“Well, he drops in once in a while,” she said, her cheeks showing color beneath the patches of rouge.
Tragg said to Mason, “Well, we’ll try Coll at the Everglade Apartments... Listen, sister, who’s running this place?”
“Two men, partners, Clint Magard and Harvey J. Lynk.”
“Know where either of them are?”
“No. Lynk has a little cabin somewhere. He goes there for relaxation.”
“Relaxation, eh?” Lieutenant Tragg said, glancing at Mason. “Where is it?”
“I wouldn’t know. It’s up in Lilac Canyon somewhere... And Mr. Magard isn’t in right at present.”
“You don’t know where Magard is?”
“No. He should be in any minute.”
“When he comes in, have him call police headquarters and ask for Sergeant Mahoney. Have him tell the sergeant all he knows about Esther Dilmeyer — don’t forget. I’ll call back in a little while. What number do I call?”
“It’s Exchange 3-40...”
“Write it down,” Tragg said.
She scribbled the number on a piece of paper.
“Okay, I’ll call you back. Have Magard call headquarters.”
Tragg nodded to Mason.
As they walked out, Mason said, “I’ve never before fully appreciated the handicap of being merely a private citizen.”
“Getting sarcastic?” Tragg asked.
“No, merely making an observation.”
“You have to handle ’em like that or they’ll start swapping gossip with you and you’ll never get anywhere. People seem to forget we have emergency calls pouring in in a steady stream. We haven’t time to dillydally, or let other people take the lead. You have to keep ’em on the defensive to ever get anywhere.”
They squeezed past the dance floor, and on the stairs leading to the sidewalk Tragg asked, “Know anything about this joint, Mason?”
“No. Why?”
“I have an idea it’s a phony. Some day I’ll knock it over.”
“Why?”
“That doorman. In the first place, he’s a professional pug.”
“How do you know?”
“The way he handled himself. Notice the way he swings his left shoulder forward when he thinks there’s going to be trouble. He made a dive for a telephone when we started in. Gave a signal which had been agreed on in advance to warn of a police raid. Notice the cauliflower ear — his left.”
The big doorman regarded them with cold hostility as they came out. Tragg, walking past him toward the car, suddenly whirled and jabbed an extended forefinger into the man’s chest. “You’re big,” he said. “You’re tough. And you’re fat! You’re not as fast as you used to be. What’s more, you’re dumb. I didn’t know there was anything wrong with the joint until you tipped me off to the lay. You might tell your boss that. When I knock the place over, he’ll have you to thank... If you don’t tell him, I will. Next time you see me, salute. Good night!”
He strode on past to the car, leaving the big man in his resplendent uniform staring with bewildered eyes and a mouth that sagged slowly open.
Tragg laughed as he snapped on the ignition. “Just giving him something to think about,” he said, and spun the car in the middle of the block, roaring into speed as he kicked on the switch which sent noise pouring from the siren on the front of the car.
The Everglade Apartments had originally been designed for a clerk, a switchboard operator, and elevator boys. The pinch of the economic shoe had converted it into automatic elevators, and a lobby used purely for purposes of ornament.
Lieutenant Tragg pressed his thumb against the button opposite Sindler Coll’s name on the outside of the big glass door through which could be seen a part of the lobby.
“No luck?” Mason asked after several moments.
“No dice,” Tragg said, and pushed the button marked MANAGER.
At the third ring, an indignant woman in nightgown, slippers, and kimono pushed open the door of one of the lower apartments, and came shuffling across the lobby to the door. For a long moment, she stood staring at them through the plate glass, then, opening the door a crack, she asked, “What is it?”
Tragg said, “We want Sindler Coll.”
Her face darkened with indignation. “Well, of all the nerve!.. There’s his bell. Go on and ring it!..”
“He doesn’t answer.”
“Well, I’m not his keeper!”
She started to slam the door. Tragg pulled back his coat and gave her a glimpse of his badge. “Take it easy, Ma’am. We have to find him. This is important.”
“Well, I haven’t the faintest idea where he is. I’m running a respectable place here, and...”
“Sure, you are, Ma’am,” Tragg said soothingly, “and you wouldn’t want to get in bad by refusing to co-operate with the police when they wanted a little something. The way things are now, the place has a nice reputation, and we have you marked as a law-abiding citizen who’s on the side of law and order.”
Her expression softened. “Well, I am.”
“Sure, you are. Oh, we keep the places pretty well pegged, and know what goes on. We know whom we can depend on, and whom we can’t. And lots of times banks and mortgage companies that are looking for apartment-house managers give us a ring and ask us what sort of a record the party had in the last job. You’d be surprised how careful the bigger people are to get managers who are friendly with the police.”
“Well, I can understand that,” she said. The hostility had left her voice. She seemed so eager to impress them that she was all but simpering. “The way things are now, people can’t be too careful. Now, if there’s anything I can do for you — anything.”
“We’d like to find out something about Coll — not about his habits, but where we could locate him. Do you know anything about him, who his friends are, or anything of that sort?”
“No, I don’t. I can’t give you a bit of help on that. He’s a quiet chap, but I know he’s very popular. There are quite a few people come to call on him.”
“Men or women?”
“Mostly ... well, some women. We don’t bother our tenants as long as they’re quiet.”
“Do you know an Esther Dilmeyer?”
“No, I don’t.”
Tragg said, “We have to get Coll as soon as he comes in. Would you mind dressing and waiting here in the lobby until you see him come in? Then call police headquarters, ask for Lieutenant Tragg. That’s me. If I’m not in, get Sergeant Mahoney on the line, and he’ll tell you what to do.”
“I’ll be glad to,” she said. “It’ll only take me a minute.” Gathering her robe about her, she shuffled rapidly across the lobby to vanish through the door of her apartment.
Tragg turned to Mason and grinned. “Doesn’t it feel pretty strange to you to be co-operating with the police?”
Mason’s answer was prompt. “No. The strange thing is to feel that the police are co-operating with me.”
Tragg threw back his head and laughed, then, after a moment, said, “Well, tell me about the case, Mason.”
“What case?”
“Didn’t you say Esther Dilmeyer was a witness?”
“Oh, yes. It’s a civil case, and I can’t give you details without my client’s consent. I’ll say this much. A Mildreth Faulkner, who owns the Faulkner Flower Shops, rang up and made an appointment for one o’clock.”
“Afternoon?” Tragg asked.
“No, morning. First, she called for an appointment at ten-thirty in the morning. Then she rang up again, very much excited, and said she simply had to see me sometime tonight. I was working on a brief. My secretary told her I wouldn’t be finished before sometime after midnight, and we offered her a one o’clock appointment, thinking that would make her back out. She grabbed at it and told me to be on the watch for an Esther Dilmeyer who was an important witness. I gathered that she wouldn’t have much of a case without Dilmeyer’s testimony.”