James Chase - You Find Him, I'll Fix Him

“What about the girl? Who was she?”

Matthews shrugged.

“No one seems to know. There was no sign of her when they found Menotti and no one has seen her since. She didn’t live at the apartment. She was there waiting for Menotti when he and his boys arrived. None of them ever got a look at her. She would stand looking out of the window while they searched the apartment. All they can say is that she was a blonde with a good shape. The police couldn’t trace her. They thought she must have let the killer in, because the door wasn’t forced. I think it’s pretty certain she sold Menotti out.”

I brooded over this for a moment, then asked, “Do you know a big, broad-shouldered Italian, with a white zigzag scar on his face whose first name is Carlo?”

Matthews shook his head.

“He’s a new one on me. Where does he fit in?”

“I don’t know, but I want to find out. If you ever get a line on him, Jim, will you let me know?”

“Oh, sure.” He tapped the ash off his cigar. “Look, tell me, what is all this sudden interest in Setti about?”

“I can’t go into that right now, but if I turn up anything that you can use, I’ll let you know. Sorry, but that’s as far as I can go at this stage.”

He pulled a face.

“I hate a guy going secretive on me,” he said, then shrugged. “Well, okay, after all, the lunch wasn’t so bad.” He pushed back his chair. “If you haven’t any work to do this afternoon, I have. Anything else you want to know before I get back to the treadmill?”

“I don’t think so, but if I do think of anything, I’ll call you.”

“That’s the idea. Don’t be scared to pick my brains.” He got to his feet. “You don’t happen to know where Setti’s hiding, do you?”

“If I did, I’d tell you.”

He shook his head sadly.

“Yeah, I know: like I’d tell my wife my secretary has a chest like Jane Russell. Well, so long, handsome. If I don’t see you before then, I’ll be at your funeral.”

I watched him go, then for the next ten minutes, I turned over in my mind what he had told me. I hadn’t learned a great deal, but what there was of it had been worth the money I had paid out on the lunch.

By the time I had got back to my apartment, I had mapped out in my mind what I was going to tell Chalmers. My best plan I told myself, anyway for the moment, was to be as noncommittal as I could: there were angles to this business that had to be investigated before I could even think of giving Chalmers a glimmer of the truth.

I left the Lincoln outside the building and hastily climbed the private staircase to my apartment. As I was walking down the passage, I saw the figure of a man loitering outside my front door.

My heart skipped a beat when I recognized the short, broad-shouldered form of Lieutenant Carlotti.

He turned at the sound of my footfalls and gave me a long, steady stare that was meant to be disconcerting and succeeded in being disconcerting.

“Hello, Lieutenant, you haven’t been waiting long, have you?’’ I said, trying to sound breezy.

“I have only just arrived, he said. “There was something I wanted to ask you.”

I fetched out my latchkey, opened the front door and stood aside.

“Come on in.”

He walked into the lounge the way an undertaker walks into the room where the body is laid out. He placed himself with his back to the window so that, if I faced him, the full light from the window would fall on my face.

I wasn’t willing to give him this advantage, so I went over to my desk that stood in a corner out of the light and sat on it, making him turn to face me.

“What’s bothering you, Lieutenant?” I asked, lighting a cigarette and trying to keep calm.

He looked around, found a chair that would put him in fine with me and sat down.

“I regret it is now no longer possible to advise the Naples coroner that la Signorina Chalmers’s death was accidental,” he said. “There are several points that are suspicious. We intend to make a full investigation.”

I kept my face expressionless.

“And so… ?” I said, meeting his cold, searching stare.

“La Signorina had a number of men friends,” he said. “We find she has been free and easy with her favours.”

“That’s very tactfully put, Lieutenant. You’re telling me she led an immoral life?”

He nodded.

“I am afraid so.”

“That is something Chalmers won’t welcome. You’re sure of your facts?”

He made an impatient movement.

“Of course. We think it is more than possible that one of her men friends killed her. This is now a murder investigation. I have already collected the names of a number of men she knew. Your name is among them.”

“Are you suggesting I had immoral relations with her?” I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “Because if you are, I’ll take a lot of pleasure in suing you.”

“I am making no suggestions, signor. You knew her. I am trying to clarify the position. We feel satisfied that a man she knew killed her. Perhaps you would be kind enough to help me. Can you please tell me where you were on the day of her death?”

This was a question I had been waiting to be asked for what seemed a long, long time.

“Do you think I killed her?” I asked in a voice I scarcely recognized as my own.

“No, I don’t think so. I am making a list of all the names of the men who knew her. Against each name, I am putting the whereabouts of this man at the time of her death. In this way, I shall save a considerable amount of time. I need only investigate those men who can’t account for their movements at that time.”

“I see.” I drew in a long, slow breath. “You want to know where I was four days ago?”

“If you please.”

“That won’t be difficult. It was the day I began my vacation. I had intended to go to Venice. I forgot to book a room and, finding I had left it too late, I stayed here, working on my novel. The following morning…”

“I’m not interested in what happened on the following morning,” Carlotti said. “I just want to know what happened on the 29th.”

“Okay. I was right here working on my novel. I worked all the afternoon and evening up to three o’clock the following morning. I didn’t move out of here.”

He looked down at his highly polished shoes.

“Perhaps someone called on you?” he asked hopefully.

“No one came near me, because I was thought to be in Venice.”

“Perhaps someone telephoned you?”

“No one did, for the same reason.”

“I see.”

There was a long, awkward pause while he stared at his shoes, then he suddenly looked up. Meeting his eyes was like having a blow-lamp across my face.

“Well, thank you, signor,” he said, and got to his feet. “This is a complicated business. It is only by making inquiries and asking questions that we shall eventually arrive at the truth. I am sorry if I have taken up too much of your rime.”

“That’s okay,” I said, aware that my hands were clammy and my mouth was dry.

“If there is anything that I think you can help me with, I’ll be in touch with you again.” He moved to the door. Then he paused to look at me. “Is there anything you would wish to add? Anything that may have slipped your mind that might help me?”

“My mind’s not all that slippery.”

He stared at me.

“I don’t think you should treat this matter flippantly, signor. It is, after all, a murder investigation. Perhaps you will think about it. Some idea may occur to you.”

“Sure. If it does, I’ll call you.”

“I’d be glad if you would.”

He nodded and, opening the door, he went into the hall. I was feeling so shaken I didn’t trust myself to escort him to the front door. He found his own way out. When I heard the front door shut behind him, I stubbed out my cigarette and, getting to my feet, I walked over to the window.