“But Dixon died of heart failure—”
“Okay, okay, let’s skip that,” I said, not wanting to go over it again. “Maybe he did die of heart failure, but it wasn’t a smart move on your part to break into his office.”
“You’ve got a nerve!” she said indignantly. “Why, you were doing the very same thing!”
I grinned at her. “Maybe I was,” I said. “But this isn’t a job for a girl to handle. This is a political set-up with a big rake-off hanging to it. Do you think anyone is going to let you gum up their racket?”
She sat forward. “And do you think they’d stop for you?”
“It’s my job and I get paid for it,” I explained patiently. “Besides, I’m a man.”
She leaned back and surveyed me with a half angry, half amused expression. “I’m not convinced,” she said. “You’ll have to work harder than this.”
“All right,” I said. “Let’s take it another way. Do you think these girls have been kidnapped or do you think it’s murder?”
She blew smoke in a thin cloud above my head. “What do you think?”
“It points to kidnapping. If it was murder — what’s the motive and where are the bodies?”
She nodded agreement. “What is it and where are they?” She said, her eyes mocking me.
I began to get annoyed. “Maybe you don’t think it’s either kidnapping or murder?”
“What’s left?” she asked, looking aimlessly out of the window.
“Suppose Starkey paid them to duck out of sight? That would discredit your client and mine, wouldn’t it?”
“Did you think that up all by yourself?” she said with exaggerated astonishment.
“Now look, sister,” I said, “this kind of cross-talk is getting us nowhere. You can help me and I can help you. You’ve got the background of this town at your fingertips. I’ve got the experience. Are you going to play or aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry to have to disappoint you,” she said quietly, “but I’m handling the case myself.”
“Then you’re a bigger dope than I thought you were,” I said, annoyed by her obstinacy. “Esslinger’s only hiring you because he wants a stooge. He doesn’t care whether these girls are found or not. All he’s worrying about is the election. That’s why he’s picked you to work on the case. Cranville looks on you as the pattern-plated, courageous little dick who’s keeping her father’s name going. They laugh at you, but they like you. Esslinger’s trading on that. Can’t you get that into your thick skull?”
She stiffened, her eyes angry and hurt. “I’m still going ahead,” she said, rising to her feet. “And no one’s going to stop me. And the last person who can stop me is a self-opinionated flatfoot from New York!”
I stood up too. “Is that so?” I said angrily. “Let me tell you something. You’re a stubborn little fool and you want some sense spanked into you. I’ve a mind to do it myself.”
“You and who else?” she said scornfully.
“Just me,” I said grimly, picking up my hat. “I’ve tamed better girls than you in the time it takes to wind my watch.”
She jerked open the door. “Tell that fairy-tale to someone who’ll believe it— if you can find anyone that simple,” she said with fine scorn.
“I’m warning you,” I said, wagging my finger in her face. “This job is too tough for you. You’ll only get your pretty little neck broken. Keep out of it and take up knitting.. I’ll even buy you the wool.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed furiously. “I hate you! Don’t you ever dare come here again!”
I stepped up to her, pulled her to me and kissed her. We stood for a moment like that, my arm round her shoulders and my lips on hers. Then I stepped back and stared at her.
“Now why in hell did I do that?” I said blankly.
She put her hand to her lips and stared back at me. The anger had gone out of her eyes. “Perhaps you wanted to,” she said in a meek, low voice, and closed the door gently in my face.
As I entered the lobby of the Eastern Hotel I spotted Reg Phipps talking to the dark, sulky-looking receptionist.
She was holding a movie magazine on her lap and chewing gum, an indifferent expression on her face. Reg leaned on the desk and seemed to be putting his personality over on a’ short wave.
He looked over his shoulder as he heard me come in and his eyes brightened. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said to the girl. “Try not to pine for me.”
She gave him a scathing look and returned to her magazine.
“Hello,” I said to him, and reached for my key. “What’s cooking, beautiful?” I went on to the girl. “Still keeping in good shape, I see.”
She eyed my bruises. “I look after what I’ve got,” she said coldly. “You’re not all that good you can afford to wear your face out as fast as you seem to be doing.”
“I got this in a fight,” I said, tapping my bruise and wishing I hadn’t. “That’s the kind of guy I am. Any time you say so you can have my chest for a rug. I’m tough — full of fight, liquor and—”
“Hot air,” she cut in. “I know. Toughs are ten a dime in this town.”
I patted her shoulder, smiled at her and promised to send her a stuffed snake if I found one.
“If it’s got to be a snake, come yourself,” she said acidly, and picked up her magazine again.
Reg and I went upstairs together.
“Didn’t I say twelve?” I said, glancing at my wristwatch. It was a few minutes past ten-thirty.
“It wasn’t worth it to go back home,” he explained. “So I looked in to talk to Nora. I’ll go back if you ain’t ready.”
“That Nora?” I said. “The dark, sulky one with the built-up area?”
His leer was too youthful to be impressive. “That’s her,” he said. “Her father runs this hotel. I’ve been trying to make that dame for the last six years.” Seeing my startled glance, he added: “We were at school together.”
I unlocked my door and we went in. “You be careful,” I warned him. “Something tells me that baby’s dynamite.”
“She is,” he said gravely. “Why do you think I’m working on her?”
I waved him to a chair. “Sit down and stop boasting,” I said, giving him a cigarette. “Got your camera?”
“It’s in the car,” he said, eyeing me with suppressed excitement. “What’s cooking?”
“We’ve got a nice little job to do tonight,” I said, sitting on the bed. “Dixon’s at the city morgue. We’re going to get a picture of his body. Then we’ll come out slap across the Gazette with picture and story of Dixon’s murder, and how Macey tried to cover it up.”
Reg’s eyes popped. “For the love of Mike!” he said. “You don’t think we’ll get away with that, do you?”
“Why not?”
He sat back, gaping at me. “It’ll blow the lid right off this town—” he began.
“That’s what I want,” I broke in. “It’s the only way to get something done. Listen, Reg, I’ll never find these girls until people cooperate. They won’t cooperate so long as they’re thinking only of the election. I want you to write a story along these lines.” I told him about the Street-Camera angle, and what had been happening since last I saw him. “Now you know the facts. The way to put it over is to ask questions. Do the people of Cranville know all four missing girls were photographed by the Street-Camera and that Dixon had copies of the photographs? The photos were stolen and Dixon was murdered. Who stole them and killed Dixon? Who owns the Street-Camera? Why did Chief of Police Macey say Dixon died of heart failure? Look at the picture printed below. Does that look like heart failure? Do you get it? That’s the way to put it over. Let Cranville make up its own mind.”
“It’s terrific,” he said, driving a small fist into the palm of his hand. “But, brother, what a stink there’ll be! If this ain’t asking for Starkey to put a slug into us, I don’t know what is.”