She put down her cup and went out of the room immediately. Raven scowled and stared after her.
Sometimes her obedience bored him. He wished she’d refuse so that he could vent his spite on her. He shrugged and, still frowning, continued to turn the pages of the catalogue.
The house phone buzzed and he shouted for her to answer it. She came out of the other room and, after listening at the receiver, said, “A Mr. Grantham wants to see you.”
Raven nodded. “Send him up,” he said.
She spoke again to the clerk and then went back into the other room. Raven could hear her setting out the tracks.
A knock sounded on the door and Grantham walked in.
Raven nodded. “Come on in,” he said. “Nice little place this, hey?”
Grantham hadn’t been up before. He glanced around. “Very,” he said shortly, taking off his light dust−coat.
He selected a chair and sat down.
Raven watched him narrowly. “Well, what’s wrong?”
Grantham came to the point at once. “Ellinger’s in town,” he said.
Raven shook his head. “I don’t know him.”
“Ellinger is a reporter on the St. Louis Banner. He covers the crime angle. We’ve had trouble with him before. Now it looks as if he means to stick his neck out. He’s left the Banner and has been makin’ a lot of enquiries about me. I don’t like it.”
Raven sneered. “You guys are helpless,” he said. “Scare him. Turn some of the boys on to him. He’ll quit.”
“He’s not that type of guy,” he said. “The harder we try an’ scare him, the harder he’ll stick.”
“Then arrange a little accident. Don’t bother me with these trifles.” Raven finished his coffee. “How’s the business goin’?”
Grantham nodded. “It’s goin’ all right.” He sounded doubtful.
“Well, what is it? Ain’t you satisfied?”
“Of course I am, but don’t you think we’re takin’ a hell of a risk? Some of these girls will squeal. They’re bound to. I think we ought to stick to the professional. Seventy−five per cent of the girls you send me are kidnapped into the game. It’s getting tough keeping them in order. There’s a big yap coming from Denver and Cleveland about the number of girls that are missing.”
Raven laughed. “You’re just a small−time hick,” he said. “Guys don’t want the professional type of hustler.
They want fresh innocent stuff, and you know it. The guys that pay big dough don’t give a damn where they come from or what song they sing as long as they have them. So you can’t keep them in order. I’ve got a little jane who was traded. I’ll show you how I’ve made her toe the line.”
He called, “Come here.”
Sadie came in. “Yes?” she said.
Grantham stared at her and then went pale. He recognized her at once. He’d been wondering where the hell she had got to. Carrie had been sent to Kansas City, and he had lost track of her. He had made efforts to trace her as he knew Sadie would be with her, and he’d failed.
Sadie looked at him, recognized him as the man who got her into this trouble, and flinched away from him.
Raven noticed the changes in their expressions.
He said to her roughly, “Get out!” And when she had gone he turned on Grantham. “You know her?”
Grantham wondered if this was a trap. He eased his collar with a limp finger. “Yeah,” he said, “she was one of the first girls I shanghaied.”
Raven nodded. “That’s right,” he said; “I found her at the nigger’s house. She’s got reason to hate you, hasn’t she?” and he laughed.
Grantham was very uneasy. He wasn’t sure how much Raven knew. If Raven had an inkling that Sadie could name him as Mendetta’s killer, surely he wouldn’t have her around? He was so bewildered that he wanted to get away and think about it. He moved to the door. “So you think Ellinger can be taken care of?” he said.
Raven studied his nails. “Why not?” he said, pulling his dressing−gown cord tighter round his waist.
“Make an accident of it… you know.”
Grantham nodded. “I’ll get it done,” he said, and went away.
Raven sat brooding. There was something he couldn’t understand about Sadie. First Carrie and now Grantham. They both showed uneasiness when they were in his presence and Sadie’s. He went into the other room.
Sadie was kneeling amid the tracks and the big outfit. She looked up quickly.
“Old pal of yours, huh?” Raven said.
She looked at him searchingly and then went on adjusting the line.
Raven felt a sudden vicious spurt of rage run through him as he stood behind her. He knelt down at her side and pushed her over. She fell off balance across the tracks and her shoulders flattened a miniature station.
She gave a little cry as the tin of the station dug into her flesh.
Grinning at her, Raven pushed her flat and then, amid the railway, flattened by their bodies, he had her.
8
September 8th, 10.30 a.m.
JAY ELLINGER parked his car in the big courtyard of the Preston Building and asked the commissionaire for Benny Perminger.
The commissionaire shook his head. “He left here a couple of weeks ago,” he said. “Mr. Caston would tell you where he went.”
Jay followed him into the reception hall. After a delay of phoning the commissionaire jerked his head to the elevator. “Third floor. Sixth door on the right,” he said.
Jay found Caston looking worried. He shook hands with him and accepted a chair.
“You a friend of Perminger’s?” Caston asked.
Jay nodded. “I’ve been out of town for some time,” he explained. “I wanted to get in touch with him. It’s important.”
Caston played with his penholder. “Well, I’m glad someone wants to find him,” he said. “I’ve been worried about that guy.”
“He’s left here?”
Caston pulled a face. “Between you an’ me, he was hoofed out. I liked that guy, you know. He was a good salesman. Then his wife ran away from him. That put him on the skids. I’ve never seen a man go to pieces so quickly.”
“What happened then?”
“He began hittin’ the bottle. It got so bad that we couldn’t keep him any longer. We all tried to hide it up, but the management got on to it in the end. He didn’t get any business. We had complaints. It was a bad show.”
Jay grunted. “Well, where is he? What’s he doin’ now?”
Caston shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “The last time I heard from him he was working for an addressing agency. Not much in that, you know.” He opened one of his desk drawers and searched, then he produced a little note−book. “He’s staying at an apartment house on 26th Street. If you can do anything for that guy I’ll be mighty pleased. He wants looking after.”
Jay scribbled the address down and got up. “Thanks, Mr. Caston,” he said, “I’ll go an’ see him.”
The apartment house reminded Jay of Fletcher. He thought, as he went up the steps, that this Slave racket was not only ruining the lives of hundreds of girls, but its repercussions were affecting the lives of their menfolk. It made him all the more determined to burst it open.
On the top floor he found Benny seated at a table scribbling away at a furious pace. A large stack of addressed envelopes lay on the table and bundles of other envelopes lay around the room. Benny looked a complete wreck. He hadn’t shaved for several days, and his eyes were heavy and glazed. A strong smell of stale whisky came from him as he lurched to his feet, nearly overturning the table.