“Loosen up,” I said. It was a hard job to look tough with an ice bag on top of my head, but I must have succeeded, because he looked scared.
“I... I didn’t think it was important,” lie said, going red. “It was something Dixon told me—”
“Dixon? Did you know Dixon?”
“Why, of course... I’ve known him ever since I was a kid—”
“Never mind the autobiography,” I snapped. “What did Dixon say?”
“Just that the Street-Camera was mixed up in the kidnapping. He didn’t believe the girls were murdered. He thought—”
“I know what he thought,” I growled. “So it wasn’t your theory after all? It was something Dixon thought up?”
He gulped. “Yes. I... I wanted you to think...”
I grinned suddenly and lay back on the bed. “You wanted me to think you had ideas of your own — was that it?” I said. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. Did Dixon say why he suspected the Street-Camera?”
Ted shook his head. “I did ask him, but he changed the subject.”
“Well, we can’t ask him now,” I said regretfully, “but I’d like to know just why he thought that.”
“He was right,” Ted said. “That picture of Mary Drake clinches it. What are you going to do about that?”
I didn’t want to answer questions just then, so I said I was working on it and I had a hell of a headache. I was telling him just how badly it ached when Marian came in. She was wearing a white linen dress and a large floppy hat trimmed in red. She looked swell.
“Get off, you two,” I said, closing my eyes. “I want to get some more sleep. The ice-bag’s doing fine and I’ll be okay by tomorrow.”
Marian fussed round me for a minute or so and then they took themselves off. I thought they looked a pretty nice-looking couple. Maybe Marian was a little old for a kid like Esslinger, but she would keep him out of mischief and they looked right together.
When they had gone, I grabbed the telephone and called the Gazette again.
Phipps came on the line. He said I was lucky to catch him as he was just going home.
I grunted. “From now on, Reg,” I told him, “you haven’t got a home. Know where the city morgue is?”
He said he did, and what did I want with the city morgue?
“We won’t talk now,” I said. “Come here around midnight. I’ve got a job for you.”
“Okay.” His voice crawled with curiosity. “Is it something to do with the morgue?”
I didn’t enlighten him but asked him instead if he could handle a camera.
“Sure. Do you want me to bring my outfit?”
I said he must be clairvoyant, because that was just what I did want him to do. “Put on a dark suit, wear sneakers, and try to pretend you’re a burglar,” I told him. “And be here by midnight.”
Before he could ask any more questions I hung up.
Audrey Sheridan opened the door of her apartment, raised her eyebrows in mock surprise and stood to one side to let me in.
She looked very nice in a white housecoat relieved by a complicated pattern of red flowers, white silk pyjamas and red sandals. I thought how like a Varga picture she looked.
“This is a surprise,” she said, closing the door and leading the way into the red and cream sitting room. “So you made it — broken back and all. I imagined you’d be in bed with a pretty nurse fussing over you.”
“Not a bad guess,” I said, noting the apartment had been tidied up. “The trouble was the nurse got tired of it before I did.” I put my hat on a chair and went on: “How’s the arm?”
She wandered over to a trolley containing bottles, glasses and cracked ice.
“It’s all right, thank you,” she said, putting ice in one of the glasses. “I hope your head’s not as bad as it looks.”
I said it was all right. In spite of our concern for each other I was aware of a hostile and uneasy atmosphere in the room.
“That’s splendid.” She looked at me with a secretive, amused smile. “I’m sure you would like a drink. What will you have?”
“Do we have to be so polite?” I asked, joining her at the trolley. “After all, we’re just fellow dicks.”
“That’s very flattering,” she said, “but I’m only an amateur. Will you have whisky?”
I said I would, and added: “You’re not doing bad for an amateur.”
“Really? You’re just saying that. I know what men are.” She gave me the drink and went over to the settee and sat down.
“Do you usually have a bunch of thugs working you over when clients call?” I asked, sitting down in an armchair opposite her.
“Oh, that?” She shook her head. “Rube lost his temper. He isn’t usually as bad as that.”
“You mean you wouldn’t give him the handkerchief?”
She looked down at her sandals and then said: “I suppose you haven’t had time to see much of the town? It’s not very nice, of course, but there are parts that are better than others.”
“Never mind about the town,” I returned. “Tell me how you learned jiu-jitsu.”
“Let’s not talk about me,” she said quickly. “Tell me about yourself. Have you been a detective long?”
“I’d like to tell you the story of my life. It’s full of excitement, but right now I haven’t the time,” I said. “Maybe later we’ll get together and take our hair down. You can listen to me and I’ll listen to you. But you said you liked to keep pleasure apart from business, so that’s what we’ll do.”
She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.
“Four girls have disappeared from this town. You and I’ve been hired to find them. So far everyone I’ve talked to doesn’t give a damn what’s happened to them. I’ve only been on the job for forty-eight hours, but that’s too long. All the time people are sorting out their differences these kids are either in danger or the trail’s getting cold. Wouldn’t it be an idea if we got together and pooled information?”
“It might be,” she said cautiously. “It depends whether you have any information to trade or whether you just want to find out what I know.”
“You’re set on breaking this case yourself, aren’t you?”
Her eyes darkened. “When my father died he left me the agency. It was all he had to leave me. He was proud of it and he’d done a good job with it considering he was sick and old. He expected me to carry on, and I’m going to carry on. No one’s taken me seriously yet in this town, but they will before I’m through. They’ve laughed at me and they think I’m crazy to try to make a success of it, but I’m going ahead and no one’s going to stop me.”
“In the meantime,” I said dryly, “four girls are missing and you haven’t found them. Don’t you think it’d be smart to throw in with me? Together we might get somewhere.”
Her mouth set in an obstinate line. “I wonder what makes you think you’re going to get somewhere?” she asked coldly.
“You pulled a fast one on me last night,” I reminded her. “With those three photographs and the handkerchief I would have had got the photographs. That’s what I mean by wasting time. We’re enough to nail Macey. You took the handkerchief and maybe you’re working against each other.”
“I didn’t get the photographs,” she said in a low voice. “Someone had beaten me to it.”
“See Dixon there?” I said casually.
She looked up sharply. “Dixon? What do you mean?”
“Dixon was in an armchair by the window. He was as dead as a pork chop. Didn’t you see him?”
She stared at me. “He wasn’t there — you’re fooling, aren’t you?” She could easily have missed him if she had used a flashlight and had gone straight to the drawer and then out again.
“I’m not fooling. Don’t you see you’re sticking your neck out If someone had grabbed you, Macey could have pinned the killing onto you.”