Safer Dead

While I read the newspaper I ate my sandwich. I wondered how Royce was reacting to this news. He must have guessed that Lydia had slipped through his fingers, but he wasn’t to know that she was in the hands of the police. After a little thought, I decided it might be a good idea to tell him.

‘Give me another sandwich,’ I said to the barman as I slid off the stool, ‘while I use the phone.’

I shut myself in a pay booth, turned up the number of the Golden Apple club and dialled.

A girl’s voice that sounded like thick honey, oozed over the line.

‘This is the Golden Apple club: good morning; can I be of service?’

‘Give me Royce, and snap it up, sister,’ I said, making my voice sound tough.

The honey congealed.

‘Who is calling?’

‘Tell him it’s an old pal of his from Sing Sing,’ I said.

There was a long pause, then a man barked, ‘Who’s this?’

‘Royce?’

‘Yes: what is it?’

‘This is a tipoff, pal. The Welden cops have got Lydia, and she’s singing. She’s tying you in with the Van Blake murder, so watch your foothold.’

The startled grunt that came over the line made music in my ears, but I didn’t wait for more. I gently hung up. That should give him a little uneasiness.

I returned to the bar where my sandwich was waiting. The place was filling up, and a big man, with shoulders on him that a prize fighter would envy, jostled me as I took a bite at the sandwich.

I set myself to jostle back when I took a look at the big man’s face. My heart skipped a beat and I nearly dropped the sandwich when I saw it was Sergeant Carl Lassiter.

He was leaning forward, glaring at the barman and rapping on the counter to attract attention. My first impulse was to nip smartly to the door and out into the Lincoln, but I hadn’t paid for my meal and I still had the sandwich in my hand. The crush at the bar was pushing me against Lassiter who had caught the barman’s eye.

‘Gimme a beef sandwich and a coffee,’ he barked.

The barman appeared to recognize him.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and had the order in front of Lassiter in a flash.

I got some money out of my pocket, shoved my way sideways to the bar, taking care not to touch Lassiter and laid the money on the bar. The barman swept it up, tossed it into the open drawer of the till and slapped down the change. As I picked up the change, Lassiter, his great rubbery mouth full of beef, turned his head and stared directly at me.

I met his eyes for a second, then I picked up my change and began to ease myself away from the bar. My shirt was sticking to my back and my mouth was dry. I expected him to reach out and grab me, but after scowling at me, he turned his back and went on munching. Still holding the sandwich in my hand, I got out of the bar and crossed to the Lincoln.

A police car was parked just behind the Lincoln and a bored faced detective at the wheel looked at me without interest. I climbed into the Lincoln, put the sandwich on the seat beside me, started the engine, and shifted into gear. As I drove away I looked into the driving mirror. The detective at the wheel of the police car was struggling with a gigantic yawn. I doubted if he had even seen me. Driving steadily, I headed for Benn’s bar, and it wasn’t until I had put the car in the garage and had got down into the hideout that my heart beats returned to normal.

I called Benn on the telephone.

‘Can you spare a minute?’

‘Not right now. Give me an hour, will you? This is my busy time.’

I said okay, hung up and poured myself a beer. I finished my sandwich, did a little thinking, and remembered Irene Jarrard had said she worked for Ryman Thomas, the advertising man. I turned him up in the book and put through a call.

Irene answered the telephone.

‘This is Sladen,’ I said. ‘Do you remember me?’

‘Of course I do.’ She seemed pleased I had called her. ‘Have you any news of Frankie, Mr. Sladen?’

‘Not yet, but I’m still trying. There was something I forgot to ask you: did Frankie ever mention Mrs. Cornelia Van Blake?’

‘Why, yes. Mrs. Van Blake was having her portrait painted and Frankie stood in for her.’

‘Do you know if Hartley did the painting at the Van Blakes’ residence?’

‘Oh, you know about it then.’

‘I heard.’

‘He didn’t finish the painting there. He made a number of sketches of Fay sitting on the balcony and he completed the portrait in his studio.’

I wished I had thought to ask her this when we first met, but I didn’t say so.

‘Did Frankie ever say how she got on with Mrs. Van Blake?’

‘Oh yes. She liked her very much. Mrs. Van Blake was very kind to her. She seemed to take a great interest in her.’

‘What kind of interest?’

‘Well, she wanted to know all about Fay’s background; who her parents were; whether she planned to get married: that sort of thing.’

‘Well, thanks, Miss Jarrard. I just wanted to check up on that. When I’ve got a little more time to myself, maybe we can have another sea food dinner.’

She said she would like that, and cutting her short, I hung up.

I lit a cigarette, sat down and did a little brooding. I was still at it when Benn came in.