1945 - Blonde's Requiem (8 page)

There was a continuous, gentle tapping on my door. It was a furtive sound. It could have been a rat gnawing on wood. But I knew it wasn
’
t. I groped for the lamp by my bed and turned it on. Then I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair.

I felt like hell.

The urgent tapping continued.

I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was ten minutes past two. My eyelids weighed a ton and the room was stifling, although I had drawn back the curtains and opened the windows wide before going to bed.

I slipped out of bed, grabbed my dressing gown and reached for the .38 which was under my pillow.

The tapping went on all the time I was shaking the sleep out of my brain and getting fixed. Whoever wanted me was making sure no one else would be disturbed.

I went to the door.
“
Who is it?
”
I said, speaking against the panel.

The tapping stopped.
“
It
’
s Esslingen
”
I recognized his voice. I turned the key and opened up.

Ted Esslinger came in quickly and closed the door, His necktie was still under his right ear, and his face was white and pinched.

I gave him a hard look, went back to the bed and sat down. I shoved the gun under the pillow and massaged the back of my neck.

“
For the love of Mike,
”
I said,
“
can
’
t you let me sleep?
”

“
Mary Drake hasn
’
t been home,
”
he said. His teeth chattered with nerves.

I yawned, stretched, and went on massaging the back of my neck.
“
Another of your pals?
”

“
Don
’
t you understand?
”
he said, speaking in a low, tense voice.

“
She went to work this morning and she hasn
’
t come back. Drake
’
s over with my father now.
”

“
Aw, hell,
”
I said, leaning back on my elbows.
“
What can I do about it? I don
’
t work twenty-four hours a day.
”

He began to pace up and down.
“
Something
’
s happened to her,
”
he said, driving his fist into the palm of his hand.
“
As soon as Drake came around, I slipped out to tell you. No one else knows but Drake and father. You must do something.
”

I was beginning to feel better.
“
When was she last seen?
”
I asked, stifling a yawn.

“
She left her office at five o
’
clock and she was going on to a dance. Roger Kirk, the boy she was meeting, says she didn
’
t show up. He thought she wasn
’
t well, so he went home. It was only when Drake phoned him at eleven o
’
clock that we began to think something was wrong.
”

I fumbled in my coat pocket, found a packet of Lucky Strike and shook a couple onto the quilt.
“
Have a smoke and sit down,
”
I said, lighting up.

He sat down but he wouldn
’
t smoke.

I brooded for a minute or so while he watched me anxiously. Then I said:
“
Has Drake told the cops?
”

“
Not yet. He came to father because he thought—
”

“
I bet he did,
”
I broke in.
“
What
’
s your father done?
”

“
Nothing yet,
”
he said.
“
He won
’
t do anything until the morning. That
’
s why I came here. We
’
ve at least seven hours
’
start over any of them.
”

“
Yeah,
”
I said without much enthusiasm,
“
but there isn
’
t much we can do.
”
I flicked ash on the floor, stifled another yawn and went on:
“
You know the girl?
”

He nodded.
“
She was a friend of Luce McArthur,
”
he told me.
“
Roger Kirk and I went to the same school. We four used to go out together.
”

I got up and wandered over to the chair where I had dumped my clothes. It took me three minutes to dress and then I went into the bathroom to sponge my face and fix my hair. I came back into the bedroom and poured myself a small Scotch.

“
Drink?
”
I said, waving the bottle at him.

He shook his head.
“
What are you going to do?
”
His eyes were bright with speculation.

“
I
’
m playing a hunch,
”
I said soberly.
“
I bet it
’
s a no-good hunch, but I
’
ll take a chance. How far is this Street-Camera joint?
”

He drew in a sharp breath.
“
On Murray Street. About five minutes in the car.
”

“
Have you got the car?
”

“
It
’
s outside.
”

“
Okay, let
’
s go.
”
I picked up my hat, yawned some more and turned to the door.
“
This is a hell of a game for sleep,
”
I said, moving out into the passage
“
Don
’
t you ever take it up as a profession.
”

As he followed me out of the room, Marian French
’
s door opened and she propped herself up against the doorpost.
“
Sleep-walking?
”
she asked, with reasonable curiosity.

She looked hot in the powder-blue silk wrap she was wearing. Her long, silky fair hair hung to her shoulders and her face was flushed and sleepy.

“
Hullo, there,
”
I said in a whisper;
“
if you listen hard enough in a minute or so you
’
ll hear the day break. I
’
m the guy who breaks it.
”

She glanced at Ted Esslinger and then back at me.
“
Is he your assistant?
”
she asked, trying not to gape.

“
Miss French, meet Mr. Ted Esslinger,
”
I said, waving my hands.
“
Now will you be a nice girl and go back to bed? Mr. Esslinger and I are going on a practice run.
”

“
Has something happened?
”
she asked, first smiling at Esslinger and then turning back to me.

I shook my head.
“
I do this sort of thing every day of my life. It keeps me fit.
”
I tipped my bat at her and jerked my head at Esslinger.
“
Let
’
s go,
”
I said.

He gave Marian a quick, shy smile and followed me downstairs. I heard Marian heave an exasperated sigh and then her door closed.

“
Nice, isn
’
t she?
”
I said, walking as quietly as I could.

“
Yes,
”
he said,
“
but this isn
’
t the time—
”

“
Don
’
t kid yourself,
”
I returned, entering the lobby,
“
Any time
’
s right with me.
”

The night clerk, a fat little man with a heavy moustache, stared at us blankly, but I didn
’
t stop. I crossed the lobby and the verandah and got into the Pontiac that was standing at the kerb.

Esslinger ran around and slid under the steering wheel.

“
Make it snappy,
”
I said, huddling down into my seat.
“
I want some sleep sometime tonight.
”

He drove fast. There was no traffic around and we had the streets to ourselves.

“
What do you expect to find?
”
he asked, as he turned into Main Street.

“
I don
’
t know,
”
I returned, lighting a cigarette.
“
It
’
s just an idea I
’
ve got at the back of my mind. I
’
m willing to bet there
’
s nothing to it.
”

He gave me a quick glance, shrugged and drove on. We didn
’
t say anything until we reached Murray Street.

He slowed down and peered out or the window.
“
It
’
s somewhere along here,
”
he muttered.

I made no attempt to help him. It was his town and it was up to him to find the place. He swung into the kerb suddenly and stopped the car.

“
This is it,
”
he said.

I got out of the car and looked at the small plate-glass window that was stacked with photographs. I stepped back to read the sign overhead. It was picked out in heavy chromium lettering that glittered in the moonlight:
“
The Street-Camera.
”
This was the joint all right.

I took a flashlight from my hip pocket and threw the beam on the window.

Ted was standing at my side.
“
What
’
s the idea?
”
he said, following the beam as I Worked it over the postcard-sized photographs pinned to the back of the window, the sides, and on a sloping board on the floor of the window.

“
See anyone you know?
”
I said, keeping the light moving.

He got it then.
“
You don
’
t think he began,
”
but I shushed him.

Right bang in the middle of the sloping board was a photograph of a blonde girl who laughed up at me. The background of Main Street showed behind her head. The photograph was four times the size of any of the other photographs in the window. Underneath it was a small notice. Special enlargements $1.50 extra.

“
That her?
”
I said to Esslinger.

“
Yes.
”
He was holding onto my arm and shivering.

“
When I get a hunch I play it right on the nose,
”
I said, snapping off the flashlight.

“
You know what this means,
”
Esslinger said unsteadily.
“
They have been kidnapped, and kidnapped from here. Mary might even be hare still.
”

I walked round him to the shop door. It was of plate glass and chromium.

The only way to force an entrance would be to smash the window and I didn
’
t want to do that. It would make too much noise,
“
Can we get in around the back?
”
I asked.

“
Get in?
”
he repeated. His face told me he was scared.
“
You
’
re not going to. . .?
”

“
Sure, but you
’
re not in this,
”
I said.
“
You get off home.
”