I angled over and met him. “Nice corpse,” I said.
“I thought I told you to stay in the car. Those cops have you on their list.”
“So what. I’m on a lot of lists these days. What about the girl?”
“Unidentified. Probably a lovers’ quarrel. She had a couple of broken ribs and a broken neck. She was dead before she hit the water.”
“And the note ... did the lover stuff that in her pocket before he threw her overboard?”
“You have big ears. Yes, that’s what it looks like. They probably argued previously, he invited her for a walk, then gave it to her.”
“Strong guy to mess her up like that, no?”
Pat nodded. I opened the door and he got in, sliding over so I could get behind the wheel. “He had to be to break her ribs.”
“Very strong,” I mused. “I’m not a weak sister myself and I know what it’s like to come up against one of those strong bastards.” I sat there and watched him.
A look of incredulity came over his face. “Now wait a minute. We’re on two different subjects, feller. Don’t try tell me that he was the same ...”
“Know who she was, Pat?”
“I told you she was unidentified at present. She had no handbag but we’ll trace her from her clothes.”
“That takes time.”
“Know a better way?”
“Yeah,” I said. “As a matter of fact I do.” I reached behind the seat and dragged out an envelope. It was jammed with pictures and I dumped them into my lap. Pat reached up and turned on the overhead light. I shuffled through them and brought out the one I was looking for.
Pat looked a little sick. He glanced at me then back to the picture. “Her name is Jean Trotter, Pat. She’s a model at Anton Lipsek’s agency. Several days ago she eloped.”
I thought he’d never stop swearing. He fanned out the pictures in his hand and squinted at them with eyes that blazed hot as the fires of hell. “Pictures. Pictures. Goddamn it, Mike, what are we up against? Do you know what that burned stuff was that you found in Emil Perry’s house?”
I shook my head.
“Pictures!” he exploded. “A whole mess of burned photographs that didn’t show a thing!”
The steering wheel started to bend under my fingers. I jammed my foot on the starter and roared away from the curb. Pat looked at the picture again in the light of the dash. His breath was coming fast. “We can make it official now. I’ll get the whole department on it if I have to. Give me a week and we’ll have that guy ready to face a murder trial.”
I glowered back at him. “Week hell, all we have is a couple of hours. Did you trace that piece of fabric I gave you?”
“Sure, we traced it all right. We found the store it came from ... over a year ago. It was from a damn good suit the owner remembered selling, but the guy had no recollection for faces. It was a cash transaction and he didn’t have a record of the size or any names or addresses. Our killer is one smart Joe.”
“He’ll trip up. They all do.”
I cut in and out of traffic, my foot heavy on the accelerator. On the main drag I was lucky enough to make the lights and didn’t have to stop until I was in front of the Municipal Building. I said, “Pat, use your badge and check the marriage bureau for Jean Trotter’s certificate. Find out who she eloped with and where she was married. Since I can’t show my nose you’ll have to do this on your own.”
He started out of the car and I handed him the photograph. “Take this along in case you have to brighten up a memory or two.”
“Where’ll you be?”
I looked at my watch. “First I’m going to see what I can get on the girl myself. Then I’m going to stop a seduction scene before it starts.”
Pat was still trying to figure that one out when I drove off. I looked in the rear-vision mirror and saw him pocket the photograph and walk away up the street.
I stopped at the first drugstore I came to and had a quarter changed into nickels then pushed a guy out of the way who was getting into the booth. He was going to argue about it until he saw my face then he changed his mind and went looking for another phone. I dropped the coin in and dialed Juno’s number. I was overanxious and got the wrong number. The second time I hit it right, but I didn’t get to speak to Juno. Her phone was connected to one of those service outfits that take messages and a girl told me that Miss Reeves was out, but expected home shortly. I said no, I didn’t want to leave a message and hung up.
I threw in another nickel and spun the dial. Connie was home. She would be glad to see me no matter what the hour was. My voice had a rasp to it and she said, “Anything wrong, Mike?”
“Plenty. I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”
I set some sort of a record getting to her place, leaving behind me a stream of swearing-mad cab drivers who had tried to hog the road and got bumped over to the side for their pains.
A guy had his key in the downstairs door so I didn’t have to ring the bell to get in. I didn’t have to ring the upstairs bell either, because the door was open and when Connie heard me in the hall she shouted for me to come right in.
I threw my hat on the chair, standing in the dull light of the hall a moment to see where I was. Only a little night light was on, but a long finger of bright light streamed from the bedroom door out across the living room. I picked my way round the furniture and called, “Connie?”
“In here, Mike.”
She was in bed with a couple of pillows behind her back reading a book. “Kind of early for this sort of thing, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but I’m not going out!” She grinned and wiggled under the covers. “Come over here and sit down. You can tell me all your troubles.” She patted the edge of the bed.
I sat down and she put her fingers under mine. I didn’t have to tell her something bad had happened. She could read it in my eyes. Her smile disappeared into a frown. “What is it, Mike?”
“Jean Trotter ... she was murdered tonight. She was killed and thrown off the bridge. It was supposed to look like suicide, but it was seen.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“God, when is it going to stop, Mike? Poor Jean ...”
“It’ll stop when we have the killer and not before. What do you know about her, Connie? What was she like ... who was this guy she married?”
Connie shook her head, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. “Jean ... she was a sweet kid when I first met her. I—I don’t know too much about her, really. She was older than the teen-age group of course, but she modeled clothes for them. We ... never did the same type work, so I don’t know about that.”
“Men ... what men did she go with? Ever see them?”
“No, I didn’t. When she first came to work I heard that she was engaged to a West Point cadet, then something happened. She was pretty broken up for a while. Juno made her take a vacation and when she came back she seemed to be all right, though she didn’t take much interest in men. One time at an office party she and I were talking about what wolves some men are and she was all for hanging every man by their thumbs and making it a woman’s world.”
“Nice attitude. What changed her?”
“Now you’ve got me. We sort of lived in different parts of the world and I never saw too much of her. I know she had a good sum of money tied up in expensive jewelry she used to wear and there was talk about a wealthy student in an upstate college taking her out, but I never inquired about it. As a matter of fact, I was very surprised when she eloped like that. True love is funny, isn’t it, Mike?”
“Not so funny.”
“No, I guess not.”
I put my face in my hand, rubbing my head to make things come out right. “Is that all ... everything you know about her? Do you know where she was from or anything about her background?”
Connie squinted at the light and raised her forefinger thoughtfully. “Oh ... I think ...”
“Come on, come on ... what?”
“I just happened to think. Jean Trotter wasn’t her right name. She had a long Polish name and changed it when she became a model. She even made it legal and I cut the piece out of the paper that carried a notation about it. Mike ... over there in the dresser is a small leather folder. Go get it for me.”
I slid off the bed and started through the top drawer until Connie said, “No ... the other one, Mike.”
I tried that one too but couldn’t find it. “Damn it, Connie, come over here and get it, will you!”
“I can’t.” She laughed nervously.
So I started tossing all her junk to the floor until she yipped and threw back the covers to run over and make me stop. Now I knew why she didn’t want to get out of bed. She was as naked as a jaybird.
She found the folder in the back of a drawer and handed it to me with a scowl. “You ought to have the decency to close your eyes, at least.”
“Hell, I like you like that.”
“Then do something about it.”
I tried to look through the folder, but my eyes wouldn’t stand still. “For Pete’s sake, put something on, will you!”
She put her hands on her hips and leaned toward me, her tongue sticking out. Then she turned slowly, with all the sultry motion she could command, and walked to the clothes closet. She pulled out her fur coat and slipped into it, holding it closed around her middle. “I’ll teach you,” she said. Then she sat in a low boudoir chair with her legs crossed, making it plain that I could look and be tempted, but that was all, brother, that was all.
When I went back to pawing through the folder she let the coat slip open and I had to turn my back and sit down. Connie laughed, but I found the clipping.
Her name had been Julia Travesky. By order of the court she was now legally Jean Trotter. Her address was given at a small hotel for women in an uptown section. I stuffed the clipping in my wallet and put the folder in the dresser drawer. “At least it’s something,” I said. “We can find out the rest from the court records.”
“What are you looking for, Mike?”
“Anything that will tell me why she was important enough to kill.”
“I was thinking ...”
“Yeah?”
“There are files down at the office. Whenever a girl applies for work at the agency she has to leave her history and a lot of sample photos and press clippings. Maybe Jean’s are still there.”
I whistled through my teeth and nodded. “You’ve got something, Connie. I called Juno before I came up, but she wasn’t home. How about Anton Lipsek?”
Connie snorted and pulled the coat back to bare her legs a little more. “That drip is probably still sleeping off the drunk he worked up last night. He and Marion Lester got crocked to the ears and they took off for Anton’s place with some people from the lnn about three o’clock in the morning. Neither of them showed up for work today. Juno didn’t say much, but she was plenty burned up.”
“Nuts. Who else might have keys to the place then?”
“Oh, I can get in. I had to once before when I left my pocketbook in the office. I kissed the janitor’s bald head and he handed over his passkey.”
The hands of my watch were going around too fast. My insides were beginning to turn into a hard fuzzy ball again. “Do me a favor, Connie. Go up and see if you can get that file on her. Get it and come right back here. I have something to do in the meanwhile and you’ll be helping out a lot if you can manage it.”
“No,” she pouted.
“Cripes, Connie, use your head! I told you ...”
“Go with me.”
“I can’t.”
The pout turned into a grin and she peeked at me under her eyelashes. She stood up, put a cigarette between her lips, and in a pose as completely normal as if she had on an evening gown, she pushed back the coat and rested her hands on her hips and swayed over until she was looking up into my face.
I had never seen anything so unnaturally inviting in all my life.
“Go with me,” she said, “then we’ll come back together.”
I said, “Come here, you,” and grabbed her as naked as she was and squeezed her against my chest until her mouth opened. Then I kissed her good. So good she stopped breathing for long seconds and her eyes were glazed.
“Now do what I told you to do or you’ll get the hell slapped out of your hide,” I said.
She lowered her eyes and covered herself up with the coat. The grin she tried so hard to hide slipped out anyway. “You’re the boss, Mike. Any time you want to be my boss, don’t tell me. I’ll know it all by myself.”
I put my thumb under her chin and lifted her face up. “There ought to be more people in this world like you, kid.”
“You’re an ugly so-and-so, Mike. You’re big and rough just like my brothers and I love you ten times as much.”
I was going to kiss her again and she saw it coming. She shed that coat and flew into my arms and let her body scorch mine. I had to shove her away when it was the one thing I didn’t want to do, because it reminded me that soon something like this might be happening to Velda and I couldn’t let it happen.
The thought scared the hell out of me. It scared me right down to my shoes and I was damning the ground Clyde walked on. I practically ran out of the apartment and stumbled down the stairs in my haste. I ran to the corner and into a candy store where the owner was just turning out the lights. I was in the phone booth before he could tell me the place was closed and my fingers could hardly hold the nickel to drop it in the slot.
Maybe there was still time, I thought. God, there had to be time. Minutes and seconds, what made them so important? Little fractions of eternity that could make life worth living. I dialed Velda’s number and heard it ring. It rang a long time and no one answered, so I let it go on ringing and ringing and ringing. It rang for a year before she answered it. I said it was me and she wanted to hang up. I shouted, and she held it, and cautiously asked me where I was.
I said, “I’m nowhere near your place, Velda, so don’t worry about me pulling anything funny. Look, hold everything. Don’t go up there tonight ... there’s no need to now. I think we have the thing by the tail.”
Velda’s voice was soft, but so firm, so goddamn firm I could have screamed. She said, “No, Mike. Don’t try to stop me. I know you’ll think of every excuse you can, but please don’t try to stop me. You’ve never really let me do anything before and I know how important this is. Please, Mike ...”
“Velda, listen to me.” I tried to keep my voice calm. “It isn’t a stall. One of the agency girls was murdered tonight. Things are tying up. Her name was Jean Trotter ... before that she was Julia Travesky. The killer got her and...”
“Who?”
“Jean... Julia Travesky.”
“Mike ... that was the girl Chester Wheeler told his wife he had met in New York. The one who was his daughter’s old school chum.”
“What!”
“You remember. I spoke of it after I came back from Columbus.”
My throat got dry all of a sudden. It was an effort to speak. “Velda, for God’s sake, don’t go up there tonight. Wait ... wait just a little while,” I croaked.
“No.”
“Velda ...”
“I said no, Mike. I’m going. The police were here earlier. They were looking for you. They want you for murder.”
I think I groaned. I couldn’t get the words out.
“If they find you we won’t have a chance, Mike. You’ll go behind bars and I couldn’t stand that.”
“I know all about that, Velda. I was with Pat tonight. He told me. What do I have to do, get on my knees ...”
“Mike ...”
I couldn’t fight the purpose in her voice. Good Lord, she thought she was helping me and I couldn’t tell her differently! She thought I was trying to protect her and she was going ahead at all costs! Oh, Lord think of a way to stop her, I couldn’t! She said, “Please don’t bother to come up, Mike. I’ll be gone, and besides, there are policem
en watching this building. Don’t make it any harder for me, please.”
She hung up on me. Just like that. Damn it, she hung up and left me cooped up in that two-by-four booth staring at an inanimate piece of equipment. I slammed the receiver back in the hook and ran past the guy who held the pull cord of the light in his hand, ready to turn it out. Lights out. Lights out for me too.
I ran back to the car and started it up. Time. Damn it, how much time? Pat said give him a week. A while ago I needed hours. Now minutes counted. Minutes I couldn’t spare just when things were beginning to make sense. Jean Trotter ... she was the one Wheeler met at that dinner meeting. She was the one he went out with. But Jean eloped and got out of the picture very conveniently and Marion Lester took over the duty of saying Wheeler was with her, and Marion Lester and Anton Lipsek were very friendly.
I needed a little talk with Marion Lester. I wanted to know why she lied and who made her lie. I’d tell her once to talk, and if she wouldn’t I’d work her over until she’d be glad to talk, glad to scream her guts out and put the finger on the certain somebody I was after.
CHAPTER 11
I tried hard to locate Pat. I tried until my nickels were spent and there wasn’t any place else to try. He was out chasing a name that didn’t matter any more and I couldn’t find him at the time when I needed him most. I left messages for him to either stay in his office or go home until I called him and they promised to tell him when, and if, he came in. My shirt was soaked through with cold sweat when I got finished.
The sky had loosened up again and was letting more flakes of snow sift down. Great. Just great. More minutes wasted getting around. I checked the time and swore some big curses then climbed in the car and turned north into traffic. Jean Trotter and Wheeler. It all came back to Wheeler after all. The two were murdered for the same reason. Why ... because he saw and recognized her as an old friend? Was it something he knew about her that made him worth killing? Was it something she knew about him?
There was blackmail to it, some insidious kind of blackmail that could scare the pants off a guy like Emil Perry and a dozen other big shots who couldn’t afford to leave town when it pleased them. Photographs. Burned photographs. Models. A photographer named Anton Lipsek. A tough egg called Rainey. The brains named Clyde. They added.
The Mike Hammer Collection Page 57