James Chase - Miss Callaghan Comes to Grief

September 7th, 2.20 p.m.

WHEN Special Prosecutor Dewey said, “Don’t you remember any testimony about Hines and the poultry racket there by him?” Jay Ellinger dropped his pencil and sat back with a gasp.

Hines’s defender, Stryker, was already on his feet, shouting, “I demand a mistrial. Your Honour! Your Honour! I demand a mistrial!”

Ellinger whispered to the Tribune reporter, “It’s over. They’ve been waitin’ for a loophole like this.”

The Tribune reporter shook his head. “Naw,” he said, “they’ll go on. This goddamn’ trial will last for years.”

But Ellinger knew in his bones that Dewey had made just that one little slip that would give the Judge the chance of getting Hines freed. Although the trial dragged on over the week−end, by Monday everyone knew that Dewey’s tremendous work of bringing Hines to trial had to be started all over again.

Ellinger got his copy off and then immediately caught a train back to East St. Louis. He was determined to resign before he could be sent on some other job that would keep him from the work he had been impatiently waiting to tackle.

Since he had been away he hadn’t heard one word from Benny. He had been so busy attending the Hines trial that he had not been able to check up with the home town news. Now, as he stepped out of the train, he could hardly contain his patience to get started.

He took a taxi to the Banner offices and went immediately to see Henry.

He burst into the office. Henry gaped at him. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” he snapped. “I want”

“Save it,” Jay said quickly; “I’m through. I quit. I resign…. Get it?”

Henry relaxed in his chair. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You gone crazy?”

Jay sat down. “No,” he said, “I’m just through. I thought I’d get that in before you gave me another little job out of town. Poison ain’t keeping me muzzled any more, Henry. I’m working on my own for a while.”

Henry sighed. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll tell him.”

“Now listen, Chief, tell me what’s been goin’ on. Anythin’ new on the Mendetta angle?”

Henry lit a cigar. “Plenty,” he said briefly. “Vice’s been organized on a big scale here. From reports that I hear, whoever it is who’s running the game is doing it on a real money−making scheme. He’s got the monopoly here. The girls have been driven off the streets. You’ve never seen anything like it. You won’t find one single girl poundin’ a beat. Even the cops couldn’t clean up a town as this guy’s done. But he’s got houses everywhere. At his own prices. The rake−off must be colossal.”

“Who is it?”

Henry shrugged. “They say it’s Grantham. He’s payin’ all the bills. The cops are so well oiled that they leave him alone. Poison won’t let a word in his papers. The other rags follow his lead. Everyone is making money, as far as I can see, except the girls themselves.”

“Any girls missing?”

Henry nodded. “The Missing People’s Bureau has been taken over by a guy named Goldburg. He’s in Grantham’s pocket. No one does anything about the girls. They just write up particulars and that’s all. The increase in missing girls is up forty per cent. They’re gettin’ girls in from outside too. The guys I’ve met who’ve been to the houses tell me that every week there’s a new set of girls. They’re drilled in every form of vice imaginable.”

Jay rubbed his hands. “I’m goin’ after this racket, Chief,” he said. “I’ll smash it or bust.”

Henry looked worried. “It’s too big for you,” he said. “These guys are makin’ dough now. They’re dangerous.”

“If I can find out anythin’ to prove it I’ll turn the whole thing over to the F.B.I.,” Jay said. “I ain’t tacklin’

them single−handed.”

“What the hell do you think the F.B.I. are doin’ now?” Henry snapped. “They’re just waitin’ to pounce. This guy is so smart they can’t move yet. If they catch him in the Mann Act they can move. But no one knows how he gets his girls across the State line.”

Jay got up. “Well, I’m free. I’ve got nothin’ to do. So I may as well look this over. If I can tie Poison up to this I’ll do it.”

Henry reached out his hand. “Good luck,” he said. “If I’d the guts I’d get out of this game myself. I’m too old now to look for anything else.”

Jay shook hands with him. “Leave it to me,” he said. “If I want any help I’ll come and see you.”

Henry smiled crookedly. “After today, Jay,” he said, “you and I’ve got to take different roads. Poison will make me go after you.”

Jay went to the door. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll remember that,” and he went out fast.

September 7th, 10.45 p.m.

THE SMART little dance−hall was crowded. Soft lights, heady swing, and laughter. It drew the girls and their partners like moths to a naked flame.

A tall, good−looking Jew, well dressed, a small diamond glittering in his tie, glanced carefully round the room as he sat at a quiet table. Particularly, his eyes dwelt on the line of unattended girls who sat chattering to each other, laughing and giggling, but hoping for a male to take them on to the floor.

The Jew examined each girl swiftly as his eye swept down the line. He selected one. She was pretty, young, with a nice figure. She looked a lot more lively than the others, and in a mild way was trying to catch the eyes of the guys who every now and then walked along to find a new partner.

The Jew knew that this particular dance−hall always had a lot more girls than partners. It was a happy−hunting−ground for him. He got languidly to his feet and walked over to the line. He made straight for the girl he had selected.

He said in a soft voice, “I’d like a dance if you’ll give me one.”

She got up at once. “Sure,” she said. She knew he was a Jew, but he was tall and handsome. She didn’t mind.

They danced in silence. He knew his stuff and she thought he was a swell dancer. When the band cut out he took her back to her seat. He was satisfied she was the right type.

“That was grand,” he said. “I’d like another later.”

He went out almost immediately and signalled to a car, parked across the road. Then he went back to the hall. The band had started playing again, and he saw she was dancing with a little guy who kept tripping over her feet.

He sat down at the table. He was used to waiting. At last the dance finished and she went back to her seat.

When the short interval was over he got up and went across to her quickly. She saw him coming and got up with a smile. That was what he wanted. She was already getting used to him.

As he swung her through the crowd he hummed the melody the band was playing. He could sing.

She said, “Nice voice.”

“Nice girl,” he returned, smiling.

She laughed a little. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

“Sure. You’re so nice I can’t believe you’re here on your own.”

She pouted a little. “I haven’t got a regular boy.”

“Then I’m lucky,” he said.

“Don’t be smart.”

“When this dance’s over, will you have somethin’ to drink?”

She shook her head. “I don’t.”

“Well, come and watch me.”

She didn’t say anything, and the Jew grinned to himself. He was pretty experienced. This was going to be a push−over.

The band ceased abruptly, and he led her back to his table. They sat down together.

“I bet your Pa doesn’t know you’re out,” he said, offering her a cigarette.

She giggled. “How did you know? Pa hates me dancing. I sneak out once a week. Even Ma thinks I’m in bed.”