Owls Don't Blink, page 6
part #6 of Donald Lam and Bertha Cool Series
“The instigator of the damnedest horn-blowing of the evening,” I told her.
She said simply, “I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Shut up! It’s dangerous to joke about such things.”
“Who in hell said I was joking? I mean every word of it. Don’t we have to notify the police?”
I said, “Yes. But we do it my way.”
“How’s that?”
I said, “Come on. I’ll show you.”
We went into the restaurant. I asked very loudly if I could get the proprietor to telephone for a taxicab, or should I telephone for one.
He motioned toward a phone booth, and gave me the number of the cab company. I went back and called the cab office. They assured me a cab would be there within two minutes. From the booth I could watch the door of Roberta Fenn’s apartment house.
I waited until I heard the horn of the cab outside the restaurant, then dialed police headquarters, and said very casually, “Got a pencil?”
“Yes.”
I said, “The Gulfpride Apartments on St. Charles Avenue.”
“What about them?”
“Apartment two-o-four,” 1 said.
“Well, what about it? Who is this talking? What do you want?”
“I want to report that a murder was committed in that apartment. If you’ll rush some radio cars down there, you may catch the murderer waiting for another victim.”
“Say, who is this talking?”
“Adolf.”
“Adolf who?”
“Hitler,” I said, “and don’t ask me anything else because I’ve got a mouthful of carpet.” I hung up the phone, and walked out.
Bertha had walked out to hold the taxicab. I came sauntering after her as though there was no particular hurry.
“Where to?” the cab driver asked.
Bertha started to give him the name of the hotel, but I beat her to it, and said, “Union Depot. No hurry. Take it easy.”
We settled back against the cushions. Bertha wanted to talk. I jabbed my elbow into her ribs every time she started to say anything. Finally she gave it up, and sat glowering at me in seething, impotent rage.
We paid off the cab at the depot. I piloted Bertha through one entrance, swung her around, and out another. “Monteleone Hotel,” I told the driver.
Once more I held Bertha to silence. I felt as though I were holding down the safety valve on a steam boiler. I didn’t know at what moment an explosion might occur.
We arrived at the Monteleone Hotel. I escorted Bertha over to a row of comfortable chairs, settled her in the deep cushions, sat down beside her, and said quite affably, “Go ahead and talk. Talk about anything in the world you want to—except anything that’s happened in the last hour.”
Bertha glared at me. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to talk about and what not—?”
I said, “Every move we’ve made up to this point will be traced. It’s what we do from here on that really counts.”
Bertha snapped, “If they trace us here, they’ll trace-us the rest of the way.”
I waited until the clerk’s eye drifted our way; then I got up, walked over to the desk, smiled affably, and said, “I believe the bus comes here to pick up passengers for the plane north, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. It will be here in about thirty minutes.”
“It’s all right for us to wait here for it?” I managed to seem meek and uncertain of myself.
“Quite all right,” he assured me, smiling.
I rejoined Bertha. After the clerk’s attention was diverted elsewhere, I strolled over to the newsstand. A few moments later I gave Bertha a signal to join me; then we walked around to the entrance to the drugstore. I stopped long enough to play a pinball machine; then we were out on the street.
“Where to?” Bertha asked.
“The hotel first—long enough to get packed up and checked out.”
“Then where?”
“Probably the apartment.”
“Both of us?”
“Yes. That studio couch can be made into an extra bed.”
Bertha said, “What’s the idea? You’re running away as though you’d done it.”
“Don’t be too certain the police won’t think so.”
“Why?”
I said, “Roberta Fenn was working in a bank. They’ll ask the banker what he knows. He’ll say that yesterday afternoon a man came to see her, claiming to be an investigator trying to clean up an estate. Roberta Fenn talked with him. The young man was waiting for her at the bank when she got off work. He put Roberta in a taxicab, and they drove off. The young man was in her apartment when the man who was murdered called last night. The man was jealous.”
“Where’s Roberta while all this was going on?” Bertha Cool asked.
“Roberta,”. I said, “is, one, the one who pulled the trigger on the gun, or, two, sprawled out on the floor where we couldn’t see her without going into the room, or, three, the person for whom the murderer is waiting.”
Bertha said, “I think the thing to do is to get into a taxicab, go down to police headquarters, and tell them the whole circumstances.”
I stopped, swung her around to the curb, and pointed to a cab that was parked on the opposite side of the street. “There’s a cab,” I said. “Get in.”
Bertha hesitated.
“Go ahead.”
“You don’t think so, do you, Donald?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There are lots of reasons.”
“Name some.”
I said, “It stinks.”
“What does?”
“The whole business.”
“Why?”
I said, “Hale came to Los Angeles. He hired us to come to New Orleans and find Roberta Fenn. Why didn’t he get a New Orleans detective agency on the job?”
“Because he had confidence in us. We’d been recommended to him.”
“So rather than get a New Orleans detective agency for a routine job, he pays us a fancy price, and traveling expenses, and a per diem from Los Angeles here.”
“You were already in Florida. He seemed to be pleased when I told him that. I told him you could be here a couple of days before we arrived.”
“All right, he was pleased. He hired us to come in and work on this case because he had confidence in us. And he knew where Roberta Fenn was all the time.”
Bertha stared at me as though I’d done something utterly incomprehensible like tossing a brick through the plate-glass window in the drugstore behind us.
“It’s the truth,” I said.
“Donald, you’re absolutely crazy! Why should a man come all the way to Los Angeles and hire us at fifty dollars a day with an extra twenty for expenses, to find a woman in New Orleans whom he said was missing, but who wasn’t?”
“That” I said, “is the reason I’m not getting in any taxicab and going to police headquarters. You may if you want to. There’s the cab, and knowing you as I do, I feel quite certain you have enough money to pay the fare.”
I started walking toward the hotel.
Bertha came striding along after me. “You don’t need to be so damned independent about it!”
“I’m not being independent. I’m simply keeping my nose clean.”
“What are you going to say when the police do get hold of you and make things tough because you didn’t report the murder?”
“I did report the murder.”
She thought that over.
“The police aren’t going to like it, just the same.”
“No one asked them to.”
“When they finally get their hands on you,” Bertha warned, “it’s going to be just too bad!”
“Unless we can give them something else to distract their attention.”
“Such as what?” she asked.
“The murderer who was in that room, or, perhaps, a brand new murder case. Something that will keep their minds occupied.”
Bertha automatically fell into step with me, thinking things over.
She said at length, “Donald, you’re crazy about that Hale business.”
“What about it?”
“About him knowing where Roberta Fenn was.
“He had already found her.”
“What makes you think so?”
I said, “The waiter at The Bourbon House saw her coming out of Jack O’Leary’s Bar with Hale.”
“You’re certain?” .
“Reasonably so. The waiter described him to a T, said he looked like he was holding something in his mouth.”
“When was this?”
“About a month ago.”
“Then she knows who Hale is?”
“No. Hale knows who she is. She thinks Hale is Archibald C. Smith of Chicago.”
Bertha sighed. “This is too damn much for me. It’s one of those Chinese puzzles that you like. I don’t like them.”
“I’m not crazy about this one myself. This isn’t a question of whether we like it or not. It’s something we’re in—right up to our necks.”
Bertha said, “Well, I’m going to get in touch with Hale and call for a showdown. I’m—”
“You’re going to do nothing of the sort,” I interrupted. “You’ll remember that Hale told us he didn’t want us making any investigation as to why we were hired, or who had hired us. We were hired only to do one thing, to find Roberta Fenn.”
I could see that Bertha was thinking things over all the way to the hotel. Just before we entered the lobby, she said, “Well, I’ve made up my mind to one thing.”
“What?”
“We’ve found Roberta Fenn. That’s what we were hired to do. And we collect that bonus. Now I’ve got to get back to Los Angeles. That construction-company business is important.”
I said, “It’s okay by me.”
Bertha entered the lobby, marched up to the desk, and said, “When’s the next train out of here for California?”
The clerk smiled and said, “If you’ll inquire at the porter’s desk, he’ll— Wait a minute. Aren’t you Mrs. Cool?”
“Yes.”
“You were registered here. Checked out last night, didn’t you?”
“That’s right.”
The clerk said, “A telegram came in for you this morning. We sent it back to the telegraph company. Just a moment. Perhaps it hasn’t gone out yet. No. Here it is.”
He picked it out and handed it across to Bertha Cool.
She tore it open and held the message so I could read over her shoulder. It was dated Richmond the night before and read: After talking with you on telephone have decided return New Orleans first available plane. Emory G. Hale.
Chapter Nine
WE MOVED away from the desk. Bertha kept staring at the telegram. I said, “He’ll be here almost any time now. There’s an early plane gets in from New York. He didn’t say just what plane he’d take, did he? Richmond must have been where he was grounded on the trip north.”
“No-the first available plane. That was because they’re so crowded these days.”
I said, “When he comes, I’ll do the talking.”
Bertha reached a sudden decision. “You’re damn right you’re going to do all the talking. Bertha is bundling herself into an airplane and flying to Los Angeles. In case Mr. Hale asks questions, it’s because Bertha has some war work which demanded her presence. You aren’t going to tell him anything about having gone down there this morning and about what happened, are you?”
“No.”
“That is all I wanted to know,” she said.
“Want me to go out to the airport with you to see you off?”
“I do not. You’re poison. You’re the smarty pants that held out on Hale just because you thought Hale was holding out on you. It’s your party. You sent out the engraved invitations, and now you can seat the guests as they come in. Bertha is going over and get some nice pecan waffles, and then be on her way.”
“I want a key to the apartment,” I said, “and—”
“It’ll be in the door. I’ll pack my bag and leave my key in the door. Good-by.”
She strode to the door, and I watched her get into a taxicab. She didn’t even look back.
When the cab had pulled away, I went into the dining-room, had a good breakfast, went up to my room, stretched out in a chair with my feet propped on another chair, and read the morning paper while I was waiting for Hale.
He arrived shortly after ten o’clock.
I shook hands and said, “Well, you certainly made a quick round trip.”
He pulled his lips back from his teeth in his characteristic smile. “I did for a fact,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize I was teamed up with two such fast workers. What happened to Mrs. Cool? I inquired for her, and they said she’d checked out.”
“Yes. She was called back to Los Angeles on an emergency—war work.”
“Oh,” he said. “You’re doing work for the F.B.I, then.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, you intimated as much.”
I said, “I’m not familiar with all the partnership business, but I don’t think we are.”
He grinned. “If you were, you wouldn’t admit it?”
“Probably not.”
“That’s all I wanted to know. I’m disappointed she isn’t here, however.”
“She said there was nothing more she could do. Since Roberta had been located, it was simply a question of cleaning up details.”
“Well, in a way, that’s right. You certainly are fast workers. They told me at the desk that Mrs. Cool had checked out last night about seven o’clock. She didn’t leave last night, did she?”
“No. This morning.”
“But she checked out last night?”
I said, “That’s right. She got an apartment down in the French Quarter. She thought it would be more centrally located for our investigations. She was to stay down there, while I stayed up here.”
“Oh, I see. Where is this apartment?”
“I can’t tell you exactly. It’s one of those apartments where you go in one street, wind around through half a dozen turns and twists, and come out on another. Or are you familiar with the French Quarter?”
“No.”
I said, “You’ll get a kick out of this apartment. It’s typical.”
“So Mrs. Cool is doing war work. She didn’t tell me that.”
“You didn’t ask her, did you?”
“No.”
I said, “She seldom volunteers information about her business to clients.”
He flashed me a quick look. I kept my face absolutely straight.
“She hasn’t talked with Miss Fenn then?”
I let my face show that I was surprised. “Why, we understood from your telegram that you wanted us to hold off that interview until you came, so you could talk with her.”
“Well-not exactly. You say she’s living in the Gulf-pride Apartments on St. Charles?”
“Yes.”
“I’d guess we’d better drive down there. Had breakfast?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, let’s go see her.”
“Want me there when you talk with her?”
“Yes.”
We called a taxi and gave the address of the Gulf-pride Apartments. When we were about halfway there, the driver slid the glass window back, turned, and said, “That’s the place where they had the murder this morning, ain’t it?”
“What place?”
“The Gulfpride Apartments.”
“You can search me. Who was killed?”
“I don’t know. Some man name of Nostrander.”
“Nostrander,” I said, as though trying to recall the name. “I don’t believe 1 know anyone of that name. What did he do?”
“He was a lawyer.”
“Sure it was murder?” I asked.
“That’s the way I understand it. Somebody plunked him right in the middle of the heart with a thirty-eight caliber.”
“Did he live there?” I asked.
“No. He was found in some jane’s apartment.”
“Like that, eh?”
“I don’t know. This girl worked in a bank somewhere.”
“What happened to her?”
“She’s missing.”
“Don’t happen to remember her name, do you?”
“No, I don’t-wait a minute. I heard it, too—one of the boys was telling me about it. Let me see. It was a short name, name of—name of Pen—no, that’s not right. Wait a minute. Fenn. Fenn, that was the name. Roberta Fenn.”
I said, “Police think she pulled the trigger?”
“I don’t know what their theory is. All I know is what I picked up from a gabfest we were having down at the stand. One of the boys had had a hurry-up call to pick up a photographer for some pictures of the body. Said it was an awful mess. Well, here’s the building. Cars certainly parked all around it.”
Hale started to say something. I beat him to it. “What do you say,” I asked in a loud voice, “if we go and see this other party first, and then come back for our interview at the Gulfpride after the excitement has died down? I don’t like to try and carry on a business conversation with people running in and out, chasing up and down stairs, making noise and—”
“I think that’s a very wise decision,” Hale said.
I said to the cab driver, “Okay, drive us on down to Napoleon and St. Charles and let us off there.” I settled back against the cushions and said in a loud Voice to Hale, “Our party at the Gulfpride won’t be interested in talking business this morning, anyway. He’ll be swap ping gossip with the other tenants. My idea is we’d better let him go until afternoon.”
“Okay, just as you say.”
After that, we were silent until the cab driver let us off at Napoleon and St. Charles.
“Want to have me wait?” he asked.
“No. We’ll probably be here for an hour or two.”
He took the tip I gave him and drove off.
“Well?” Hale asked.
“We wait for a streetcar and ride back to town.”
He showed his excitement. “We want to find out all we can about that case. Look here, Lam, you’re a detective. Would it be possible for you to get in touch with the police and find out what they know about—”
“Not one chance in ten million,” I interrupted firmly.
