James Chase - Miss Callaghan Comes to Grief

“You don’t have to worry about him. He’s gettin’ all kinds of stories and complaints every hour, and he just doesn’t take any interest. Where are you livin’ now?”

Benny told him.

Jay suddenly sat up. “Surely, that’s where Tootsie Mendetta hangs out?” he said.

Benny nodded. “That’s right,” he answered. “I’ve been wantin’ an introduction to him for weeks. I want to sell him a flock of tracks. He lives just opposite my apartment, but I’ve never set eyes on him.”

Jay got to his feet. There might be something in this story after all. It was a long shot, but he wasn’t going to let it grow cold. “We’ll go back to your apartment and have a look round,” he said. “Come on, buddy, let’s go.”

Benny went with him and they took a taxi to the block.

Inside his apartment Jay couldn’t find anything that excited him. It was just an ordinary joint of a man with a nice income. He wandered around, his hands deep in his trouser pockets, brooding.

Benny sat on the arm of a chair and watched him.

“Did she take a suit−case or anythin’?” Jay asked suddenly.

Benny looked bewildered. “I don’t know,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of lookin’.”

“Check that up, will you, pal?”

Benny went into the bedroom and after a while he came out again. He looked more bewildered still. He shook his head helplessly. “No,” he said, “she hasn’t taken anythin’. The only things that are missing are the clothes she wore yesterday and her handbag. Nothing else.”

Jay didn’t like the sound of this. No woman would ran away from her husband without taking some of her belongings.

“Will you wait here?” he said. “I’ll go across and hare a word with Mendetta. Maybe he heard somethin’.”

Benny suddenly went very pale. “You don’t think anythin’ bad’s happened to her?” he asked.

Jay shook his head. “No,” he said, “I don’t think so, but we’ll clear this up or find out somethin’, so we can get the cops interested. You sit down for a moment.”

He left the apartment and crossed the corridor. He rang Mendetta’s bell. No one answered. He stood there waiting, and then he rang again. Still no one answered.

Benny came to his front door and stood watching him.

“No one seems at home,” he said.

Jay scratched his head. “Will you phone down to the porter and find out what time Mendetta went out?” he said.

While Benny was doing this Jay took a little instrument from his vest pocket and inserted it in the lock. He made no attempt to open the door, but by careful probing he knew that, if he wanted to, he could do so.

Benny came back, looking blank. “The porter guy says Mendetta hasn’t left the building.”

Jay put his thumb on the bell and kept it there. They stood listening to the angry whirr of the bell for several minutes. Then Jay made up his mind. “I’m goin’ in,” he said.

“You can’t do that. Maybe he’s asleep.”

Jay looked at him. “I’m chancin’ that,” he said shortly. “Somehow, I feel there’s somethin’ wrong in there.”

He once more probed with his instrument and a moment later the lock slid back with a little snick. Gently, he eased the door back and looked into the hall. Then he stepped in softly and entered the first room he came to.

He stood looking at Mendetta sprawled out on the floor. His big head rested in a pool of blood. Over the other side of the room Jean lay, one leg drawn up and her arms flung wide. Jean wasn’t very nice to look at.

Jay caught his breath. Here was his front page murder. He spun on his heel and nearly collided with Benny, who had come in.

“My God!” Benny said, going suddenly very green.

Jay pushed him out into the corridor. “Keep your shirt on,” he said roughly. “Go into your apartment and get some drinks lined up.”

Benny went away hurriedly, and Jay carefully closed the apartment door. He followed Benny and grabbed the telephone. “Listen,” he said, as he hastily dialled a number, “there’s goin’ to be a riot in a little while. Did your wife know Mendetta?”

Benny gave himself a long drink of Scotch. He shook his head. “You don’t think she’s mixed up in this, do you?”

Jay was already on to Henry. “Mendetta’s been bumped,” he said. “I’ve just been into his apartment. We’ve got the exclusive story. Even the cops don’t know yet. Can you get this story on the street right away?”

Henry got very excited. “Let’s have it,” he said.

Jay sat down. In short, crisp sentences he fired off the discovery of finding Mendetta’s and Jean’s bodies.

“What the hell were you doin’ up there?” Henry snapped.

“I’ll fix that end,” Jay told him. “You get that on the street in ten minutes and you’ll beat the whole gang to it. I’ve got to tell the cops.”

“When you’re through come on back. I’ve got to see what Poison’s got to say about this.”

“To hell with Poison. This is the story of my life. If Poison’s going to put a soft pedal on it I’m quittin’,” and Jay hung up.

He turned to Benny. “Listen, pal, this is where you’ve got to be a big help. We’re goin’ down to get the porter to open Mendetta’s door. It wouldn’t look too good if they found out that I’ve broken in. Come on, we’ve gotta work fast.”

Protesting feebly, Benny followed him downstairs.

17

June 6th, 11 a.m.

SADIE OPENED her eyes. The hard, naked light of the electric lamp blinded her and she rolled over on the bed, shielding her eyes with her arm. A stabbing pain shot through her head as she moved.

She couldn’t think where she was or what had happened to her. Her mouth felt dry and her body ached. She lay for some time, only half conscious. Then, after a while, her mind began to function again. She remembered dimly leaving her home. She remembered Lu. Out of the mists Grantham’s face appearedGrantham, thin−lipped, standing over her with something in his hand that she couldn’t see. She remembered her terror, and, as she started to scream, a hot hand coming from behind her, over her mouth. She remembered a sharp prick in her arm and her wild struggle, then she remembered nothing more.

Again she half opened her eyes. She was aware that she was lying on a mattress and the colour of the walls was a drab grey. Her heart began to thud wildly. It was no horrible nightmare, then. She turned over and looked round the room.

It was small. The thick carpet on the floor matched the walls. There was no other furniture in the room except the bed on which she was lying.

The door was opposite her. Slowly she sat up, holding her head between her hands. There was something the matter with the room. For a moment she couldn’t make it out, then she realized that there was no window.

The discovery did a lot to clear her brain. She knew that she was in acute danger. Of what she didn’t know, but all the same it made her sick with terror.

Slowly she got off the bed and staggered across the room to the door. Her feet sank into the pile of the carpet, which deadened her footfalls. She tried the door, but it was locked. She stood pulling weakly at the handle, and then she slid down on to the floor and began to cry.

Her head hurt so. She was so frightened. Where could she be? she asked herself. She stayed like that for some time, and when she couldn’t cry any more she again got control of her nerves. She knew she would get nowhere just crying, and, taking herself in hand, she stood up.

She tried the door, pulling at the handle without success, and then she hammered on the panels. That gave her a horrible shock. The panels were covered with a thick layer of rubber. Her small fists bounced back every time she struck, and she could make no sound as she hammered.