She sat down. “Then I’d best give you a brief account of what’s been happening,” she said.
I said that’d be fine.
“About a month ago,” she began, in a low, monotonous voice, “a girl named Luce McArthur disappeared. Her father works in a drugstore on the corner of Sydney and Murray. A couple of days later another girl disappeared. She was the daughter of a janitor named Dengate. A week after that a third girl, named Joy Kunz, disappeared. Mr. Wolf went to Chief of Police Macey to find out what was being’ done about the missing girls. You see, there was a great deal of unrest in town. Parents were naturally anxious and the local press were hinting that there was a mass killer at large.
“As a result of Mr. Wolf’s visit, the police started a search. They went to all the empty houses in Cranville and in one of them they found a shoe that belonged to Joy Kunz. They didn’t find anything else, nor have they any clues even now. The finding of the shoe started a panic in Cranville. Mr. Wolf thought he’d get experts in and that’s why he’s sent for you.” She stopped talking and made a row of fingerprints along the polished edge of her desk.
“That clears the air,” I said, admiring the way she had given me the story. “Who’s Esslinger?”
“He’s the local mortician.” She didn’t look at me while she talked. “He’s running for the election too.”
“A mortician?” I was startled.
When she didn’t elaborate, I said, “What are his chances of becoming mayor?”
She made more fingerprints before saying: “Very good, I believe. The workers like him.” I thought there was a hint in her voice that she liked him too. But I couldn’t swear to that.
Anyway, I couldn’t imagine the workers liking Wolf, but I didn’t say so. “Mr. Wolf thinks that if he finds the girls he’ll win popularity and get elected mayor, is that it?”
She nodded. “Something like that.”
“What does Esslinger say?”
“He’s started an investigation too.”
I was vaguely surprised. “Who’s working for him?”
“Cranville has its own local agent,” she said. “Mr. Esslinger didn’t want strangers meddling with Cranville’s private affairs.”
I looked at her sharply. “That sounds as if you agree with him.”
She flushed and said: “My opinions don’t matter.”
There was a pause while I stared at her, then I said: “Why didn’t Mr. Wolf employ your local agent?”
Her mouth tightened. “He hasn’t any confidence in women,” she told me. “You see, the agency’s run by a woman.”
That was comforting news to me, I didn’t have much confidence in women myself. I thought for a moment and then asked: “What do the police think?”
“They won’t help either Mr. Wolf or Mr. Esslinger. Chief of Police Macey has his own candidate.”
I laughed.
Her mouth looked less prim, but she didn’t look up. “It’s a little complicated,” she admitted. “Chief of Police Macey wants Rube Starkey to be mayor, so he is carrying out his own investigation.”
“Who’s Starkey?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about him except he’s a gambler and I don’t think he’s a very desirable person to be mayor.”
“Well, that’s not bad considering you don’t know anything about him,” I said, with a smile. “What about these girls? Any angles?”
“They’ve just disappeared. Nothing has been found so far.”
“I see.” I selected a cigarette from my ease and lit it. This looked a hell of a case. “Let me get all this right. There are three separate investigations going on to find these girls. Wolf, Esslinger and Macey know that whoever finds them has the best chance of becoming mayor. I’m not likely to get any help from the police and I won’t be popular in Cranville because I’m an outsider. Esslinger’s investigator is likely to get support from Cranville, but not from the, police. Thu about it, isn’t it?”
She said it was.
I remembered the bunch of men who had surrounded my car. If that was going to happen to me every five minutes, I was going to have a swell time.
“Excitement is pretty high, isn’t it?”
“People are worried because nothing’s been done,” she said. “Some of them went down to police headquarters and broke some windows last night.” She sounded very calm about it all.
I thought they’d be breaking my neck if I didn’t watch out.
“Can you give me the names and addresses of all the people you’ve mentioned?”
She opened a drawer and took out a sheet of paper. “I thought you’d want that,” she said.
I thanked her and put the paper in my pocket.
“I’ll poke around,” I said, getting up. “Maybe I’ll have something for Mr. Wolf in a day or so.”
She suddenly looked straight at me. It was a shock to see she was hating me. Being a worker, I guessed she was on Esslinger’s side. With Wolf for a boss, I didn’t blame her, but it was a shock all the same. I could see how complicated it was all going to be.
“Is there somewhere where I can leave my car?” I asked.
She looked puzzled. “Leave your car?” she repeated.
“It carries New York licence plates. They don’t seem popular around here. Some guys have already told me so.”
For a split second she looked pleased, then she got her expression under control. “You can leave it in the garage around toe back. There’s plenty of room.”
I thanked her. “I didn’t get your name,” I said at the door.
“Wilson.” She flushed and looked embarrassed.
“You’ve been a big help, Miss Wilson,” I said. “I hope I haven’t taken up too much of your time.”
She said it was all right and pulled the typewriter towards her.
I booked a room at the Eastern Hotel on Main Street, dumped my bags and went out into the heat again. I took a cab out to McArthur’s place.
The cab driver seemed to be in a hurry to get rid of me. He went through a red light with a policeman standing a yard away. The policeman didn’t even bother to look up. I thought Chief of Police Macey must be a pretty dumb cop.
Four minutes’ furious driving brought us to a grim, sordid street, flanked either side by dirty tenements. Metal fire escapes crawled up the front of the buildings and men and women stood or sat on the iron steps in isolated groups.
Faces looked into the street at the sound of the cab. Some of the women shouted in through the open windows, not wanting their husbands to miss anything.
I knew I had made a mistake coming in a cab. I told the driver to keep on.
“The address you want is right here,” he said, slowing down.
I told him to keep going, and with a quick scowl over his shoulder he drove on. At the end of the street he turned left and I told him to stop. I gave him fifty cents and walked away before he could say anything.
I walked round the block, giving the rubbernecks time to calm down. Then I sauntered down the street towards McArthur’s place.
All the way I felt eyes watching me. I didn’t look up, but I knew the rubbernecks were wondering who I was and who I was going to see. That’s the worst of working a small town like Cranville. Everyone knows everyone else and a stranger sticks out like a boil.
McArthur’s place was a five-storey brick building, halfway down the street. I was glad to get into the lobby, out of the sight of prying eyes. There were six mailboxes; McArthur was on the third floor.
I went up. The stairs were uncarpeted, but clean. There was a stale smell of cooking, but otherwise the house wasn’t so bad.
I rapped on a door on the third floor and waited.