. “What do we do now?” he asked. “Shall we beat it out of town?”

  Raven shook his head. “Before we go we’ve got to have some dough. We’re goin’ to the St. Louis Hotel an’

  collect the dough I’ve got in my apartment.”

  Maltz said patiently, “I told you the cops are in there. They’ll have found it by now.”

  Raven shook his head. “No guy’s goin’ to open my safe in a few hours. We’ve got to get that dough, Maltz.”

  Lefty said, “The G−men will be up there too.”

  Raven showed his teeth. “Yeah? What of it? We’ll go up the back way with Thompsons. They won’t have a chance.”

  The others looked at each other uneasily. “Those guys can shoot,” Little Joe said nervously.

  Raven nodded. “So can we. St. Louis Hotel, Lefty.”

  12

  September 8th, 6.5 p.m.

  CAMPBELL, special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, smiled at Sadie reassuringly. He sat behind a large desk in a severely furnished office.

  “Before you give me your evidence,” he said, “I’ll tell you something about this guy Cruise. For one thing, that’s not his name. Fortunately, Mr. Ellinger obtained a perfect set of prints for us. We’ve had these checked.

  They belong to a man whom we know as Raven and who we’ve been looking for for some time. This Raven had a bad criminal record in Chicago. He made things too hot for himself and pulled out. He pulled out in a stolen car and crossed a State line. That gave us a chance of getting after him. We lost sight of him here, although he was reported to have been seen further south. Never mind that. As far as you’re concerned, you’re safe from him. We shall give you special protection, and until he’s rounded up you’ll stay out of town with a special guard. You’re very important to us. Not only can you prove that he was the guy who killed Mendetta, but your testimony on his Slave racket will get him on the other counts we are bringing against him.”

  Sadie moved restlessly. “Will it take long?” she asked.

  Campbell shrugged. “I don’t think so. We mustn’t underrate this man. He’s clever, and he may still give us the slip, but with your help I think we’ll get him quickly. Can you tell me anything about his habits? Did he like movies, for instance? You see, what we have to do in a case like this is to find out everything we can about a wanted man. They have their own little peculiarities. Some of them are crazy about racing. Sooner or later they’ll appear on a race−track, and we catch them there. You see what I’m getting at?”

  Sadie drew a deep breath. “He was crazy about toy trains,” she said.

  Campbell lifted his eyebrows. “Now, that’s something.” He made a note on a pad. “I was goin’ to ask about that. We found a big outfit in his rooms.”

  Sadie nodded. “When he wasn’t working he used to make me set out the tracks and he’d spend hours playing with the trains.”

  “Anything else?”

  Sadie shook her head. “No. Just the trains.”

  “Did he smoke or drink heavily?”

  Again Sadie shook her head. “Just average, I think.”

  “You’ve been through a pretty tough time, Mrs. Perminger,” Campbell said quietly. “I hate to remind you of some things, but every little help you can give us will make our task less difficult.”

  Sadie said tonelessly, “I understand.”

  Taking from his desk drawer a thick portfolio, Campbell selected a large batch of pictures. “Here are photos of girls who have been reported missing during the last three months. I want to see if you can identify any of them. You were in one of the houses for some time and there is a chance that you saw some of them.”

  Sadie took the batch and went through them slowly. Campbell watched her thoughtfully. It seemed incredible to him that she should be so cold and calm after what she had been through.

  She handed him back about thirty photos. “All these girls were one time or another in my house,” she said.

  “Can you explain how this business was worked?” Campbell asked. “Some of these girls came from Springfield, Cleveland, Denver, and such places. Did they come willingly, or how did he get hold of them?”

  Sadie shook her head. “It was all horribly simple. He had special men who were always on the look−out for lonely girlsgirls who weren’t happy at home; girls who wanted a good time. They had to be pretty and young. When these men found them they either drugged them and took them by car to Sedalia, which was their clearing−post, or else they invented some story about an accident and got them to come that way. The method differed each time, but it was always a quick, simple plan
that was unlikely to arouse suspicions.”

  “Sedalia?” Campbell repeated.

  Sadie nodded. “Every girl I spoke to had been taken there.”

  Campbell reached for his phone and gave some rapid orders. “I’ll get that place looked over immediately,”

  he said to Sadie. “When they got them to Sedalia, what happened then?”

  Sadie flinched. “Must I talk about that?”

  “I know just how you feel, but if we’re to save other girls from this business we must know all about it.”

  “From what I heard, the girls were put in separate rooms and left to sleep off the drugs. When they recovered they found themselves in bed with a coloured man. It was always a coloured man. Sometimes it was a Chink, or a nigger, or even a Phillipine. They relied on the psychological shock to lower the girl’s resistance, and in most cases it was successful. Some of the girls refused, of course, and then they would beat them into submission.” Sadie shuddered. “No one knows what that means unless you’ve actually experienced it. To be beaten every hour of the day until your body is swollen and so tender that the weight of a sheet makes you scream in agony. No one can stand that, Mr. Campbell. I don’t care who it is.”

  Campbell nodded. “I understand,” he said.

  “When Raven took over he had other methods of subduing girls. He poured turpentine over them. That was worse than the beatings.” Sadie put her hand to her eyes. “Mr. Campbell, this man mustn’t get away.”

  “He won’t. I promise you that.” Campbell got to his feet. “I think that’ll do for the moment,” he went on.

  “I’m sending you out of town to a quiet little place where you can rest. I want to congratulate you on your courage. After the things you’ve told me, it is remarkable that you’ve stood up to it so well.”

  Sadie stood looking at him, her face cold and hard. “Do you think I can ever forget?” she said. “My life’s ruined. I can’t go back to my husband. I can’t settle to anything. I want revenge, Mr. Campbell. It may be wicked to say that, but I want to see this Raven suffer as I was made to suffer. Thank God those girls killed Grantham and Eller. If I could do the same to Raven I should die happy.”