James Chase - Safer Dead

He went out to where a gang of pressmen were waiting impatiently in the yard.

Scaife lit a cigarette.

‘We’re heading for some hard work,’ he said gloomily. ‘We’ve got to find this guy Rutland.’

I reached for the telephone and put through a personal call Bernie in New York. After a ten-minute delay, I got Bernie on the line. The time was now twenty minutes past midnight and I was surprised to catch him in.

‘I can’t stay long,’ he said. ‘Clair’s throwing a party, and I’ve got to keep feeding these vultures with my best whisky. What’s cooking?’

‘Get your notebook,’ I said. ‘I’ve got something hot for you so snap it up.’

‘Won’t it wait until tomorrow morning?’ he asked plaintively. ‘Clair doesn’t like me to leave our guests. Guests, did I say? That’s funny! They’re more like wolves.’

‘Listen, you drink sodden baboon; get your notebook and pin your ears back! We’ve found Fay Benson!’

‘You have? Well, that’s something. How is she?’

‘Wet, cold and very dead. Get your notebook!’

After an infuriating delay, he came back on the line again.

‘Clair’s livid with me,’ he said. ‘For the love of Mike, hurry up.’

‘Shut up about Clair!’ I exclaimed. ‘Listen to what I’m going to tell you.’ I began dictating the story. One of Bernie’s major accomplishments was being able to take down in his own peculiar shorthand, dictation at an incredible speed. I gave him the facts and told him I was putting more photographs on the morning plane. ‘Get someone to meet the plane. This stuffs going to be sensational,’ I concluded.

‘I’ll fix it. I’ll have the whole thing doped out by tomorrow. Nice work, Chet.’

‘Glad you think so. Keep close to the telephone. I’ll have something more for you in a little while. We’re waiting for the doctor’s report.’

‘Don’t call me up any more tonight,’ Bernie said, alarm sounding in his voice. ‘Clair . . .’

‘I know: Clair won’t like it. Phooey to her!’ I snarled and hung up.

Creed came into the room, looking pretty pleased with himself.

‘This is just the story those ghouls like,’ he said, sitting down. ‘We’re going to hit the headlines all right. Doc been in yet?’

Scaife shook his head.

We had to wait another ten minutes before the Medical Officer came in. He looked completely unperturbed as he began to fill his pipe and he shook his head when I offered him a drink.

‘She was killed by a blow on the back of her head. I’d say she was struck by the butt of a revolver: I’ve got nothing else for you. She’s been in the water too long to tell us much. She was dead when the cement was put in.’

Creed got to his feet.

‘Thanks, Doc.’ He looked over at Scaife. ‘Come on; we’ve got work to do.’

As the M.O. followed them, I reached for the telephone and called Bernie again.

II

I looked in to see Creed the next morning soon after eleven o’clock. I had paid my bill at the Shad Hotel, packed my bag and was now ready for the two hundred mile run to Tampa City. Scaife told me Creed was tied up, but he wanted to see me before I left.

‘He won’t be more than twenty minutes. Come in my office. I’ve news for you.’

When I had sat down, Scaife said, ‘You were right. Joan Nichols had a record. She served two years in 1948 for blackmail.’

‘Any details?’

‘It was a particularly mean type of blackmail. One of the girls she was working with in a show had a brother who was in a criminal asylum. His background was pretty grimy and Joan found out about it. She threatened to tell the other girls if this girl didn’t pay her five dollars a week. That was about all the girl could afford as she was keeping her mother. The girl paid up. It went on for six months, then her brother died, and she went to the police. Joan Nichols collected two years.’

‘That’s interesting,’ I said. ‘I wonder if she was blackmailing Fay.’

‘More likely she was blackmailing Rutland. Maybe she and Fay were working together to put the bite on Rutland and he knocked them off.’

I shook my head.

‘I don’t see it that way. Joan’s death was accidental. So was Farmer’s. Following your argument, why wasn’t Fay’s? Why was it so important to get rid of her body so no one would ever find it? You don’t go to the trouble of giving a body a cement overcoat unless it’s urgently necessary for the body not to be found. Why shouldn’t her body be found?’

Scaife stared at me. He hadn’t thought of this angle.

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he said. ‘They could have knocked her off accidentally just as easily.’

The buzzer on his desk sounded and he got up.

‘That’s the old man. Come on, I know he wants to see you.’

Creed was sitting at his desk, chewing on a cigar. He didn’t look as happy as he had the previous night after he had told the pressmen what a smart guy he was. He was scowling, and he stared at me as if he wasn’t sure if he liked me or not.

‘You’ve certainly started something, Sladen, with your ideas. I’m hanged if I know if I can finish it.’ He waved Scaife out of the room. ‘Okay, we’ve found the body; we’ve killed the killer, but where does that get us? Even the press can see Flemming was hired to kill her, and in a day or so, they’ll begin to put some pressure on me. I’ve got no lead now.’

‘I might turn one up in Tampa City. I’m off right now.’

‘In a way I hope you don’t. It won’t get us anywhere,’ Creed said. ‘I’ve already told you: we have no jurisdiction in Tampa City. We can’t send our men in there. Doonan isn’t cooperative. Ever since he’s been there, Tampa City has been used as a sanctuary for criminals. You wouldn’t believe a town of two hundred and fifty thousand people could be so law abiding. Fifty percent of their convictions are motoring offences. The rest of them are for pilfering, shoplifting, stuff like that. There hasn’t been one major robbery or murder there for four years; just small time stuff among the lower working class: the folk who can’t afford to buy protection. Even if you get a lead, you’ll have to be careful how you use it.’

‘It can’t be as bad as that,’ I said. ‘If I get direct proof that the guy who hired Flemming is in Tampa City, surely we can put pressure on Doonan to pass him over to you?’

Creed lifted his shoulders.

‘It’ll depend on who the guy is and how much protection he can pay. But it’s my bet you’ll never get the evidence. You’ll be thrown out of town long before that.’ He took his cigar from between his teeth and tapped ash into the ashtray. ‘I’m not kidding, Sladen. I’ll tell you something: six months ago, a private eye resident here worked on a divorce case. The wife he was watching went to Tampa City. He followed her and kept after her. She had a lot of dough. It’s my guess she went to Doonan and complained. I wish you could see what they did to that guy. His wife has to shove him around now in a wheelchair. He doesn’t know who beat him up. He doesn’t care, anyway. He’s slap happy. After a little trouble - he doesn’t talk so well now – I managed to get from him that three men cornered him an alley. He couldn’t see what they looked like. He didn’t have much time before they slugged him unconscious. I spoke to Doonan about it.

He said he would get after the three guys. He even promised to have them for me in a week. I still haven’t got them, and I never will.’

I stared at him, feeling a sudden chill run up my spine.

‘They wouldn’t treat me like that, would they?’

Creed smiled grimly.

‘If I sent Scaife to snoop in their territory, they would do it to him: why not to you?’