‘So we have to find the guy who hired him?’
‘That’s right, and it won’t be easy,’ Creed said, tapping ash off his cigar. ‘We’ve a pointer that might do us some good. Flemming had a return railroad ticket to Tampa City in his pocket. He left Frisco five days ago for Tampa City, then came on here. It could be he got his orders from someone in Tampa City.’
‘Do the Tampa City police know anything about him?’ I asked.
Creed scowled.
‘They say they don’t, but from past experience I’ve learned not to take much notice of what they say. They’re the most inefficient, uncooperative police force in the country. The
Commissioner, Ed Doonan, is hand in glove with the rackets, and believe me, the city is crawling with them. We’re not going to get any help from him.’
‘Did you get a line on Henry Rutland?’
Creed shook his head.
‘Not yet. The Cadillac distributing agents in this district tell me they have sold four hundred green and cream convertibles in the past three years. I have a list of the buyers, but it will be a job tracing them. Rutland’s name doesn’t appear on the list, but then that doesn’t surprise me. The name’s probably a phoney. My men are working on it, but it’ll take some time to check everyone on it.’ He fought back another yawn. ‘We’ve got a line on the charm bracelet. It was hocked three days after Fay Benson disappeared. Tierney’s, the local hockshop, handled it. Hesson sold it to them. The clerk recognized Hesson’s picture. The bracelet was sold again to an actress who is in Hollywood now. We’re contacting her. There’s no doubt that Hesson sold it.’
‘Nothing on Fay Benson yet?’
‘A little: could be something. You saw the pictures we had printed in the national papers? We got a heap of letters and they are still coming in. People claim to know her, but I guess most of them will turn out to be cranks. One guy says he thinks he recognizes her, although she was dark haired when he knew her. He’s not at all sure, and it might be a false lead, but I’m hoping it isn’t. He says she did a job for him once. Guess where.’
‘Tampa City?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, that’s not bad for three days’ work. What are you going to do? Will Tampa City police dig further for you?’
‘I doubt it,’ Creed said, scowling. ‘I’ve never known them yet to work with me. They’ll promise the world, but nothing ever gets done.’
‘Suppose I go out there and see what I can dig up?’
Creed nodded.
‘I was going to suggest that. We’d get on quicker. You’ll have to watch your step. Doonan hates private investigators worse than he hates poison. They are a tough bunch of boys, and they might discourage you if they know what you’re up to.’
‘I’ll watch out,’ I said. ‘Know anyone there who could be helpful?’
‘You might do worse than call on Don Bradley. He used to be chief of police at Tampa City before he retired. He’s a good guy; one of the best police officers in the country. He was retired two years before his time. He had trouble with Doonan about some murder case. I never did hear the details, but he would be helpful. I’ll give you a letter to him.’
‘Fine. I’ll get off today.’
‘There may be nothing in this, Sladen. This guy who’s written to us has probably made a mistake. If it wasn’t that Flemming had a return ticket to Tampa City I’d say he had made a mistake.’
‘Who is he?’
‘His name’s Lennox Hartley. He lives at 246, Cannon Avenue, Tampa City.’
I made a note of the name and address. ‘I’ll talk to him.’
A tap sounded on the door and Scaife opened it. A policeman said something to him; Scaife nodded and turned to Creed.
‘There’s a guy outside, captain, who says he knows something about Flemming. Want to see him?’
‘You bet,’ Creed said, pushing back his chair. ‘Shoot him in.’
A minute or so later, a short, fat man came in, uneasily twirling his hat between red, roughened fingers. He was wearing brown corduroy trousers, and an old, stained coat and a cowboy shirt.
‘My name’s Ted Sperry, captain,’ he said, nervously. ‘I saw the picture of the gunman in the paper. He came to see me about a year ago. I thought I’d better come along, but if I’m wasting your time.’
‘Sit down, Mr. Sperry,’ Creed said. ‘What’s your line of business?’
Rather surprisingly, Sperry said he was a market gardener.
‘I have a nursery out on Dalmatian Road, captain. I sell fruit trees and garden equipment. I have a pretty nice little business. Me and the wife run it between us.’
‘You say Flemming called on you? You’re sure it was Flemming?’
‘I’m sure it was the man in the picture, captain. As soon as I saw him I wondered what he wanted. He struck me then he wasn’t any good.’
‘What did he want?’
‘I’ve been working up a new line, and it’s paid off pretty welclass="underline" growing strawberry plants in barrels. I’ve been selling the equipment, and I’ve advertised widely. This guy said he’d read my advertisement and he was interested. I supply the plants, the barrel with the necessary holes in it, and the soil. It’s been a pretty fast selling line: saves space and keeps the slugs off the fruit.’
‘Sounds fine,’ Creed said a little impatiently. ‘But Flemming didn’t want strawberry plants, did he?’
‘No, he didn’t. He just wanted the barrel. We got into an argument. I told him I didn’t sell the barrel without the plants or the soil. I make my profit on the plants and soil. The barrel I put in at cost.’
The three of us were listening now with interest.
‘What happened then?’ Creed asked.
‘We argued back and forth. He said he had strawberry plants. I didn’t believe him. A guy like him wouldn’t even have a garden. I can tell a gardener a mile off. Well, in the end, he agreed to pay me for the whole outfit and just take the barrel. He collected it in a truck the next day.’
‘Do you remember the exact date, Mr. Sperry?’
‘Yes. I looked it up before I came here. It was August 17th.’
Creed looked over at me: the date Fay Benson disappeared.
‘You didn’t get the number of the truck?’
‘I’m afraid I didn’t. Was it important?’
‘Maybe not. What kind of truck was it?’
‘A green, open truck; a one tonner. I didn’t notice much about it.’
Creed looked at Scaife.
‘Take Mr. Sperry to the morgue. Let him see Flemming, I want to be sure he identifies him.’ He got up and shook hands with Sperry. ‘Thanks for coming. If every citizen acted the way you’ve done, my work would be a lot easier.’
When Scaife had led Sperry, beaming and perspiring, from the office, I said, ‘A barrel — that doesn’t look too good for Fay Benson, does it?’
‘That was what I was thinking,’ Creed said, his eyes thoughtful. ‘I wonder if anyone in town sold him cement.’ He picked up the telephone and gave instructions for all cement sellers in the district to be checked. When he hung up, he went on to me, ‘That’s probably why we never turned up her body. She’s somewhere in a cement overcoat.’
I got up and went over to the wall map.
‘Is there any local water around where he could have dumped her?’
Creed joined me. He tapped the map.
‘Here; that’s Lake Baldock. There’s about sixty foot of water in the middle. It’s a favourite spot for picnic parties, and it’s only two miles from here.’
‘Anywhere else?’
‘Only the reservoir, and he wouldn’t try there because they are continually dragging it. Besides, there’s a high fence all around it. If she’s anywhere in water, she’ll be in Lake Baldock.’