James Chase - Miss Callaghan Comes to Grief

The clerk told him he hadn’t seen her go. Raven hung up.

By now he was a little alarmed. He wondered if Grantham knew anything. When he rang Grantham’s office he was told that he was out, but was expected any minute.

“Where’s he gone?” he asked.

The girl said, “To Madam Lacey’s house.”

Raven hung up and immediately rang Madam Lacey’s. A hard voice answered him. It was a man’s voice he couldn’t place. He asked for Grantham.

“Who are you?” the voice snapped.

Raven sensed that it was a cop. He felt cold sweat suddenly break out under his arms. “Tell him it’s Fleming,” he said; “I want to talk to him.”

“He’s busy right now,” the voice said. “Suppose you come down.”

“I’ll be right along,” Raven said, and hung up. There was something wrong. He rang up Maltz.

“Go over to the hotel and sniff around,” he said, after explaining what had happened. “Don’t give yourself away. Just poke around quietly and meet me at Franky’s in an hour’s time.”

Maltz said he would.

Raven came out of the phone−box and lit a cigarette. He hailed a taxi and gave Madam Lacey’s address. “I want you to cruise past the joint slowly, but you’re not to stop.”

The taxi−driver said he’d do that and set the cab rolling. They reached the house in a few minutes, and Raven could see something was wrong. There were two police cars and an ambulance standing outside. A policeman stood at the door frowning at the large collection of people standing staring.

At the end of the road Raven paid off the taxi and walked slowly back towards the house. He kept on the opposite side of the road, his hand touching the handle of his hidden gun. He mingled with the crowd and stood watching.

Three patrol wagons came racing down the street, their sirens wailing, and drew up outside the house. The crowd surged forward, carrying Raven with them.

“What the hell’s going on here?” he asked a guy who stood near him.

“They’re raidin’ a brothel,” the guy said with evident relish. “Seems a riot broke out inside. They say the dames in there set about two fellas and killed them.”

Raven started. “What do you meankilled them?”

“That’s right,” a sheep−faced man broke in. “Two punks who ran the house. The girls got tough an’ gave them the worksserve the lousy punks right.”

Just then the front door opened and the police began to bundle the girls out into the street. The crowd raised an ironic cheer. The girls were herded into the wagons, cops applying their night−sticks to their backsides as they fought and protested. It was a real outing for the crowd. The sheep−faced man yelled, “I bet those cops’ll have a treat tonight.” The crowd raised a loud laugh. “Can we help you, copper,” another man bawled, “or can you manage that little lot yourself?”

Raven recognized Fan, Julie and Andree. He noticed they were handcuffed. Fan was being very troublesome, and the cops were treating her rough.

Raven was livid with suppressed rage. Each one of those girls brought him in a large income. What the hell did the cops mean by breaking into one of his houses? Then he remembered what the sheep−faced man had said. Uneasily, he waited. The wagons moved off, and then two white−coated attendants came out, carrying a stretcher. The crowd gave a groan of satisfaction and shoved forward some more. By stretching his neck Raven caught a glimpse of a figure covered with a white sheet being slid into the ambulance. Almost immediately two more attendants came out carrying another stretcher.

“What did I tell you?” the sheep−faced man demanded triumphantly. “Killed two guys those girls did. An’

serve ’em right, I say.”

Raven had seen quite enough. It was dangerous to stay here any longer. He broke away from the crowd and walked hurriedly away. His brain was on fire with worry. Maybe Maltz would find out something. It was obviously very unsafe to return to his hotel. He passed a telephone booth, hesitated, and then went in. He rang up the D.A.’s office.

“Hackensfield?” he asked, when a man answered the phone. “This is a friend of Grantham. What’s happened? What the hell are you raiding one of our houses’ for?”

“Who are you? What’s your name?” Hackensfield demanded. He sounded tough.

“Never mind who I am. If you want to stay on our payroll you’d better get those girls off at once,” Raven snarled.

“You’re crazy. I can’t do it,” Hackensfield said, throwing caution to the wind. “Don’t you know what they’ve done?”

“What have they done?”

“They set about Grantham and Eller. My God! You ought to see those guys. The things they did to them. I tell you we’ve got to prosecute. The authorities will demand an enquiry. We can’t get out of this.”

Raven felt a little sick. “You’ve got to!” he shouted violently. “If you get those girls to testify the balloon goes up. Once they start openin’ their mouths they’ll never shut them again. The racket’ll go sky−high, an’

you’ll go with it. Listen, Hackensfield, you’ve got to stop them testifying. I don’t care how you do it, but you’ve got to stop them. Do you understand?”

Hackensfield’s voice cracked in his panic. “I tell you we can’t do it. Two murders have been committed.

The newspapers have got all the details. They’ll splash it in every newspaper. The public will demand a trial.

This is the most horrible and sensational crime that’s ever been committed in this town. You’ll have to get the hell out of here and leave it to me to handle. Can’t you see that?”

“If you think I’m goin’ to pass up nearly a million dollars of investments just because you’re too damned milky to stop it, you’re crazy. I’ll stop it if I have to break into the gaol and shoot every one of those whores.

Now do you understand that I mean business?”

There was a pause, then Hackensfield said, “It won’t work. Think about it. Statements will be taken from the girls as soon as they get to the station. They’ll find out that some of the girls have come from other States.

The F.B.I. have already gone down to the station to see if they can horn in on the investigation. We can’t keep them out. As soon as they know there are girls from other States they can take charge through the Mann Act.

No, it’s all up. Every one of us’ll have to save his own hide.”

Raven hung up and stepped out of the phone booth, trembling with suppressed rage. Hackensfield was right. The thing had come too fast for him to act. The F.B.I. would take over and he’d be on the run again.

There wasn’t a moment to delay.

He climbed into the taxi and gave Franky’s address. He had to pick Maltz up, although by now Franky’s wouldn’t be safe. During the drive he took out his wallet and counted the amount of money he had on him.

He’d got just over two hundred dollars. When he thought that he could put his hands on nearly a million dollars if he could only get back to the hotel, he shivered with rage and frustration. He’d got to get that money, even if he raided the hotel and took it at the point of a gun.

He paid off the taxi at Franky’s and, holding the butt of his gun, walked in.

Maltz, Little Joe and Lefty came across the lobby as soon as they saw him.

“You got a car?” he snapped.

Lefty nodded. “At the back.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” Raven said.

They went through Franky’s place and got in the car. “Where to, boss?” Lefty asked.

“Drive around. I want to talk,” Raven returned, lighting a cigarette. “Just keep moving.”

The car swung away from the kerb.

“Well, what did you find out?” Raven asked Maltz.