Figure It Out for Yourself vm-3

by James Hadley Chase

  He looked at me, frowning, then moved off down to the far end of the bar. I waited a moment until I was sure he wasn’t coming back, then I slid off the stool and went out into the hot afternoon sunshine.

  Jeff Barratt: could be, I thought. I didn’t know he had any boys. He had a good reason to shut Gracie’s mouth. I began to wonder if he was the master-mind behind the kidnapping. It would fit together very well if he was; possibly too well.

  I also wondered, as I walked across to where I had parked the Buick, if Mary Jerome was hooked up in some way with Barratt. It was time I did something about her. I decided to run up to the Acme Garage and ask some questions.

  I drove fast up Beach Road into Hawthorne Avenue and I turned left into Foothill Boulevard.

  The sun was strong, and I lowered the blue sunshield over the windshield. The sunlight, coming through the blue glass, filled the car with a soft, easy light and made me feel as if I was in an aquarium.

  The Acme Garage stood at the corner of Foothill Boulevard and Hollywood Avenue, facing the desert. It wasn’t anything to get excited about, and I wondered why Lute Ferris had selected such an isolated, out-of-the-way spot for a filling station.

  There were six pumps, two air- and water-towers in a row before a large steel and corrugated shed that acted as a repair shop. To the right was a dilapidated rest-room and snack bar, and behind the shed, almost out of sight, was a squat, ugly looking bungalow with a flat roof.

  At one time the station might have looked smart. You could still see signs of a blue-and-white check pattern on the build-ings, but the salt air, the sand from the desert, the winds and the rain had caught up with the smartness, and no one had bothered to take on an unequal battle.

  Before one of the gas pumps was a low-slung Bentley coupé; black and glittering in the sunshine. At the far end of the ramp leading to the repair shop was a four-ton truck.

  There seemed no one about, and I drove slowly up to one of the pumps and stopped; my bumpers about a couple of yard from the Bentley’s rear.

  I tapped on the horn and waited; using my eyes, seeing nothing to excite my interest.

  After a while a boy in a blue, greasy overall came out of the repair shop as if he had the whole day still on his hands, and wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it now he had it. He lounged past the Bentley, and raised eyebrows at me without any show of interest.

  At a guess he was about sixteen, but old in sin and cunning. His oil-smudged face was thin and hard, and his small green eyes were shifty.

  ‘Ten,’ I said, took out a cigarette and lit it. ‘Don’t exhaust yourself. I don’t have to be in bed until midnight.’

  He gave me a cold, blank stare, and went around to the back of the car. I kept my eye on the spinning dial just to be sure he didn’t short-change me.

  After a while he reappeared and shoved out a grubby paw. I paid.

  ‘Where’s Ferris?’

  The green eyes shifted to my face and away.

  ‘Out of town.’

  ‘When will he be back?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Mrs. Ferris about?’

  ‘She’s busy.’

  I jerked my thumb towards the bungalow.

  ‘In there?’

  ‘Wherever she is, she’s still busy,’ the boy said and moved off.

  I was about to yell after him when from behind the repair shop came a tall, immaculate figure in a light check lounge suit, a snap-brimmed brown hat well over one eye and a blood-red carnation in his buttonhole: Jeff Barratt.

  I sat still and watched him, knowing he couldn’t see me through the dark blue sunshield.

  He gave the Buick a casual stare before climbing into the Bentley. He drove off towards Beechwood Avenue.

  The boy had gone into the repair shop. I had an idea he was watching me, although I couldn’t see him. I waited a moment or so, thinking. Was it a coincidence that Barratt had appeared here? I didn’t think so. Then I remembered Mifflin had told me Lute Ferris was a suspected marijuana smuggler. I knew Barratt smoked the stuff. Was that the hook-up between them? Was it also a coincidence that Mary Jerome should have picked on his out-of-the-way garage from which to hire a car? Again I didn’t think so. I suddenly realized I was making discoveries and progress for the first time since I started on this case. I decided to take a look at Mrs. Ferris.

  I got out of the Buick, and set off along the concrete path that led past the repair shop to the bungalow.

  The boy was standing in the shadows, just inside the door of repair shop. He stared at me woodenly as I passed. I stared right back at him.

  He didn’t move or say anything, so I went on, turned the comer of the shed and marched up the path to the bungalow.

  There was a line of washed clothes across the unkept garden: a man’s singlet, a woman’s vest, socks, stockings and a pair of ancient dungarees. I ducked under the stockings, and rapped on the shabby, blistered front door.

  There was a lengthy pause, and as I was going to rap again the door opened.

  The girl who stood in the doorway was small and Compact and blowsy. Even at a guess I couldn’t have put her age within five years either side of twenty-five. She looked as if life hadn’t been fun for a long time; so long she had ceased to care about fun, anyway. Her badly bleached hair was stringy and limp. Her face was puffy and her eyes red with recent weeping. Only the cold, hard set to her mouth showed she had a little spirit left, not much, but enough.

  ‘Yes?’ She looked at me suspiciously. ‘What do you want?’

  I tipped my hat at her.

  ‘Mr. Ferris in?’

  ‘No. Who wants him?’

  ‘I understand he rented a car to Miss Jerome. I wanted to talk to him about her.’

  She took a slow step back and her hand moved up to rest on the doorknob. In a second or so she was going to slam the door in my face.

  ‘He’s not here, and I’ve nothing to tell you.’

  ‘I’ve been authorized to pay for any information I get,’ I said hurriedly as the door began to move.

  ‘How much?’

  She was looking now like a hungry dog looking at a bone.

  ‘Depends on what I get. I might spring a hundred bucks.’

  The tip of a whitish tongue ran the length of her lips.

  ‘What sort of information?’

  ‘Could I step inside? I won’t keep you long.’

  She hesitated. I could see suspicion, fear and money-hunger wrestling in her mind. Money won, as it usually does. She stood aside.

  ‘Well, come in. It’s not over-tidy, but I’ve been busy.’

  She led me into a back room. It was shabby and dirty and sordid. The furniture looked as if it had come from the junk- man’s barrow; the threadbare carpet sent out little puffs of dust when I trod on it. There were greasy black finger-prints on the overmantel and the walls. The least one could say of it was, it was not over-tidy.

  She sat down in an easy chair that sagged under her weight and stared at me, uneasy and suspicious.

  ‘The boy said your husband is out of town. I didn’t believe him,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know where he is.’ Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she turned her head. ‘I think he’s skipped.’

  I felt a prickle run up my spine.

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘What about this money? I haven’t a damn cent. He went off, owing money everywhere. I haven’t enough even to buy food.’

  ‘You’ll get it if you have anything worth while to tell me.’

  Her face hardened.

  ‘I could tell you plenty. They think I don’t know anything, but I do. I keep my ears and eyes open. I know all about them. I’ve had enough of this hole. I’ll sell them out if you give me enough to get away from here.’

  ‘Sell who out?’

  ‘Lute and Barratt.’

  I took out my bill-fold. It felt very lean. I had only thirty doll
ars left. I took out a twentydollar bill and dangled it before her.

  ‘There’s more where this comes from. How much do you want?’

  She leaned forward and snatched the bill out of my hand.

  ‘Five hundred and I’ll give you the works.’

  ‘What do you think I am—made of money? A hundred.’

  She gave me a cold, fixed stare.

  ‘That’s my price; take it or leave it. I’m going to get out of here. I’ll give you a signed statement. It’ll blow the lid off their racket. Take it or leave it.’

  ‘I’ve got to know what I’m buying. You’ll get your five hun-dred if what you’ve got is what I want. Tell me.’

  She hesitated, staring at me.

  Who are you working for?’

  ‘Perelli. Let’s have it.’

  ‘I’ll give you a little of it,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll give you the whole of it when I have the money. Lute, Barratt and Dedrick are running the biggest smuggling racket on the coast. They’re supplying millions of reefers all over the country and to Paris, London, and Berlin. Lute looks after Los Angeles and San Francisco. Barratt takes care of London and New York. Ded- rick supplies Paris and Berlin. How’s that for a sample?’

  ‘You’re sure about Dedrick?’

  She gave me a sneering little smile.

  ‘I’m sure. I’ve heard them talk. They think I’m dumb, but I’m not. If they had treated me right I would have kept my mouth shut. I know where they keep the reefers. There’s not much I don’t know. You’ll get it all for five hundred bucks, and it’ll be cheap at the price.’

  ‘What do you know about Mary Jerome?’

  She chewed her underlip, her eyes hard.

  ‘I know all about her. I know where she is too.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She was at the Beach Hotel, but she isn’t there now. I’m not giving you any more until I get the money. I know why Ded- rick was kidnapped. I tell you, I can lift the lid right off this racket, but I’m going to be paid first.’

  ‘Okay. I have a car outside. Come down to my office. You’ll have your money and can talk in comfort.’

  ‘I’m not moving from here. You might take me anywhere.’

  ‘I’ll take you to my office. Come on.’

  ‘No! I’m not all that crazy.’

  ‘What did Barratt want just now?’

  ‘I don’t know. He comes to see the boy. That’ll show you how they treat me. He doesn’t bother to see me. He just talks to the boy and goes away again. Lute hasn’t been near me since he went off with that woman.’

  ‘You mean Mary Jerome?’

  ‘I don’t know who it was. It might have been her. I didn’t see her. She telephoned. I heard Lute talking to her. He said, ‘All right, baby, don’t get so excited. I’m coming right over. He didn’t even bother to say good-bye. He took the car and went, and I haven’t seen him since.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘The night Dedrick was kidnapped.’

  "What time?’

  ‘Just before eight o’clock.’

  ‘Had Barratt anything to do with Dedrick’s kidnapping?’

  She looked at me and smiled slyly.

  ‘That’s the lot, mister; get me the money and you’ll hear the rest. I know it all, but I’m not saying another word until I get the rest of it.’

  ‘Suppose I call the cops? You’d have to talk to them for nothing.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I’d like to see anyone try to make me talk for nothing. I wouldn’t be talking to you if it wasn’t for the money.’

  ‘You’d better come with me. If I leave you here, one of them might fix you. They fixed Gracie Lehmann because she knew too much.’

  ‘I’m not scared. I can look after myself. Go and get the money.’

  I decided I was wasting time trying to make her tell me more.

  ‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’

  ‘I’ll wait.’

  I went out of the sordid room, down the path to the Buick.

  IV

  Paula looked up sharply from her paper-strewn desk as I burst into her office.

  ‘I want five hundred dollars right away,’ I said breathlessly.’ ‘Things are really popping. Grab a notebook and pencil, and let’s go. I’ll tell you about it on the way.’

  There was no flustration. Paula always kept calm. She got to her feet, went over to the office safe, counted out twenty-five twenty-dollar bills, opened a drawer, took out her notebook, picked up her handbag and the little skullcap affair she calls her hat and was ready to go: all inside twelve seconds.

  On our way out, she told Trixy to wait until she got back. Trixy looked doleful, but neither of us paid any attention.

  I hurried Paula along the corridor.

  ‘Hey!’

  Martha Bendix’s sergeant-major voice hit me at the back of my neck.

  I looked over my shoulder.

  ‘Can’t wait: I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘That party of yours: Souki. Just heard. No skeleton. First-rate man. Been with Marshland ten

  years,’ Martha bellowed. ‘When do I get my money?’

  ‘You’ll get it,’ I shouted back and crowded Paula into the elevator.

  ‘That woman would win a hog-calling contest,’ Paula said tartly as the elevator hurtled down to the ground floor.

  ‘That’s a hundred and fifty dollars down the drain,’ I said gloomily. ‘I hoped to dig up some dirt on that chauffeur. Well, well, can’t be helped. With any luck, I’ve cracked this case.’

  I talked solidly as I rushed the Buick along Orchid Boule-vard, up Beach Road and

  Hawthorne Avenue. It was surprising how much there was to tell her since I had last seen her.

  Finally, as I swung into Foothill Boulevard I got around to Mrs. Ferris.

  ‘This is really something,’ I said. ‘Dedrick a reefer smuggler! What do you know? For five hundred she’ll give me a signed statement.’

  ‘But how do you know she’s telling the truth?’

  ‘I’ll get the statement and then shanghai her to the police. She’ll get her money all right, but every word she’s signing is going to be checked.’

  I slowed down and pulled up outside the filling station. The boy didn’t show up. I got out of the car, followed by Paula.

  ‘The bungalow’s around the back.’

  We walked down the path, past the repair shed. I paused and look in. The boy wasn’t there. I felt a sudden tightness around my chest, and I broke into a run. I was rapping on the door of the bungalow by the time Paula caught me up. No one answered. Nothing happened.

  ‘Well, I warned her,’ I said savagely, drew back and slammed my shoulder against the door. It wasn’t built for such treatment and flew open. We stood, side by side, in the dark little hall.

  ‘Mrs. Ferris!’ I shouted. ‘Mrs. Ferris!’

  Silence.

  ‘Well, that’s that. These rats work fast. You’d better stay here, Paula, while I look the place over.’

  ‘You don’t think she changed her mind and bolted?’ I shook my head.

  ‘Not a chance. She wanted the money too badly. The boy must have tipped them off.’

  Leaving her in the hall, I went from room to room. I didn’t find her.

  I came back to the hall.

  ‘Not here. If they haven’t taken her away, they’ve frightened her away.’

  I was thinking of the screwed-up figure in the blue nightdress, hanging on the back of the bathroom door. If Mrs. Ferris knew as much as she hinted she did, her life now wasn’t worth a dime.

  ‘Take a look in her bedroom and see if she’s taken any clothes,’ I said. ‘She can’t have many.’

  While Paula went into the bedroom, I went into the back room where we had talked. I hunted around, but didn’t find anything that told me why she had disappeared.

  Paula came in after a while.

  ‘As far as I can see, she hasn’t taken anything. There’re no gaps in the cupboards
and the drawers aren’t disturbed.’

  ‘I wish I knew where that boy is. If I could get him to talk—’

  ‘Vic!’

  Paula was looking out of the window. I joined her.

  ‘What’s that, by the shed? Isn’t it—?’

  At the end of the strip of garden was a tool shed. The door was ajar. I could see something white lying on the floor.

  ‘Wait here. I’ll look.’

  I went to the back door, opened it, and walked quickly down the garden. As I approached the shed, I pulled out my gun. I pushed open the door, looked into the dim darkness.

  She was there, lying on her face, her hands covering her head as if to protect it.

  I imagined her seeing them coming up the front way, losing her head and running wildly down the path to the shed. They had probably shot her from the back door, not even bothering to come down and see if she was dead.

  I turned and walked quickly back to the bungalow.

  V

  They were several well-bred, well-dressed and overfed men aging in the lobby of the Beach Hotel. All of them stared fixedly at Paula’s ankles as we walked over to the reception desk. The reception clerk was a tall, willowy young man with blond, wavy hair, a pink-and-white complexion and a dis-illusioned expression in his pale blue eyes.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said, giving Paula a little bow. ‘Have you made reservations?’

  ‘No; it’s not that kind of a party,’ I said, and laid my busi- ness card on the counter. ‘I’m hoping you can give me some information.’

  Blond eyebrows lifted. He peered at the card, read it, picked it up, and read it again.

  ‘Ah, yes, Mr. Malloy. What can I do for you?’ He glanced at Paula again, and unconsciously fingered his tie.

  ‘We’re trying to find a young woman who we think stayed here on the 12th or maybe the 11th.’

  ‘We don’t encourage inquiries about our visitors, Mr. Malloy.’

  He was as stiff as a Dowager watching a bubble dance.

  ‘That I can understand. But she happens to be this young lady’s sister.’ I waved to Paula, who gave him a look from under her eyelashes that made his knees buckle. ‘She ran away from home and we’re anxious to trace her.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, perhaps, in that case I might… What is her name?’