‘You knew him, didn’t you?’
‘No. I’m new here. He died a couple of days before I came here. But I heard about it.’
‘What happened to the barman who used to serve Joe?’ I asked, suddenly interested.
‘Jake Hesson? He left; got himself a better job.’
‘Know where?’
‘Some hotel. I forget the name.’
I had a sudden inspiration.
‘Was it the Shad Hotel?’
The barman nodded.
‘That’s right. The Shad Hotel.’
‘Go on, drink up,’ I said, beaming at him, ‘and have another.’
I knew now I was making progress.
Chapter II
I
When I went back to collect Bernie, the captain of waiters at the Florian told me he had left twenty minutes ago.
‘Was he alone?’ I asked suspiciously.
The captain of waiters shook his head.
‘He had one of our hostesses with him,’ he told me, obviously disapproving.
Knowing Bernie’s little ways, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t see him until the following morning so I returned to the Shad Hotel. I wanted another talk with Jake Hesson the barman, but I found the bar closed.
I concentrated my attention on the reception clerk who was idly thumbing through a magazine.
‘I didn’t get your name,’ I said, leaning up against the desk and offering him a cigarette.
‘My name’s Larson. I don’t smoke, thank you.’
‘Haven’t I seen your barman before somewhere? What’s his name?’
‘Jake Hesson.’
‘I have an idea he used to work at Mike’s bar at the back of the Florian club. That right?’
‘Yes,’ Larson said, staring blankly at me. ‘He came to us about a year ago.’
‘Remember exactly when?’
‘Last September. Why the interest?’
‘So he wasn’t here when Miss Benson was here?’
‘Miss Benson?’ Larson pushed aside his magazine. I could see he didn’t know whether to be interested or suspicious. ‘You mean the girl who disappeared?’
‘That’s the one. Hesson wasn’t working here when she stayed here?’
‘No.’
‘That’s funny. He told me he knew her.’
‘Are you interested in Miss Benson?’ Larson asked.
‘Yeah; I’m covering the case for Crime Facts. How long did she stay here?’
‘You mean they’re reopening the case?’
‘It was never closed. How long did she stay here?’
Larson pulled the big leather bound register towards him, and began thumbing over the pages. After a while he said, ‘She booked in on August 9th and disappeared on August 17th.’
‘Did she pay her bill before she left?’
‘No; she owes us thirty bucks. I don’t reckon we’ll ever see it.’
‘What happened to her luggage?’
‘The cops took it. There wasn’t much: a suitcase and a small handbag.’
‘She didn’t have any visitors?’
‘No, nor any mail either.’
‘Any telephone calls?’
Larson shook his head.
‘Three days after her disappearance some girl asked for her. But no one asked for her while she was staying here.’
‘What girl was that?’
‘I don’t know. She came in and asked if Miss Benson had been found. I told her she hadn’t, and she asked me to call her if Miss Benson did turn up.’
‘Did you tell the cops?’
‘About this girl? Why should I? It was bad enough to have them tramping around here in the first place. Nothing like a flock of buttons to drive away trade. The way things are with this hotel, we can’t afford to upset our customers.’
‘Do you remember who the girl was?’
Larson turned to the last page of the register, removed a card that was clipped to the page and handed it to me.
I looked at the card.
Joan Nichols.
Apartment B.
76, Lincoln Avenue. Welden. W. 75600
‘Thanks,’ I said and slipped the card into my pocket. ‘Is Hesson around? I want a word with him.’
‘He doesn’t live here. He has a room on Bay Street.’
‘Do you remember the number?’
‘27: what’s the idea?’
‘No idea. I pick up information the way a magpie picks up anything that glitters. My mother was frightened by a magpie before I was born. Well, I guess I’ll turn in. See you in the morning.’
I left him gaping and went up to my room.
I hadn’t been asleep for more than half an hour when my door burst open and the light turned on. I sat up blinking to see Bernie standing in the doorway.
‘For the love of Mike! Can’t you let a guy sleep?’ I growled.
‘You ought to be up and working like me,’ Bernie said, coming unsteadily over to the bed. ‘Brother! Do I feel cock-eyed.’ He flopped heavily on the bed and blew out his cheeks. ‘I’ve got news for you. Fay had a boyfriend.’
‘What?’ I sat bolt upright. ‘Have you found him?’
‘I haven’t found him, but I’ve got a swell description of him. I knew a girl like this Benson frill couldn’t have gone through life without a boyfriend: it was against nature. I got friendly with that redhead. She calls herself Dawn, but I bet her name’s Beulah or Dagmar or something awful. But what a girl! No inhibitions, no repressions, and how she loves money!’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘She was working at the club at the same time as Fay was,’ Bernie said, passing his hand across his eyes. ‘Is the floor moving up and down or am I drunker than I imagine I am?’
‘There’s a heavy sea running tonight,’ I said sarcastically. ‘Get out with it!’
‘Dawn tells me none of the girls knew much about Fay. It wasn’t that she was high hat, but she had her own dressing-room and she kept to it. The girls wondered about her, as girls do. The third night after Fay had first come to the club, Dawn saw her talking to the driver of a car parked at the far end of the alley at the back of the club. Dawn couldn’t see much of the driver. He had his hat pulled down low and he wore dark glasses which Dawn thought was odd as it was dark. It was a good car. A Cadillac convertible: green and cream.’
‘He could have been asking the way, you dope!’
‘I thought of that.’ Bernie opened his eyes and looked suspiciously at the floor. ‘I may not show it, but I have a natural talent for detection. Dawn saw this guy again two nights later. He was talking to Farmer in the stage door office, and she got a good look at him. When he had gone she asked Farmer who he was and he said he didn’t know, but he was waiting for Fay. I have his description written down in case I forgot it.’
‘It’s a marvel to me you didn’t forget to write it down, and it beats me how you ever got back here in the condition you’re in.’
Bernie smirked as he took out his wallet and produced a sheet of paper.
‘Dawn brought me back. That’s the kind of girl she is. She says she always looks after her investments. She calls me her goose that lays her golden eggs. Cute, isn’t it?’
‘Get on with it, you drunken lug!’ I snarled. ‘Let’s have the guy’s description.’
Bernie peered at the paper, frowned, then said, ‘That’s funny. I seem to have written this in Chinese.’
‘You have it upside down, you dope!’
Bernie turned the page up the other way.
‘So I have. I thought for a moment liquor was giving me some culture. This guy’s over six foot, lean, sun-tanned with an eyebrow moustache. He wears dark glasses, even at night. He had on a camel hair coat, a white nylon shirt and a polka dot bow tie. He wore a gold link bracelet on one wrist and a gold strap watch on the other. Trust Dawn to spot the gold fitments. At a guess he’s around thirty-five. That’s not a bad description, is it?’