A. Fair - Owls Don't Blink

He grinned. “If you were, you wouldn’t admit it?”

“Probably not.”

“That’s all I wanted to know. I’m disappointed she isn’t here, however.”

“She said there was nothing more she could do. Since Roberta had been located, it was simply a question of cleaning up details.”

“Well, in a way, that’s right. You certainly are fast workers. They told me at the desk that Mrs. Cool had checked out last night about seven o’clock. She didn’t leave last night, did she?”

“No. This morning.”

“But she checked out last night?”

I said, “That’s right. She got an apartment down in the French Quarter. She thought it would be more centrally located for our investigations. She was to stay down there, while I stayed up here.”

“Oh, I see. Where is this apartment?”

“I can’t tell you exactly. It’s one of those apartments where you go in one street, wind around through half a dozen turns and twists, and come out on another. Or are you familiar with the French Quarter?”

“No.”

I said, “You’ll get a kick out of this apartment. It’s typical.”

“So Mrs. Cool is doing war work. She didn’t tell me that.”

“You didn’t ask her, did you?”

“No.”

I said, “She seldom volunteers information about her business to clients.”

He flashed me a quick look. I kept my face absolutely straight.

“She hasn’t talked with Miss Fenn then?”

I let my face show that I was surprised. “Why, we understood from your telegram that you wanted us to hold off that interview until you came, so you could talk with her.”

“Well-not exactly. You say she’s living in the Gulf-pride Apartments on St. Charles?”

“Yes.”

“I’d guess we’d better drive down there. Had breakfast?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, let’s go see her.”

“Want me there when you talk with her?”

“Yes.”

We called a taxi and gave the address of the Gulf-pride Apartments. When we were about halfway there, the driver slid the glass window back, turned, and said, “That’s the place where they had the murder this morning, ain’t it?”

“What place?”

“The Gulfpride Apartments.”

“You can search me. Who was killed?”

“I don’t know. Some man name of Nostrander.”

“Nostrander,” I said, as though trying to recall the name. “I don’t believe I know anyone of that name. What did he do?”

“He was a lawyer.”

“Sure it was murder?” I asked.

“That’s the way I understand it. Somebody plunked him right in the middle of the heart with a thirty-eight caliber.”

“Did he live there?” I asked.

“No. He was found in some jane’s apartment.”

“Like that, eh?”

“I don’t know. This girl worked in a bank somewhere.”

“What happened to her?”

“She’s missing.”

“Don’t happen to remember her name, do you?”

“No, I don’t wait a minute. I heard it, too — one of the boys was telling me about it. Let me see. It was a short name, name of — name of Pen — no, that’s not right. Wait a minute. Fenn. Fenn, that was the name. Roberta Fenn.”

I said, “Police think she pulled the trigger?”

“I don’t know what their theory is. All I know is what I picked up from a gabfest we were having down at the stand. One of the boys had had a hurry-up call to pick up a photographer for some pictures of the body. Said it was an awful mess. Well, here’s the building. Cars certainly parked all around it.”

Hale started to say something. I beat him to it. “What do you say,” I asked in a loud voice, “if we go and see this other party first, and then come back for our interview at the Gulfpride after the excitement has died down? I don’t like to try and carry on a business conversation with people running in and out, chasing up and down stairs, making noise and—”

“I think that’s a very wise decision,” Hale said.

I said to the cab driver, “Okay, drive us on down to Napoleon and St. Charles and let us off there.” I settled back against the cushions and said in a loud Voice to Hale, “Our party at the Gulfpride won’t be interested in talking business this morning, anyway. He’ll be swap ping gossip with the other tenants. My idea is we’d better let him go until afternoon.”

“Okay, just as you say.”

After that, we were silent until the cab driver let us off at Napoleon and St. Charles.

“Want to have me wait?” he asked.

“No. We’ll probably be here for an hour or two.”

He took the tip I gave him and drove off.

“Well?” Hale asked.

“We wait for a streetcar and ride back to town.”

He showed his excitement. “We want to find out all we can about that case. Look here, Lam, you’re a detective. Would it be possible for you to get in touch with the police and find out what they know about—”

“Not one chance in ten million,” I interrupted firmly—

“Don’t the police and the detective agencies work together?”

I said, “The answer to that is best contained in a one-syllable word of unmistakable meaning. It’s no! ”

“But this raises the devil with all of my plans. You’re sure this woman was the same Roberta Fenn whose pictures I showed you?”

“Yes.”

Hale said, “I wonder where she is.”

“The police are probably asking themselves that same question.”

“Do you think you could find her again, Lam?”

“It’s possible.”

His face lit up. “I mean in advance of the police?”

“Perhaps.”

“How would you go about doing it?”

“I can’t tell just yet.”

We waited by the car tracks. He was nervous, kept glancing at his watch.

A streetcar came along. We swung aboard, and I knew Hale had reached a decision on something by the time we took our seats. He kept looking for an opportunity to break it to me, but I didn’t give him any conversational opening for anything. I simply sat looking out the window.

We craned our necks as we went by the Gulfpride Apartments. Quite a few cars were still in front of the place. A little group of men was standing on the sidewalk, heads close together, talking.

That gave Hale the opportunity he wanted. He sucked in a deep breath, said, “Lam, I’m going back to New York. I’m going to leave you in charge here.”

I said, “You’d better get a room, hole up, and get some sleep. You can’t keep commuting back and forth to New York all the time.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t rest much.”

I said, “That apartment Bertha Cool just vacated is wide open. You can move in there and go to sleep. It won’t be like a hotel. There won’t be anyone to disturb you. You can simply lock your door and pass out.”

I could see that the idea appealed to him.

“What’s more,” I said, “you’ll find that apartment interesting for another reason. Roberta Fenn lived there for several months. She was then going under the name of Edna Cutler.”

That brought him bolt upright. His eyes, red-rimmed, slightly bloodshot from lack of sleep, were wide with startled interest. “Is that how you found her?”

“I got some clues there, yes.”

He seemed a bit worried. “It’s uncanny how you find things out. Lam. You’re a regular owl.”

I laughed at that.

“Perhaps you know a lot more about Miss Fenn than you’ve told me?”

“You wanted me to find her, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I found her. We try to give results, and don’t bother our clients reporting methods, or talking about clues.”

He settled back once more in the car seat. “You’re a very unusual young man. I don’t see how you found out so much in so short a time.”