They walked through the vestibule and into O’Loughlin’s apartment at the end of the hall. They sat in a parlor hung with a colored-glass chandelier and velvet drapes. The furniture was old and deep and comfortable. O’Loughlin went to a cherrywood cabinet and took out an ornate bottle.
“Irish whiskey,” he said.
“What else?” O’Brien asked.
The old man chuckled and poured two stiff hookers. He brought one to O’Brien where he sat on the sofa, and then he sat opposite him in a tall upholstered rocker.
“Up the rebels,” he said softly.
“Up the rebels,” O’Brien answered, and both men drank solemnly.
“What was it you wanted to know, O’Brien?” the old man asked.
“That’s got a little bit of a kick,” O’Brien said, staring at the whiskey glass, his eyes smarting.
“Mild as your dear mother’s milk,” O’Loughlin said. “Drink up, lad.”
O’Brien raised the glass cautiously to his lips. Gingerly he sipped at it. “Mr. O’Loughlin,” he said, “we’re trying to locate a girl named Eileen Glennon. We found an address—”
“You came to the right place, lad,” O’Loughlin said.
“You know her?”
“Well, I don’t know her. That is to say, not personally. But she rented a room from me, that she did.”
O’Brien sighed. “Good,” he said. “What room is that?”
“Upstairs. Nicest room in the house. Looks out over the park. She said she wanted a nice room with sunshine. So I give her that one.”
“Is she here now?”
“No.” O’Loughlin shook his head.
“Do you have any idea when she’ll be back?”
“Well, she hasn’t been here yet.”
“What do you mean? You said—”
“I said she rented a room from me, is what I said. That was last week. Thursday, as I remember. But she said she’d be wanting the room for Saturday. Saturday came around, and she never showed up.”
“Then she hasn’t been here since she rented the room?”
“Nossir, I’m afraid she hasn’t. What is it? Is the poor girl in some trouble?”
“No, not exactly. We just...” O’Brien sighed and sipped at the whiskey again. “Was she renting the room on a daily basis? Did she just want it for Saturday?”
“Nossir. Wanted it for a full week. Paid me in advance. Cash.”
“Didn’t you think it a little odd... I mean... well, do you usually rent rooms to such young girls?”
O’Loughlin raised his shaggy brows and peered at O’Brien. “Well, she wasn’t all that young, you understand.”
“Sixteen is pretty young, Mr. O’Loughlin.”
“Sixteen?” O’Loughlin burst out laughing. “Oh, now, the young lady was handing somebody a little blarney, lad. She was twenty-five if she was a day.”
O’Brien looked into his whiskey glass. Then he looked up at the old man.
“How old, sir?”
“Twenty-five, twenty-six, maybe even a little older. But not sixteen. Nossir, not by a long shot.”
“Eileen Glennon? We’re talking about the same girl?”
“Eileen Glennon, that’s her name. Came here on Thursday, gave me a week’s rent in advance, said she’d come by for the key Saturday. Eileen Glennon.”
“Could you... could you tell me what she looked like, Mr. O’Loughlin?”
“I sure can. She was a tall girl. Very big. Maybe five-seven, five-eight. I remember having to look up at her while I was talking. And she had pitch-black hair, and big brown eyes, and—”
“Claire,” O’Brien said aloud.
“Huh?”
“Sir, did she mention anything about another girl?”
“Nope.”
“Did she say she was going to bring another girl here?”
“Nope. Wouldn’t matter to me, anyway. You rent a room, the room’s yours.”
“Did you tell this to her?”
“Well, I made it plain to her, I guess. She said she wanted a quiet room with a lot of sunshine. The way I figured it, the sunshine was optional. But when somebody comes in here asking for a quiet room, I understand they don’t want to be disturbed, and I let her know she wouldn’t be disturbed. Not by me, anyway.” The old man paused. “I’m talking to you man to-man, O’Brien.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I don’t run a cat house here, but I don’t bother my people either. Privacy’s a tough thing to find in this city. The way I figure it, every man’s entitled to a door he can close against the world.”
“And you got the feeling Eileen Glennon wanted that door to close?”
“Yes, lad, that’s the feeling I got.”
“But she didn’t mention anyone else?”
“Who else would she mention?”
“Did she sign for the room?”
“Not one of my rules. She paid a week’s rent in advance, and I gave her a receipt. That’s all she needed. Harry O’Loughlin’s an honest man who keeps a bargain.”
“But she never came back?”
“No.”
“Now think hard, Mr. O’Loughlin. On Saturday, the day Eileen Glennon was supposed to have taken the room, did... did anyone come here asking for her?”
“Nope.”
“Think, please. Did a sixteen-year-old girl come here asking for her?”
“Nope.”
“Did you see a sixteen-year-old girl hanging around outside?”
“Nope.”
“As if she were waiting for someone?”
“Nope.”
O’Brien sighed.
“I don’t get it,” O’Loughlin said.
“I think you rented the room to a woman named Claire Townsend,” O’Brien said. “I don’t know why she used Eileen Glennon’s name, but I suspect she was renting the room for the young girl. Why, I don’t know.”
“Well, if she was renting it for someone else... Let me get this straight. The girl who rented the room was named Claire Townsend?”
“I think so, yes.”
“And you say she used this Eileen Glennon’s name and was actually renting the room for her?”
“I think so, yes. It looks that way.”
“Then why didn’t Eileen Glennon come here Saturday? I mean, if the room was for her...”
“I think she did come here, Mr. O’Loughlin. She came here and waited for Claire to pick up the key and let her in. But Claire never showed up.”
“Why not? If she went to all the trouble of renting the room—”
“Because Claire Townsend was killed Friday night.”
“Oh.” O’Loughlin picked up his glass and drained it. He poured himself another shot, moved the bottle toward O’Brien’s glass, and said, “Some more?”
O’Brien covered the glass with his palm. “No. No, thanks.”
“Something I don’t understand,” O’Loughlin said.
“What’s that?”
“Why’d Claire Townsend use the other girl’s name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was she trying to hide something?”
“I don’t know.”
“I mean, was she in trouble with the police?”
“No.”
“Was she doing something unlawful?”
“I don’t know.”
“And where’d the other girl disappear to? If she rented the room for her...?”
“I don’t know,” O’Brien said. He paused and looked at his empty glass. “Maybe you’d better give me another shot,” he said.
The Majesta patrolman had come on duty at 4:45 P.M., and it was now close to 6:00. It was Indian summer, true, but timetables had no respect for unseasonal temperature and dusk came just as if it were truly autumn. He was walking through a small park, cutting diagonally across it over a path that was part of his beat, when he saw the spot of yellow off under the trees. He peered into the fast-falling darkness. The yellow seemed to be the sleeve and skirt of a topcoat, partially hidden by a large boulder and the trunk of a tree. The patrolman climbed the grassy knoll and walked a little closer. Sure enough, that’s what it was. A woman’s yellow topcoat.