“What are you going to do with the gun?”
“Put it back in that desk just where we found it.”
“Then what?”
“Later on, if it becomes necessary, we can discover it again.”
I said, “You’re the doctor.”
He nodded and beamed at me. “The more I see of you. Lam, the more I appreciate you. Now I’d like to have you do something for me.”
“What?”
“I understand the police have a witness who can fix the exact time Nostrander was murdered. One who heard the shots. A young woman, I believe.”
“Yes.”
“I wonder if it would be possible for you to arrange to have me meet her. Not in the capacity of a person seeking information, but merely casually.”
I said, “It’s all fixed. Be waiting out in front of the Jack-O’-Lantern Club about nine o’clock tonight. I’ve already paved the way.”
“Well, well, that’s efficiency! You seem to anticipate my every thought, Lam. You really do.”
I said, “Nine o’clock tonight in front of the Jack-O’-Lantern,” and went out.
I looked at my watch. It was two hours earlier in California. I sent a wire to the agency: Howard Chandler Craig murdered June 6, 1937. Possibility of connection with case here. Get all details. In particular find out about habits and love life of victim.
Chapter Thirteen
Hale said, “What a peculiar place.”
“It’s like all New Orleans nightclubs — that is, the ones in the French Quarter,”
A waiter came over. “You want a table?”
I nodded.
We followed him over to the table he indicated and sat down. “Marilyn Winton works here?” Hale asked.
“Yes. She’s the girl in the cream-colored satin.”
“Marvelous figure,” Hale commented appreciatively.
“Uh huh.”
“I wonder if we could arrange to — well, you know, how are we going to get a chance to talk with her?”
“She’ll be over.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I have a hunch.”
Marilyn had been in the game long enough so that when men’s eyes started boring a hole in her back she turned instinctively.
She smiled; then she came over.
“Hello,” she said to me.
I got up and said, “Hello. Marilyn, this is a friend of mine, Mr. Hale.”
“Oh, how are you, Mr. Hale?” She gave him her hand.
Hale was standing up at his full height beaming down at her. The expression on his face was like that of a kid who is looking through a plate-glass store window at Santa Claus two days before Christmas.
“Won’t you sit down?” I asked.
“Thanks.”
We had no more than seated her when the waiter came up for an order.
“Plain water and whisky,” she said.
“Gin and Coke,” I ordered.
Hale pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Well, let me see. Do you have any real good cognac?”
I answered for the waiter. “No,” I said. “Since you’re here in New Orleans, why not drink a New Orleans drink? Gin and Seven-Up; gin and Coke; rum and Coke; or bourbon and Seven-Up?”
“Gin and Coke?” he inquired as though I’d suggested he try a chloride of lime cocktail. “Do you mean they mix them?”
“Bring him one” I told the waiter.
The waiter went away. Marilyn said to me, “Why did you run out on me — that other time?”
“Who said I did?”
“A little bird — and then I have eyes, you know.”
“I’ll say you have.”
She laughed. “What’s your name?”
“Donald.”
“Next time don’t get a girl all interested and then walk out”
Hale said to me, “You’ve talked with Miss Winton before?”
“No. I’ve wanted to, but-well, somehow, it just didn’t come off.”
She said, “Faint heart never won fair lady. Don’t let things get you down, Donald.”
The waiter brought our drinks. Hale paid for them. He picked his glass up, an expression of austere disapproval held in escrow on his face, ready to be delivered as soon as the first sip of liquid passed over his tongue. I saw a look of surprise on his face; then he took another sip and said, “Good heavens. Lam, that’s good!”
“I told you it was.”
“Why, I like it. It’s a delightful drink. Much better than the conventional Scotch and soda. It has just enough body without having a cloying sweetness.”
Marilyn sipped her cold tea and said, “I like this bourbon and plain water. It’s a nice drink — when you’re doing quite a bit of drinking.”
Hale seemed shocked. He looked her over and said, “Do you do a lot of drinking?”
“Oh, off and on.”
His eyes looked her over, searching for evidences of extreme dissipation.
“Cigarette?” I asked her.
“Please.”
I gave her a cigarette. Hale took a cigar. We lit up.
“Where are you boys from?” she asked.
I said, “My friend’s from New York.”
“Must be quite a city. I’ve never been there. I think I’d be afraid to go.”
“Why?” Hale asked her.
“Oh, I don’t know. Big cities terrify me. I know I couldn’t find my way around.”
Hale contrived to cast himself in the role of cosmopolite by saying, “I think New York is an easy city to get around in. Chicago and Saint Louis are much more difficult.”
“They’re all too big for me.”
“If you ever come to New York, let me know, and I’ll see that you don’t get lost.”
“Or stolen?” she asked, her eyes laughing.
“Yes.”
“How about strayed?”
“Well,” Hale deliberated, and glanced at me. A smirk began forming about the comers of his mouth. “If you stay with me, you won’t stray very far.”
“No-o-o-o?” she asked with just the right rising inflection, using her eyes.
Hale laughed as though he’d received a shot of vitamins. “I like this drink, Lam. I like it very much. I’m certainly glad you called my attention to it. I like this New Orleans type of nightclub, so cosy, so intimate, so typical of the French Quarter. There’s a certain distinctive, informal atmosphere which you wouldn’t find anywhere else, eh?”
I grinned across at Marilyn and said, “I’ll give you one guess as to who’s having a good time.”
“I don’t think you are.”
“What makes you think so?”
“You haven’t said so.”
“I’m the strong, silent type!”
Rosalind walked by. Marilyn looked at her as a watchdog might look at a tramp. Rosalind gave me no sign. Marilyn looked away, and I got a quick, intimate, split-second smile; then her face was a dead blank once more.
I ground out my cigarette in the ash tray, dropped my hand to my coat pocket, and surreptitiously dumped all of the cigarettes except one out of the package.
Hale said, “I think this is one of the most delightful drinks I’ve ever tasted.”
Marilyn tossed off the rest of her cold tea, said, “If you take two or three of them one right after the other, you really feel good. But you never get high on them, just a pleasant glow.”
“Is that so?”
She nodded.
“I like to sip a drink like this,” Hale said.
I said, “Be a sport and drink it down. Marilyn wants us to buy another drink.”
Her eyes caressed me. “How did you know?”
“I’m psychic,”
“I believe you are.” Her hand came across the table to rest on mine.
The psychic one was the waiter. He materialized by the table without any apparent signal.
“Fill them up again,” I said.
I took the cigarette package from my pocket, extended it to Marilyn. “How about another one?”