Safer Dead

He took me along a passage down some stairs and to the back of the building. He opened a door and I found myself in a lobby that contained among other things wooden crates, odd spotlights and musical instrument cases. The dressing room door didn’t tell me anything. It was only fifteen yards from the stage door exit and the stage door office was just around the bend in the passage out of sight of the dressing room door.

‘You’re sure she didn’t have any other clothes in her room? She couldn’t have changed out of her stage getup?’

‘I’m sure, Mr. Sladen. One of my jobs is to clean out the dressing rooms, and the cupboard was always empty. There was nowhere for her to keep anything except in the cupboard.’

‘It’s a baffler, isn’t it?’

‘It certainly is, Mr. Sladen.’

‘Well, thanks. If I can think of anything I’ll look in and see you again. Where’s Mike’s bar?’

‘I’ll show you.’

He took me past the stage door office, opened the stage door and pointed across the alley. ‘That’s it.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, crossed the alley and pushed open the bar door.

There were three men, sitting at a table drinking beer; another man lolled up against the bar, a whisky in front of him. The barman, a beefy looking man with a red humorous face, was fiddling with a radio set. I entered and going to the far end of the bar away from the four men, waited for the barman to come to me.

‘I’ll have a double Scotch and water,’ I said, ‘and if you have nothing better to do, have one yourself.’

He grinned.

‘Glad to, mister, and thanks.’

When he came back with the drinks, I said, ‘I haven’t been in Welden for over a year. I used to know Joe Farmer. I hear he’s dead.’

The barman nodded.

‘That’s right. He got killed by a hit and run artist. The driver was never found. The cops in this town couldn’t find their own names in a telephone book.’

‘You knew him, didn’t you?’

‘No. I’m new here. He died a couple of days before I came here. But I heard about it.’

‘What happened to the barman who used to serve Joe?’ I asked, suddenly interested.

‘Jake Hesson? He left; got himself a better job.’

‘Know where?’

‘Some hotel. I forget the name.’

I had a sudden inspiration.

‘Was it the Shad Hotel?’

The barman nodded.

‘That’s right. The Shad Hotel.’

‘Go on, drink up,’ I said, beaming at him, ‘and have another.’

I knew now I was making progress.

CHAPTER TWO

I

When I went back to collect Bernie, the captain of waiters at the Florian told me he had left twenty minutes ago.

‘Was he alone?’ I asked suspiciously.

The captain of waiters shook his head.

‘He had one of our hostesses with him,’ he told me, obviously disapproving.

Knowing Bernie’s little ways, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t see him until the following morning so I returned to the Shad Hotel. I wanted another talk with Jake Hesson the barman, but I found the bar closed.

I concentrated my attention on the reception clerk who was idly thumbing through a magazine.

‘I didn’t get your name,’ I said, leaning up against the desk and offering him a cigarette.

‘My name’s Larson. I don’t smoke, thank you.’

‘Haven’t I seen your barman before somewhere? What’s his name?’

‘Jake Hesson.’

‘I have an idea he used to work at Mike’s bar at the back of the Florian club. That right?’

‘Yes,’ Larson said, staring blankly at me. ‘He came to us about a year ago.’

‘Remember exactly when?’

‘Last September. Why the interest?’

‘So he wasn’t here when Miss Benson was here?’

‘Miss Benson?’ Larson pushed aside his magazine. I could see he didn’t know whether to be interested or suspicious. ‘You mean the girl who disappeared?’

‘That’s the one. Hesson wasn’t working here when she stayed here?’

‘No.’

‘That’s funny. He told me he knew her.’

‘Are you interested in Miss Benson?’ Larson asked.

‘Yeah; I’m covering the case for Crime Facts. How long did she stay here?’

‘You mean they’re reopening the case?’

‘It was never closed. How long did she stay here?’

Larson pulled the big leather bound register towards him, and began thumbing over the pages. After a while he said, ‘She booked in on August 9th and disappeared on August 17th.’

‘Did she pay her bill before she left?’

‘No; she owes us thirty bucks. I don’t reckon we’ll ever see it.’

‘What happened to her luggage?’

‘The cops took it. There wasn’t much: a suitcase and a small handbag.’

‘She didn’t have any visitors?’

‘No, nor any mail either.’

‘Any telephone calls?’

Larson shook his head.

‘Three days after her disappearance some girl asked for her. But no one asked for her while she was staying here.’

‘What girl was that?’

‘I don’t know. She came in and asked if Miss Benson had been found. I told her she hadn’t, and she asked me to call her if Miss Benson did turn up.’

‘Did you tell the cops?’

‘About this girl? Why should I? It was bad enough to have them tramping around here in the first place. Nothing like a flock of buttons to drive away trade. The way things are with this hotel, we can’t afford to upset our customers.’

‘Do you remember who the girl was?’

Larson turned to the last page of the register, removed a card that was clipped to the page and handed it to me.