The Guilty Are Afraid

Switching my mind from that problem, I considered Jack’s end. I didn’t think his death was hooked up to the case he had been working on. It was more likely he had made some racketeer’s girl, and the racketeer had killed him. A rattail icepick, as Rankin had said, was a professional weapon, and it had been used professionally. But I would have to find out who Jack’s client had been. Jack had said the job was larded with money. It must have been, otherwise Jack wouldn’t have come all this way from his home ground. That meant the client was a man of substance. Not that that helped me. Most men, so far as I could see, who lived in St. Raphael, had to be of considerable substance.

I had to be certain that the client was in no way connected with the murder before I gave his name to Rankin. Nothing can damage the reputation of an inquiry agent more than to land the law in the lap of his client: that’s a brick that gets talked about quicker than anything.

As soon as Rankin’s men had gone, I would put a call through to Ella, but not through the hotel switchboard. I didn’t know how smart Rankin was, but if he was as smart as I suspected he was, he would have a man standing by the switchboard waiting for me to put through just such a call.

I looked at my watch. The time was now twelve forty-five. I was feeling hungry. I hadn’t had any solid food since the previous night. I thought it would save time if I ate now while the boys next door were busy enough not to bother about what I was doing. I swung my legs off the bed and stood up.

The door opened as I was fastening my collar button and Rankin looked in.

“Phew! Like an oven in here.”

“Yeah. I was just on my way to eat. Do you want me?”

He leaned against the doorpost, rolling a dead cigar between his teeth.

“Nothing in there.” He jerked his thumb to the other room. “Hundreds of prints that probably don’t mean a thing. They don’t clean these rooms with any enthusiasm. I’d say we have prints of at least thirty old customers. Couldn’t find a progress report: didn’t expect to. Nothing to tell us who Sheppey was working for.”

“I bet the guy who searched the room didn’t find anything either. Jack didn’t make reports.”

“You still don’t know who the client is?” Rankin said, his stare searching.

“No idea.”

“This crap about protecting a client’s name, Brandon, doesn’t mean a thing when it comes to a murder case. You’d better hustle up the name: don’t kid me you can’t find it.”

“I wouldn’t kid you, Lieutenant. If Jack hasn’t left a report, then I’m foxed.”

“Let’s have your office address. You’ve got a secretary or someone there, haven’t you?”

I gave him the address.

“We have a typist. She’s just turned seventeen and she’s as dumb a moron as ever drew a salary. We don’t tell her anything.”

Rankin didn’t look as if he believed me.

“When you find out who the client is, come and see me. If I don’t hear from you within twenty-four hours, I’ll come and see you.”

He went away, closing the door behind him; leaving the threat hanging in the air like a cloud of poison gas. I decided to skip the meal. I had an idea Rankin was going to call police headquarters in San Francisco and get a man to talk to Ella before I could contact her.

I took the elevator to the lobby, walked a block before I found a drug store, shut myself in a pay booth and called my office number.

I had been telling Rankin only half the truth about Ella. She was only just seventeen, but she was no moron. She was as smart as they come and as sharp as a razor. It was good to hear her young crisp voice say, “This is the Star Agency. Good afternoon.”

“This is Lew,” I said, speaking fast. “I’m calling from St. Raphael City. Jack came down here on a job and wired me to join him. I have bad news, Ella. He’s dead. Someone knifed him.”

I heard her draw in a quick, sharp breath. She had liked Jack. From force of habit he had given her the treatment when she had first come to the office, but I had persuaded him that at her age she should be left alone. He had seen reason and had transferred his personality to mature pastures. All the same he had made an impact on her, and I knew she was more than half in love with him.

“Jack—dead?” she said, and there was a shake in her voice.

“Yes. Now listen, Ella, this is important. The police want to know what the job was and who the client was. Jack didn’t tell me. Did he tell you?”

“No. He just said something had come in and he was going to St. Raphael City. He said he would wire you to join him, but he didn’t say what the job was.”

I could hear her fighting her tears. I felt sorry for the kid, but this was no time for sentiment.

“How did he get the job: a letter or a telephone call?”

“A man called on the telephone.”

“Did he give his name?”

“No. I asked him, but he wouldn’t give it. He said he wanted to talk to one of the principals.”