“I never left the room,” he said. “There’s a bathroom goes with their place, so I didn’t even—”
“Those two couples live together?”
“Yeah. They share the same apartment.”
“We’ll check,” I said. “And meantime, Jacobson, don’t run off anywhere.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I got nothing to hide — except I sure as hell hope you won’t tell—”
“It’s a little late to fret about that,” I told him. “Come on, Walt.”
We checked with Mrs. Cressy and Mrs. Austin. They said Jacobson had been in their apartment until a little after five o’clock that morning. Both of them were sure he hadn’t left the apartment, even for a moment. That canceled out the super, at least for the time being. Neither Mr. Cressy nor Mr. Austin was home, and their wives told us the men often stopped at bars after they got off work, and that sometimes they didn’t get home until around noon. Both were very anxious that we not tell their husbands they’d entertained Jacobson.
We talked to as many of the other tenants as we could find, and then I left Walt to round up the others while I went over to check with the Missing Persons Bureau and send a wire to the Chief of Police at Atlanta. There wasn’t much I could do with the wire. I concentrated on giving the best physical description I could of the girl, mentioned the Jules Courtney shoes, their size, color, style, and the name of the store where they had been bought.
There had been nineteen women reported missing in New York during the last twenty-four hours, I found. I skimmed through the sheaf of flimsies and discarded all but two of them as soon as I glanced at the data on their sex and color. Either of the two remaining reports could have fitted the murdered girl. It happens that way sometimes, though not often. I went back to the heading of the one on top and read it through again more slowly.
There wasn’t much in it to help me decide.
POLICE DEPARTMENT
City of New York
REPORT OF MISSING PERSON
Surname: Olsen; First Name: Thelma; Initials: G.
Nativity: Norway; Sex: F; Age: 17; Color: W
Address; Last Seen At:
418 W. 74th, Mnhtn. Leaving home address
Date and Time Seen; Probably Destination:
5/3/54 Unknown
Cause of Absence; Date and Time Reported
Unknown 5/4/54 6:20 A.M.
I went down the PHYSICAL (NOTE PECULIARITIES) column. Everything checked. There were no peculiarities. But the CLOTHING column told me that Thelma Olsen had been wearing a blue cotton dress with small red figures, high heeled shoes, no coat or jacket. The murdered girl’s dress had been blue, but it had been silk jersey, not cotton, and there had been no figures. In itself, that didn’t mean too much. Descriptions of women’s clothing, especially if they’re made by a man, can be pretty far off. We’d had plenty of cases where men couldn’t remember whether women were wearing dresses, or skirts and sweaters. Women, on the other hand, are seldom wrong about clothing, and they can usually give an extremely accurate description of it, even after a lapse of months, or even years.
I read down to the space for REMARKS:
Girl is on probation on possession of narcotics charge (marijuana), no other arrests or convictions. Looks much older than true age. Once, when fifteen, passed as eighteen and toured country with dance orchestra. Father has long record of D&D arrests, four short-term sentences.
The report had been filed by telephone with the MPB by the girl’s father.
When I read the second report, I discovered I’d missed something. The girl fitted the description, all right, but her weight was given as 145 pounds. The murdered girl had been, at the most, about 115. There was the possibility of error, but it looked as if Thelma Olsen was my best bet.
Before I left the Missing Persons Bureau, I called the assistant M.E.
“Nothing much, Dave,” he said. “She hadn’t been attacked. That’s for sure. And she did die of a fractured skull, as I thought. We found a dental poultice in her mouth, tucked down between a lower left molar and her cheek.”
“Look like she’d been to a dentist recently?”
“No. There’s an abrasion on the gum, and she probably was troubled with it from time to time.”
“Doesn’t seem to be much point in checking dentists, then.”
“I’m afraid not. She’s never had any restorations or extractions. This dental poultice acts as a counterirritant. They’re sometimes pretty effective.”
“You know the brand?”
“I’d guess offhand it’s a Feldham poultice.”
“Yeah. I’ve used them myself. Anything else?”
“We found some blue fibers in the finger nail scrapings. There’s enough of them to match up under a comparison microscope with any blue material you happen to come up with.”
“How about her dress?” I asked. “That was blue.”
“Not the same kind of fiber, Dave. We’ve already checked. Not even the same shade.” He paused. “That’s about all, so far, I guess.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll check with you a little later.”
I phoned the lieutenant commanding my squad and asked him to detail some men to talk to people in the neighborhood of the brownstone where the girl had been murdered. I made sure all of them would have copies of her photograph, which had already been developed and printed in the lab, and told the lieutenant about the dental poultice. He said he’d detail a detective to check all the drugstores in the neighborhood.
I hung up, and then dialed the Bureau of Criminal Identification to see if I could expedite the check on her prints. They’d just finished. The girl had never been printed, at least in New York. A copy of her print card would go to the F.B.I. in Washington, D.C., of course, but we couldn’t count on a reply today, and possibly not before tomorrow morning.
I was just debating whether it might not be a good idea to knock off for lunch, when the answer came in on my wire to the Chief of Police at Atlanta.
POLICE DEPARTMENT, NEW YORK CITY, EIGHTEENTH PRECINCT, DETECTIVE SQUAD, HOMICIDE, ATTENTION DETECTIVE-SERGEANT DAVE EMORY — RE YOUR QUERY THIS DATE STOP ONLY MISSING PERSON ANSWERING DESCRIPTION IS LOUISE ANN JOHNSON STOP ESCAPED POLICE CUSTODY MONDAY LAST WHILE BEING TRANSFERRED FROM TRAIN TO POLICE VAN STOP LOUISE HAS TWO INCH SCAR RIGHT FOREARM AND PARTIAL DENTURE WITH RIGHT UPPER INCISOR CANINE BICUSPID AND MOLAR STOP ADVISE IF THIS TRUE OF SUBJECT GIRL STOP ONLY ONE OUTLET JULES COURTNEY SHOES HERE STOP THEY NOW CHECKING RECORDS AND SALESPEOPLE TO DETERMINE IDENTITY PURCHASER OF SHOES DESCRIBED YOUR WIRE STOP WILL ADVISE SOONEST STOP
Louise Ann Johnson’s partial dental plate ruled her out, and I wired the Chief at Atlanta to that effect.
I had a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then I went back to the precinct, checked out a car, and drove over to 418 West 74th Street to talk to Thelma Olsen’s father.
I asked him first for a photograph of Thelma, and he brought out a muddy snapshot of a girl in shorts and a halter, holding a tennis racket. The photo had apparently been taken around noon. The eyes were deeply shadowed by the eyebrows and the shadow of the nose extended down beneath the lower lip. You could tell that she had good features, and was probably very pretty, but that was about it. She might or might not be the girl whose skull someone had fractured.
“How long ago was this taken?” I asked.
“About two years ago.”
“You haven’t got anything more recent?”
“No.”
“Look, Mr. Olsen, your daughter was a professional singer. You sure there aren’t some better pictures of her around here? Publicity shots, or maybe a composite?”