1945 - Blonde's Requiem (12 page)

“
It
’
s six months too long. Pack up and get out. A change of air will do you good, but not half as much good as it will do Wolf.
”

“
I take my orders from Mr. Wolf,
”
she said coldly.
“
If he wants me to go, then I
’
ll go.
”

“
Let
’
s ask him,
”
I said, turning to the door.

Her eyes became dark and wide again.
“
No.
”

I went across the lobby, tapped once on Wolf
’
s door and went in. Wolf was just putting down the telephone.

I told him about Miss Wilson.

“
Get rid of her,
”
I said.
“
Everything you do is being handed to Starkey or Esslinger on a plate.
”

His face sagged a little.
“
I
’
ll talk to her,
”
he said.
“
I don
’
t want to get rid of her yet. We don
’
t know she
’
s telling things . . . I mean you
’
re only guessing . . .
”

I stared at him blankly.
“
But she was listening.
”

“
I know, I know.
”
He began to bluster.
“
Leave it to me. When I want advice about my staff I
’
ll ask for it.
”

I nodded and went out.

Edna Wilson was standing in the doorway of her office. She smiled spitefully and triumphantly at me.

I smiled right back at her.
“
Why didn
’
t you say he slept with you?
”
I said.
“
I wouldn
’
t have bothered him.
”

Her smile went like a fist when you open your hand.

She went back into her office and slammed the door.

* * *

I turned the knob and went into the small, narrow room with the two windows, the battered typewriter desk, the filing cases and the threadbare carpet.

The thin, frowzy woman was sitting at the desk, her head in her hands. She looked at me out of red, swollen eyes.

I tipped my hat.
“
Who
’
s running the Gazette?
”
I asked.

She waved to the further office.
“
He is,
”
she said, and put her head back in her hands.

I walked to the door, tapped and went in.

Sitting behind Dixon
’
s desk was a youth who eyed me inquiringly. He was undersized, his features small, in keeping with his stature, and regular. His skin was very fair. His clothing was neither new nor of more than ordinary quality, but it, and his manner of wearing it, was marked by a hard masculine neatness.

“
What do you want?
”
he said in a voice as composed as his young face.

I hooked a chair towards me with my foot, sat down and took out my identity card. I gave it to him. While he was examining it I studied him. He seemed certainly less than twenty years old and he didn
’
t look like he had ever shaved. He got through examining the identity card and handed it back. He looked with large hazel eyes under long, curling lashes at my chest.

“
I often wanted to be a private dick,
”
he said in a confiding sort of voice.
“
It must be fun.
”

I took out the package of Lucky Strikes, tapped a couple on to the desk, rolled one to him and picked up the other.

“
Thanks,
”
he said, putting it between his over-full lips.

I set fire to the cigarettes and relaxed in the chair.
“
The old girl seems knocked up,
”
I said, jerking my head to the outer office.

He nodded.
“
She
’
s worked with him for years,
”
he explained.
“
He wasn
’
t such a bad old geezer, not when you got to know him.
”
He looked round the office as if he
’
d lost something and then said:
“
Did you say what you wanted?
”

“
You the guy Dixon was telling me about? The guy who thought up the mass-murder idea?
”

He nodded.
“
That
’
s me.
”
He spoke with quiet pride.
“
I told the old geezer it
’
d double our circulation. Did he tell you that?
”

“
Yeah.
”
I stretched out my legs.
“
It was only to build circulation?
”

“
That
’
s what I told him, but believe it myself.
”

“
What
’
s your name?
”
I asked.

“
Reg Phipps. I may look a kid but I
’
ve been on the Gazette three years now.
”

“
So you think these girls were murdered?
”

He nodded.
“
Sure do. It
’
s exciting, isn
’
t it?
”
His eyes glowed.
“
Can
’
t think what he
’
s done with the bodies.
”

“
He? Who?
”

Phipps frowned.
“
The murderer, of course.
”

“
You
’
re guessing, aren
’
t you? You don
’
t know it
’
s murder.
”

“
I don
’
t know it
’
s murder,
”
he repeated,
“
but I
’
ll bet it is.
”

I changed the subject.
“
Never mind that. Who
’
s the new editor?
”

His face clouded.
“
Not me,
”
he said bitterly.
“
Shanks doesn
’
t believe in giving youth a chance . . . He
’
ll dig out some old deadbeat.
”

“
Could you do it?
”

“
Run this rag?
”
He laughed.
“
I could do it with an abscess in my ear.
”

I told him he might not have to wait for the abscess.

“
That right?
”
His eyes brightened, then he shook his head.
“
Aw, you
’
re kidding.
”

“
I told Wolf to buy the rag,
”
I said.
“
If Wolf gets it, there
’
s no reason why you shouldn
’
t run it.
”

He stubbed out his cigarette and put the butt carefully in a tin box full of butts.
“
I give
‘
em to an old guy I know,
”
he explained as he caught my eye. He put the box away and brooded for a moment.
“
It might be hell to work for Wolf,
”
he said finally.

I shook my head.
“
I
’
ll take care of him. What I want to be sure of is whether you can handle it or whether you
’
re just saying so.
”

“
I
’
m not kidding,
”
he said seriously.
“
I wrote all the stuff. Dixon handled the policy. I could do that or maybe Wolf could do it.
”

I grunted.
“
What about her?
”
I nodded to the door.

“
She won
’
t stay.
”
Phipps seemed sure of that.
“
I
’
d like a dame here like Ginger Rogers, or maybe Rita Hayworth.
”
He turned it over in his mind and added:
“
Betty Grable would be a snap, but I don
’
t suppose she
’
d come.
”

I said I didn
’
t think any of them would.

He said he thought I was right.

“
If Wolf got the paper, we
’
d bust this town wide open,
”
I said.
“
We
’
d go after Macey and Starkey and nail
‘
em to the cross. Would you like that?
”

He got excited.
“
I wrote one leader about Starkey once. Dixon had a fit. It never got printed. I think Macey and Starkey are a couple of bums.
”

“
They wouldn
’
t take it lying down.
”

He ran inky lingers through his thick, sandy hair.
“
What could they do? We don
’
t have to be scared of them.
”
He looked hard at me and added:
“
Or do we?
”

“
They knocked Dixon off,
”
I said gently.

His large hazel eyes popped.
“
The old geezer had a tired ticker,
”
he said.
“
That
’
s what the copper said.
”

“
But you don
’
t believe all you hear, do you?
”

He sat forward, his arms on the desk. I noticed his cuffs were frayed.
“
You wouldn
’
t kid me?
”

“
Someone tied a cord around Dixon
’
s neck and forgot to take it off. He was murdered all right. Macey
’
s playing it as heart failure. I don
’
t know why, but that
’
s the way it is.
”

The boy took a long, deep breath. His face had gone a little pale, but his eyes hadn
’
t lost their brightness.
“
You mean they might knock me off too?
”

“
And me or Wolf.
”
I gave him another cigarette.

He thought about this.
“
If you can stand it, I can,
”
he said at last.

I stood up.
“
That
’
s swell. The moment Wolf tells me he
’
s got the paper I
’
ll be down to talk to you again. In the meantime, stick around and say nothing. Don
’
t say anything about Dixon.
”

He went with me to the door.
“
Do you really think Wolf will let me . . .?
”

“
I
’
ll talk him into it,
”
I promised, then asked:
“
Know where I can find Audrey Sheridan?
”

“
She
’
s got an office on Sinclair Street. I forget the number, but it
’
s a big building with a big theatre ad in lights crawling all over it. You can
’
t miss it.
”

“
Where does she live?
”

“
Laurel Street. It
’
s an apartment building. You
’
ll find it halfway down on your right. It
’
s got a roof garden.
”
He sighed.
“
I wouldn
’
t mind living in it myself.
”

“
Maybe you will one day,
”
I said.
“
I
’
ll be seeing you.
”

“
So long,
”
he said, and I went into the outer office. Then I remembered something and came back.

“
Does the name Edna Wilson mean anything to you?
”

Phipps scowled.
“
Sounds familiar,
”
then he gave me a quick look.
“
What
’
s the idea? She
’
s Wolf
’
s secretary, ain
’
t she?
”

I nodded.
“
Who else does she run around with?
”

“
You
’
re not serious? I thought she was too homey to run around with anyone.
”

“
Wolf doesn
’
t think so.
”

“
At his age he can
’
t afford to choose.
”

“
So there
’
s no one else?
”

“
Blackley. I saw her with him once, but he
’
s as bad as Wolf. Bald, old, wrinkles and the rest.
”

“
Who
’
s Blackley?
”

“
The District Attorney. He
’
s no good. You don
’
t think there
’
s anything to it, do you?
”