1945 - Blonde's Requiem (9 page)

He hesitated, then said stubbornly:
“
If you
’
re going in, I
’
m coming with you.
”

“
Forget it,
”
I said sharply.
“
I
’
m paid to stick my neck out. If we get caught, your father
’
ll know you
’
re helping me. I don
’
t want it that way. You
’
re useful to me as long as no one knows what you
’
re doing. You
’
ve done enough already. Get off home and leave this to me.
”

He hesitated, then nodded his head.
“
I guess you
’
re right,
”
he said reluctantly.
“
They don
’
t even know I
’
m out. Do you want the car?
”

“
I could use it,
”
I said,
“
but someone might recognize it. No, you take it and get off.
”

“
I don
’
t like leaving you . . .
”
he began, but I wasn
’
t going to spend the rest of the night arguing with him.

“
Be a good guy and beat it,
”
I said, and leaving him by the car I walked off down the street. A hundred yards further on I came to an alley. As I peered into the darkness, wondering if it led to the back of the building, I heard his engine start up and then the Pontiac swept past at high speed. I watched the tail light disappear before I entered the alley.

I was relieved to see him go. An amateur at this game could easily step out of turn, and I wasn
’
t looking for trouble. I liked to work alone. If anything went wrong I had only myself to blame.

The alley was narrow and smelly. It brought me eventually to the back of the Street-Camera building. The place was in darkness. The back door didn
’
t seem particularly strong, so I put my shoulder against it and shoved. It creaked. I shoved again hard. There was a snapping sound and the door swung open. I stepped back and listened. The building and alley remained silent. Shielding my flashlight with my hand, I peered through the open doorway and then stepped into a narrow passage. Ahead of me was a door leading to the shop. Another door on my right was half-open.

I went down the passage and opened the door leading to the shop. There was no blind to the window, but the moon gave enough light for me to see. I had a quick look around, saw nothing to excite me and stepped back into the passage again. I didn
’
t want any passing cop to spot me through the window.

I retraced my steps and pushed open the other door. I entered a large room which obviously was used as a workshop. The floor was littered with strips of paper from trimmed photographs. Mounts and photographs were piled high on the two tables in the centre of the room. I let the beam of my flashlight crawl around the room and over the floor. I examined the fireplace, which was full of burnt paper, but I found nothing to connect the place with the missing girls.

I pushed my hat to the back of my head and scowled out of the window. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I had hoped for something better than this.

I went to the back door and glanced into the alley. It wouldn
’
t be possible to park a car out there. That puzzled me. I couldn
’
t make out how the girls were taken from the shop, if they had been kidnapped from this building.

As I stood brooding about this I heard a car coming at high speed. A moment later there was a squeal of brakes as the car slid to a standstill. I stepped quickly into the passage and closed the door. Moving fast, I reached the door that led into the shop and opened it a few inches.

I could see the street through the shop window. A big tourer stood outside the shop, and as I watched three men spilled from it. One stood by the car looking up and down the street. The other two crossed the sidewalk and one of them pushed a key into the shop door lock and snapped it back.

It happened so quickly had no chance to duck back along the passage. I pulled the door to and waited, my hand on my gun.

I heard the two men enter the shop.

“
Snap into it,
”
one of them said.
“
The patrol
’
ll be around in five minutes.
”

His voice was harsh and I could hear him breathing heavily.

“
Okay, keep your shirt on,
”
the other said hoarsely.
“
Give me that picture over there.
”

I heard something heavy drop on the floor and I opened the door a few inches, but I couldn
’
t see what was going on.

“
I can
’
t reach the damn thing,
”
the man with the hoarse voice said.
“
Watch what you
’
re doing, you dope,
”
the harsh-voiced man snarled.
“
You
’
ll wreck the whole display.
”

There were more mutterings and then the harsh-voiced man said:
“
Okay. Let
’
s get outa here.
”

I heard them cross the shop, open the door and lock it behind them. I peered cautiously into the shop. They were climbing into the tourer. I couldn
’
t see what they looked like, except they were all big and broad-shouldered. One of them might have been Jeff Gordan, but I couldn
’
t be sure.

The tourer drove away fast.

If the police patrol was due in five minutes, it was time for me to get out of here. I took a quick look round the shop, but there was nothing to show what the men had been doing. Then I went back down the passage towards the back door.

As I was opening the door, something caught my eye. I turned the beam of my flashlight on the floor. A once-white crumpled handkerchief was lying almost at my feet. I picked it up. It was a small, lace-edged handkerchief with the initials M.D. worked in one of its corners.

I stepped into the alley, closed the back door and walked swiftly to the street.

To me the initials M.D. could mean only one thing. The handkerchief belonged to Mary Drake! With that and the four pictures of the missing girls as evidence of kidnapping, I could start trouble for Macey if he wouldn
’
t cooperate with me. Kidnapping was a Federal offence and the F.B.I. would act on this kind of evidence.

I slipped the handkerchief in my pocket and stepped cautiously from the alley into the street. There was no one around and I went back to the shop window.

The moon was now immediately overhead. I could clearly see the details of every photograph in the window. But there was only one photograph that interested me, the one that carried the caption: Special enlargements $1.50 extra.

One look was enough. I knew then why the three men had driven up to the shop and had entered in such haste. The photograph had been changed. The blonde girl whom Esslinger had told me was Mary Drake no longer laughed up at me. A photograph of a sharp-featured girl wearing a white floppy hat had taken her place.

As I stared blankly at the photograph, the girl seemed to sneer at me.

I reached the Granville Gazette building as a street clock struck three.

As I walked along the sidewalk in the brilliant moonlight I felt as exposed as a nudist let loose in a subway. The air was still stifling and I was sweating and jumpy.

I wandered past the dilapidated building, glanced casually at the double doors and noticed they were closed. I didn
’
t stop, but went on for twenty yards before ducking into a doorway.

It was going to be a sweet job to force that lock in a street that was almost as light as day. It only needed one conscientious cop to poke his head round the corner while I was doing it and I
’
d be in a nice jam. From what I had seen of the Cranville cops he
’
d shoot first and ask questions after.

I stood in the doorway and listened. It was quiet, and I was just making up my mind to get to work when I heard someone coming. I dodged back into the doorway and told myself what a smart guy I was not to have been caught in the open.

A woman came down the street. I could tell it was a woman by the click of her wooden heels on the brick pavement. She was walking quickly, then she slowed down, and a moment later the clicking of her heels stopped altogether.

I took off my hat and peered round the doorway. I caught a glimpse of her.

She was standing outside the Cranville Gazette building. I couldn
’
t see much of her except she was slim, medium height, and seemed to be wearing a dark tailored suit.

She looked suddenly up and down the street. The movement was nervous and furtive. I ducked back out of sight, hoping she hadn
’
t seen me.

She didn
’
t run away, so after a few seconds I took another look. She was now standing close to the double doors. As I watched her, wondering what she was doing, I heard a faint sound of a lock turning. A moment later she pushed open the doors and disappeared into the building.

Automatically I fumbled for a cigarette, changed my mind and massaged the back of my neck instead. This had foxed me.

I gave her a couple of minutes and then walked to the building and tried the double doors. They were locked.

My brain was still a little fuddled with sleep and I felt as fresh as a ten-day corpse. I didn
’
t know what to do. I was still gaping at the doors when I heard more footsteps. I had sense enough to move away from the Cranville Gazette building as a patrolman appeared from nowhere and stood staring at me.

“
What do you think you
’
re doing?
”
he said, swinging his nightstick and sticking out a jaw that looked like it had been hewn from rock.

I put on a drunk act and stumbled against him.
“
My pal,
”
I said, patting his shoulder.
“
Stick around a li
’
l longer an
’
a beautiful big copper
’
ll come along. Tha
’
s what I said. Just stick around a little longer.
”

“
I heard you the first time,
”
he said, shoving me off.
“
On your way, bud, or I
’
ll bend this club over your skull.
”

“
Sure,
”
I said, staggering back a couple of paces.
“
But I
’
ve gotta let the women and chil
’
n go first. I
’
ve gotta get the boat launched. I
’
ve gotta do something or other . . . now what the hell was it?
”
By that time I
’
d faded away and was zigzagging down the street.

I had to cover a lot of ground before I came to a side street. I reeled round the corner and then straightened up. I gave the cop a few minutes and then took a quick look. He was already on his way, and a moment later he turned off into Main Street.

Cursing softly, I ran back to the Granville Gazette building. I had wasted a good eight minutes, and if that cop ran into me again it would be highly inconvenient—for me.

I took out my pocketknife and with one of the hickies attached to it I tried to slip the lock back. My third attempt succeeded.

I looked quickly up and down the street, made sure no one had seen me, and pushed open the door. I moved into the small lobby, which smelt like a chicken run. I closed the door softly behind me.

I listened, but I didn
’
t hear any sound of activity. I groped my way to the stairs and started up. It took me a long time to reach the fourth floor. I made no sound on the way up and I didn
’
t like the absolute silence in the building. The woman couldn
’
t have had time to leave. Maybe she was on the fifth or sixth floor, but I ought to have heard her moving about by now.

The Granville Gazette offices were at the end of the long passage. I didn
’
t want to show a light and I knew my way, so I went forward in inky darkness.