A Coffin From Hong Kong (7 page)

I gave him my puzzled I-wish-I-knew expression I use when dealing with types like Jay Wayde.

"I don't know," I said. "My job is to collect as many facts as in the hope they'll make sense. For instance, you knew

Jefferson. You told me something about his character. You said he was reckless, a bit of a drunk, got into fights and generally raised hell. How was he with women?"

Wayde's sun-tanned face showed sudden righteous indignation. I could guess how he was with women. His sex impulses would be worked out of his system with a golf club. "He was rotten with women. Okay, when you are young, you fool around with girls—I fooled around myself, but Herman was plain rotten. If his father hadn't had so much influence in this city, there would have been endless scandals." "Any girl in particular?" I asked.

He hesitated, then said, "I don't like mentioning names, but there was this girl, Janet West. She's Mr. Jefferson's secretary. She . . ." He paused and his eves shifted from mine. "Look, excuse me, I don't think I should talk about this. After all, it happened nearly nine years ago. I know because Herman told me, but that doesn't give me the right to tell you."

I could see he was longing to tell me: longing to participate in a murder hunt and feeling pretty important that I was interested in what he had to tell.

So I said gravely, "Every scrap of information I can get might lead me to the killer. You should ask yourself if you have the right not to tell me."

He loved that. His eyes brightened and he leaned forward, staring earnestly at me.

"Well, of course, putting it like that, I see what you mean." He ran his hand over his crewcut and then putting on an expression of a virtuous man who has no truck with scandal, he said, "Herman and Janet West had an affair about nine years ago. There was a baby. Herman ducked out of it and she went to his father who was horrified. The baby died. The old man insisted that Herman should marry the girl, but Herman flatly refused. I think the old man rather fell for her himself. Anyway, he took her into his home and made her his secretary. Herman told me about it. He was mad that his father should bring the girl into his home. I guess the old man hoped Herman would have a change of heart and marry her, but when finally the nickel dropped and he realised Herman wasn't going to, he fixed for Herman to go East. Janet has been with the old man ever since." "She's attractive," I said. "I'm surprised she hasn't married."

"It doesn't surprise me. The old man wouldn't like it. He depends on her, and after all, there is no one else for him to leave his millions to now Herman's dead."

"There isn't?" I tried to conceal my interest. "He must have some relations."

"No. I used to know the family pretty well. Herman told me he would inherit as there were no other claimants. I bet Janet will pick up quit? a tidy slice when the old man goes."

"Pretty lucky for her Herman's wife can't claim it."

He looked startled.

"I hadn't thought of that angle. Not much chance. I can't imagine the old man would have left a Chinese woman anything."

"As Herman's wife, she could make a claim. If the judge was sympathetic, she could have got away with it."

The door on the right opened and a girl came in with a pile of letters to be signed. She was
the kind of girl I would expect Wayde to employ: mousey, scared and with glasses.
I got up as she put the letters on the desk.
"I must run along," I said. "Be seeing you."

"Are- there any further developments?" he asked as the girl left the room. "Have the police got any clues?"

"Not a thing. The inquest is for tomorrow, but they'll have to bring in a verdict of murder by persons unknown. It was a pretty neat killing."

"I'll say." He drew the letters towards him. "If there is anything I can do . . ." "I'll let you know."

Back in my office, I called Retnick and told him what I had learned about Janet West.

"The ball is in your court," I said. "If I were you, I'd want to know where Miss West was at three o'clock when the Chinese woman died." There was a pause while I listened to his heavy breathing.

"But then you aren't me," he said finally. "See you at the inquest. Don't forget to put on a clean shirt. The coroner's a fussy son-of-a-bitch," and he hung up.

As I had anticipated, the inquest went off without any fuss or excitement. A fat keen-eyed man who introduced himself to Retnick as Jefferson's attorney sat at the back, but didn't contribute anything to the proceedings. Janet West, looking pretty and efficient in a dark tailor-made, told the coroner more or less what she had told me. Retnick said his piece and I said mine. The inquest was adjourned for the police to make further inquiries. I had the feeling that no one was particularly interested that a Chinese refugee had been murdered. When the coroner had left the court, I went over to Retnick who was gloomily poking a match amongst his teeth. "Okay for me to leave town now?" I asked.

"Oh, sure," he said indifferently. "Nothing to keep you here," He looked slyly at Janet West, who was talking to Jefferson's attorney. "Did you find out if she was in bed when the yellow skin got hers?"

"I'll leave that to you." I said. "Nov/s the time when she has an attorney with her. Step right
up and ask her."
He grinned, shaking his head.

"I'm not that crazy," he said. "Have a good time. Watch out for the Chink girls. From what I hear they're not only willing but wanton."

He went off, giving Janet West and the attorney a wide berth. I hung around until the attorney had gone, then as Janet West was moving towards the exit, I joined her.

"I can get off tomorrow," I said as she paused and looked at me with her quizzing remote eyes. "Any chance of a plane reservation?"

"Yes, Mr. Ryan. 'I'll have your ticket this evening. Is there anything else you want?"

"I'd like a photograph of Herman Jefferson. Can you fix that?" "A photograph?" She seemed surprised.

"It could be useful. I'm getting a morgue shot of his wife. Photos are always useful when on a job like this."

"Yes: I can get you one."

"How would it be if we met somewhere down town this evening? It'll save me driving out to your place. I've got a lot to do before I go. Suppose we say at the Astor Bar at eight?"

She hesitated, then nodded, "Yes: then at eight."

"Thanks: it'll help a lot."

She nodded again, gave me a cool little smile and walked away. I watched her get into a two-seater Jaguar and drive away.

Don't moon over her, sucker, I said to myself. If she's coming into Jefferson's millions, she'll find someone a lot more interesting than you: and that wouldn't be so hard either. I drove to the office and spent the rest of the morning tidying up the various outstanding odds and ends. Luckily, I had nothing on hand that mattered: nothing that couldn't wait a couple of weeks, but I hoped I wouldn't have to be away that long.

I was just thinking of going over the way for a sandwich when a tap came on the door and Jay Wayde wandered in.

"I won't keep you," he said. "I wanted to know the time of Herman's funeral. Do you know? I think I should be there."

"It's tomorrow," I said, "but I don't know the time."

"Oh." He looked disconcerted. "Well, maybe I could call Miss West. I wonder if they would mind if I went?" "I'm seeing Miss West this evening. I'll ask her if you like."

"I wish you would." He brightened up. "It's a bit embarrassing for me to ask. I mean I haven't seen him for so long. It just occurred to me . . ." He let the sentence drift away.

"Sure," I said.

"How did the inquest go?"

"As I thought: it's been adjourned." I paused to light a cigarette. "I'm off to Hong Kong tomorrow."

"You are?" He looked a little surprised. "That's quite a trip. Something to do with this business?"

"Sure. Old man Jefferson's hired me to look into the girl's background. He's paving: so I'm going."

"Is that a fact? You know that's one of the places I'd really like to visit. I envy you." "I envy myself."

"Well, I'll be interested to hear how you get on." He shifted from one foot to the other.

"Think you'll find out anything?"

"I haven't an idea. I can but try."

"So you met Mr. Jefferson. How did you find him?"

"Not so hot. He doesn't look as if he's going to last long."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He's pretty old." He shook his head. "Must have been a jolt to him when Herman went." He began to move to the door. "Well, I only looked in. I have someone coming to see me. Have a good trip. Anything I can do for you while you're away?" "Not a thing, thanks. I'll lock up and that'll be that."

"Well, then I'll be seeing you. We'll have a drink together on your return. I'll be interested to hear how you get on and what you think of the place. You won't forget about the funeral?

You might ask if one can send flowers."

"I'll let you know tomorrow."

Later in the afternoon, I drove over to police headquarters and picked up the morgue photo of Jo-An Jefferson that Retnick had promised me. I: was a good photograph. By letting the light fall on her dead eyes, the photographer had given her a resemblance of life. I sat in my car for some minutes, studying the picture. She had been certainly attractive. I had asked the morgue attendant what the funeral arrangements were. He told me she was to be buried at Jefferson's expense at the Woodside Cemetery the day after tomorrow. That meant she wasn't being put away in the family vault. The Woodside Cemetery was not for the lushplush residents of Pasadena City.

Around six o'clock, I locked up the office and went home. I packed a bag: did the various things one has to do when leaving for a couple of weeks, took a shower, shaved, put on a clean shirt, then drove down town to the Astor Bar, arriving there at five minutes to eight. Janet West arrived as the minute hand of my strap watch shifted to the hour. She came in with that confident air a well-dressed, good-looking woman has who knows she looks good and is pleased about it.

Male heads turned to watch her as she made her way to the corner table where I was sitting. We said the usual things polite strangers say to each other when meeting and I ordered her a vodka martini while I had a Scotch. She gave me the airplane ticket and a leather wallet.

"I got some Hong Kong dollars for you," she said. "It'll save you the trouble at the other end. Would you want me to telephone for a room for you? The Peninsular or the Mirama are the best hotels." "Thanks, but I'm aiming to stay at the Celestial Empire." She gave me a quick alert stare as she said, "Yes, of course." "Did you remember the photograph?"

As the waiter set the drinks, she opened her lizard handbag and gave me an envelope.

The half-plate glossy print was obviously a professional job. The man photographed was staring intently at the camera. There was a sly, half grin in his eyes: not a pleasant face. Dark, with thick black eyebrows, coarse featured, a strong ruthless jaw line, a thin mouth. The kind of face you would expect to see in a police line-up.

I was surprised. I wasn't expecting Herman Jefferson to look like this. I had in mind a more easy-going, irresponsible, playboy type. This man could do anything that was violent and vicious, and do it well.

I remembered what she had said about him. 'He was utterly and thoroughly bad. He had no redeeming feature.' Looking at this man's face, I could accept this statement now.

I looked up. She was watching me: her face expressionless, but her eyes were cold.

"I see what you mean," I said. "He doesn't take after his father, does he?"

She didn't say anything to that but continued to watch me as I put the photograph in my wallet. I had a sudden idea for no reason at all and I took out the morgue shot of Jo-An. "You asked me if she was pretty," I said. "Here she is," and I offered the photograph.

For a long moment she made no move to take the photograph. Maybe the light was deceptive, but I had an idea she lost colour. Her hand was steady enough as she finally took the photograph. It was now my turn to watch her as she studied the dead woman's face. She stared for a long moment, her face expressionless. I wondered what was going on in her mind. Then she handed me back the photograph. "Yes," she said, her voice cold and flat.

I picked up my glass and she picked up hers. We drank. 

"You said the funeral was tomorrow?" I asked.

"Yes."

"A friend of Herman's asked me to find out the time and if he could go. He has an office next to mine. His name is Jay Wayde. He went to school with Herman." She stiffened.

"Only Mr. Jefferson and I are attending the service," she said. "None of Herman's friends would be acceptable."

"I'll tell him. He wanted to send flowers."

"There are to be no flowers." She looked at her watch, then got to her feet. "Mr. Jefferson is expecting me. I must get back. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

We had scarcely touched our drinks. I was vaguely disappointed. I had hoped to have got to know her better, but it was like trying to talk to someone behind a nine foot wall. "No, thanks. What time does the plane take off?"

"Eleven o'clock. You should be at the airport at half past ten."

"Thanks for fixing it." As she began to move towards the exit, I hurriedly shoved two dollars at the waiter and followed her out onto the street.

The Jaguar was parked exactly opposite the bar. I had had to drive around two blocks three times before I had finally found parking room about a couple of hundred yards away. That proved cither she or more probably old man Jefferson had plenty of pull in this city. She paused by the car.

"I hope you have a successful trip," she said. There was no smile. Her eyes were still remote. "If there is anything you think of you need before you leave, please telephone me." "Don't you ever relax?" I asked, smiling at her. "Do you never take rime off from being an efficient secretary?"