James Chase - Figure It Out for Yourself

‘The best figure I’ve ever seen on a woman. Think it’s real?’

‘Could be. Did you see him bring that fishing-rod in here?’

He shook his head.

‘No; and I know he never had a fishing-rod. I asked the girl who cleans his room. She’s never seen one.’

‘Did she look under the bed?’

‘She cleans under it.’

‘The cops found it last night. Did she clean under the bed yesterday morning?’

He nodded.

‘What time?’

She was late. Perelli didn’t leave the apartment until twelve thirty. She didn’t start cleaning until one.’

‘What time did the police find it?’

‘Seven-thirty.’

‘So between one-thirty in the afternoon and seven-thirty in the evening someone planted it. That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘If anyone planted it.’

‘Well, we won’t argue about that. Sometime between one-thirty and seven-thirty either Perelli or someone brought a fishing-rod into this building. That’s right, isn’t it?’

He couldn’t find any fault with that reasoning.

‘Yep.’

‘Are there any other entrances except the main one?’

‘There’s a rear entrance to the basement.’

‘Can anyone get up to the apartments that way?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘Certainly, I’m sure. The way this place is built, you either come in the main entrance or up the stairs from the rear entrance. Either way you have to cross the lobby and you’d be seen.’

‘Where were you between one-thirty and seven-thirty last night?’

‘At the movies.’

‘You mean you weren’t here yesterday afternoon and evening?’

‘I was at the movies.’

‘Your day off?’

‘My day off.’

‘Who was in charge of the lobby?’

‘Gracie Lehmann.’ Maxie took another pull at his can of beer, added, ‘It’s her day off today.’

‘Have the police questioned her?’

‘Why should they?’

‘Didn’t they want to know about the rod? I mean how it got into Perelli’s room?’

‘Why should they?’

I drank a little beer myself. He was right, of course. They had found the rod in Perelli’s room, and that was good enough for them. They wouldn’t bother to find out how it got there. It was there, and as far as they were concerned that was all that mattered.

‘She could have seen someone bring the rod in, then?’

‘If anyone brought it, she saw it.’

‘She might have gone out to wash her hands or something?’

Maxie shook his head.

‘The lobby ain’t to be left a second. That’s the rule of the house. She has a retiring room behind the switchboard. If she goes in there she turns down a switch connected with buzzers under the front and rear mats. Anyone coming in from the main entrance or up the stairs from the basement would sound the buzzer. It’s foolproof. We had a lotta burglaries here one time. Now we really have to watch out. If anyone brought in the rod, she would have seen it.’

‘We’ve just proved either Perelli or someone did bring it in. So she must have seen it.’

‘That’s right.’

I drained the can of beer and lit another cigarette. I was faintly excited.

‘Want another?’ Maxie asked, helping himself.

I nodded, and watched him hoist two more cans into sight.

‘Well, I guess I’d better talk to Gracie,’ I said as he knocked off the cap of the can. ‘She could be my star witness.’

‘She’ll be in tomorrow. Watch her. She’ll come a mite expensive.’

‘Where does she live?’

He brooded over this, then shook his head.

‘Can’t give you her address. It’s against the rules.’

I nursed the can of beer and stared past him at the photograph of Jack Dempsey.

‘It’s my bet Jeff Barratt brought in that rod.’

He was drinking from his can, and the beer went down the wrong way. I had to get up and thump him on the back or he would have choked. I thumped him a little harder than necessary. I thought I might as well get something for my money.

‘Barratt?’ he wheezed when he could speak. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Barratt hates Perelli’s guts. The guy who planted the rod hates Perelli’s guts. Barratt lives opposite Perelli. Barratt’s a first-prize rat. Not evidence in court, but evidence to me.’

He chewed this over and finally nodded his head.

‘Could be.’

I drank some more beer.

‘Don’t waste your time on Gracie if you expect her to squeal on Barratt,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘She’s very, very strong for him.’

Now, perhaps, I was going to get value for my money.

‘What gives?’ I asked. ‘Why should Barratt want to bother himself with a girl like that?’

The guy who owns this building tries to keep it respectable. Don’t ask me why. He’s funny that way. We’ve got instruc-tions that all women visitors are to check out before one o’clock or it has to be reported. Gracie works a night shift every other week. Barratt’s women visitors don’t check out at one o’clock and don’t get reported.’

‘So what does he do? Feed her five bucks a week? I’ll pay for information.’

Maxi finished his beer, dusted the ash off his trousers and stood up.

‘Well, I guess I gotta get back to work.’

‘Sit down and give. I haven’t had anything like ten dollars’ worth of information.’

‘At my rates you have. Make it another ten, and I’ll tell you something that’ll sit you on the edge of your can.’

‘Five.’

‘Ten.’

‘Seven and a half.’

We closed at eight.

I gave him the money and he sat down again.

‘She’s a reefer-smoker, see? Barratt keeps her in weeds. You ain’t got a chance.’

I thought this over, and decided perhaps I hadn’t, but there was no harm trying.

‘Give me her address.’

The extra money persuaded him to break the rules.

‘274 Felman Street: it’s one of those rooming-houses.’

I stood up.

‘Keep this under your bowler, Maxie. If anyone asks you, you’ve never seen me.’

Maxie grunted, thumped himself on the chest and eyed me sourly. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’m fussy who I claim as a friend.’

I left him sitting there, breathing gently and staring absently at the empty beer cans.

The entrance to 274 Felman Street was sandwiched between a tobacconist’s shop and a thirdrate cafe. There was a dirty brass plate on the door that read: R ooms for Business Women. No Service. No Animals. No Men. A card with several dirty thumb-prints on it was pinned above the brass plate and read: No Vacancies.

The next-door café had four tables on the sidewalk. They were presided over by an elderly waiter whose long, lean face carried an expression of infinite sadness, and whose tail coat, in the hard sunlight, looked green with age. He watched me park the Buick before the entrance to the rooming-house and hopefully flicked at one of the tables with a soiled cloth, but the gesture didn’t sell me anything.

I climbed the three stone steps to the glass-panelled doors of 274, pushed one open and entered a dark, smelly lobby full of silence and neglect. Along the left-hand wall was a row of mail boxes. I went over and read the names mounted in grimy brass frames above each box. There was a surprising number of Eves, Lulus, Dawns and Belles among the three dozen names, and I wondered if the brass plate on the door was entirely truthful. The fourth frame from the right read: Miss Gracie Lehmann. Rm. 23. Flr. 2.

Stairs, carpeted with coconut matting, faced me. I puffed gently up thirty of them before I reached the first-floor landing and a long corridor that went away into a quiet dimness surveyed on either side by numerous doors before which stood bottles of milk and newspapers. As the time was ten minutes past noon, it seemed to me the business women were neglecting their business, if they had a business, which on the evidence didn’t seem very probable.